by Duane Evans
He knew what he was doing was wrong. At least he knew that ISI would see it that way. But he knew as well that if he reported his contact with Sahar, he would be ordered to terminate the relationship, and that was something he simply could not do.
There was a time in his career when he would never have even considered flouting ISI’s regulations. That was no longer true, and he felt no remorse for ignoring the rules. He did feel badly about having misled General Ali, a man he respected, and about misleading Meena as well. As he saw it, he really had no choice. He would be with Sahar again, no matter the consequence.
Finally, he saw Sahar walk out from the customs area into the main terminal. In an instant, all doubts about what he was doing vanished, and in the same instant, he knew he was somehow changed forever. The intensity of his feelings actually made him afraid. The truth hit him that, despite the improbability of a life with Sahar ever becoming a reality, it somehow had to be. Sahar had to become a part of his future.
“Tarek, Tarek,” Sahar shouted as she waved and moved toward him through the crowd. When they met she gave Tarek a hug, and it thrilled him.
“Oh Tarek, it is so good to see you. I was afraid that maybe you would decide not to come,” she said.
Tarek smiled. “How could I not come?” he said and silently added, I have thought of nothing but you since I left New Delhi.
Tarek pushed the luggage cart as he listened to Sahar excitedly tell him about her trip from Delhi and the funny things that had happened along the way. Her laughter and the sweet sound of her voice were music to his ears.
Traffic from the airport to the hotel was light, and the taxi arrived at her hotel in less than half an hour. During the ride, Sahar told Tarek about the International Architect’s Conference she had come to attend. “I will be making one presentation myself,” she said, somewhat hesitantly. “If you would like to come…”
Tarek wanted to spend every minute of his time in Sahar’s company, but he only replied, “We shall see. I do need to spend some time with my uncle.”
“I understand,” she said, but he could see she was disappointed.
Arriving at the hotel, Sahar checked in at the desk, and then walked across the lobby to where Tarek had taken a seat. Sitting down beside him, Sahar smiled. For a few moments, neither of them spoke.
It was Tarek who broke the awkward silence. “Sahar, I am so glad we are here together,” he said. “The day we spent in New Delhi passed so quickly, and although we were essentially strangers to each other, I felt so comfortable and it was . . . well, it was just a special day for me. I didn’t know if it would be possible, but I wanted somehow to see you again, and I was so happy when you suggested we meet here. I know you are in London on business, and I do not want to interfere with that, but I hope we can spend time getting to know each other better.”
Listening to Tarek, Sahar realized how much courage it had taken for him to say this to her. She became aware of an openness in Tarek that she had not often seen in men. Still, there was this mystery about him, something she could not quite put her finger on. He appeared to be genuine, with no pretension despite his obvious charms, yet there was a quality of seriousness and distance that seemed to lie behind it all. Tarek, Sahar decided, was a complex man.
She put her hand lightly on Tarek’s. “Thank you for putting into words the very same thoughts I have had. We will have time together, Tarek. I promise you that.” After a moment’s pause she continued, “Oh, I wanted to tell you, my father sends his regards, and he also invites you to return to India.”
“I do hope I have the opportunity to see him again. Sahar, your father is a very special man whom I greatly enjoyed getting to know.” Tarek did not add that the possibility of his ever returning to Delhi was remote, since the operation that had taken him there was now concluded.
“He thinks very highly of you, Tarek, and he is a tough judge of character. He said he would be honored if you could come to a special event that is being held to commemorate the 35th anniversary of the opening of Farakka Barrage. It will be held late next month. Father thought you might like to see the project first hand.”
Not wanting to make a commitment, Tarek replied, “Well, I would love to come, but it may be difficult for me. I have a busy schedule around that time.”
“Oh, I hope you can make it. It would mean a lot to Father and, as an engineer, I think you would be impressed with Farakka Barrage. It is going to be a big event, with some senior government officials in attendance, as well as foreign dignitaries. The whole thing has already created some international controversy.”
“Really?” Tarek responded. “What is at issue?”
“Bangladesh has resumed its claim that the dam is causing parts of the country to dry up and is demanding that its gates be permanently opened. They are highlighting the ceremony in the international press, saying it proves India’s arrogance, since it is taking place at nearly the same time that the issue will be debated at the UN,” Sahar said. “But whatever the case, please try to come. You can stay with us, and then we can all go to Farakka together. It is in a remote area some distance north from Calcutta.”
“We shall see.” Tarek said. He stood up and clasped Sahar’s hand. “I know you must be exhausted from your trip. You need some rest so you don’t fall asleep on the opening morning of your conference!”
They walked to the elevators together. When the doors opened, Sahar squeezed Tarek’s hand and stepped into the elevator.
“I’ll call you tomorrow once I know my schedule,” she said.
Tarek said goodnight, stepped back from the elevator, and watched the bank of lights until Sahar’s safe arrival on the 10th floor.
He decided to walk to his hotel instead of catching a taxi. He needed time to think, and he did his best thinking when he was out in the open air and moving. As he strode down the quiet street, it became more apparent than ever to him that his relationship with Sahar would take him into uncharted territory. How it all would end was completely beyond his knowing.
29
The time spent in London with Sahar passed as if in a dream— a very good dream. On the first day of her conference, Sahar had attended every session while Tarek spent time with his Uncle Omar. Later, they met for dinner. Tarek selected a French restaurant where he had once dined during a liaison visit to London when he was hosted by MI6. His British intelligence counterparts had chosen the restaurant in part due to its well-regarded cuisine and in part due to its intimate atmosphere, which had allowed for maximum privacy.
In making the dinner reservation, Tarek was reminded once again how the requirements of intelligence work and romance often mirrored each other. The conditions the Brits had sought in choosing a restaurant for a meeting on sensitive matters were the same conditions Tarek wanted for his first evening with Sahar: No interruptions, no distractions, no one to eavesdrop on their conversation. Only he and Sahar—enjoying good food, the warm atmosphere, and each other’s company.
The evening proved to be as lovely as he had hoped, lovelier than any evening Tarek could remember. Each time he looked at Sahar, no matter how often, he was taken anew by her striking beauty. When they looked at each other, he had to limit his eye contact lest his intense feelings for her became all too obvious.
This was a new experience for Tarek. As an intelligence officer, he had always sought to be the one who controlled any relationship he had—with man or woman. Tarek knew this would be impossible with Sahar. She had taken control the first moment they met, and he would never be able to reverse the tables. He felt completely vulnerable to her, and as disconcerting to him as that was, it did not matter. If that was the price he had to pay to be with her, he would gladly pay it and more, if necessary.
The five-course dinner was perfectly prepared and served, complete with excellent French wines. Sahar knew Tarek was Muslim, but the fact that he drank wine somehow did not surprise her. Still, she was curious how he rationalized this breech in Islamic conduct.
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“Tarek, you obviously know your wines. This is delicious,” Sahar said as she lifted a glass to her lips. After taking a sip and setting the glass down on the white linen tablecloth, she asked, “How is it that a Muslim is so knowledgeable about wine? Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”
Tarek chuckled and said, “I’ve enjoyed wine for years. I don’t drink in the presence of other Muslims, as it may offend them. However, when this is not an issue, I sometimes will have wine with dinner. Is this a violation of Islamic teaching? Yes, it is. Do I regret that I do not follow this edict against alcohol? If I am honest with myself, I must answer, no, I don’t.”
“And why is that?” Sahar asked as she again took a sip of the dark Burgundy.
“I suppose it is because I do not believe that Allah concerns himself with such things. I know many religious people, and not just Muslims, disagree with this, but this is what I believe. I think on matters of food and drink, I have to agree with the prophet Jesus when he said it is not what goes into a man’s mouth that defiles him, but that which proceeds from it.”
“Are you also a student of the teachings of Jesus?” Sahar asked, once again surprised by Tarek’s eclectic knowledge.
Tarek reached for the bottle on the table and slowly refilled Sahar’s glass. “I have studied the teachings of many of the world’s great masters, including Jesus. He is a highly revered prophet in the Islamic faith and is quoted many times in the Qur’an. In fact, he is considered to be the very spirit of God. I have also studied his teachings in the New Testament.”
“I see.” Sahar said. “And what else have you concluded from your studies?” Sahar was becoming increasingly interested in Tarek’s comments on religion, especially given her Hindu upbringing.
Tarek again softly laughed. “I am no spiritual master, so my conclusions may disappoint you. And besides, I think your father can speak much more authoritatively on this subject than I can.”
“No, really. What do you believe? I would like to know,” Sahar persisted.
“What I have concluded is certainly not original,” he said after a moment’s reflection. “I simply believe there is an underlying truth or reality to existence, and that truth or reality is what we refer to when we speak of Allah or God. I believe that most of us can only understand Allah in a very limited sense, although a few special people sometimes are able to connect in a more direct way, and they are profoundly transformed by it. Your father, I believe, is one of those special people.”
“Are you against orthodox religion?” Sahar asked.
Tarek lifted his glass and looked for a moment at the rich red liquid before taking a drink and setting the glass carefully back down on the table. He thought it a bit ironic that they were talking about religion, a subject he hadn’t expected to come up, at least not over a romantic dinner.
“No. I am not against religion. I just believe that true experience of Allah cannot come through organized religion because the nature of Allah is so vastly different from the nature of what we call religion. Religion teaches important values that can help us along our journey to Allah. But ultimately, as your father once told me, a person can truly only know Allah by direct encounter.”
“And you, Tarek, have you found God?”
Tarek remembered he had asked the same question of Engineer Advani. He shook his head, saying, “No, I have not found Allah, but I think I’ve found the place to look for him.”
“Where?” Sahar asked intently.
Tarek leaned across the small table and placed his hand lightly over Sahar’s heart. “Right here. As Rumi wrote, He can be found nowhere else.”
Sahar could not help but smile. “Tarek, I think you may just be a ‘spiritual master’.”
He shrugged. “Well, you wanted to know what I believed, so now you know. Now, it’s your turn. What do you believe, Sahar?”
Sahar laughed. “It is too late in the evening to begin that discussion. You will have to accept a rain check. As much as I hate to end this lovely evening, I do have my presentation to give first thing in the morning.”
Tarek smiled. “I will accept your rain check, but only on condition that we resume this conversation soon.”
Sahar returned his smile. “Oh I agree to that. You have not only my rain check, but my word.”
Tarek paid the bill in cash. As they exited the restaurant, he took Sahar’s delicate hand in his and walked to a nearby taxi, which quickly whisked them back to Sahar’s hotel. The street was empty as they stood outside the hotel’s entrance. Sahar regretted the night had to end.
“Tarek, would it be possible for us to meet tomorrow afternoon?” she surprised herself by asking.
“Of course it would,” Tarek responded, surprised as well. “But won’t the conference be in session?” he asked.
Sahar moved closer to Tarek and softly responded, “Yes, but I would rather spend the time with you.”
As Sahar spoke, her eyes met Tarek’s, and he could no longer resist the attraction he felt for her. Pulling her toward him he kissed her briefly on the lips and then, as she embraced him eagerly, he kissed her again, this time more deeply, his passion quickly rising.
At last Tarek pulled back and holding both of Sahar’s hands in his, softly said, “I must let you go. You have a big day tomorrow, and I want you to do well.”
Sahar nodded and stepped back without taking her eyes off Tarek’s face. Then, abruptly, she turned and walked toward the hotel entrance. Just before she stepped inside, she called back over her shoulder, “Until tomorrow.”
30
The next morning, Sahar gave her presentation on her work on the National Art Gallery renovation in New Delhi. To her surprise, Tarek attended her briefing. Seeing her in her professional milieu, Tarek was again impressed with Sahar’s subject knowledge and self confidence. Her talent was as obvious as her beauty.
Sahar’s presentation was her last appearance at the conference. For the rest of the week, she spent almost every moment with Tarek. They toured what seemed to be every site of architectural interest in London. Both relished being able to share the experience with someone who also loved architecture. Tarek took time each day to visit with his Uncle Omar, but as much as he loved the old man, each minute away from Sahar was torture. He kept his visits short.
On Wednesday night, following a satisfying meal at an Italian restaurant, Tarek invited Sahar for dessert at his hotel’s restaurant, which was famous for its cakes made on the premises. Arriving at the hotel, they found the restaurant filled to capacity with a waiting list of a dozen names. Up to this point, the evening had been perfect, and neither Tarek nor Sahar wanted it to end.
“We can always do room service,” Tarek suggested, not quite knowing how Sahar would respond.
Sahar’s eyes met Tarek’s and then she smiled. “What a wonderful idea!”
The two walked hand in hand to the elevator and took it to the 15th floor. Once inside Tarek’s room, Sahar tossed her wrap onto the bed, its covers already turned back, and walked over to the window. Pushing the sheer curtain aside she took in the view of the city for a few seconds, then let the curtain fall and turned to face Tarek.
They stood several feet apart. For a few moments, neither spoke. They did not need to. Their eyes said everything. Tarek crossed the floor in two strides and Sahar was in his arms, warm and willing.
Tarek had once read that some perceived sex as a spiritual experience, an idea Tarek gave no credence. For him, sex was definitely physical, not spiritual—although he could not deny that when he lay with Sahar, her perfect body soft and warm, it was heaven on earth.
31
For the remainder of the week they were together every moment, waking and sleeping. But inevitably, their time together came to an end. Bidding Sahar farewell was the most difficult goodbye Tarek had ever said. He felt as if his heart would burst. The tears that welled up in Sahar’s amber eyes and rolled down her cheeks told him it was as difficult for her as well, though they both tried
with little success to put on a brave front.
As they stood at the airport just outside the security gate, Sahar again reminded Tarek of her father’s invitation.
“You know I will come if I can arrange it,” Tarek told her. “But if I can’t, we will find a way to see each other soon. This I promise.”
“Oh Tarek, we must,” Sahar said, tears again filling her eyes. “I’m going to miss you so. I don’t know how I will survive when I return to Delhi. I know my life will not be same as it was before I came to London. It’s crazy, I know. But it’s how I feel.”
Tarek knew the feeling well. He had felt it to one degree or the other from the first moment he had laid eyes on Sahar.
“Sahar,” he said looking intently into her eyes, “I am crazy about you. We will be together soon. Let me just take care of some details at work.”
The pre-boarding announcement for Sahar’s flight boomed over the loudspeakers.
“All right, my love,” Sahar said. “Just stay in touch.”
They kissed once more, and Sahar walked to the nearly deserted security checkpoint, passing through it quickly.
Many thoughts went through Tarek’s mind as he watched her walk down the concourse and disappear into the crowd of people moving toward the departure gates. As she vanished from his sight, a crushing sadness swept through him.
32
Are you alright? Meena asked, lightly touching Tarek’s shoulder. “Is something wrong?”
Tarek looked up. “No, nothing is wrong. This is just the first chance I’ve had to sit still since my trip, and I’ve got a few things running through my mind. I’m sorry if I’m not being a good guest this afternoon.”
They were sitting in the sun-lit living room of Meena and Jashem’s home in Rawalpindi, the day after Tarek’s return from London. Jashem was in the bedroom taking his daily nap, and the children were occupied in other parts of the house.