The War Within, page 17
Mr Kumar chuckled. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, nor did he speak. Jasper had caught onto what I meant. ‘Did you do that in the village too? I saw your carpet factory. They said you provided the patterns. If at any time you needed to get a message to Peshawar, to party headquarters—is that how you did it?’
Mr Kumar regarded Jasper for so long that I wondered if we’d gone too far. Maybe he’d never guessed that we knew as much as we did. Yet, I quietly added, ‘And we couldn’t work out any of it because the symbols and letters were in Persian?’
The great Pakhtun chuckled again, and I saw Jasper breathe easier.
‘I think you had a good try though, beti.’
‘So … it’s true?’
He stroked his beard while we waited.
‘Now, I cannot help it if I have lazy workers who make the rugs poorly in the refugee camps.’
I heard Dad’s low laugh, and I wanted to ask Mr Kumar again but he stood up.
‘May I have your permission to leave?’ He seemed to be asking me and I didn’t know whether to refuse the customary three times or not. I glanced at Jasper, but finally we just nodded dumbly, sorry to see the visit finished so soon.
After the ritualistic salaams and goodbyes, Mr Kumar turned before getting into his van and faced us, his arm crossed over his chest. ‘I want to thank you from my heart. Allah has been good to us—you have done more in my family and community than you know. I think, also, I can trust you to keep this … surmising of yours … a secret?’ I thought his smile at that moment was maddening—as though there was so much more to know. ‘You may certainly think what you will. I shall not deny you that—but more? I cannot tell you. Goodbye, children. Manda na bashi, may you never be tired.’
‘And may you live long,’ we responded. We stood there, watching his van drive out of the school gates. I felt as if he and his family were driving out of my life forever, and something special would always be missing.
‘Why do you think he wouldn’t tell us?’ I finally asked Jasper. ‘Too dangerous?’
‘It’s obvious,’ Jasper said. ‘If he told us, it wouldn’t be a secret any more.’ I guessed he was right. Nothing is straightforward in that part of the world. There is always the element of things not as they seem. Even what people say is not always true in the way people in the West understand truth.
Jasper turned to me then. ‘I saw your face when we got the wedding invite. I’m sorry. Guess it’d be too much to ask you to stay longer.’
‘I have to go now or it will be too difficult.’ I didn’t know how to explain it, but if I returned to Pakistan when I was older, I wanted it to be because I chose to, not because I couldn’t find my place in Australia and was always yearning for somewhere else.
‘I understand.’ He reached into his pocket. ‘I have something for you. I was going to give it to you tomorrow, but tomorrow will be difficult enough.’
‘Jas, why is it so hard to say goodbye? You’d think we’d be used to it, growing up the way we have, away from our home countries, but each time I say it, it gets worse. The older I get, the more things I know I’ll miss.’
‘There is one thing, Jaime—the world has a habit of getting smaller each time you cross it. People you never thought you’d see again, you do.’ He grinned, although he didn’t look happy. ‘You’ll be back. I can see you as an aid worker or a journalist, tramping around countries like Afghanistan with the UN.’
He gave me the box then. When I opened it, I was so moved I couldn’t speak. For a moment, I thought it was the one he sold to get the horses, and I took it out to try it on. How did he get the money to buy me a gold bangle?
‘Wait.’ He took it from me. ‘I want to put it on. It’s not the original one, but it’s truly close.’ He was pleased I liked it, and I was touched that he’d taken enough notice of my other one to have it copied in the bazaar. His eyes were bright and he took my hands in his, as he did that day in the village.
‘Jaime, will there be a friend for you when you get back? Not too many people would understand what you’ve just been through, let alone believe it.’ Didn’t I know it! There was so much I’d never told people in Australia for fear they’d never relate to it, or would think I was making it up. Yasmeen would understand. Not many of the kids from school would, though. My friend Danny would try. Then there was Blake. He’d said to make sure I came back.
‘Yes, I think there’s someone.’ By the way Jasper looked at me, he knew I was thinking of a guy.
‘I’m glad,’ was all he said and I believed he meant it. How could he be everything that I needed fifteen thousand kilometres away? I stood there staring at him, wanting to remember everything about him.
‘What about you? Will you be okay?’
‘Jaime, when Li died…’ my eyes watered; I found it hard to listen to that phrase. ‘… I knew that what I went through last year—not knowing if Dad was dead or alive—wasn’t for nothing. I know that’s no help to you, but Jaime, I love your hope, the way you don’t give up. Please don’t lose that when things don’t turn out.’ He looked embarrassed, as though he had no right to say that after the way he’d handled his own grief, but maybe that’s why he could. Maybe that’s why we go through anything: to pass on what we’ve learnt.
I smiled, even though my eyes were blurry. Now and then you find a friend who touches a place deep inside you and you know that in another time or place, something special would have happened. Jasper was like that but I knew this wasn’t the time. It was as though Jasper was following my thoughts, for the brightness in his eyes spilled out and ran down his cheek, yet he kept holding my hand. ‘This time we’ll write, okay?’ And he kissed me one last time.
As I stepped onto the tarmac the next day, I made sure I said goodbye. I turned around and waved to all of Pakistan: its magic and mystery, its fanaticism and friendliness, its cruelty and kindness, and—Liana. It must have looked weird but I had to do it. I was laying the ghosts to rest that had beckoned to me all through the last year in Australia, whispering, ‘Come back, you don’t belong there.’
I had made Pakistan into something in my memory that wasn’t altogether true and if I hadn’t gone back, I would never have known; I’d always be wishing and longing for someplace else. Now I can look ahead to the next step. Maybe it won’t always be exciting but I found that even a place like Pakistan only appears like that from ten thousand kilometres away.
Kate Sample wasn’t totally right; Pakistan hadn’t changed so much, but another thing had, and that was me. I could see two worlds more clearly now and I would try to adjust, accepting their differences while not losing mine, as I walked with thanks beyond their borders.
Acknowledgements
I wish to thank journalist Ken Packer for his invaluable help with this manuscript when I was learning how to write in point of view. Thank you to Rhiza Press who had faith in me to rewrite this adventure.
The words Sohail quotes are from Rumi, excerpt from “The War Inside,” translated by Kabir Helminski, from Love is a Stranger, © 1993 by Kabir Edmund Helminski. Reprinted by arrangement with The Permissions Company, Inc., on behalf of Shambhala Publications Inc., Boulder, CO. www.shambhala.com.
Word List
(Words are from the Urdu unless otherwise stated)
abu dad
accha good
affsos condolences
afghani Afghan paper money (Dari)
Allah God (Arabic)
Allahu Akbar God is great (Arabic)
Angrez English person/s
Assalamu Alaikum God’s peace be upon you, hello (Arabic)
azan call to prayer
bazaar market
beta son
beti daughter
burqa a cover all for women
chai tea, often milky and sweet
chapatti flat bread
charpai stringed wooden bed
chello move
chowkidar nightwatchman
Dari national language of Afghanistan
dupatta long scarf
emir king
gali small alley way or lane
hakim doctor
halal permissible
Inglestan England
Isa Jesus (Arabic)
jaldi quickly
jan life, used after a name as a
form of endearment
ji yes, or used after a name as a term of respect
jirga tribal council
Kalashnikov AK 47 30 shot round automatic assault rifle
khan leader/chief/commander
Khuda God
khush amdeed welcome
kissah kahani street of storytellers in Peshawar
missahiba miss
mujahid, mujahedeen (p) those who fight a jihad or
freedom fighter/s
mullah priest
naan flat bread made with yeast
nay no (slang)
Pakhtu language of the Pakhtuns
Pakhtun ethnic group of Afghanistan
pilau rice dish
poshteen sheepskin vest
purdah separation from men than
women observe
qameez long shirt
rabaab stringed musical instrument like a sitar
Ramadan Muslim month of fasting
raza /razey come (Pakhtu)
rupee unit of money
rumal handkerchief
Ruse Russia
salaam hello, peace
samovar ancient water heating urn
shadi wedding
shalwar qameez suit of clothes
shalwar long baggy pants
shareef noble
shukriya thank you
sunno listen
tabla hand drum
tandoor clay oven
tonga horse-drawn carriage
Urdu national language of Pakistan
Wa Alaikum Assalam and peace be upon you (Arabic)
za go (Pakhtu)
zarur certainly
More from Rosanne Hawke
Beyond Borders : Dear Pakistan
Jaime Richards has spent most of her life in Pakistan and returning to Australia seems like another planet compared to the country she has left behind. Here in Australia, boys try to kiss her, men wear shorts and everyone says ‘cool’ all the time. How will she ever know the right things to say or do or wear? After all, this is meant to be her culture.
This is a story of living beyond borders, and discovering the gift of adapting to new cultures, especially one’s own.
Beyond Borders : Liana’s Dance
After her international high school in Northern Pakistan is attacked by terrorists, sixteen-year-old Liana Bedford and the young music and dance teacher, Mikal Kimberley must find a way to rescue student hostages who have been imprisoned in an ancient caravanserai. Liana discovers Mr Kimberley has a secret and to save him and her friends she must overcome her fears and dance for her life.
This is Liana’s story as told by her friend Jaime Richards from Dear Pakistan and The War Within.
About the Author
Rosanne Hawke is a South Australian author of over 25 books, among them, Zenna Dare, Mustara, shortlisted in the 2007 NSW Premier’s Literary Awards, The Messenger Bird, winner of the 2013 Cornish Holyer an Gof Award for YA literature, and Taj and the Great Camel Trek, winner of the 2012 Adelaide Festival awards. Rosanne was an aid worker in Pakistan and the United Arab Emirates for ten years and now teaches creative writing at Tabor Adelaide. In 2015 she was the recipient of the Nance Donkin Award for an Australian woman author who writes for children and YA.
Rosanne Hawke, The War Within
