by Puja Guha
Austin, USA – May, 2016
First thing in the morning, Tareq returned to the window, checking his text messages before picking up the binoculars. He waited for the attachments from the investigator to open. The first one made him wince, a picture of Aliya out running in shorts and a tank top.
My daughter, wearing that?
His anger at Raj bubbled further, and he moved on quickly. He thumbed past the next two quickly, all they showed was her walking around, then in her apartment at her window. When he reached the last one, he gagged and had to rush to the bathroom to retch over the toilet.
She is disgusting, he wanted to scream. He had thought nothing could be worse than her outfit when she had gone out running, but he had been wrong—she had entertained some boy in her apartment, and there they were in the photo, kissing. Tareq refused to consider what had happened after that, he didn’t want to know, but he did know.
After several minutes over the toilet, he pulled himself upright. When he returned to the bedroom, he watched the house for a moment, then looked over at the knife that he had purchased to take care of Raj.
I’ll only get one chance at this.
He grabbed his wallet and headed for the door. To execute true justice, for what this man had done to his Mariam, for turning his daughter into an American slut, he needed something else. Something with more finality.
A gun.
Salmiya, Kuwait – October, 1990
Raj stood, battling sensations of being overwhelmed, overjoyed, and terrified at the same time. He’d used stall techniques to quell Ashok’s concerns and so far it was working—he’d claimed to have spoken to Mariam and Dinah, and that their stories checked out. When Ashok approached him for the third time, he’d reassured him again, stating that he would raise the concern with Sanjay and Daniels but there was no need to worry.
Today’s news would rescue him from those excuses, which were rapidly beginning to diminish in effectiveness. Finally, after what felt like an eternity at the camp together, Sanjay and Daniels had come up with an evacuation plan. The plan was exceedingly complicated and risky: they would have to drive out to Jordan en masse, there the Indian government would hopefully issue them papers. Many of the people at the camp didn’t have their passports, which had been held by their employers, so without that, they would be stuck in no man’s land. Raj himself didn’t have his passport—he had actually submitted it to the Kuwaiti ministry for processing of his wife’s visa and had been unable to get it back after the troops had crossed the border.
It wouldn’t be easy, but the possibility of an escape glimmered like a light at the end of a long tunnel, especially with the ticking time bomb of Mariam and Dinah’s true identities. He couldn’t help but be excited about it, yet leaving meant confronting a truth that he wasn’t ready to face. If he left, would he ever be able to find Ritika? None of his efforts to locate her had provided any leads, and the fact that she could be dead had finally begun to hammer home after weeks of dismissing the possibility. He had spoken to Sanjay about it twice, but neither of them had been able to come up with any ideas. Sanjay had made some calls to see if there were any other refugee camps where she could be hiding, but they’d all come up blank.
If I leave her for dead, what kind of man does that make me? Raj asked himself as he contemplated the idea of escape. How could I leave her? How could I leave without knowing what happened to her? He unclenched his right fist, noticing for the first time that his fingernails had dug deep impressions into his palm.
There was no way out of this, he couldn’t miss his chance to evacuate, but he wasn’t sure if he could live with himself if he left without knowing what had happened.
AFTER A FEW minutes to collect his thoughts, Raj ventured into the sitting room where he would have to gather everyone so that Sanjay could brief them on the overall plan. Raj was dreading it; the plan seemed complicated enough to him, he didn’t want to think about the questions that they were bound to ask, and how he would probably have to convince them to leave. At least a portion would want to stay, wait it out, rather than brave the desert and the drive, along with hoping that the Indian government would take care of them once they crossed into Jordan. There had been two more soldier raids on the camps in the last two weeks though, and everyone was living on edge. It was only a matter of time until the soldiers no longer felt satisfied stealing some of their food and water supplies—people would be next.
A shiver went up Raj’s spine as he thought of the soldiers discovering Mariam and Dinah’s real identities. What would the soldiers do to them? What would they do to the rest of us? He gritted his teeth, he would never divulge their secret, and he had dealt with Ashok’s suspicions, but eventually, someone else would figure out who they really were. If the soldiers put them to the test, he suspected that the unspoken agreement about protecting each other wouldn’t hold for long—anyone else who held similar suspicions was bound to give them up in the hope of mercy. That possibility was both too real and too frightening to contemplate, yet he couldn’t get past it. We have to get out. There is no choice. He looked around, taking in the hallways that had given them refuge, that had offered a modicum of peace in a setting full of chaos. The school had had its place, had had its time, but now it was a tinder box on the verge of igniting.
It was time to leave.
Salmiya, Kuwait – October, 1990
Raj waited to the side as his charges filed into the school auditorium. The room was full of whispers as the residents guessed at why they had all been gathered this way. By this point, they all knew each other, had gossiped together and railed at each other—and everything in between. Raj watched as Sanjay and Daniels stepped onto the stage to speak to them.
“When the Iraqis first crossed the border, we thought the invasion would be short-lived, that everything would return to normal relatively soon. We’ve been here, at this camp, for almost two months now, and I think we can all agree that that hasn’t happened. I hope Kuwait will be liberated. I hope that the UN will intervene. But it’s safe to say that we can no longer wait around for that to happen. The soldiers have raided our camp three times already, and, eventually, we won’t be safe here anymore. Daniels and I have come up with a plan to get all of you out and back to India safely. That’s what we want more than anything, to keep all of you safe, and to return to a normal life. If I’ve learned anything from this crisis, it’s how precious that normalcy is, how we should cherish it. The small things in life, a smile from your wife at breakfast, a walk on the beach with your children, an evening of laughter with a friend is what life is all about. I am grateful for the grace with which you all have handled this crisis, how you have worked and lived together in harmony, resolving differences from bathroom schedules to sleeping quarters and more. You have all risen above and come through a terrible situation with your heads held high.” Sanjay stopped and signaled to Daniels to take over.
“I can’t echo enough how much I agree with Sanjay. You’ve shown tremendous grace under fire, but now is the time that we will ask even more of you. We were hoping for an easier option to evacuate out of Kuwait—we looked into getting out by sea, and every other option we could think of. After much consideration, the best option we could find was evacuating by land, through Jordan.” He continued to describe the plan, the drive through Iraq and across the border into Jordan. Daniels attempted to address some of the potential objections upfront, raising his hand to delay questions from the group. At one point the audience threatened to interrupt in a spree of those questions, but the gravitas of his voice and posture kept them at bay. He made sure to tackle potential pitfalls, including how the drive to Jordan was long and would be difficult even under normal circumstances, especially for some of the elderly at the camp, but he had confidence that they could help each other through it. He explained their plan in detail, including how he and Sanjay had secured an agreement to use several abandoned school buses and cross the border into Iraq at night, minimizing their expo
sure to street patrols.
Raj watched enthralled, he had seen Daniels speak only a few times before but had never appreciated his ability to captivate people, to carry an audience. No wonder he’s a pastor, Raj thought as Daniels continued.
At the end of the speech, Daniels rallied the audience, appealing to their inner strength as individuals who had endured more than most people deal with in a lifetime, as a group who had banded and stood together, and as Indians. Raj had never felt more patriotic than at that moment, when Daniels hammered home their collective strength and identity as one people who would stand together. When Daniels finally stepped off the stage, several people in the crowd stood, cheering for him and Sanjay.
Raj basked in the moment, floating on the high from the speech. Even as it ended though, he could feel the high slipping away, the questions that he had feared would come soon enough. He could only hope that the camp residents would stick with it when the high wore off completely.
There’s no way to protect them if they stay behind.
Salmiya, Kuwait – October, 1990
“Raj, could we speak with you?”
“Of course,” Raj, who had been on his way to the sitting room, turned around, recognizing Sanjay’s booming voice.
Sanjay led him down the hall to the adjacent wing of classrooms and then through one of the doorways. The interior was so dimly lit that it took Raj’s eyes a moment to adjust after coming from the sunny hallway. Once they did, he noticed two twin mattresses set against the far corner of the room. In front of them was a chair where Daniels was seated
Daniels motioned toward two chairs on the other side of the room. Sanjay grabbed one with an attached desk and nodded toward the third seat which was farther away from the other two. Raj found his gaze scanning the room for an escape as he pulled it closer. He sat down and looked between the two of them.
“Is everything okay?”
Sanjay tapped his fingers against the desk, “Ashok has raised a very serious accusation, but he said that he brought it to you first.”
Sh—, Raj stopped himself from cursing aloud. “I’m sorry, I should have come to you—”
With a deep frown, Daniels asked, “Is it true? Are two of the women that share that room with Ashok and his family Kuwaitis?”
Raj contemplated denying it, justifying his actions, or using another stall technique, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie. Sanjay and Daniels had both put themselves on the line to take care of everyone at the camp—they could have left on the first Indian government attempt at evacuation, a chartered plane that had arrived weeks earlier on August 20th. Both men had more than enough money to pay the airfare but had elected to stay behind to ensure the safety of other Indians in Kuwait and had gone through some major logistical gymnastics to arrange for the buses and other necessities of their evacuation plan. Whatever happened, Raj found himself steadfast on one point—he could not lie to them.
Here goes nothing.
“Yes.”
“How could you keep that from us?” Daniels exclaimed. “You’ve put everyone at this camp at risk.”
“I’m sorry,” Raj kept his head down. “I was only trying to protect them. I thought that the fewer people that knew, the easier it would be to keep it a secret.”
“No one told you to go around and tell the entire camp, but you should have told us.” Sanjay paused with a grave expression, “You should have told me.”
“I thought I had dealt with Ashok’s suspicions.” Raj squirmed, “What are you going to do?”
Daniels exchanged a glance with Sanjay before he answered, “What can we do? They’re Kuwaitis.”
“You don’t mean—?” Raj couldn’t compel himself to finish asking the question.
“Of course not,” Sanjay said. “What Daniels is saying is that they’re human beings. We aren’t just going to leave them here to get captured—two women on their own like that. Who knows what would happen to them?” He stood and glared at Raj, “What kind of monsters do you think we are? We told Ashok that they’re one of us, that they would travel with us, Kuwaitis, Indians, or Mongolians, and whatever else in between. But you should have informed us immediately. We’ll need your help to keep them from attracting any attention on our way through Iraq. They’re your responsibility.”
Washington D.C., USA – May, 2016
Nadia inhaled her first cup of coffee and poured herself another, then sat down in the living room with her parents. She swirled the mug, watching the pale brown liquid coating the interior to the rim. She was reminded of an old aunt in Kuwait who used to read fortunes from the leftover grounds.
Why can’t I find my answers at the bottom of a coffee cup?
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, Mom,” Nadia dismissed the obvious concern with a shrug.
You’re not convincing anybody, this was the third time that morning her mother had asked her. Moms always know. “I didn’t sleep well that’s all. I’m fine, don’t worry.”
Her mother looked skeptical, but a look from her father made the room return to silence—he’d always disapproved of her mother’s incessant prying. Nadia wasn’t sure how she felt about their questions, or lack thereof, she had asked for it so many times, asked them to limit their meddling into her life, but now she wanted them to probe more than anything else. If they broke through her walls, she wouldn’t have to carry this secret anymore, even if it meant that they would all be in danger. Nadia took a deep breath, the possibility that her mom wouldn’t believe her scared her even more than Uncle Tareq. Her mom had given him so much leeway, maybe that would continue? “He’s been through so much, Nadia. He was just having a flashback, an episode. We can’t hold it against him. How could you even think he would hurt us? You’re turning this into one of those crazy movies that you watch with your father.” Nadia could picture her mom saying those words, hear them going through her head, each one stabbing further into her heart.
Maybe she’s right.
A buzzing on the table interrupted her train of thought as her mom answered her phone. “Hi, Tareq, I was wondering if you would ever call me back,” she said in a chirpy voice.
Nadia’s ears perked up. She sighed and listened in as her mom and uncle exchanged small talk. Even without hearing the other side of the conversation, Nadia could tell how much effort her mom was making to force the conversation to continue; she always tried so hard to have a relationship with him without getting anything back. At one point, Nadia had considered that sweet, but now it was a curse.
Nadia stood up, she didn’t think she could take much more. She was halfway to the kitchen when her mother’s words made her freeze in place.
“Enjoy Texas, Tareq. We’ll see you when you get back.”
Texas.
Nadia dropped her coffee. The mug broke into three large pieces, the brown liquid spreading out over the beige ceramic tiles. “Uncle Tareq is in Texas?” She kicked herself, why hadn’t it occurred to her to ask where he had gone?
It can’t be Austin… it can’t be Austin.
“Nadia, what’s the matter with you?” her mother mopped up the coffee with a napkin and picked up the broken mug. “Look what you did, this was one of my favorites.”
“I’m sorry,” with shaking hands, Nadia took the pieces from her mother and grabbed a paper towel to join her on the floor. “Is Uncle Tareq in Texas?” she repeated.
I must have heard wrong, please let me have heard wrong.
Her mother frowned, “Yes, he’s in Austin for a conference. Nadia, what’s the matter with you?”
The weight of that reality slammed into Nadia’s chest, she had presumed that Mariam was safe, had at least managed to convince herself of that.
Austin.
“Nadia?”
“I’m fine,” Nadia answered for the fourth time that morning. “I just need to make a phone call.” She fumbled her way back to her room and pulled her phone from the charger, searching for Mariam’s number before she
realized that she had forgotten to save it. The pressure on her chest heightened as she found Dinah’s contact instead and hit the call button onscreen.
When Dinah picked up a moment later, Nadia burst into tears, unable to get control of her breathing. “Dinah, I’m coming over—there’s something I have to tell you.”
Washington D.C., USA – May, 2016
Dinah stared at Nadia aghast, she wanted to pinch herself to wake up from this nightmare.
Tareq is alive.
The idea was incomprehensible, how in the world could he be alive? She tried to focus on what Nadia was saying, but the question continued to gnaw at her.
The last words that Nadia said caught her attention, “…I didn’t want to tell him anything, but I was so scared. I didn’t tell him her full name, so I figured it was okay, I thought she would be safe, but this morning Mom spoke to him and she said that he’s in Austin. Dinah, he’s in Austin! I don’t know how, but he must have found her—I think he’s going after her.”
Dinah caught the armrest of the seat behind her to stabilize herself. “Oh my God,” she whispered, “we have to warn her.” She reached toward the coffee table to grab her phone but fell forward onto the floor before she could grasp it. “Please pick up, Mariam, please pick up,” Dinah glared at the screen, willing her phone to connect faster. The ring echoed out over the speakers, once, then twice, then three times. She swallowed and steadied her breathing, she had to find Mariam, she had to warn her. After the fifth ring, she disconnected and dialed Raj’s number instead.
