Page 46 - Leadership in the Indian Army

"I don't know."

"My mother says you're not really my sister like you say you are."

"I never said I was," Mariam lied.

"She says you did. I don't care. What I mean is, I don't mind if you did

say it, or if you are my sister. I don't mind."

Mariam lay down. "I'm tired now."

"My mother says a jinn made your mother hang herself."

"You can stop that now," Mariam said, turning to her side. "The music, I

mean."

Bibi jo came to see her that day too. It was raining by the time she
came. She lowered her large body onto the chair beside the bed,
grimacing.

"This rain, Mariam jo, it's murder on my hips. Just murder, I tell you. I

hope…Oh, now, come here, child. Come here to Bibi jo. Don't cry. There,

now. You poor thing. Ask You poor, poor thing."

That night, Mariam couldn't sleep for a long time. She lay in bed

looking at the sky, listening to the footsteps below, the voices muffled by

walls and the sheets of rain punishing the window. When she did doze
off, she was startled awake by shouting. Voices downstairs, sharp and

angry. Mariam couldn't make out the words. Someone slammed a door.

The next morning, Mullah Faizullah came to visit her. When she saw her