Battleground

by Chris Ryan

  ‘Allahu Akbar,’ Saleem said. And then, in very good English, ‘Welcome to our home!’

  He ushered them in. ‘You must be very hungry,’ he announced as they walked past the fruit trees. ‘Harata and Aarya have prepared food for you. Come in, come in!’

  At the main entrance to the house, the family removed their shoes. Ben and Bel did the same before stepping inside. It was dark here, but cooler, which was a relief. They were led through an empty hallway into a room with a low round table no more than knee height. ‘Please,’ Saleem told them, ‘sit.’ And as if showing them what to do, he sat on the floor at the table. Ben and Bel copied him.

  The three of them chatted politely about the journey while Aarya and her mother brought bowls of food to the table. Delicious smells filled the room and Ben realized he was ravenous. Still without looking him fully in the eye, Aarya handed him a plate of spiced lamb and a huge, warm flatbread. Ben looked around for some cutlery, but there was none and Saleem smiled at him. ‘We eat with our right hand, Ben,’ he said, before tearing off a piece of his bread and using it to scoop up the lamb. Ben did the same and crammed the food into his mouth. It was delicious.

  ‘We are sorry,’ Saleem said politely to Bel, ‘that you cannot stay with us longer than one night.’

  Bel inclined her head. ‘My work . . .’ she explained between mouthfuls of food.

  ‘I understand that you are going to Afghanistan.’

  She nodded.

  Saleem’s face grew serious. ‘It is a troubled country,’ he said mildly.

  ‘I hope what I am going there to do will help to heal it,’ Bel replied. As she started to explain the reasons for her visit, Ben’s mind began to wander. He supposed he should be feeling nervous; but the family with whom he would be staying had been so welcoming that he almost felt at home. He looked at Aarya and smiled. For the first time, she smiled back.

  His ears tuned in once more to what his mum was saying. ‘. . . and as the Taliban use money from the poppy trade to finance the war, it’s important that we do something to stamp it out.’

  The Taliban. With those two words, a sense of unease returned to Ben’s stomach. He remembered everything Carl had said in the car, and he found himself wanting to know more.

  ‘Are there Taliban here?’ he asked.

  There was a silence. Aarya and her mother bowed their heads and looked down at their food. Saleem cleared his throat uncomfortably. Somebody shouted out in the street, and for a moment it was the only sound. He blushed.

  It was Saleem who broke the silence. ‘Aarya is looking forward to showing you her school tomorrow,’ he said. The girl’s head remained bowed. ‘We do not get many young people travelling to our village.’

  Ben hardly heard him. His skin was still hot with embarrassment and his mind was ticking over. He had asked about the Taliban and the mood had changed. Now he had just one question in his head.

  Why?

  Chapter Three

  Ben and his mother slept on rolled-up mattresses that had been unfurled on the hard floor of a plain room which contained nothing but a religious text on the wall in Arabic. They were woken just before sunrise by the call to prayer. As Ben drowsily sat up he listened to the lone voice of the muezzin – the mosque official – wailing into the early morning. A bit different from the annoying beep of his alarm clock back home, he thought. And then he saw that his mum was already packing her rucksack by the light of a torch. He watched her for a while before she realized he was awake.

  Bel smiled at him. A sad smile. ‘I’m leaving at sunrise,’ she said. ‘I’ve got an army escort picking me up and then . . .’

  ‘You will be careful, won’t you, Mum?’

  She sat on his mattress and ran her hand through his hair. ‘Course I will, love. Don’t worry. They’ll take good care of me. And Aarya and her family will take good care of you.’

  He nodded.

  ‘I have to go,’ Bel said. ‘I’ll see you in two weeks, OK?’

  ‘OK, Mum,’ Ben said quietly. He kissed her, then continued to watch as Bel finished her packing and quietly left the room.

  Ben suddenly felt very alone. He wished he could lose himself in sleep, but there was no way that was going to happen now. As the wailing of the call to prayer faded away, he hauled himself from his bed, got dressed and ventured out of the room. Aarya and her mother were already up. The small house smelled of fresh bread and the women were placing tea and small, sweet pastries on the table.

  ‘Good morning, Ben,’ Aarya said. Her English was surprisingly good.

  ‘Morning.’ Ben yawned. He looked around. ‘Where’s your dad?’

  ‘He has gone to the mosque to pray. My mother and I made our prayers at home when we awoke.’ She gestured towards the table. ‘Please. Eat.’

  Saleem returned just as Ben was finishing his breakfast. His face glistened: it was already hot outside. Any of the awkwardness that Ben had caused last night had disappeared and his smile was as broad as ever. ‘Your mother has left?’ he asked.

  Ben nodded. He didn’t want to show that he missed her already.

  Saleem looked genuinely upset. ‘I had hoped to say goodbye,’ he announced. Then he rubbed his hands together. ‘Never mind, never mind. You and Aarya should leave. School starts early here, Ben, before the day becomes too hot.’

  Moments later, Aarya was beside him, a small canvas bag of books slung over her shoulder. She smiled at him and led the way to the door.

  The early morning sun was bright. It shone through the fruit trees in the courtyard and made Ben’s skin feel warm. ‘How far to the school?’ he asked Aarya.

  ‘It is close,’ she said. ‘Only ten minutes to walk there.’

  ‘Your English is very good.’

  She looked away modestly. ‘I try to study hard,’ she said. ‘And I talk to any English people who come here. They help me.’ She smiled. ‘I am looking forward to coming to your country in the future.’

  Ben nodded. They were in the main street now and it was surprisingly crowded. They passed shops that were little more than open-fronted stalls selling all kinds of things: brightly patterned material for clothes, fruit, records, engine parts. All the shopkeepers smiled at him as if they were trying to persuade him to come into their store. Ben, of course, just kept walking and looking around. Many people wore traditional dress: women in brightly coloured robes, many with headscarves wrapped around their heads and covering their hair, men with long beards and turbans. But there were just as many, like Aarya, in jeans. He noticed that she received some disapproving looks from a few of the older people, even though to Ben’s eyes she was dressed rather modestly – unfashionably, even. Ben himself attracted attention too, but more because of his white skin than anything else.

  For a minute or so, they walked in silence as Ben absorbed the sights, sounds and smells of this strange place. But he couldn’t stay quiet for long. The conversation they’d had at last night’s meal had stayed with him and he wasn’t the kind of person to keep quiet about these things.

  ‘Aarya?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Last night at the table, I mentioned the Taliban and everyone went quiet. Why?’

  For a moment he thought she wasn’t going to answer. She slowed her pace slightly and looked away.

  ‘I had an aunt,’ she said. ‘My mother’s sister.’ Aarya’s face had stiffened, and Ben realized that this was an effort for her. ‘She met a man, very religious. We are all practising Muslims, but some people would like things to be as they were hundreds of years ago. He was one of those people. They married. This was when I was still very small, but I remember her well. She was a kind lady.’ Aarya smiled. ‘She used to bring me sweets and play games with me whenever I wanted. But she did not stay in the village. In Afghanistan, the Taliban were in power. My aunt’s new husband insisted that they move there. To Kabul, the capital. He wanted to live in that very strict place.’

  Ben was listening carefully. He felt as though
all the sounds of the street had disappeared into the background. ‘What do you mean, strict?’ he asked. Aarya appeared not to hear him.

  ‘I remember the day she went,’ the girl continued. Her eyes were lost in thought. ‘I wept. I begged her not to go. I said to her: If he loves you, he would not make you. She just held me and promised that she would visit often. I wept for a week after she left and every day after that I asked my mother when she would come back to see us. Mother could never give me an answer, so soon I learned to stop asking.’

  ‘Why didn’t she come?’ Ben asked.

  Aarya shrugged. They walked round a rickshaw that was parked by the side of the road. ‘In Afghanistan,’ she said darkly, ‘under the Taliban, women were not free to do as they wished. My aunt sometimes sent letters, but they told us nothing. My father says this is because her husband would have read everything first.’

  Ben continued to listen in silence.

  ‘About a year after she left,’ Aarya continued, ‘we received word that she was going to have a baby. My mother was very excited. And so was I. In Pakistan, Ben, families are big. Everyone has cousins. But not me. I was looking forward to it.’

  Her voice was quieter now. Ben didn’t know how, but he could tell she was about to reveal something terrible. ‘What happened?’ he asked.

  ‘The baby was born. A little boy. But my aunt—’ Aarya drew a deep breath, as if she was summoning the strength to continue. ‘She died. Under the Taliban, women were not allowed to receive proper medical care. My aunt was banned from seeing a doctor. She was banned from having medicine. She died a painful death.’

  There were tears in Aarya’s eyes now.

  ‘We have never heard from her husband and we have never seen the child. We were happy when the Taliban were removed from power in Afghanistan, but even now my mother will not have their name mentioned in our house.’

  Ben found himself blushing again at the memory of his insensitive question the previous night.

  ‘I didn’t realize the Taliban were as bad as that,’ he said.

  ‘They were worse,’ Aarya replied hotly. ‘You would not believe the things they did. Women were not allowed to go to school. They were not allowed to speak in public. They would be beaten with sticks by the religious police if they broke the rules, or even stoned in the street. To death, sometimes. People were executed in public in horrible ways, or had parts of their bodies cut off as punishment. Hands, ears . . . The Americans and the British did a good thing, removing them from power.’

  Aarya was walking quickly now, as if the thought of it had filled her with angry energy.

  ‘Only they’re still there, aren’t they?’ Ben said, thinking of his mother. ‘In places, I mean.’

  Aarya nodded. ‘There are people,’ she said, ‘even in this country, who still support them.’

  ‘Why?’

  A frown creased Aarya’s forehead. She looked like this was a question that had troubled her too.

  ‘For different reasons, I think. Some people really believe that the Taliban were right; other people are just’ – she searched for the word – ‘just thugs. They try to force us to agree with them, but my family and I will not be bullied, even if it means trouble for us.’

  ‘Why would it mean trouble for you?’

  ‘There are families in this village—’ she started to say. But then she thought better of it. ‘God willing, the Taliban will be defeated in Afghanistan. Maybe then they will fade away from this part of Pakistan too.’

  She gestured ahead. They were in front of a concrete building, blocky and ugly. Ben had been listening so hard to what Aarya said that he hadn’t noticed their surroundings. Now, though, he recognized the building from a photo the charity had sent him before he left. ‘School,’ the girl said proudly, raising one arm like a tour guide presenting a wonder of the world. ‘We are here.’

  Ben was the last of the English people to arrive at the school: the others were all waiting for him out the front. Even though it was hot, the three girls wore long sleeves, which they had been told was the custom.

  ‘Morning, Ben,’ Mr Knight said as he approached. ‘Probably the earliest you’ve been up since Christmas Day, eh?’ Mr Knight was the kind of teacher who liked saying things that weren’t very funny. ‘All right, everyone,’ he continued when he realized he wasn’t going to get a laugh, ‘we’re going to sit in on an English lesson this morning. Best behaviour from you all. That includes you, Ed.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Ed replied sarcastically, but he fell quiet when Mr Knight gave him a dangerous look.

  They spent the morning in classes full of sixty or seventy young Pakistani students, all crowded into basic rooms far too small for that number of people. They’d been warned that it would be very different to back home. ‘It’s the only school in Kampur,’ Miss Messenger had explained to them all. ‘That’s why it’s so crowded, and there’s not enough money to make it bigger.’ The English students were clearly a novelty – Ben was not the only one who drew curious looks and the occasional giggle. He supposed that would die away once they’d been around for a bit.

  By the time midday arrived and they were all dismissed to return to their families, Ben was exhausted. He was hot too. The sun beat down as he walked back out of the concrete building to the front of the school where he had arranged to meet Aarya. Crowds of children spilled out, the air filled with their chattering voices – mostly in the Pakistani language of Urdu, of course, which Ben could not understand – while he scanned the area trying to find his new friend.

  There she was, about thirty metres away against a low wall. And something was wrong. She was surrounded by several boys and Ben could tell they weren’t trying to chat her up. Her chin was jutting out, but even from this distance he could tell she was scared.

  Just then he heard a voice. His heart sank. Ed.

  He was alone, without his exchange student. ‘What’s the matter, Ben?’ he taunted. ‘Your girlfriend in trouble or something?’

  ‘Shut up, Ed,’ Ben replied.

  Ed snorted with laughter, then turned away. Ben kept his attention on Aarya.

  He hesitated. He was a stranger here. It wasn’t his place to get involved in schoolyard fights that he didn’t understand. Maybe he should hold back. See how things panned out. Aarya was pretty feisty, wasn’t she? She could take care of things . . .

  But as these thoughts went through his head, he knew he couldn’t stand by and watch his new friend being bullied. Aarya was all by herself and the boys were closing on her.

  Ben shut his eyes.

  He cursed under his breath.

  And then he ran towards her.

  Chapter Four

  There were four of them. Ben counted them while he ran. And as he approached, it became clear that they were all broad-shouldered and quite a bit bigger than him. He stopped just a few metres behind them. ‘What’s going on?’ he demanded.

  Aarya looked at him. Her eyes widened and she shook her head. ‘Please, Ben. Don’t . . .’

  But it was too late. As one, the four boys turned to stare at him.

  They all looked very alike, with dark hair and thick, bushy eyebrows. They each had their own distinguishing characteristics, however. One had a large, hooked nose; another wore a gold-coloured chain around his neck; the third had a bruise on the side of his face; and the fourth wore an embroidered but dirty hat. The lad with the hook nose looked like the leader and he spat something out in a harsh-sounding language. The others laughed. It wasn’t a good sound.

  Ben wasn’t going to be intimidated. He pushed past them and approached Aarya. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied. She didn’t look like she was very pleased to see Ben. Suddenly she shouted in alarm. Ben felt hands grabbing him on either side. He struggled, but they were too strong for him. All he could do was watch as the hook-nosed boy strode up to Aarya and with a forceful yank pulled her school bag from her shoulder. Aarya shouted out again. She tried to grab it back
, but he just pushed her away then turned to Ben. His dark eyes were full of contempt. The boy smiled an ugly smile and then, without any warning, punched Ben hard in the stomach.

  Ben gasped for breath. He tried to double over, but the others were still holding him upright. Until, that is, they threw him onto the ground and the four of them walked away, laughing harshly.

  Aarya bent down and placed one hand lightly on his shoulder. ‘Ben, are you all right?’

  ‘On top of the world,’ Ben replied in a hoarse whisper as he pushed himself back up to his feet. ‘Who were the ugly brothers, then?’

  He noticed that there were tears welling up in Aarya’s eyes. ‘They are thugs,’ she said. ‘Just thugs. They do not think I should be allowed in the school.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I am a girl.’

  Ben frowned. ‘Well, we have to get your books back.’

  ‘No, Ben. Just leave it. It’s best to stay away from them, all right?’

  ‘No,’ Ben replied. ‘It’s not all right. What’s so great about that lot that makes them untouchable?’

  ‘There’s nothing great about them, OK, Ben?’ Aarya said waspishly. ‘They’re just not very nice and they come from bad families.’

  Ben blinked. ‘You said they didn’t think you should be allowed to come to school because you’re a girl,’ he said. ‘They’re not, you know, Taliban . . . ?’

  ‘Of course they’re not Taliban.’ The way she spoke, Ben wondered if she had forgotten he’d just tried to help her out. ‘The Taliban are not strong in Kampur. They’re just . . .’ She looked like she was struggling to find the word.

  ‘What?’ Ben demanded. ‘Sympathizers?’

  Aarya shrugged. ‘Maybe. Something like that.’ She scowled. ‘I have never seen them at the mosque, though.’