There is rain too. She feels it whizzing past her. But is it rain or something lethal? What to do? All she can think is run, we must run. But which way? She knows, only by instinct, that these men or demons have come from the open ground where she used to play soccer. Which means there is only one way to go.
‘The river. The Lower Forest,’ Hasina gasps. ‘Quickly.’
She swings Araf onto her back and hurls herself straight towards the river.
Her plan is simple. Run. Get Araf and Ghadiya to the forest. Hide there. Wait for her father and mother and grandmother to find them. But she, the fastest of the girls on the soccer pitch, feels like she is wading through mud. Ghadiya’s limp slows her down and Araf’s weight drags on her. Run, she tells herself. Don’t stop, she tells herself.
All around them, their neighbours are also running or wailing or standing holding each other. Old men, small children, mothers with babies. Mothers screaming for their babies. Hasina keeps moving, though her chest aches. Her father said don’t stop. So she does not stop, and she does not let Ghadiya stop either.
When they’re almost at the standpipe at the end of Third Mile Road, almost to where the little path leads left to the Lower Forest on their side of the river, Ghadiya tugs at Hasina’s arm, drags her to the side of the road into the long grass.
‘Shh! Look. Men.’
At the standpipe, shadowy figures merge in the flickering firelight. Men or demons? These men seem calm, murmuring to each other. Hasina slides Araf from her shoulder and pulls him into the clumps of grass beside the road.
That stone is in her belly again, heavier and harder than ever. How will she run, how will she keep moving, how will she get them all away and into a hiding place with this stone inside her? Maybe she should stop running. Maybe they should stay here. Hope that these are men and not demons. They cannot get past them anyway. Why not just give up?
The three men are speaking in Burmese. There’s a flare as they light their torches, and their faces glow orange. One of them gestures down Third Mile Street and then towards the Lower Forest, curving his arm around as if giving directions to Fourth Mile, the next street along.
The leader heads along the raised path towards the Lower Forest, while the other two turn back towards Third Mile Street. Hasina fuses herself to the ground, shrinking from the torchlight. And then all is dark around the water-pump.
Has her father run from their house? Has her mother hidden? Her grandmother? Her aunt? Hasina realises that these men are not using the torches for light alone – they mean to burn the houses at the top of Third Mile Street.
Should she run back home, warn them that the men are coming? If she does, can she be sure Ghadiya and Araf will be safe here without her? Ghadiya, whose chest is heaving with every breath. Araf, whose teeth chatter with terror. Run, her father said. Stay together. Hide.
Precious seconds pass.
Like the morning the helicopters came, the answer comes as an image. Pontoons, floating on the Farak River.
‘We need to cross the river,’ she whispers. ‘We need to cross the Children’s Bridge.’
But even as she says it, the thought of crossing the river fills her with dread. In the dark, it would be so easy to miss a step and slide into that deep, fast water. And these men, with their demon eyes, if they see her climbing down to the river, would they not follow?
‘I don’t want to,’ Araf cries. ‘I am tired.’
‘Araf, Baba and Mama said we must. We’re going to take baby steps. First, we’re going to the river. Then, we’re going to cross together. All right?’
‘All right,’ Ghadiya whispers.
‘Carry me,’ Araf demands.
‘I will carry you, but you must not make a sound.’
First Ghadiya moves onto the road. Keeping crouched and low, she hurries to the standpipe and then across the dirt path and down over the top of the riverbank to the water below. Hasina waits for a minute after she disappears. No one comes. It is safe to go.
‘All right, Araf, climb up.’
Together, Hasina and Araf scuttle along the side of the road. They reach the standpipe, cross the path and then drop down into the damp, cool darkness beside the river. Hasina lets Araf down from her back and half-scrambles, half-falls down the bank.
‘Ghadiya?’ she whispers.
‘I am here,’ comes the reply.
‘Araf?’
Nothing. Fear stabs at Hasina’s ribs. Has he fallen into the river as she almost did? Wouldn’t she have heard the splash?
‘Araf?’ she whispers, this time a little louder.
‘Shh. You said we must not make a sound!’ Araf’s small voice comes from behind her. Hasina sighs her relief into the darkness. Safe. They are almost safe.
Now that her eyes have adjusted, she can just make out the posts of the pontoon. She leads them down to the water.
The river is black. The water is flowing fast; she can hear it. One small slip, and the current will sweep them away with no chance of rescue. Suddenly her plan seems foolish. They should wait until light. They should go back.
She thinks about the men, their faces, the bright flames of their torches, and knows they cannot go back. She steadies herself. Think about the goal. Think about that rectangle.
Hasina puts one hand on the railing and finds the guide rope, then puts a foot onto the pontoon. It sinks beneath her weight, water oozing up over the raft and gleaming silver in the night. She takes a deep breath and puts her second foot onto the bridge. Immediately, she can feel the river current beneath her feet, pushing back. The power of all that water, water leaking over her sandals, making the deck slippery. What if they fall in? What if Araf falls in? How will she face her mother? She grips the rope more firmly. ‘Okay, Araf,’ she whispers, ‘take my hand.’
But when Araf is on the pontoon, it is he who leads her. ‘Baby steps,’ he whispers and that is what they take, sliding their feet a little bit forward each time until they reach the end of the raft. Then, a step into the dark and onto the next raft. Again, it is Araf who leads her until they are safe on the other side.
‘Stay here, don’t move,’ she tells him.
‘Okay,’ he whispers.
Now she’s back at the opposite bank, reaching for her cousin’s trembling hand.
If it is too difficult for Ghadiya to balance in the light of day, how will it be in the dark? Ghadiya puts one foot onto the pontoon and it sinks beneath their combined weight. She pulls back from Hasina and nearly falls into the water, but lands on her bottom.
‘I can’t,’ Ghadiya whimpers, tears falling in silver tracks down her face. ‘I can’t do it.’
‘You can.’
‘I can’t. I will drop my bag.’ Hasina can just make out the orange Shan bag slung over Ghadiya’s shoulder.
‘Please, Ghadiya!’
‘Leave me here. I’ll be okay, Baba,’ her cousin sobs.
Baba? Hasina peers at her cousin. Is this what happened when Rashid left? Did he try to take them too? If Ghadiya is seeing ghosts, how will she get her across?
Then Hasina has a brainwave. ‘What if we crawl? Like this.’ She drops to her hands and knees. Water oozes around her wrists, but with her weight more evenly distributed, there is little motion on the pontoon. She slides one knee forward. The raft doesn’t budge.
‘Look, Ghadiya, can you do it this way?’
‘I have a better idea,’ her cousin cries. ‘Come, help me down.’
Hasina helps Ghadiya onto the pontoon. Instead of crawling on hands and knees, Ghadiya sits and shuffles like a crab. At the gap between the rafts, she drops onto her side and heaves herself across. Then it is back onto her bottom, and at last she’s on the other bank.
Finally, it is Hasina’s turn to cross on her hands and knees, and together they scramble to the top of the riverbank.
Hasina lies panting on the bank gathering herself. The stars above are cold and distant and very beautiful. Beyond a few paddy fields the darker patch of the Hig
h Forest rises into the night. If they can climb into the High Forest, they will be safe from the men like demons. Hasina looks across the water at the home she has lived in all her life. The street is alight. Even though the fires are far, Hasina can feel their heat on her face, see their glow on the faces of her brother and cousin.
‘What are we going to do?’ Ghadiya asks.
All Hasina has are her father’s words. ‘We are going to stay together. We are going to hide. We are going to wait for Baba to find us all.’
Is her father even safe? And her mother, her grandmother, her aunt? She can’t think about that now. All she can do is what she’s been asked to do. Run. Stay together. Hide.
‘Come on,’ she says. ‘We’re going to hide in the High Forest.’
‘I’m scared.’ Araf’s voice is trembling.
‘I’m scared too,’ Ghadiya admits.
‘Baba will come in the morning,’ Hasina comforts them. ‘He said he will, so he will.’
‘Carry me,’ Araf begs. His voice is tiny. Hasina feels tiny inside too. Aching and fearful.
‘Ready?’ She hoists Araf onto her back, takes Ghadiya by the hand, and the three of them walk quickly towards the darkness of the High Forest.
Chapter 12
The High Forest is dark and hot, the air sticky. Strange sounds drift from the treetops. Thick vines catch at her feet and biting insects run along her arms and face. But Hasina knows that on the other side of the river things are far worse.
She stumbles with Araf into a hollow beneath a teak tree, Ghadiya right behind them. This is where they will rest tonight. She lays Araf on the ground, then settles herself next to him, Ghadiya on the other side. Hasina unfurls the numal from her head and gently spreads it over them, like a blanket. Throughout it all, her heart is beating so loud, so fast in her chest, she thinks that those men with demon eyes must be able to hear it all the way across the river. Like a summons, or a beacon.
They soothe Araf to sleep and then talk in hushed whispers of what they have seen.
‘Those men were soldiers,’ Ghadiya says.
‘But they didn’t have uniforms.’
‘In the south, men came in the afternoon. We saw their trucks rolling into town – they raised a big cloud of dust. They had knives and clubs and sticks. They wore red bandanas to cover their faces – they didn’t have uniforms, but they all looked the same. Like the army looks the same.’ Ghadiya pauses, remembering. ‘Baba was sad and scared just before the men came to town. He said they would be coming for the people like him – lawyers, journalists. And that we would have to run. He left that day.’
So that is what happened to Uncle Rashid – an attack like this one. Did that mean her parents would also have to run? What would happen to the three of them then?
Ghadiya’s voice takes on a dreamy quality. ‘Baba was right – the men did come. They came that night. These were not army, they were police. They pounded on the door so hard, I thought it would break. Mama shoved me into the linen cupboard.’
Hasina shivered. Poor Ghadiya in the cupboard.
‘I heard them talking. I heard her say no, no, no. And then, I hear this noise like a dog whimpering. When they were gone, I found my mother on the floor. She was covered in blood. And that is when we left.’
Hasina is frozen in horror. Poor Aunt Rukiah. Poor Ghadiya. And now, it was happening again. This time to her family as well.
‘Do you think my mama is with your father and mother?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘I’m sorry I was so scared on the bridge.’ Ghadiya’s voice breaks. ‘Thank you,’ she sobs, ‘thank you for not leaving me behind.’
‘You were brave, Ghadiya, to cross like that.’
‘Not as brave as you.’
They talk on until Ghadiya just stops. Hasina knows that she has fallen asleep. Now she is all on her own in the dark night.
Brave? She does not feel brave. She feels weak, and terrified, with no idea about what she should do next. Every forest sound makes her start. A snap of a twig means the men are here, coming for them. A gleam of moonlight on the broad face of a leaf is the blade of a knife shining in the night. What would the men do to them if they come? She thinks of Ghadiya’s story, of what happened to Aunt Rukiah. What does it feel like, to be beaten like that?
For hours, Hasina’s heart continues to pound and her mind races. Why did the men come? What did they want? Why are they burning houses? Is it a punishment? What has her family done? Where is her father? Her mother? Her aunt? Her grandmother? What has happened to their house? Their neighbours? Tara? Isak? When will her father come for them, as he promised? Tonight? And then, her mind turns back to the start and the questions whirl through it all over again. She cannot think of answers. Nothing makes any sense.
She blinks her eyes against the brightness. It is already light. What happened to the call to Fagr from the clock? She should have been up ages ago to get water. Why are there tree branches in her room? And what or who is squeezing her like a rice cake?
Hasina wriggles free and raises herself onto an elbow. Araf has rolled himself into a little ball and is curled against her stomach. When she moves, he just burrows in tighter. That explains the squeezing.
The memory of the night before returns with full force, her father’s desperate words: Take care of them, Hasina. Stay together. I will find you.
Hasina sits up and looks around. The sound of his voice is so clear in her head, she thought he was here.
Her heartbeat rises and her body twitches with nervous energy as more of the night comes back to her. Sleep. She wishes she could sleep more, like Araf and Ghadiya. She leans back against the tree and closes her eyes. Takes a deep breath. Tries to calm herself.
But sleep is impossible. Behind her eyelids is fire.
Chapter 13
‘Hasina, I am hungry.
‘I am tired.
‘I want my toys.
‘I want Mama.
‘I want Baba.’
‘He’s coming,’ Hasina soothes Araf. ‘Be patient.’
And then, the same refrain again. And again. And again. As persistent as the mosquitoes that whine in Hasina’s ears.
The sun rises in the sky and dawn turns into morning. They have not eaten. What is there to eat? They have not drunk. What is there to drink? They pass the time waiting for Baba. They take it in turns, she and Ghadiya, to persuade Araf to be quiet. What if the men like demons come? What if ogres are near? Or tigers?
They try wheedling, cuddling him. Hasina tries bossing him and promising him all manner of things – rice cakes, toy soldiers, chewing gum, soft drink. But Araf is not listening. He wriggles. He whines and cries. Hasina, frustrated, raises her own voice. ‘Be quiet!’
Her shout echoes around the forest. Visions of the men like demons bounce around her head. What if they heard her? Hasina waits for the sound of their boots, the gleam of their knives.
Nobody comes.
Soon enough, Araf begins again. Fidgeting, wriggling, annoying. Ghadiya too is sulky, and won’t stay quiet about what her father has done, or her mother. Or what she would do if things were up to her. Like go outside and find some food. Or water at least. Or somewhere bigger or better or just somewhere else.
Finally, Hasina can’t stand it any longer. ‘I will go out; I will see if it is safe. I will see if I can find food or water. You two stay here.’
‘Thanks a lot,’ Ghadiya complains, ‘for leaving me with him.’
‘Araf, you behave. Or …’
‘Or what?’
Or what is a good question. Or she won’t come back? That is what she is hoping will not happen. ‘Or Baba will be very cross with you when he comes, and you won’t get a soft drink.’
‘Soft drink,’ Araf mutters. ‘Cola, lemonade, orange fizz. I want all three.’
‘Shh.’
Hasina creeps out of the hollow. The light through the leaves is mottled, the air still cool. She stands, stretches, unkinking her bod
y after the long, damp hours squished together under the tree. It feels good and her anger disappears – leaving only fear. She wills herself to be calm, forces herself to listen for the sound of movement, sniffs the air for the smell of the men, of burning or sweat.
Nothing.
She looks back at the thicket. She cannot see a thing. Only now she realises that they have been very lucky. They found a hollow space beneath the thick, leafy branches of a tall teak tree, and they are completely hidden.
But are they safe?
She remembers a story Asmah used to tell. In the emerald forest, the tiger circles his prey. Are there tigers in this wood?
Hasina swallows hard. There are no tigers here, she tells herself. Or ogres.
But she could be the tiger. Think like a tiger. Circle the hollow like a tiger. Make sure all is safe.
She will need a landmark, so that she can find the hollow again. The High Forest vegetation is thicker than that of the Lower Forest. Three steps over is a sein pan or golden mohur tree – flame of the forest, with its orange flowers. She could take her bearings from that. Hasina estimates the distance between their teak tree hideout and the flame tree. This will be her radius.
Scooping up a handful of flowers, she moves forward, in a circle, with their teak tree at its centre. She creeps along, her body tense, ready to run, dropping a flower every four or five steps. The ground is rough under her bare feet. Before each step, she looks for scorpions and snakes and centipedes.
When she completes the circle, she knows there are no tigers and no demon men nearby. Or others hiding like them. They are on their own.
Hasina relaxes and sighs as she rolls her head and shoulders. She listens to what the forest is telling her. There is not a single bird in the air, but there is the sound of wind – and something else. Is it water? Not the river, but a stream.
Suddenly, Hasina is desperately thirsty. She picks up another handful of flowers and sets off, following that sound.
By the time she has dropped ten flowers, the forest opens out into a clearing. Through this runs a chaung, a small stream. She looks for the round burps of groundwater emerging from its bed. Then she drinks as if she will never stop.
Hasina: Through My Eyes Page 6