“Anarkali Bazaar,” Lahore, watercolor, 76x50cm (courtesy artist Saqib Akhtar).<\/figcaption><\/figure>\nThe Anarkali book market was busy, as it always was on Sundays at noon. Shopkeepers in brown kurtas covering large paunches stood in the shop entrances or lounged on charpoys, drinking tea, smoking bheedis and discussing politics. Women and children huddled in groups round the books, choosing which to buy. It was like any other Sunday.\u00a0 I had noticed him searching through the volumes laid out on the pavement, taking his time with each one. There was nothing special about him; foreigners often came to the market. He was of medium height, and his brown hair was flecked with grey. His clothes were casual \u2014 jeans, a red sweater, a striped scarf around his neck. I wondered where he was from. He gathered up a pile of books from the plastic sheet and began haggling with the seller. I was squatting on the pavement with my brush. I saw him cast a look in my direction, as though he sensed I was watching him. I covered my head with my scarf and carried on clearing the sidewalk of leaves.<\/p>\n
Each time I looked up he was observing me. I pretended to be busy but kept glancing at him until he finished buying the books. Then I picked up my brush and pan and went to sit under the old banyan at the end of the street. I saw him approaching.<\/p>\n
\u201cMay I please buy you a cup of tea?\u201d he asked, in surprisingly clear Urdu.\u00a0 \u201cMy name\u2019s Rob, and I\u2019d like to talk to you.\u201d He raised his arm. \u201cWe could go over there to the Tea House.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not that sort of woman.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI was going to have some tea myself, that\u2019s all. I didn\u2019t mean to trouble you.\u201d<\/p>\n
I\u2019m used to refusing invitations from all sorts of men.\u00a0 But this was the first time I\u2019d ever spoken to a foreigner \u2014 a white person \u2014 and I was curious.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy do you want to talk to me?\u201d<\/p>\n
He was walking away. \u201cNothing important,\u201d he called over his shoulder. \u201cForget it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWait,\u201d I said. \u201cGive me a minute.\u201d I hid my brush behind the tree, and followed him.<\/p>\n
\u201cOi chura, where do you think you\u2019re going?\u201d<\/p>\n
I turned to see Nazir, my supervisor, shouting at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s two o\u2019clock,\u201d I replied, pointing towards the clock tower opposite. \u201cI\u2019m off duty.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t think I didn\u2019t see you were late this morning.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you notice I was early yesterday?\u201d<\/p>\n
A couple of shopkeepers came out to see what the shouting was about.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou need to keep her in check,\u201d one of them told Nazir.<\/p>\n
I followed Rob to the Pak Tea House. As we entered, the waiter stopped me. \u201cWhat do you want?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s with me,\u201d Rob said. He led me to a table at the back and we sat down opposite each other.<\/p>\n
I had never been inside the Tea House before. On the walls there was only a row of black and white portraits. From the street it always looked so enticing, I\u2019d expected it to be much fancier.<\/p>\n
\u201cThose are Lahore\u2019s most famous writers,\u201d Rob said. \u201cThey used to come here to discuss their ideas. He pointed first to one photo, then another. \u201cLook, that\u2019s Manto. And that\u2019s the poet Faiz.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked down at my hands in my lap.<\/p>\n
\u201cPeople like me don\u2019t learn to read,\u201d I said. \u201cWe have no money for books.\u201d<\/p>\n
He didn\u2019t reply. The place was crowded, and the chatter from the other tables made the silence less awkward.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat would you like to eat?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know. Whatever you decide.\u201d<\/p>\n
He asked the waiter to bring a plate of biriyani and two cups of tea.<\/p>\n
The young men at the next table were smiling at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood catch,\u201d one of them said. \u201cThe gora looks like he has money.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPay no attention to them,\u201d Rob said.<\/p>\n
The food came, and he placed the plate in front of me.<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease, help yourself,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
I wouldn\u2019t normally let a stranger buy me food, but I was there of my own free will and I was hungry. I picked up the spoon.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo what did you want to talk about?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cRight,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ll get straight to the point. I\u2019m a visiting professor at the university here in Lahore.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere are you from?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLondon. But I\u2019ve been in Lahore about a year now. I\u2019m doing research into the Punjabi Christians, and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat kind of questions? How do you know I\u2019m a Christian?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI could be wrong, but most sweepers and cleaners in Lahore are.\u201d<\/p>\n
I put down my spoon and stood up. \u201cI must leave now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy? You haven\u2019t even told me your name.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve heard about you foreign journalists,\u201d I said. \u201cYou\u2019ll do an interview and take my photo, and the next minute I\u2019ll be in the newspapers, accused of blasphemy or saying something against the government.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019m not a journalist. Please stay, and at least have some tea.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sat down.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet\u2019s eat,\u201d he said. \u201cThe food\u2019s getting cold.\u201d<\/p>\n
We ate and drank in silence. When we\u2019d finished, he said, \u201cAllow me to explain.\u00a0 Do you remember the bombings of the All Saints Church in Peshawar in 2013, and the Roman Catholic Church in 2015?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow could we ever forget?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou see, my research is around those incidents. I\u2019m investigating what actually happened there and what led to the attacks.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m twenty years old,\u201d I said. \u201cI was an innocent girl then. And now, I work. I come to the market every morning, sweep the streets and go home. That\u2019s my life. I only know what I hear on the news, like everyone else. How could I know anything about a bombing?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course,\u201d he said. \u201cNot directly. My research involves talking to Christians from all backgrounds. I want to understand.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat makes you think I can help?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, it was your community that was targeted.\u201d<\/p>\n
He told me he would pay me for what he called \u201cthe interview.\u201d It was more than a month\u2019s wages.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s too risky,\u201d I said. \u201cI shouldn\u2019t have agreed to come here with you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll pay you double,\u201d he said. \u201cYou won\u2019t be in any danger, I promise. I don\u2019t need to know your real name.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sat looking around, my thoughts interrupted by laughter from the well-dressed women at the next table.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy family needs the money,\u201d I said. \u201cSo I\u2019ll do it. I just pray I can trust you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can,\u201d he said. \u201cThank you. Shall we meet here again, next Sunday at two?\u00a0 And how about I call you Anarkali?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you like,\u201d I said. \u201cBut only the one meeting.\u201d<\/p>\n
We fell into a pattern. After I\u2019d finished my shift I\u2019d make my way to a group of trees to the side of the Tea House, where he\u2019d be waiting for me. We\u2019d sit at the same table, and he would order tea and food. Then he\u2019d take out his notebook. Initially his questions were broad: where was I born, where did I live, how often did I go to church?\u00a0 Then they became more probing: which church did I attend, who was the pastor, how big was the congregation? Was I, or my family, involved in any church activities? Did we receive any assistance from the church?<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t think I should tell you,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI simply want to understand,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019m a Christian myself, a Catholic.\u201d<\/p>\n
After our fourth meeting, I took him to my church and introduced him to Father Stephen. I explained Rob was a visiting professor from the UK doing research at the local university.<\/p>\n
\u201cLeave the past alone,\u201d Father Stephen said, wiping the sweat from the back of his neck with his handkerchief. \u201cWhat happened was God\u2019s will.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rob persisted. Why did Father Stephen think those particular churches were targeted? Did he suspect insider help?<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re a firangi,\u201d Father Stephen said. \u201cForeigners can\u2019t understand.\u201d He shook his handkerchief at me. \u201cAnd you stay away from that business, too.\u201d<\/p>\n
Afterwards, I told Rob, \u201cI\u2019ve helped you all I can. I should be free to go.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve been a huge help,\u201d he said, handing me an envelope. \u201cInside you\u2019ll find what I owe you and something extra.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019d better go then.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCould we meet next Sunday?\u201d he said. \u201cNo questions, just for tea.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause I like talking to you.\u201d<\/p>\n
We continued to meet every week at the Pak Tea House. Then one Sunday, after a walk in Lawrence Gardens, Rob said he needed to pick up some books from his flat before he went to work. He led me to an alley just behind Badshahi Masjid, and as we reached the entrance to his building, it began to rain.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll wait for you here,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll get soaked,\u201d he said. \u201cCome on in.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, I\u2019m fine, really.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t be silly, Anarkali. I won\u2019t eat you.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rob\u2019s flat was large, with separate rooms for sleeping, cooking, watching television and reading. He showed me around and pointed out all the different \u201ctreasures\u201d he\u2019d discovered in the old city; antique furniture, and books.<\/p>\n
\u201cHave you read all of these?\u201d I asked, looking along the shelves which lined two walls of the living room.<\/p>\n
\u201cAlmost.\u201d He took my hand and looked down at my dirty, broken finger nails.\u00a0 I pulled away.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t have to sweep the streets anymore, Anarkali.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve given me enough already,\u201d I said, \u201cand helped my family.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cStay here with me. I could teach you to read.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\n <\/p>\n
Rob opened his eyes and turned his head towards me.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnarkali,\u201d he said softly. \u201cWhat will happen when you go away?\u201d He reached out his arm and pulled the pins from my hair so that it fell around my shoulders. Please, lie down with me one last time.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was so sure you\u2019d never leave me. I tried to give you everything.\u201d He switched on the lamp, casting a dull glow over the room and on to his face, making it appear younger and more open. In that moment, I felt I could believe anything he said, just like a year ago.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere\u2019s Jameel?\u201d I said. \u201cWe have to find him?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYour hair smells of roses,\u201d Rob said. \u201cPlease stay with me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not right,\u201d I said, as I got up and went into the living room<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\n <\/p>\n
I\u2019d known Jameel for three months. Rob brought him to the flat one evening, and after introducing us, went out to a meeting.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll leave you in Anarkali\u2019s safe hands,\u201d he said, gesturing to Jameel to sit down in the armchair. \u201cMake yourself comfortable. I\u2019ll see you later.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnarkali,\u2019 Jameel said. \u201cThat\u2019s an interesting name.\u201d He was tall and athletic looking.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll make some tea,\u201d I said, and went into the kitchen.<\/p>\n
When I returned, Jameel was leaning back, seeming at ease. I sat down on the sofa and poured the tea.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think you know,\u201d he said, scratching his dark stubble. \u201cI\u2019m working with Rob on his research.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, he told me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut what I like to do most is study poetry.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know much about it,\u201d I said. \u201cRob pointed out a photo in the Pak Tea House, of Faiz I think.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s the finest.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRob\u2019s taught me to read in Urdu a little,\u201d I said. \u201cBut I\u2019m not up to poetry yet, and he\u2019s always busy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t have to read it,\u201d Jameel said. \u201cYou just have to hear it, and it will stay in your mind. Listen.<\/p>\n
Surud-e -shabana- Nim shab, chand, khud faramoshi
\n<\/em>Midnight, the moon and self-forgetfulness
\n<\/em>The past and present are faded; afar,
\n<\/em>A supplication shapes the stillness,
\n<\/em>Dimmed is the sad assembly of stars.
\n<\/em>Silence wraps all \u2026\u2019<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cDo you really think I could learn to recite it?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan you teach me?\u201d<\/p>\n
When Rob came back, Jameel got up straight away.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019d better be going, Prof,\u201d he said. \u201cThank you for putting up with me, Anarkali.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did you talk about?\u201d Rob asked, after Jameel had left.<\/p>\n
\u201cPoetry mostly,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cAh, yes. Jameel\u2019s a dreamer. I\u2019m glad you had a good evening.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow was your meeting,\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cLong. I think I\u2019ll go straight to bed.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\n <\/p>\n
The hours passed, and there was still no word from Jameel. Rob came into the living room, where I was sitting on the sofa.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you speak to Jameel at all today?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. The last time was a few days ago, when he told me your plans. He said you\u2019d be moving out today and we should have dinner together.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe wants to marry me,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cHis family will never accept you, Anarkali, they\u2019re very strict Muslims.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJameel doesn\u2019t care about that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHis father owns a textile business, he\u2019s the only son. They\u2019ve probably arranged for a suitable girl for him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJameel says we will be happy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course you will.\u201d<\/p>\n
I checked my phone. \u201cWhy hasn\u2019t he sent a message?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI told you. I haven\u2019t been in touch with him today.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019d never be this late without letting us know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t worry, he\u2019ll come.\u201d<\/p>\n
I went to the window and drew back the curtain. Through the thick mist, the yellow street lights appeared blurry. In the alley, figures disappeared through narrow doorways.<\/p>\n
\u201cI wish I were Jameel,\u201d Rob said quietly.<\/p>\n
I turned from the window. \u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe has youth.\u201d He picked up his notebook and pen from the coffee table and sat down. \u201cAnd now he has you.\u201d<\/p>\n
There was a knock at the door.<\/p>\n
\u201cThank god,\u201d I said. I hurried to open it, brushing against a vase of wilting gladioli, scattering dried orange petals on to the floor.<\/p>\n
I was faced by a tall, thick set man with a grey beard.<\/p>\n
\u201cAsaalam alaiykum,\u201d he greeted me. \u201cI\u2019m from the Central Police Station.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat does he want?\u201d Rob called out.<\/p>\n
\u201cWho lives here?\u201d the policeman asked, looking past me.<\/p>\n
Rob came and stood beside me.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s going on?\u201d he said. \u201cWhy are you here?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m afraid I\u2019m going to have to ask you both to accompany me to the station.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not going,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m waiting for Jameel.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re both required.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat for?\u201d Rob said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m only following orders. I was sent by Inspector Khan to fetch whoever lives at this flat.\u201d He showed us the chit.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut what if Jameel comes?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s no use arguing,\u201d Rob said, putting on his shoes.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe have to go,\u201d the policeman said. \u201cNow.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rob could have given him a few thousand rupees to report that he had been to the address and found no one there. It would have given us time. But Rob, as he always insisted, would never do anything like that.<\/p>\n
The policeman pointed to my suitcases.\u00a0 \u201cDoes she live here?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe used to,\u201d Rob said.<\/p>\n
\n <\/p>\n
When I\u2019d first told my family I was moving in with Rob, they tried to change my mind, and my older sister Ruksana insisted on meeting him. I introduced her to him at the Tea House.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou see, I knew you\u2019d like him,\u201d I said afterwards.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t trust him,\u201d she said. \u201cHow can you be sure he\u2019ll divorce his wife?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s promised he will.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut does that mean anything? How do you know he\u2019s not taking advantage of you? This research could just be an excuse. He\u2019s running away from something.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe loves me,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cLove? What\u2019s he prepared to sacrifice to be with you?\u201d<\/p>\n
Whenever I asked Rob if he\u2019d heard from his wife, it was the same answer.<\/p>\n
\u201cThese things take time.\u201d<\/p>\n
I always knew when she telephoned because he would go into the bedroom and shut the door. Then when he came out he\u2019d give me a hug.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know I love you, Anarkali.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n <\/p>\n
At the station, we were taken straight to the Inspector\u2019s office.\u00a0 He was overweight, and looked morose.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m Inspector Khan,\u201d he said, stubbing his cigarette out in the full ashtray. He beckoned to the two chairs in front of him. \u201cPlease, sit.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m expecting one of my students at my flat,\u201d Rob said. \u201cSo if you don\u2019t mind, could we make this quick?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI would like to question both of you, separately,\u201d Khan said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re together,\u201d Rob said. \u201cAnd we have a right to know why you\u2019ve brought us here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow long have you two been married?\u201d Khan asked.<\/p>\n
I looked down and twisted the ends of my scarf between my fingers.<\/p>\n
\u201cI am married,\u201d Rob said. \u201cBut not to her. My wife\u2019s in the UK.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI see.\u201d Khan pointed his pen at me. \u201cThen who is she to you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s engaged to one of my students,\u201d Rob said. \u201cJameel, the one we were waiting for at the flat.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s your flat? And she\u2019s living there? Why?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s none of your business.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe asked your neighbors and they told us she\u2019s been with you for almost a year.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo you\u2019ve been spying on us?\u201d Rob said.<\/p>\n
Khan sat back and chewed the end of his pen. \u201cTell me Professor Saheb, how much do you pay her?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve no right to ask me that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can stop acting,\u201d Khan said to me. \u201cI recognize your type.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you implying?\u201d Rob said. \u201cShe\u2019s helping me with my research.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat kind of research?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you think, Inspector? Academic, obviously.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo she\u2019s living with you,\u201d Khan said, \u201cand she\u2019s engaged to your student?\u201d He tapped his pen on the desk. \u201cRather puzzling, wouldn\u2019t you agree?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cInspector Khan,\u201d Rob said. \u201cYou can see how distressing this is for her.\u00a0 Jameel\u2019s been missing for several hours.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cProfessor, I should tell you, our police force is well-qualified to handle missing persons. It is our specialty.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy cousin Zahid\u2019s never been found,\u201d I said. People went missing all the time, it was nothing new. Zahid was picked up and taken to the police station for questioning.\u00a0 When my uncle went there, he was informed Zahid had been released. I told myself it would be different for Jameel. He was not a Christian.<\/p>\n
\u201cProfessor,\u201d Khan continued. \u201cWhy did you both go for the same girl? \u00a0There\u2019s no shortage of temptation in Lahore.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI told you, Inspector, I\u2019m married \u2014 separated, actually. But we\u2019re going round in circles.\u201d Rob pushed back his chair and got up. \u201cWe\u2019ve got nothing more to say.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cKindly sit down,\u2019 Khan said. \u201cThis is serious and no one\u2019s going anywhere until I\u2019ve finished.\u201d He took a pack of cigarettes from the drawer and lit one. \u201cNow, Professor, I\u2019m told you\u2019re very well connected, so maybe you can tell me what\u2019s happened to your student?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you\u2019re suggesting \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease answer the question.\u201d Khan pushed his ashtray aside.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey were meant to join me at Koko\u2019s for tea,\u201d Rob said. \u201cWhen they didn\u2019t show up, I went home and found her waiting on her own. Neither of us has heard from Jameel.\u201d<\/p>\n
Khan turned to me. \u201cAre you sure you don\u2019t know where he is?\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\n <\/p>\n
Jameel often came to the flat in the evenings to drop off papers or show his work to Rob.\u00a0 Sometimes he\u2019d come before Rob was back, and he and I would talk. Then Rob would persuade him to stay for supper. The three of us would listen to music during the meal, then they\u2019d discuss their research.<\/p>\n
One evening, Rob and Jameel argued.<\/p>\n
\u201cI want to meet Father Stephen,\u201d Jameel said. \u201cI want talk to him myself.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s not a good idea,\u201d Rob said. \u201cHe already feels I\u2019ve asked him too much.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust once,\u201d Jameel said.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo Jameel, I won\u2019t allow it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI won\u2019t push him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI said no. Your personal involvement would be unwise.\u201d<\/p>\n
The following day, Jameel phoned me from the library in the Lawrence Gardens, where he was studying.<\/p>\n
\u201cI finish in an hour. Would you like to meet for a walk?\u201d<\/p>\n
After that, we began seeing each other often. We would sit in the shade of the old banyan behind the library, where no one could see us. Jameel would read poems he\u2019d written for me, or something by Faiz.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a betrayal,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
Jameel pulled me on to the grass, lay down and rested his head on my lap.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s nobody\u2019s fault,\u201d he said. \u201cYou\u2019ll just have to explain to Rob, you hadn\u2019t planned on falling in love with me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s helping my family.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWith me you can have marriage and a future,\u201d Jameel said. \u201cRob can\u2019t offer you that.\u201d He stroked my cheek.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe can,\u201d I said.\u00a0 \u201cHe\u2019s promised. He just needs time to sort his divorce out.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s been saying that for months. He\u2019s a Catholic, remember.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s hard,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cLove\u2019s never easy. Faiz could tell you that. Listen.\u201d<\/p>\n
I rested my head against the banyan\u2019s trunk, trying to forget all but Jameel\u2019s voice, and the verse.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\n <\/p>\n
The policeman who had escorted us to the station came in with three cups of tea and a packet of biscuits. Khan tore off the wrapper, pushed a cup in front of me and offered me the packet. \u201cHelp yourself.\u201d I shook my head.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou haven\u2019t told us why we\u2019re here,\u201d Rob said.<\/p>\n
Khan crammed his mouth with biscuits. His phone rang and he ignored it.<\/p>\n
\u201cI want to know where Jameel is,\u201d Rob said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat makes you think I know, Professor?\u201d Khan replied.<\/p>\n
\u201cSomething\u2019s happened to him, hasn\u2019t it?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
Khan looked straight at me. \u201cTell me where he is.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe knows nothing,\u201d Rob said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy aren\u2019t they telling us what happened?\u201d I said to Rob.<\/p>\n
Khan looked at me.\u201dWhat\u2019s her name, Professor?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnarkali,\u201d Rob said. \u201cThat\u2019s all I know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd what was Anarkali<\/em> doing before she started helping you with your so-called research?\u201d<\/p>\n\u201cWhat are you accusing me of, Inspector?\u201d Rob said. \u201cWhatever it is, it won\u2019t work.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJameel was seen near Bhatti Gate at twelve thirty today,\u201d Khan said. \u201cIf you know anything, you\u2019d better come clean.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t be ridiculous,\u201d Rob said. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you tell us what\u2019s happened?\u201d<\/p>\n
Khan leaned forward in his chair. \u201cVery well,\u201d he said. \u201cBut it\u2019s not what you want to hear. He was found in an alley near your block. He\u2019d been stabbed. I\u2019m afraid the ambulance arrived too late.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at the chipped cup in front of me. \u201cJameel,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you know who did it?\u201d Khan asked Rob.<\/p>\n
Rob put his head in his hands. \u201cI tried to stop him getting mixed up in the whole church business. I told him, stick to your research.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf I may speak frankly,\u201d Khan said. \u201cWe\u2019ve had our eye on him for a while now, and he had it coming. Those church bombing incidents, Professor, you should have left them alone. Your academic investigations are actually state security matters. And now you see the consequences of your meddling. You firangi never seem to understand.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEnough,\u201d Rob said, raising his hand. \u201cMay god protect us from the guilty.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe guilty, Professor?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJameel was, in his own way,\u201d Rob said. \u201cIt\u2019s you who don\u2019t understand.\u00a0 Everything was mixed up in his head, he thought he had uncovered a conspiracy in the church.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo one\u2019s innocent,\u201d Khan said. \u201cThat will be enough for now, but we may need to talk to you again. You are free to go, but first, can I ask you to accompany me to the hospital to identify the body?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI must see him,\u201d I said. The only thing going through my mind was Jameel\u2019s voice reciting Faiz. If Jameel was really dead, was it my fault? I had warned him to stay away. Could I have done more?<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, Inspector,\u201d Rob said. \u201cThere\u2019s no point in upsetting ourselves any further.\u00a0 I assume you\u2019ll be informing Jameel\u2019s family.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\n <\/p>\n
A month earlier, Jameel and I had met in the Lawrence Gardens. We sat on a bench and Jameel told me he\u2019d been to see Father Stephen.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut Rob warned you not to,\u201d I said. \u201cYou mustn\u2019t keep going back and asking questions. You can\u2019t trust Father Stephen \u2014 or anybody.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow can I keep quiet about what I know?\u201d<\/p>\n
I rested my head on his shoulder. \u201cDon\u2019t believe everything you hear.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy would Father Stephen lie to me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d I said. \u201cBut please don\u2019t see him again. Leave Rob to ask the questions.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut the victims\u2019 families, they deserve answers.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy father always says there are many truths, Jameel.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut what if it happened again, and you were in church that day?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s nothing you can do.\u201d<\/p>\n
In the west, the sky had turned a deep orange with streaks of black. Kites circled above us. We walked around the gardens, and stopped beneath the canopy of my favorite tree. We looked up through the leaves at the sun filtering down. Then we bought roasted peanuts and returned to our bench to watch the moon rising from behind the clouds.<\/p>\n
Jameel held me close and whispered,<\/p>\n
\u201cSurud-e -shabana- Nim shab, chand, khud faramoshi,
\n<\/em>Midnight, the moon and self-forgetfulness.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\nA few days later, Father Stephen had phoned me.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou fool, what have you got yourself into?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know what you mean,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
“Do you realize the trouble I took to secure that patch of pavement in the market for your family? I had to beg my friend at the government office for it. But you showed no gratitude. You gave it up for a gora. You didn\u2019t care, you thought you were above sweeping leaves. You were told to keep him away. But did you listen?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease, Father,\u201d I said. \u201cHe\u2019s a Catholic.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFirst him, then his student, pestering me with questions. Do you think life\u2019s a game?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve done nothing wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOne minute you\u2019re living with a gora, the next you\u2019re messing with a Musla, bringing shame to the church. There\u2019s a special name for besharam women like you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s going to marry me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat remains to be seen,\u201d Father Stephen said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI haven\u2019t committed any crime,\u201d I said. \u201cAnd neither has Jameel.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve no idea what you\u2019ve done.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\n <\/p>\n
Neither Rob nor I spoke when we got back from the Police Station.<\/p>\n
The next morning I rose early after a sleepless night, and was sitting on the sofa when he came into the living room, looking weary. He put his notepad and pencil down on the coffee table, then went to the door and picked up my suitcases.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can unpack these later, Anarkali.\u201d He took them into the bedroom.<\/p>\n
When he came back, I poured some cardamom tea into a cup and passed it to him.\u00a0 Then I cleared away the wilted and fading gladioli petals from the coffee table.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nThe Second, my cousin Zahid<\/h4>\n
\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nMy uncle was woken up by a banging on the door to his flat. He hadn\u2019t really been asleep, but just lying on his bed wondering about Zahid. He\u2019d checked every police station and hospital. Had the boy eloped? Had he fallen under Father Stephen\u2019s influence? The boy was a fool and \u00a0always getting into trouble.<\/p>\n
My uncle went to see who it was. It was his neighbor, Pawan Singh.<\/p>\n
\u201cSat Sri Akal,\u201d Pawan said, \u201cyou need to come with me.\u201d<\/p>\n
My uncle knew it had to be about Zahid. \u201cIs he dead?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not saying anything, just come with me.\u201d<\/p>\n
My uncle got dressed and followed Pawan to his house, where his wife answered the door.<\/p>\n
Pawan\u2019s father, Kharak Singh, was also there, sitting by the window, wearing a white kurta pajama and a blue turban. He was the high priest at Gurdwara Darbar Sahib in Karatarpur.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere\u2019s my son?\u201d my uncle said, looking around. \u201cIs Zahid here?\u201d<\/p>\n
Kharak stroked his beard. \u201cGive him the letter,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
Pawan passed my uncle the envelope which was lying on the side table.<\/p>\n
Father, <\/em><\/p>\nI\u2019m going after those bastards who bombed our churches. Father Stephen was right. This is Christ\u2019s work, if we don\u2019t stop them, who will?<\/em><\/p>\nThe police found me, and locked me up. I was there, when you came, I could hear you begging. I managed to escape, but I can\u2019t tell you where I am. Those fuckers want us to die, but they won\u2019t get me.<\/em><\/p>\nZahid<\/em><\/p>\nPawan\u2019s wife called from the kitchen. \u201cI told Pawan not to let him stay at the gurudwara. But he wouldn\u2019t listen. It\u2019s not a place for mischief makers.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBe quiet,\u201d Pawan said. \u201cHelping a person in trouble is worship. Maybe that\u2019s something you\u2019ll never understand.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWorship which brings suffering in my own house?\u201d she said. \u201cWhat\u2019s there to understand?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere is he?\u201d my uncle said.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s nothing anyone can do,\u201d Kharak said, standing up. \u201cNothing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cExactly,\u201d Pawan\u2019s wife said coming to join them. \u201cNothing, that\u2019s what we should have done.\u201d She looked at my uncle, her husband, and her father-in-law. \u201cYou\u2019re all responsible.\u201d She pointed her chopping knife at my uncle. \u201cYou especially.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs he alive?\u201d my uncle said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWho else can we blame?\u201d she said. \u201cCan we leave Lahore? And where will we go? And what for? All because of a useless Christian boy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBus karo, enough,\u201d Kharak said. \u201cHumanity is one.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut she\u2019s right,\u201d Pawan said. \u201cIt\u2019s terrible.\u201d<\/p>\n
His father pulled his beard and sat down. \u201cA tragedy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy won\u2019t you tell me what\u2019s happened?\u201d my uncle said. \u201cYou\u2019re talking as if he\u2019s dead.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe got what he deserved,\u201d Pawan\u2019s wife said.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe was my best friend,\u201d Pawan said. \u201cBut he was confused.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s my son,\u201d my uncle said. \u201cHis heart\u2019s in the right place.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe,\u201d Kharak said, \u201cbut only what\u2019s up here, counts.\u201d He tapped the side of his forehead with his finger.<\/p>\n
\u201cTell that to your son,\u201d Pawan\u2019s wife said. \u201cMaybe next time he\u2019ll use his brain.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf a man can\u2019t assess the consequences of his actions,\u201d Kharak said, \u201che may as well be shot, because otherwise he\u2019ll end up causing more harm.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t know what you\u2019re saying,\u201d my uncle said. \u201cWho are you to decide?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s up to you,\u201d Kharak said. \u201cBut what\u2019s happened is very bad.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBad is an understatement,\u201d Pawan said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re forgetting,\u201d Pawan\u2019s wife said, \u201cbecause of him we could\u2019ve all been arrested.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut where is he?\u201d my uncle said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe cremated him yesterday,\u201d Kharak said. His voice was flat. \u201cZahid escaped from jail, the police were after him and he came to Pawan for help. They ended up at the gurdwara in Kartarpur. We hid Zahid in the kitchen of the langar hall, but the police managed to track him down and insisted on doing a search. Zahid heard them and fled through the window. We saw him running along the electric fence, down the Kartarpur Corridor, towards India. The security guards switched on the floodlights, and shouted over the loudspeaker for him to stop and surrender, but Zahid kept going, like a mad man, as if India was his salvation.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course they shot him,\u201d Pawan\u2019s wife said. \u201cThey couldn\u2019t know he wasn\u2019t a terrorist, but a raving lunatic.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe Indian army,\u201d Pawan was weeping. \u201cZahid reached the border gates, shouting he was Christ, he was innocent. But the Indian guards pointed their rifles at him and kept firing. I saw him falling, he fell backwards.\u201d<\/p>\n
My uncle said, \u201cJesus.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe police told us to keep quiet,\u201d Kharak said, \u201cto stop it exploding into a political fiasco with India. They said they\u2019d record him as a missing person.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pawan covered his head with his arms. \u201cHis face was a bloody mess, you couldn\u2019t even recognize him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe gave Pawan the letter the day he died,\u201d Kharak said.<\/p>\n
My uncle said, \u201cZahid didn\u2019t want to die.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nThe Third: Father Stephen<\/h4>\n
<\/p>\n
Father Stephen must have driven the truck gently along the road. He had found a black cloth mask lying on the seat and put it on. With the dark glasses he was sure no one would recognize him. He negotiated one corner, then another. No one would think of checking the church truck for a dead body. He\u2019d done many things he wasn\u2019t proud of, but this must be the worst. He\u2019d warned Jameel, but the boy was stupid, and hadn\u2019t listened. He kept asking interfering questions, taking notes, looking for evidence, about the church bombings. It had made those higherups nervous. Over the long bridge, he turned right and then along a bumpy road for half-an-hour. Then stopped at the farm house with a high metal gate.<\/p>\n
When he\u2019d parked the truck, the boys must have come out to meet him.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you know Bhatti Gate?\u201d Father Stephen must have asked.<\/p>\n
A boy was there with four pigeons in a cage. He drew nearer.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo one\u2019s free,\u201d Father Stephen said, looking at the birds.<\/p>\n
The boy told Father Stephen the names he\u2019d given the birds. \u201cMathew, Mark, Luke and John.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s your name?\u201d Father Stephen said.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet\u2019s set the birds free,\u201d the boy said. \u201cThey belong in the sky.\u201d The boy held up the cage.<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe the sky isn\u2019t safe. Maybe, when you\u2019re out there roaming the blue, you miss the safety of the cage.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo you\u2019re on the bird\u2019s side?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI suppose so.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen you\u2019re meaner than I thought. You should help the bird be a bird.\u201d The boy waited for Father Stephen to release the catch on the cage, but he didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
Father Stephen asked two of other boys to dump Jameel\u2019s body in an alley. \u201cBut check his pockets first.\u201d<\/p>\n
The boys dragged the body from the back of the truck and searched it. In one pocket they found a pistol, in another, a wallet and a dirty envelope. Inside was a chit of paper. Beloved Anarkali, <\/em><\/p>\nSurud-e -shabana- Nim shab, <\/em><\/p>\nChand, khud faramoshi<\/em><\/p>\nMidnight, the moon and self-forgetfulness\u2026<\/em><\/p>\nFather Stephen read the note and gave it to the boy. \u201cLook, because of a besharam \u00a0woman, a man is dead.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat should I do with it?\u201d The boy stared at the crumpled page in his hands.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet it be a reminder,\u201d Father Stephen said. \u201cThere\u2019s always a price to pay.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFather.\u201d The boy looked at Father Stephen with a serious face. \u201cThey told me about the bad things you do.\u201d<\/p>\n
The sound of crows, smell of diesel leaking from the truck and the stink from Jameel\u2019s body.<\/p>\n
Father Stephen said, \u201cHe died for nothing.\u201d He was remembering the stillness behind the church after the scuffle. He\u2019d tipped them off, they\u2019d been waiting for Jameel.<\/p>\n
It was getting dark.<\/p>\n
Father Stephen asked the boys to load the truck. They hoisted Jameel\u2019s body into it. \u00a0One of the boys started the truck and reversed. They would return in an hour without the body. A vendor selling pink candy floss would find it in the alley and alert the police.<\/p>\n
They found Father Stephen dead the next morning. He was lying on his bedroom floor. Jameel\u2019s pistol had been fired two rounds.<\/p>\n
The boy released the pigeons from the cage. Some days later, he managed to find me and give me Jameel\u2019s letter.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Fourth, my sister Ruksana<\/h4>\n
\u00a0<\/strong>The two of them were inside a chai kiosk.<\/p>\n\u201cWhen he warned Jameel,\u201d Rob leaned back in his chair. \u201cI wondered.\u201d<\/p>\n
He stopped, as tears welled up in Ruksana\u2019s eyes. \u201cPlease,\u201d she said, \u201ctell him to leave me alone.\u201d She wore a yellow salwar khameez with a white dupatta. Her hair was tied in a low pony tail. \u201cYou know, you can\u2019t just speak to people, and ask them anything. That\u2019s not how things work in Lahore.\u201d She wiped her eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cFather Stephen doesn\u2019t scare me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI hope you didn\u2019t tell my sister?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t worry,\u201d Rob said. \u201cAnarkali doesn\u2019t know we\u2019ve met.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cExcuse me,\u201d the chaiwallah, standing behind the counter, said. \u201cThere are rules. You can\u2019t sit here without ordering anything.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rob asked for two tandoori chais.<\/p>\n
Ruksana started getting up. \u201cI shouldn\u2019t have come. If Father Stephen knew I was talking to you\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll take care of it, Ruksana,\u201d Rob said. \u201cI\u2019ve promised Anarkali I\u2019ll help you all. Now, tell me exactly.\u201d<\/p>\n
She sat down. \u201cOne of the choir boys told me. He said he wasn\u2019t the first. There\u2019s a secret farmhouse where Father Stephen hides the boys\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFor Christ\u2019s sake.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her face was covered in tears. \u201cWhen Father Stephen found out I knew, he threatened to tear my body into pieces if I ever spoke about it.\u201d<\/p>\n
A man with thick arms appeared through the door. He was wearing a black kurta and black face mask.<\/p>\n
\u201cGet out of my way,\u201d he said to Rob. \u201cLet\u2019s go, kutiyaa.\u201d He grabbed Ruksana by the arm. \u201cYou were warned to keep your trap shut.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHey, what\u2019s the problem?\u201d the chaiwallah said.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet her go.\u201d Rob pushed the man\u2019s chest. \u201cWho the hell are you, anyway?\u201d<\/p>\n
The man released Ruksana. \u201cSid,\u201d he said. \u201cJust call me Sid.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t care who you are,\u201d the chaiwallah looked from Sid to Rob. \u201cWe don\u2019t allow fights in here. This is a respectable establishment.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll show you who\u2019s boss, chutiya.\u201d Sid grabbed the chaiwallah, and lifted him from the ground. At a half run, he went for the door and heaved him through.<\/p>\n
Rob went after Sid, took his shoulder and gave him a wallop. \u201cKeep away from her,\u201d Rob said.<\/p>\n
Sid bent over groaning. \u201cMadharchod. I won\u2019t leave you now.\u201d<\/p>\n
The chaiwallah returned. His face was bruised and cut from the pavement where he\u2019d landed. \u201cWho is she?\u201d he said to Rob. \u201cI\u2019m calling the police.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ruksana was crying.<\/p>\n
Sid pulled a gun from his pocket and waved it in the air. \u201cShut the fuck up, bhenchod.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPut down the gun,\u201d Rob said, his voice firm.<\/p>\n
Sid pointed it at him. \u201cFather said don\u2019t kill the gora, but I\u2019ve got nothing to lose.\u201d<\/p>\n
The chaiwallah was on his knees, blubbering. \u201cPlease, I\u2019ve done nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFucking chutiya.\u201d Sid pointed the gun at him and fired.<\/p>\n
Ruksana took the chance and gave the plastic table a hard push. It overturned, spilling tea everywhere. She dashed through the door into the street.<\/p>\n
Sid gave a shout.<\/p>\n
The first shot missed her shoulder. She turned to look back, her face lit up with anger, and a car coming at full speed knocked her over.<\/p>\n
She tumbled down with a loud cry, and fell heavily on her side. Rob ran to her.<\/p>\n
She died instantly.<\/p>\n
Sid ran. Down the first alley, onto the next street, a right turn, a left, onto another street, and another alley. He was young and fit so he made it away.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Fifth, Rob<\/h4>\n
This is how it must\u2019ve been.<\/p>\n
Rob couldn\u2019t sleep. He\u2019d tried to read, but couldn\u2019t make sense of anything. He sat on the sofa, where I\u2019d always sat with Jameel.<\/p>\n
Images floated around in his head, and he couldn\u2019t piece them together. He thought if he had some whisky, or took some medication, it would help him think clearly.<\/p>\n
He poured himself a glass of Jack Daniels.<\/p>\n
Persia\u2019s poet, Hakim Nizami, was renowned for his romantic tale of Layla and Majnun. Majnun was mad for Layla. But fate had destined to keep them apart, so Majnun roamed the forests, a tormented lover.<\/p>\n
When Layla\u2019s marriage was arranged to someone else, Majnun sent her a note:<\/p>\n
\u201cEven though you\u2019re with another, remember there\u2019s a man whose body, even if torn to pieces, would call only one name, and that\u2019s yours, Layla.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\nShe\u2019d replied with a letter.<\/p>\n
\u201cNow I have to endure spending my life with one man, when my soul belongs to another.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/em>Rob must have thought, that\u2019s how it is for me. Anarkali never loved me. Her soul always belonged to Jameel.<\/p>\nI\u2019m alone, like Majnun, wandering around lost, in the wilderness of Lahore.<\/p>\n
\u2022<\/p>\n
I found Rob slouched on the sofa, his head drooped.<\/p>\n
\u201cRob,\u201d I said, and shook his shoulder. \u201cWake up.\u201d<\/p>\n
Saliva dribbled from the side of his mouth. There was whisky leaking from a bottle near his feet, a glass about to slip from his limp fingers.<\/p>\n
On the coffee table was an empty box of Valium diazepam and a notepad with one line written in pencil.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s a man who will call only one name, Anarkali.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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