He laughed. “No, no, nothing to do with shoes. I meant that if Abbas was in the same situation we are in, and I could help him, I would.”
I had to let that sink in, but I thought I understood it.
Not too long after that conversation, he invited all of us to sit with him when Jaleel spoke. The holy man talked about spirituality from morning till night, and people would come so they could hear his words of wisdom. I liked what he said, and I attended almost every day.
“We are all God’s children, and we are all connected somehow.” This made me think about Mina. She’d been like a sister to me, but our lives had been so different. Had she been less fortunate? She had never been able to attend school like I had. Nor had she had a personal guide, as we did, who took her step-by-step out of the war. She had no one to protect her from her husband and his other wife. Nor did she have parents who would never sell her for any amount of money. Padar had taken care of us, made our way of escape, then risked his life to reach us, and now worked hard to take us to the next step on our journey. I considered us fortunate, despite what Padar had said about our situation.
In the early-morning sessions, Jaleel spoke and then read poetry. His poems always spoke of how we were all in the hands of Allah. That he was all around us and knew each of our steps. This brought great joy to me and peace, knowing God watched over our family. When he finished, everyone unrolled their prayer rugs and did namaz. These daily prayers became a time of meditation, and a sense grew in me that our journey would be a great success. That I was going to see Mommy at last. I believed it with every inhale and exhale as I offered my prayers to Allah.
Every night as I lay in bed, I had so many questions about why the world was the way it was. Why things happened to certain people. I wanted to talk to Jaleel some morning after everyone left. He often met with Padar. Being here in this house, listening to Jaleel’s talks and watching Padar and Abbas together discussing poetry and Allah, I couldn’t help but imagine these men were closer to God than any I’d ever met. I felt I was closing in on something. Something far too big to touch or even understand in great detail.
One bright morning, with sunshine gleaming through stained-glass dining room windows, as we sat around another sumptuous breakfast, Padar said he had an announcement to make.
“We are leaving in a few days, so pack your clothes,” he said.
“We got our passports?” Zia said. The excitement ran through us.
I jumped up from my chair. “We’re going to Mommy!”
“We’re going to India at last,” Zulaikha said, a tone of relief in her voice.
“Hold on, everyone,” he said. “We’re not going directly, but we are going to India.”
We peppered him with questions, but he didn’t tell us too much, except that we were flying to Dhaka, then taking the train into New Delhi.
That night in the room I shared with Laila, we spread out her map on her bed. The flight from Karachi to Dhaka, Bangladesh, traveled clear across the entire nation of India. The route was thousands of miles long. And the plane would go right over New Delhi.
“Why would we do this?” I asked. “Why can’t we land here?” I pointed to the capital of India on the map.
Laila shrugged as she traced a route on the map with her finger. “He’s got his reasons, but he’s not going to tell us.”
“He must have gotten our passports, didn’t he?”
“Don’t be stupid. We wouldn’t be flying on an airplane if he didn’t.”
Yes, of course. We had been in this home for months. He must have the proper documents for him to decide it was time to leave. I lay back on my bed, imagining for a minute that when he handed me my passport, I would guard it with my life. Someone would have to steal my soul before I let it go. I would tie it to my body with a belt and wear all my clothes over it. That little paper book was all that kept me, my sisters, Zia, and Padar from being with Mommy. From being a whole family again. That night as I sloughed off into sleep, my thoughts ran wild, imagining what it was going to be like to see Mommy again, to look into her eyes, and tell her everything that had happened in the last three years.
Our days of waiting were coming to an end.
17
KARACHI TO DHAKA
The black glass windows of Jinnah International Airport’s main terminal gleamed in the early-morning sunlight as we rolled toward it in Abbas’s big black car. At the curb of the busy terminal, the driver hopped out and opened doors, unlocked the trunk, and shuffled out our luggage while I stood on the sidewalk, taking in the scene. Men in colorful shalwar kameez and women in bright Punjabis were busy hefting luggage and hurrying to catch their flights. My sisters and I wore our new Punjabis, with bangles and earrings to match, and new shoes. We soaked in the excitement of traveling as we followed Padar and Abbas into the terminal.
Padar strode with such confidence as he and Abbas led us to the counter. We checked our luggage and took only our backpacks on board. Abbas escorted us down the long terminal concourse; its polished tile floor sparkled under the lights. There was a long line at the gate for our flight to Dhaka. I had never heard of Bangladesh before Laila had showed it to me on a map the other night. It was a new nation, formerly part of Pakistan. Padar had never explained why we had to fly across the whole of India instead of traveling directly to New Delhi, but if there was anyone we could trust to get us to Mommy, it was him.
The four of us kids stood in the waiting area trying to contain our excitement. Abbas and Padar moved up to the counter to speak to the attendant. They had a quick conversation, and the man looked directly at us, and Abbas and Padar nodded. They must have announced our flight, because people rose from their seats in the waiting area, taking up luggage and bundles and corralling children. A worker opened the door to the stairs leading to the plane. The two men continued to speak to the attendant off to the side, then turned and headed toward us. Padar had a tight smile on his face, as if he were pleased with his conversation but concerns lingered in his clenched jaw.
The two men embraced, a final goodbye. Abbas touched each of our heads and wished us well. After he left, Padar said to us, “Let’s go.” We picked up our backpacks and followed him.
He strode up to the desk of Pakistan International Airlines, where two men clad in blue uniforms worked behind the counter. A long line of passengers stood in front of one attendant, who took proffered tickets. Padar held all of our tickets, which were stuffed into their paper jackets. With a furtive glance of his dark eyes, the other man behind the counter scanned the crowd lined up in front of the attendant next to him before Padar handed over the thick packets. He lowered them out of sight to his desk.
This was the first time I had ever flown on an airplane, and all the things that went on were a bit mysterious and intriguing. Years before, Mommy had left with Vida and Shapairi on an airplane. Before they left, they went for photos for their passports. I’d never seen a passport before, and I didn’t remember sitting for any photos, so I wondered what ours looked like. I nudged away from beside Padar, who intently watched the man with our tickets. I slipped around the side of the counter, which was a couple of inches taller than me, until I could see the counter in front of where the man stood, shifting his weight from foot to foot as if marshaling his energy. The packets were stuffed with rupees, the same Pakistani bills that Abbas’s daughters had used to pay for our clothes and treats when they took us shopping.
The man turned his dark eyes on me, his face contorted in silent rage. He began cursing at me in Urdu, waving with his hand for me to leave. Padar reached around the side of the desk and yanked me by the hand to him. Once beside him, he froze me with a reproachful glare. He held me close by him as the attendant finished his work. The man handed the packets back to Padar. He led us through the door, down the stairs to the tarmac, and across to the stairs leading to the plane. Padar clutched my hand all the way, lest I get away from him. He showed a flight attendant, dressed in a crisp blue skirt and jacket, our tickets. She smiled and motioned us up the stairs and into the plane.