Part 22 (1/2)

'No, I am older. I am paying.'

Smoke of hookah mixed with bakerkhani, the Kashmiri pastry, inside the tea stall. Smell of freshly baked bread filled the air. Not far from us two old men were breaking the bread, and sipping kehva tea. Outside, snow was falling slowly on military vehicles. On tombstones. On Sufi shrines. On ruined wooden houses. Big flakes, tens and thousands, swirled in the air. Tens and thousands settled on gra.s.s no longer green. Flakes were acc.u.mulating on Kashmir the way people in Delhi acc.u.mulate on trains. She took off her long coat. Shook her hair. Snow fell down.

I continued: In the beginning I only suspected, but then something happened that made me absolutely sure. That day, a few weeks after the court martial, when the house was being rearranged Irem had shown up with a green bag. I do not know how she got out of the prison or how she entered the Raj Bhavan complex. Pretending to be a worker in the kitchen perhaps. Taking advantage of the lax security. Security is not always tight. I saw her enter. I saw everything from the kitchen window. There were vegetables in the bag and she dug her hand in the bag and pulled out a vegetable, then put it back in the bag. She repeated this kind of movement several times as if unable to make up her mind. I saw everything through the window. She had chosen the precise moment when most soldiers step down the hill to the barracks for lunch. And she was going to throw a vegetable vegetable in the General's room. General Sahib was inside, resting, and you Rubiya were outside, playing. She knew this. The thing in her hand looked like a vegetable, but it was not a vegetable, as I discovered later. It was a grenade. Made in Pakistan. But she did not throw the grenade. She changed her mind. I saw her struggle. Her hand touched her heart and she turned and then turned back as if she was looking at the house for one last time and disappeared behind the plane trees. I ran out of the kitchen after she had long disappeared. She had in the General's room. General Sahib was inside, resting, and you Rubiya were outside, playing. She knew this. The thing in her hand looked like a vegetable, but it was not a vegetable, as I discovered later. It was a grenade. Made in Pakistan. But she did not throw the grenade. She changed her mind. I saw her struggle. Her hand touched her heart and she turned and then turned back as if she was looking at the house for one last time and disappeared behind the plane trees. I ran out of the kitchen after she had long disappeared. She had forgotten forgotten the bag by the verandah and I brought the bag into the kitchen and one by one I placed the things on the table and it was then I found the grenade. It was clear: she had meant to kill the General, and I understood why, but I never understood one thing. Why did she change her mind? Was it because she saw you, Rubiya, playing nearby? And she could not imagine making that child an orphan? the bag by the verandah and I brought the bag into the kitchen and one by one I placed the things on the table and it was then I found the grenade. It was clear: she had meant to kill the General, and I understood why, but I never understood one thing. Why did she change her mind? Was it because she saw you, Rubiya, playing nearby? And she could not imagine making that child an orphan?

Rubiya did not say anything.

I threw the grenade into the river. I never reported the incident. Then resigned from the army. Rubiya, do you know where the bag is? I threw it away with the vegetables in the river. And the moment I threw it away I knew what to do next.

Rubiya's elbows were on the table and her head between her hands.

'Chef Kirpal,' she said.

I remained quiet because I knew now she would tell me something on her own. There was water from melted snow on her brow and I felt like wiping it but I knew it might interrupt what she was about to say, so I did nothing. Her long jacket, dangling from the peg on the wall, had snow on it, as did the tips of her shoes. I had wiped my shoes clean, but my gla.s.ses were covered with little melted drops.

The tea-wallah was yelling at his a.s.sistant.

'Sahib, Memsahib, kehva!' The owner brought us the cups himself. There were strands of saffron floating on top.

'For special cases,' the owner told us, 'I have a room upstairs. No one will dis-ta-rub you up there.'

How mistaken that man was about the nature of our relations.h.i.+p. But we decided to move anyway.

The stairs creaked as we followed the man, cups and jackets in our hands. There was a shaft of light entering the room from the right side of the lake. The upstairs smelled of pine. He left a little brazier on the table for us. The embers inside were glowing.

Her hands as she placed them on top of the brazier were as beautiful as her face. And very young. She moved a bit. The shaft of light lit up her face.

'Chef Kirpal,' she said, 'Irem never told me this. She never said a word about that incident you describe.'

Then we were silent.

I don't know from where the courage came but then I reached out and touched Rubiya's cheek. She did not turn her face.

'I feel relieved talking to you, Rubiya,' I said.

She did not say anything.

'Why are you so silent?'

'Chef Kirpal,' she asked, 'why is this world such a disappointing place?'

I was at a loss for words.

'Chef,' she almost hit me, 'I am angry at Father. Very angry. I am angry he did this, and I am sad he is dead. But I am also very angry that he is dead.'

'I am sorry,' I said. 'Perhaps I should not have '

'You did nothing wrong. But.'

'But what?'

'Now I must leave,' she said. 'The bus leaves at five in the afternoon.'

'Please do not go.'