Beyond the Fields by Aysha Baqir

Author:Aysha Baqir
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Marshall Cavendish International

22

A week later, the sands of the Cholistan desert stormed over the horizon like angry waves. In a few hours they would be upon us. But I wasn’t afraid anymore. I could do anything if I put my mind to it.

Seeing Amma’s lips tighten like a stitch yanked too hard, I began my chores. I sorted grains, kneaded the dough for chapattis, peeled and chopped vegetables, swept the floor, dusted, washed clothes, and bathed and fed Kullo. For the first time in weeks, I did everything right. My brain ticked like Nani’s hand loom, clicking, crossing, warp and weft. Nani had sat in front of it for hours, working away. Like threads closing gaps, my thoughts fell into place.

I needed answers. Where was Tara? I had to find out. I had promised her. By afternoon, the fields had vanished, and all evening and through the night the wind howled, lightning crashed, and rain pounded our mud roof like hoof beats of armies in battle. I jammed my fingers into my ears to muffle the roar. I needed to think.

I opened my eyes to pale light streaming through the half-open door. Sparrows cheeped on damp branches. I reached out, but as always, I was too late. Tara disappeared each morning. Before I knew it, tears would run down my face, hot and fast.

Enough. I sprang up. I wasn’t going to let the pain break me. It was the enemy. I was going to jab, cross, and hook it. Rolling over, I pulled out my notebook and pencil from under the quilt, flipped to the last page, and wrote: “335 days”. I had a target now, to reach the city and find Tara. A month had already gone by. I had less than a year left before next autumn, the time of assu, to find her. Below “335 days”, I wrote the date. Done. I flicked back to the first page.

“Don’t count the days. Make the days count.” Muhammad Ali’s words leapt at me. Why hadn’t I opened my notebook before? I had been keeping a journal of my heroes, the men and women who stood up, spoke out, and fought for what they believed in. Master Saab had told us to start a hero’s journal much earlier, before the exams. On the first page, I had pasted Muhammad Ali’s picture from an old newspaper and written about his wins, losses and struggles. Born in Louisville, Kentucky, in 1942, the son of a black billboard painter, Mohammad Ali started boxing at the age of twelve. He trained hard, and practiced even when he wasn’t fighting. He won the gold medal in the 1960 Olympics and heavyweight championship in 1964, and became a boxing legend. He was banned from fighting in America, and even sentenced to prison. But he had not given up and had fought back to reclaim his title in the famous 1974 boxing match named Rumble in the Jungle, in Zaire.

A little before mid-day, I was rinsing the last few clothes when the door rattled and Omer rushed inside, his face flushed.

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