The Taliban Cricket Club

by Timeri N. Murari

  That night I lay in the secret room, in stifling heat and stale air, trying to sleep. The door was slightly ajar, near enough for me to reach out and shut it quickly, but that didn’t help the air circulation. I didn’t want to sleep, as I’d be tormented by nightmares, and I tossed and turned. I must have dozed off, because I woke with a start. The early sun was a pale glow in my cell.

  My calendar was up in my bedroom, and after breakfast I ran up and drew a line through another day. Thursday. Only three days were left and there was nothing I could do to stop their advance.

  When Jahan left he closed the front door firmly; the sound echoed and masked another one coming from deeper inside the house. I was halfway down to the basement. At first, I couldn’t place it. As I listened, I realized it was our phone, ringing urgently again. I ran up, opened the door to Father’s study—the gloom pervaded here too—and groped my way to his desk.

  I lifted the receiver, and remained silent, waiting for the voice of a stranger.

  “Rukhsana,” the voice said.

  “Yes . . .” Just from the utterance of my name, that one word, I knew who it was and my breath caught. I couldn’t believe it. “Veer!” It felt so wonderful to say his name. “Veer . . . ,” I repeated, as stupid as a parrot with a one-word vocabulary, too astonished by the miracle of hearing his voice over this deceitful instrument.

  “Jesus, I’ve tried this number a hundred times and could never get through.” There was a new American inflection in his accent. He hurried on, “You called the house in Delhi, and it was just luck that I got home this morning. Mohan told me a Kabul memsahib had called. God, it’s wonderful to hear your voice. It was like getting my first letter from you. I have a big smile on my face.”

  I had to smile. I’d only said, “Veer.”

  “To hear you say my name sounds to me like a whole poem.”

  “You didn’t reply to my last letter.”

  “I have it on me, ready to post. I was stuck down in the Amazon for eight weeks.” I heard his familiar laughter. “I swear I’ve been trying this number over the years and can never get through. And when I do I’m disconnected.”

  “Veer . . . Veer . . . ” I gathered my strength. “I don’t believe I’m talking to you. Your voice sounds exactly as I remembered.”

  “How are you? Are you okay? I want to see you.”

  I hesitated, too long, as it was a question with a very long answer, and I wasn’t sure we would have the time.

  “Rukhsana, you still there?”

  “Yes, I’m here, Veer. I’m . . . I’m okay.”

  “You don’t sound okay. Tell me what’s wrong, please, before we get disconnected. I love you, and I’ve never stopped loving you.”

  “Oh, Veer, you don’t know how just hearing that makes me feel so happy,” I managed to say and began crying. I couldn’t help it. Veer was there, yet out of reach, and couldn’t hold me and comfort me. “I love you so much.”

  “I can hear you crying. I have to see you, Rukhsana. I’ll come over.”

  “No, don’t. Please don’t. It’s very dangerous. Promise me you won’t. I couldn’t bear it.”

  “You should know by now that I never make a promise. And don’t forget that I’ve been there. It must be dangerous for you too. But it can’t be worse than some of the jungles I’ve been in.”

  “At least there are laws in the jungle. And animals don’t carry guns and rocket launchers.”

  “I have to see you. I know something’s wrong.”

  “Veer, I can’t see you. You can’t see me. It’s against the law, and they’ll execute us if we’re caught together. Promise me you won’t come; it will place me in danger.” What was I saying? I was already in danger, but I couldn’t place his life in jeopardy. We would die together if he came, a small comfort, but even for love, it wasn’t worth it.

  “Rukhsana, my love, is there anything at all I can do to help you?”

  Perversely, how does one test love? Ask for the impossible, and watch love shrivel into a dried flower, a decayed memory, a mumbled apology, and disconnection. Would he be another Shaheen?

  “You can always say no, and I will understand,” I said, speaking gently. “I need two thousand dollars to get out of the country.”

  “You got it,” he said without a second’s hesitation, as if he had been waiting all along for my test. “I doubt your banks work. I’ll send you the money through the hawala. It’ll reach you in two or three days.”

  “Thank you, Veer,” I said, and I felt the tears trickle down my cheeks. “Thank you. We are desperate. Promise me, you mustn’t come here. When we get out I’ll find my way to you in Delhi.” The phone began to hiss in impatience. “Very soon. I love you . . .”

  “Rukhsana, I—”

  And the connection broke.

  Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye.

  I tenderly replaced the receiver and stood still in the darkness. I smiled, I laughed aloud in the empty room with no one to hear my joy. And then, I wept and wept in relief. I couldn’t stop and the pain bent me over. Finally, when I had no more tears left, I went to the kitchen to wash my face and prepare lunch.

  Jahan returned home in the evening and saw the smile still on my face.

  “You’re looking happy. What’s happened?”

  How would I explain the money to Jahan? Should I lie? I was getting too practiced in the art of deception. I was bubbling over with the good news, the promissory note of love, the promise of the funds that would whisk me out of the country. He would have immediately become suspicious—why would a total stranger (to him) bestow the money upon us? What had I done with him that he could be so generous? Was he a lover? Had I betrayed Shaheen in Delhi and slept with this man? Why else would a man give a woman money if it wasn’t in exchange for sexual favors? Men and women could never just be friends. His sense of honor could rise like a serpent and strike me down. I remembered Noorzia’s warning—brothers, husbands, and fathers could be more dangerous than strangers. Sibling, marital, and filial ties were no protection against the vindictive power of despoiled honor. I thought for a long moment.

  “Nargis,” I said. “You remember her, don’t you? I played cricket with her, and she came over to the house sometimes to pick me up. She called.”

  He frowned, trying to place her. He had been only eleven or twelve years old then and, at that age, boys paid very little attention to an older sister’s friends. “No, I don’t remember her at all. What did she want?”

  I was lying, without a conscience, to my brother if only to protect myself. “She wanted to know how I was, how we were, and I told her.”

  “Where was she calling from? Delhi?”

  “Yes. I told her my problems and she promised to help.”

  “How?”

  “By sending me the money, as a loan of course.”

  “Is she rich?”

  “No, she’s working in America. I guess that makes her a lot richer than us.” I did a little dance around the dark room to make him happy. “She’s using a hawala.”

  He laughed now and held me. “As soon as it comes I’ll see Juniad and make all the arrangements for you to leave. Today’s Wednesday. I think it will take two or three days for the money to reach here.” We didn’t need to check the calendar. “So it could be here Friday or Saturday.”

  “That’s very close. I’ll leave Saturday.”

  “If he has a full load. He won’t make a run until he does.”

  “Can’t he just take me?” I said in impatience.

  “The price will go through the roof of his old Land Rover.”

  “More than two thousand?”

  “It carries nine or ten, depending on how many he can squeeze in. So that makes around nine thousand for just you.” Jahan kept hold of me. “Even if you had that much I don’t want you to travel alone with him. There’ll be safety in numbers.”

  “I know. You come with me, there’s enough for—”

  “No, I can’t,” he said, shaking his
stubborn head. “I won’t let the team down, I have to play in the match. They will never forgive me for breaking my word.” Then he added with a sneer, “I’m not a Shaheen who doesn’t honor his word.”

  “You’re right.” I sighed. He was as obstinate as me and I knew I couldn’t change his mind. I had to respect his decision. “I have to get out by Saturday night. Friday night, if we have the money. Go and talk to him and bargain. Offer him one, and if he pushes, make it two. Once I’m in Pakistan we’ll meet and go to Delhi.”

  He looked past me, upstairs to Mother’s room. “But you can’t leave until . . .”

  “I have to, as the alternative is . . . ,” I replied. “I only pray she will forgive me.”

  I slept in my cell as if I was on a feather bed in an open room.

  The next day too I remained at home while Jahan went to practice with the team. I was in a state of enchantment, and in a state of utter despair, remembering every word of my conversation with Veer. I wiped my eyes with my shirtsleeves. I had to occupy myself. I dusted, I cleaned, I sat dreamily staring at the walls that couldn’t contain my imagination as I flew across boundaries to meet Veer.

  I made a vegetable soup for Mother, and when she woke I sat beside her to spoon in the hot nourishment. When she tried to hide a grimace, I put it away and prepared the injection. Each time her flesh grew even more papery and her veins were faded blue trickles flowing through a parched landscape.

  “No cricket again today?” she whispered.

  “I just wanted to spend time with you. Dr. Hanifa will be in later to see you. She says you’re fine . . .”

  “Liar,” Mother said gently. “I know it’s nearer. I dream a lot now. I dream of your father mostly and I know he’s waiting for me to join him.”

  “Don’t say that,” I cried and held her in my arms, as light as a small child, as fragile as crystal. “I can’t live without you.”

  “You’ll learn to live your life, even as Jahan will too, without me.” She smiled and looked into my eyes. “It would happen sooner or later.” She pulled me closer. “You must leave me, Hanifa will care for me.”

  “We’ll see . . .”

  “Then you must marry Shaheen, have your own children, and live a happy life. And look after Jahan.”

  “As my own child,” I said and kept crying, rocking her gently in my arms.

  She pushed away and held me at arm’s length. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Your eyes have a glow that I haven’t seen for a long time.”

  These were her final days and hours. I could not lie to her. I believed the last words spoken were carried into the next world, where the person had all the leisure to examine them and, if they were false, send out their displeasure to haunt the liar.

  “You must tell me.”

  “Shaheen married another girl in America.”

  “Oh god.” Her face crumpled. “How could he do that, he was committed . . . ?” She pushed away so the light touched my face. “Why the glow then? You should be weeping.”

  “I had a . . . friend in Delhi.” I hurried on, “He called me yesterday.”

  “A friend?” Now she frowned. “The boy you were seeing in Delhi?”

  “You knew?”

  “I knew that radiance—a woman can tell when another woman is in love. You had it many evenings when you came home from college and after all those afternoon films. And then on your final day you were darker than night. I didn’t ask his name. I knew you would behave. And you had the right to fall in love. We cannot control our emotions when the unexpected happens. And when you never spoke of him, I knew you had refused to marry him. But the more you postponed your engagement to Shaheen, the more I knew you still loved the man. What’s his name? This mysterious ghost who has haunted my daughter’s life.”

  “Veer.”

  She nodded understandingly. “Your father would never have given permission. He would have sent you back to Kabul if he had known.”

  “Would you have?”

  She let me wait for her answer as she thought about it. “Yes, if only for your own safety I would have honored your father’s decision. We have so many divisions among us, why add religion to break our backs? So much evil has slipped into religion and we’ll never be rid of it.” She reached for my hand and I held on just so I could feel its warmth. “Let me hold you, my child.” I lay down beside her, my head in the crook of her arm, a child snuggled in for comfort. “I wish I had met him. He has held on to his love for you all these years.”

  I smiled in her embrace.

  “I know you love this Veer. Go to him.” She shook her head in finality. “But you cannot live in this country with him.”

  “I know.”

  I lay with her while the morphine took effect and she dozed off. I rose when I heard the front door open and sneaked out to look. It was Jahan, and he looked somber as he climbed the stairs.

  “Why aren’t you practicing?”

  “I went there but couldn’t find the team. Then I went to Parwaaze’s.” He took a breath. “Droon visited Parwaaze and the team early this morning.”

  “Oh god!” My hand flew to my mouth. “Are they alive?”

  The Cricketers

  AN HOUR LATER, THEY CAME TO OUR HOUSE. PARWAAZE had a swollen cheek and Qubad nursed a badly cut lip and was still sucking on the blood. When I reached out in apology to caress their faces, they pulled away in pain. Their clothes were muddied and the front of their shalwars were spotted with blood. Jahan brought in cups of tea and Parwaaze drank his quickly, while Qubad winced at the heat.

  “They woke me up from a deep sleep while it was still dark and one of them dragged me out and slammed me against the wall.” Parwaaze spoke, slurring the words slightly as his tongue worried that cheek. “Another Talib hit me in the mouth and then punched his gun butt into my stomach. I swear I didn’t know where I was: asleep and dreaming of pain, or wide awake and suffering it. There was a third man, grinning widely. He grabbed my hair and dragged me to my feet.

  “ ‘Where is your cousin Rukhsana?’ ” he asked.

  “I was too surprised to answer immediately and the gun butt hit me in the lower back. Even in such pain, I knew I had to spin lies. I would not be responsible for your fate.”

  “I’m so sorry, so sorry that I have caused you such pain,” I said, tears coming to my eyes.

  “I knew that behind these men was Wahidi. I remembered your words—‘Cricket is drama, it is theater, it is the conflict between one man and eleven others, and that one has to defeat the enemy surrounding him on the field. It is about the two warriors battling it out between themselves.’ I was a warrior now.

  “I told him, ‘She went away to Mazar-e-Sharif with her uncle and . . .’

  “He called me a liar and then took my face between his fingers and squeezed, nearly breaking my jaw. He said, ‘You will be imprisoned in Pul-e-Charkhi, tortured and raped, if you don’t tell us.’

  “When I didn’t show I was frightened, he went on, ‘I am Droon, Wahidi’s brother, and I promise I have not come to harm her. My brother only wishes to talk to her, to see if she will consider his proposal. Just tell us where she is and nothing will happen to you or to her.’

  “ ‘Mazar,’ I told him again.

  “Droon gestured to a fighter and the man smiled as he pressed the muzzle hard against my head.

  “ ‘When I lift this finger,’ and Droon shook his finger under my nose, ‘he will pull the trigger.’

  “I was scared that would happen, but I managed a smile.

  “ ‘He’s mad,’ the fighter said.

  “ ‘Why do you smile?’ Droon demanded.

  “ ‘I’ll be captain of my cricket team and teach everyone how to play the game in paradise,’ I said.

  “ ‘He is mad.’

  “ ‘I heard about your wanting to learn this game and that you practice at the university.’

  “ ‘Who told you?’ I asked, even though I knew the answer.

  “ ‘A fri
end. You entered your team in the match next week?’

  “ ‘Yes. There will be a foreign observer and he will learn that we wanted to play, but you killed the captain so that the other team could win. Everyone will know about that when I am killed.’

  “ ‘And how did you learn to play the game?’

  “ ‘From books.’ I pointed to the book on the floor. He picked it up and slipped it into his shalwar pocket.

  “ ‘And you are a team of cousins.’

  “ ‘Yes.’

  “ ‘They won’t be as mad as this one,’ Droon said to his fighters. ‘They will tell us where she is. Search the house.’

  “They searched and of course didn’t find you. Then he dragged me out of the room, past my father and my brother. My father stood between them and the door.

  “ ‘What has my son done?’ Father demanded.

  “ ‘We are looking for Rukhsana. Do you know where she is?’

  “ ‘No,’ my father said.

  “Droon gestured. His fighter raised the automatic and pointed it at Father’s chest.

  “ ‘Is that how you expect respect? My son says he does not know. He is not a liar.’

  “ ‘You’re all liars. I will return and your family will see ruin.’

  “ ‘Ruin!’ Father said. ‘Your government has already ruined me. Your men destroyed my business. What worse can you do to me?’

  “As they took me outside, Father placed his palm against his heart in farewell. They dragged me to the waiting Land Cruiser and threw me into the back like a sack of grain, and that really hurt.”

  “I am so sorry,” I said to Parwaaze. “All because of me.”

  “Also cricket,” he replied, trying a smile and wincing.