The Place of Shining Light

by Nazneen Sheikh

  He walked to the front of the truck, toward the driver’s-side door. He had taken only a few steps when he stopped in his tracks. A woman had materialized on the road like a ghost. A bundle of twigs wrapped in twine perched on her head, and a cotton bag was slung over one shoulder. Her bare face was surrounded by matted hair, and her lips and cheeks were cracked and chapped red. She had a curious Asian tilt to her eyes, which made Adeel think that her features were perhaps Balti. Her body was slender, despite the faded maroon cotton tunic she had wrapped around herself. She had to be the woman who had asked for a ride. But how had she managed to reach him so quickly? She had an athletic appearance and probably the stamina of the people from the mountain communities.

  “Move, I have to open the door,” Adeel said curtly, avoiding further eye contact.

  “Please, give me a ride. My feet hurt,” she said.

  “No. Move!” Adeel said, unable now to avoid looking down.

  The woman’s feet were caked with dried blood and dirt, and rested on a thin plastic sole across which she had tied strips of cloth. His heart sank; he knew she had walked for miles, probably stopping regularly to retie the cloth strips. He steeled himself, eased past her, and climbed into the truck. He bent forward to turn on the ignition. She spoke again.

  “Please.”

  Her entreaty felt like a blade cutting through him. Adeel glanced up, allowing himself a quick look. She must be a local woman who had gone out to collect firewood, he though, yet something was wrong about her appearance. It was not just her features; the style of slinging her bag over only one shoulder was not like the women of this region. Perhaps she was from the Gilgit Valley. He paused, wanting for some inexplicable reason to shed the unease he felt at refusing to assist.

  “If you wait by the side of the road the next bus will take you. I cannot,” he said gruffly, holding out a five-hundred-rupee note.

  She drew closer to the open window and spat furiously on the bill, which Adeel had allowed to slip from his fingers as he was certain she would grab it. The currency sank to the ground. Her nostrils quivered and a tear rolled down the side of her face. Her response paralyzed him for a moment; he slid his foot off the clutch.

  “Get in. Take that bundle off your head and do not talk to me.”

  She got into the truck and sat next to him. Her hand, slim with dirt embedded in the nails, curled on top of the bundle of twigs on her lap. The smell of her unwashed garments and a sense of apprehension engulfed Adeel — by picking her up, he had violated his own personal security rules.

  “Where is your home?” he asked casually.

  “It is wherever I find shelter.”

  “Where is your family? You must have a husband.”

  “My husband threw me away and my family lives far away in Skardu,” she replied.

  Adeel’s thoughts raced furiously. He knew he had to leave her somewhere, but the hairpin bends had already appeared in the road. He would have to wait for some roadside dwelling or food shop to appear so he could drop her off before they reached the Kaghan Valley’s main town. Their trip would take at least an hour and a half. Adeel avoided looking at her, but he was sure now that she was a Balti, hailing from a region where a few bloodlines mingled together, including Tibetan. It explained her pale skin and straight black hair.

  Her marriage situation was the same as thousands of other women in Pakistan, thought Adeel, yet she had spit on a sum of money that could feed her for a day or put new sandals on her feet.

  “I can sleep in the back of the truck,” she said, breaking the silence.

  Adeel did not respond.

  “I am going to drop you off in five minutes,” he said coldly.

  “I have no place to go.”

  “So you are like me.” The words leapt out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

  “I can cook for you,” she said.

  He glanced at her sideways. In the planes of her sunburned face he thought he saw the face of the marble statue travelling in the back of the truck. Adeel sensed the hazard of his present situation and knew he had to make a decision. She too was in a precarious situation, he reasoned. Perhaps he could use her as camouflage.

  Adeel drove faster, as though speed would obliterate the necessity to make a decision.

  The signposts for the hamlet of Kaghan began to appear, accompanied by fading billboards advertising trout fishing and whitewater rapids. Even though a sprinkling of tiny hotels had been added in the past few years, foreign tourists visited the area infrequently.

  Adeel knew that before he stopped the truck, the woman’s face would have to be concealed.

  “Do you have something to cover yourself with?” He made a circular motion with his finger close to her face.

  She took her hands off the twig bundle and tugged at her throat, pulling a piece of black cloth from her clothing. As she wrapped the scarf around her head, he saw a fringe of silver sequins at one end.

  “No! No!” Adeel shouted. “You have to cover your head with something simple, like a chadder!”

  She lifted her chin and gave him a defiant look. “You are not my husband!”

  Adeel slammed on the brakes and the truck shuddered to a halt. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it very slowly. After a long drag he turned to her. Her profile was stern despite the line of sequins spread across her forehead. The bundle of twigs was on her lap again, but her hand was no longer relaxed; it was clenched around some branches. He could see a fine line of veins through her pale skin. He sensed her fear. He was frightened himself, but decided to take a chance.

  “Look, I am a man who has to hide for a while. Travelling with me is very dangerous. You need to carry on with your journey. I cannot help you.”

  She turned toward him, allowing her eyes to search his face.

  “I can show you where to hide. We can cross the Babusar Pass into Gilgit.”

  Adeel closed his eyes; he could see the map in his mind. There would not be enough fuel to make it that far. He’d have to stop in Kaghan. Even though it was June, huge blocks of ice still covered some of the roads. One could only know for sure that a road was open upon reaching it. He wondered if the woman, who claimed that she belonged to no one, might be his greatest ally in his current situation.

  “You have to listen to me if you want to stay in the truck. We cannot be seen closely by anyone along the way. Do you understand?”

  She smiled. He was dumbfounded. The smile ended in two perfect dimples. Merriment and youth shone from her slanted eyes. Adeel realized she could not be more than twenty-five years old. In spite of the grime that covered her, he felt a sudden attraction. He looked down at his fingers, embarrassed by his thoughts. His cigarette had burned down to the filter and he flung it out of the window, turning away from her to hide his confusion.

  “Can I have one?” she asked, gesturing to the pack lying on top of the dashboard.

  “You smoke?” He could not help smiling.

  “Yes.” She smiled back.

  “It’s not good for you,” Adeel said as he lit a cigarette, handed it to her, and started the truck.

  Dusk crept in stealthily, as did the first sign for the Kaghan bazaar. Adeel’s mission was to find a petrol station. The woman slid down farther on the seat and hid her face; she seemed to have grasped his desire for anonymity. He leaned over and grabbed the bundle of twigs from her lap and shoved them to the floor. When the truck rolled into the only petrol station, Adeel got out while she remained inside the truck, half concealed. There was a line of sturdy Jeeps ahead of them. The Jeeps carried local tourists up a treacherous seven-kilometre incline that ended at the legendary Saif-ul-maluk Lake. Snow-covered mountains ringed the lake. The underground springs and glaciers turned the waters the colour of jade. It was one of the most breathtaking sites in the entire area. Adeel knew the lake well and thought it was highly unlikely that the
woman in the truck had ever seen it. When the gas tank was full, he paid from his stack of dwindling currency. His next challenge would be to find them a place for the night.

  They drove on for ten minutes before Adeel found a room on the second floor of a shabby wooden hotel. He moved the truck to a back alley so he could get the woman up to the room without drawing too much attention.

  “Come with me,” Adeel said. “You’ll have to walk quickly. We will stay here for the night and leave at dawn.”

  She leaned down to collect her bundle of twigs.

  “No, leave them.”

  “How will we light a fire?” she asked.

  Adeel didn’t answer. “Follow me,” he said, as he raced up a dingy stairwell and reached the door of the room. She made a sound behind him.

  “Hurry up,” he said, and turned the key in the lock.

  “I will sleep outside,” she replied, refusing to budge.

  “No, you cannot be outside and neither can I.”

  Adeel turned around and grabbed her arm.

  She tried to pry off his hand, but she was no match for Adeel, who pulled her inside the room. He pushed her forward and locked the door. The shabby room had an electric heater and a wooden bed with a small table next to it. The woman leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. Adeel checked the small lavatory. It had a toilet, a cracked water basin, and a small bathing trough with a tap mounted over it. He turned and switched on the heater.

  Then he crouched down on the floor in front of the woman, making certain he wasn’t too close.

  “I am going to go buy some food. You can wash in the bathroom and then you can rest on the bed. But if you leave the room, you will be in trouble and will never ride in the truck again,” he explained.

  She remained silent, her face buried on her knees. He had no choice but to trust her. He rose, walked to the door, and locked it from the outside.

  The main street was lit by the charcoal braziers of food shops. His stomach rumbled, but before he could buy any food, he had another mission to complete. Most of the little shops carried woollen blankets, shawls, caps, and flimsy local sandals. He searched further until he came to a shop that sold sturdier fare. As he hunted through a pile of cheaply made local gym shoes, he tried to imagine the size of her feet, made a wild guess, and bought a pair of shoes and two pairs of woollen socks. He also bought a shawl of coarse brown wool. Finally, he picked up some food and returned to the hotel exhausted.

  Upon reaching the room, he placed the packages on the floor and inserted the key in the lock. He pushed the door to open it but felt resistance from inside.

  “It’s me,” he whispered. “Don’t push.”

  When he entered the room she was standing next to the bed. He turned the light on and the naked bulb overhead illuminated the room. Her appearance was astounding. Her straight, coal-black hair — still damp from washing — framed her face. Her hands and feet were clean.

  “I brought you some socks and shoes,” he said and held the items out to her.

  She looked at him warily but did not move. Her eyes were on the food wrapped in newspaper.

  “Okay, never mind the shoes. I know we’re both hungry,”

  Adeel sat on the edge of the sagging mattress and peeled away the paper from the food. She moved closer and sat on the floor. He handed her a long kebab and a hot naan. She waited, and only after he had taken his first bite did she began to eat. For a few minutes, they ate in silence. Finally, he stood up, crumpled the wrapper in his hands, and gestured toward the shoes.

  “Try them on. If they do not fit I can change them.”

  She extended a foot, pulling the shoes closer to her. Then she tried to push her foot into the shoe with the laces still fastened. He knelt down beside her, untied the shoelaces, and handed the shoes back. She thrust her foot into them, but he could not tell if they fit. She removed the shoes quickly and slipped a sock over her bruised foot before trying again. Her eyes widened and she looked at him.

  “It is good, but is this a shoe for a man?”

  “No. It is for outdoors. Women wear them too,” Adeel explained, amazed that he had gauged her foot size correctly.

  She closed her eyes for a moment and he felt a rush of pleasure. His emotions were confusing and that unsettled him. Adeel had sublimated his sexuality for the whole of his adult life, including his resistance to an arranged marriage. He’d always thought that if he were going to be attracted to a woman, it would be someone of his own social standing. His mother would not have it any other way. He’d certainly never imagined that he’d be attracted to the likes of this wild creature sitting on the floor in front of him.

  “You sleep on the bed. I will sleep on the floor,” he told her.

  She did not respond. Instead, she lay down on the floor against the wall, her back to him. The shoes were still on her feet.

  “You can’t sleep with your shoes on,” he said.

  When she didn’t reply, he picked up the woollen shawl and draped it across her body. He slipped out of his own shoes, sank onto the sagging mattress, then immediately got up again to switch off the overhead light.

  She sprang up immediately, looking panicked.

  “It’s all right,” Adeel said. “I can sleep with the light on.”

  He lay down on the bed and turned his back to her.

  FIVE

  SHER KHAN LIVED IN a warren of rooms above two local restaurants in Namak Mandi, a neighbourhood as old as Peshawar itself. Fortunes had been made by the restaurant owners who served the unending line of people that started to form at midday and lasted until late at night. Everyone wanted to taste the speciality: lamb marinated and grilled in salt. Most out-of-town visitors to Peshawar did not leave without sampling the dish. Sher Khan had traded the carpet business he’d once run for the food business; it was safer, and it was a perfect cover for all his activities. Members of the Taliban couldn’t be too careful.

  On this day, Sher Khan was awake before dawn. He sprang from his bed in the half-light, ready to tackle the assignment at hand: arrange the hunt for Khalid’s missing employee and property. He would not let his friend and old benefactor down.

  Sher Khan activated the phone he only used for tasks such as this. He dialed a number, disconnected after three rings, and repeated the exercise three times. It wasn’t long before a second phone rang. He answered immediately.

  “I want three this time, with the car we use. When that is settled, come here immediately.” Sher Khan hung up as soon as he was finished talking.

  He thought back on his conversation with Khalid. He had detected an element of stress in his friend’s voice. Sher Khan was a hunter by temperament and he could smell fear — even across a phone line from another city. Training groups of men for combat had enabled him to weed out the weak, those who might compromise a kill. The ability to snuff out an undeserving life with surprise and immediacy was his area of expertise. A corrupt government — or a disloyal army linked to an arrogant intelligence agency that used the police force as its personal lackeys — had to be reminded once in a while that there were men like Sher Khan willing to do what was necessary to cleanse Pakistan.

  This mission, though, was personal. When he found the thief who had troubled his friend, perhaps he would cut off both of his hands. Now, however, was time for prayer. He cleared his thoughts, performed his ablutions, and knelt on an oblong rug woven of the finest silk and wool threads. At the end of the prayer, he made a personal request to Allah, asking only for victory.

  Sher Khan walked down a flight of stairs to the storeroom of his restaurant. Sacks of flour and large canisters of salt and cooking oil lined the walls. He opened a sack of flour, thrust both hands deep inside the bag, and pulled out a large, clear plastic envelope filled with money. He dropped it casually into an empty jute bag that he looped around his wrist and then went back upstairs t
o have his breakfast on his front porch. The entire street would be asleep for another two hours.

  Sher Khan’s teenaged nephew brought him a tray of tea and food. The boy was an orphan who had been adopted by Sher Khan and was being educated at the local madrassah. The boy had a fine intelligence, but he preferred working with food, so Sher Khan permitted him to serve breakfast before he headed to school. The boy was like a young hawk that could be trained to soar to glory, he thought. Shortly after the boy’s mother had died, the police had shot his father. In retaliation, Sher Khan ordered an assault within twenty-four hours. When the corpses of the four slain police officers were presented to him, he felt the boy had been suitably avenged. The matter was settled.

  As he drank his second cup of tea, a police vehicle drove down the street, stopping right in front of Khan’s porch. The driver, a man named Nadir, jumped out, climbed the stairs to the porch, and bent low, clasping both of Sher Khan’s hands in greeting.

  “You will be looking for a man who is driving a truck with this licence plate. I want him captured and brought back with the vehicle,” Sher Khan said softly.

  The man wore a police uniform stolen from the Frontier Constabulary, a special arm of the military. He leaned forward, silently listening to Sher Khan’s instructions. Then he straightened up, took the stacks of currency Sher Khan extended to him, and headed back to the Jeep.