Page 69 - Leadership in the Indian Army

say to you about the crying?"

* * *

The next morning, after Rasheed left for work, Mariam unpacked her

clothes and put them in the dresser. She drew a pail of water from the
well and, with a rag, washed the windows of her room and the windows

to the living room downstairs- She swept the floors, beat the cobwebs

fluttering in the corners of the ceiling. She opened the windows to air the
house.

She set three cups of lentils to soak in a pot, found a knife and cut

some carrots and a pair of potatoes, left them too to soak. She searched
for flour, found it in the back of one of the cabinets behind a row of dirty

spice jars, and made fresh dough, kneading it the way Nana had shown

her, pushing the dough with the heel of her hand, folding the outer edge,

turning it, and pushing it away again. Once she had floured the dough,
she wrapped it in a moist cloth, put on a hijab, and set out for the

communal tandoor.

Rasheed had told her where it was, down the street, a left then a quick

right, but all Mariam had to do was follow the flock of women and

children who were headed the same way. The children Mariam saw,

chasing after their mothers or running ahead of them, wore shirts
patched and patched again. They wore trousers that looked too big

or too small, sandals with ragged straps that flapped back and forth.

They rolled discarded old bicycle tires with sticks.