Page 50 - Leadership in the Indian Army

"Well," Afsoon began. "I-that is, we-have brought you here because we

have some very good news to give you."

Mariam looked up.
She caught a quick exchange of glances between the women over Jalil,

who slouched in his chair looking unseeingly at the pitcher on the table.

It was Khadija, the oldest-looking of the three, who turned her gaze to

Mariam, and Mariam had the impression that this duty too had been
discussed, agreed upon, before they had called for her.

"You have a suitor," Khadija said.

Mariam's stomach fell. "A what?" she said through suddenly numb lips.

"A khasiegar. A suitor. His name is Rasheed," Khadija went on. "He is a

friend of a business acquaintance of your father's. He's a Pashtun, from
Kandahar originally, but he lives in Kabul, in the Deh-Mazang district, in

a two-story house that he owns."

Afsoon was nodding. "And he does speak Farsi, like us, like you. So you

won't have to learn Pashto."

Mariam's chest was tightening. The room was reeling up and down, the

ground shifting beneath her feet.

"He's a shoemaker," Khadija was saying now. "But not some kind of
ordinary street-side moochi, no, no. He has his own shop, and he is one

of the most sought-after shoemakers in Kabul He makes them for

diplomats, members of the presidential family-that class of people. So

you see, he will have no trouble providing for you."