The Taliban Cricket Club by Murari Timeri N

Author:Murari, Timeri N. [Murari, Timeri N.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2012-05-15T04:00:00+00:00

The Permit

WE ALL TURNED, EXPECTING TO SEE AZLAM. Instead, a young man with a full beard stormed across the field. Parwaaze’s brother. As he got closer, we could see his face was flushed with anger. The team shuffled away from Parwaaze as his brother approached.

Parwaaze groaned aloud. “What are you doing here?”

“I want to know what you’re doing,” Hoshang burst out. “You should have told me.”

“We’re just playing a game. Now that you’ve seen, you can go away.”

“What game?”

“Cricket,” Qubad answered wearily and turned to me with a smile. “Hoshang has n-nothing better to do than follow us around.”

“You shut up,” Hoshang snapped at Qubad.

“Oh yes, c-caliph, I will. Now leave.”

“Why cricket? Tell me, or I’ll report you all.”

“We’re not breaking any law,” Parwaaze said, exasperated. “It’s a game—”

“I know that, I read the papers—”

“—and we just want to play in the matches. That’s all. Now that you know, you can leave us.”

“And who is that?” Hoshang jutted his beard toward me. There was a resemblance to Parwaaze, but his mood was darker and he didn’t have Parwaaze’s sense of humor and mischief either.

“Babur,” Parwaaze said. He looked at me, then at the others. He had not told Hoshang about me and hesitated for a long moment before bursting out, “Babur is Rukhsana. She’s teaching us.”

Hoshang looked puzzled, believing at first that Parwaaze was playing a joke. Then he took a few steps closer to study me and a slow recognition emerged in his eyes. They blinked rapidly, in panic, I think. We weren’t close as children and we’d never known each other very well—but Parwaaze seemed to know what he was doing. Protectively, the others moved closer to me. We waited tensely.

“You all know?” He looked around. Heads nodded. “Does Padar know?”

“No,” Parwaaze said. “Unless you tell him.” Then, resigned, he said, “And everyone else. You’ll get her killed, and us too.”

“Why would I do that?” Hoshang finally said. He laughed, and seemed to relax now that he had learned his brother’s secret.

“We need another player,” I offered, “if you want to join.”

“Of course! So are we going to win or not?”

“Why else would we waste our time here? We have a full team now.”

We spent the days following our routine—warm-up exercises, then batting and bowling. They still had the awkwardness of beginners and I hoped as they became more confident they would acquire the style and grace the game demanded. Jahan, Parwaaze, Qubad, Atash, and Royan showed promise as batsmen. They had the footwork and the quick eye to pick up the speed and bounce of the ball. Omaid, Daud, Namdar, and Bilal bowled well, though when Namdar and Daud tried to bowl too fast, they lost control and fell over. Control would come with more practice. I taught Hoshang how to stand behind the wicket and stop the ball or catch it if it hit the edge of the bat. As the oldest, it gave him a sense of importance that he would be such an integral part of the game.

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