Chapter 6

Lahore, Pakistan.
Months before the bombing


Rashid emerged from the air conditioned chill of the flight, felt the warm air of Lahore envelope him. The world appeared to him as if through a scrim. The blazing afternoon light only revealed the ugly surfaces around him, the cracked asphalt of the runway, the crumbling concrete surrounding the airport. The light did not penetrate to reveal anything of the city he had loved. He urged the taxi driver to speed him to his mother. This was no longer his country. Without his father to bless him on his arrival, this was now barren land.

Rashid paid the driver with an American $20 bill. The driver raised his eyebrows in surprise, held the bill to his heart in gratitude. Rashid, oblivious to his overpayment, looked to the locked gate, the silent courtyard of his father’s house. As the taxi returned down the gravel road, Rashid banged the metal latch against the gate, called out for his mother.

After a few moments, his mother’s elder sister, his apa walked to him, wordlessly opened the gate. Instinctively, he reached down to touch her feet in respect, she set her hand on his head in blessing.

“Come, beta,” she said, “your mother’s waiting.”

He followed his aunt, the white salwar kameeze that marked her grief hung limp around her flesh. No breeze animated her tunic, nor the sheer cloth of the chunni covering her head. Rashid stepped out of his shoes on the steps before the door, left his single bag in the courtyard.

As his eyes adjusted to the shadows inside he did not recognize the woman hunched on the charpoy before him. Without the bustle of the family around her, in the absence of her husband, Rashid saw his mother for the first time as a little old woman.

Rashid’s apa said quietly, “Didi, Rashid puta is here.”

His mother lifted her head. Her steely gaze caught him off guard, he stood momentarily paralyzed. After a long moment she inhaled, lifting her shoulders, raising her chin until she appeared again as he had known her, her spine erect with pride and power.

She nodded her head, motioned with her hand for him to come to her. He obeyed quickly, touching her feet to seek her blessing. He then lifted his arms to embrace her, to offer her comfort. But before he could draw himself close, she reached out for his shoulders. She held him at arm’s length.

“It’s good you’ve come, you are the one we’re depending on.”

“Yes, Mummyji, I came as fast as I could. I’ll stay as long as you need me. Tell me, what do you need?”

She let her hands drop into her lap. “You are the one, you will take action to relieve our grief. We will be avenged.”

He had known she would remind him of his responsibility. But the smell of his American wife still lingered in his clothes, the image of his American sons hovered in his mind. They would discuss it later. There was much to know before he had to face it.

“Where are my brothers?” he asked to change the topic.

“Your brothers have gone to be with Shoukart’s father to bury the bodies.”

“Bodies?” Rashid held his hand to his breast. “How many were killed?”

“At least a dozen, more were injured. Even Shoukart is gone, and the younger son’s bride. Not even a day together as husband and wife.”

“Shoukart is gone?” Rashid raised himself to sit next to his mother. His apa came from the kitchen carrying a tray with tea cups. Distractedly, Rashid reached out for the hot tea, thinking over the years he has spent with Shoukart. The same age as Rashid’s eldest brother, Riaz, Shoukart had often restrained Rashid from mischief. They had shared tea and snacks on countless occasions.

The house was eerily calm. “Where is everyone else?” he asked.

“I sent them to the masjid, the mosque to pray,” his mother said.

“So only you and apa are here? It’s not safe for you two women to be alone here, especially when people learn that Daddyji’s… not here.”

“It’s fine, I knew you were coming.” She reached out and patted his hand, looked in his eyes for a long time, as if searching for something, perhaps some trace of her husband, perhaps some strength on which she could draw. He held her gaze.

“Well, let’s not waste our time here, we need to go. I was waiting for you to travel.”

“Where?”

“To the Lak-e-Gar, to the Northwest Territories. I need to see for myself where our family was attacked.”