Page 96 - Leadership in the Indian Army

patterns of her life did not seem so exhausting, when it did not take

enormous efforts of will to get out of bed, to do her prayers, to do the
wash, to make meals for Rasheed.

Mariam dreaded going outside. She was envious, suddenly, of the

neighborhood women and their wealth of children. Some had seven or
eight and didn't understand how fortunate they were, how blessed that

their children had flourished in their wombs, lived to squirm in their arms

and take the milk from their breasts. Children that they had not bled

away with soapy water and the bodily filth of strangers down some
bathhouse drain. Mariam resented them when she overheard them

complaining about misbehaving sons and lazy daughters.

A voice inside her head tried to soothe her with well-intended but

misguided consolation.

You 'll have others, Inshallah. You 're young. Surely you'll have many

other chances.

But Mariam's grief wasn't aimless or unspecific. Mariam grieved for this

baby, this particular child, who had made her so happy for a while-Some

days, she believed that the baby had been an undeserved blessing, that

she was being punished for what she had done to Nana. Wasn't it true

that she might as well have slipped that noose around her mother's neck
herself? Treacherous daughters did not deserve to be mothers, and this

was just punishment- She had fitful dreams, of Nma'sjinn sneaking into

her room at night, burrowing its claws into her womb, and stealing her
baby. In these dreams, Nana cackled with delight and vindication.