The Taliban Cricket Club (27 page)

“I still can't believe you're beside me,” he whispered.

“I always was, even when we were apart.”

His presence, and a sense of foreboding, distracted me.

Our plans might not work and we will all be caught, including Veer.

I pushed the thought to the back of my mind. Here was the simple pleasure of watching a game of cricket with Veer once more, and secretly wishing I was playing too.

The Karta team was in shambles, trying to set their fielders in the right positions, changing their minds even before they bowled the first ball. It didn't even bounce and Wasim took a step forward and hit it into the stands.

“Oh, good shot,” Markwick said and clapped; though he was supposed to be the neutral umpire, he wanted to encourage the players. In cricket it was the normal, courteous way of showing a spectator's appreciation. He was the only one to do it in the stadium but didn't appear to notice the silence. He did it whenever he thought a player needed praise.

Those in the stands shouted, “
Khub, khub,
” and waved their arms to show their approval. I thought that in a packed stadium in a football match there would be an unnerving hush after someone scored a goal. Apart from shouts of “
Khub, gol
” and a lot of hand waving and sad sighs from the losing fans, the matches were watched in silence.

We had to get Jahan out, the cops must take the bribe.

Wasim hit the other five balls in the over too. But the other batsman wasn't so confident, and trying to imitate Wasim hit a catch and was out, much to the delight of the fielding side.

“Wasim's good,” Namdar said, looking dejected as once more Wasim hit the ball with ease.

“That's because the bowling's bad,” I said to cheer him up. “We have Veer, and Omaid is going to be our secret weapon.”

The ten overs passed quickly. Sadly, the Karta team couldn't check the runs, and the Afghan team, Wasim mostly, scored seventy-five runs. It didn't take Wasim long to run through the Karta batting with his bowling, even if only two overs by the rules, he took six wickets. They were out for fifteen runs.

“He bowls a very good line,” Veer said. “Straight at the wicket.”

Parwaaze and Azlam looked belligerently at each other when Markwick tossed the coin. Azlam called and won and, taking his cue from the Afghan side, decided to bat first. But before he left, he slid the
Rules of Cricket
book out of his
shalwar
and held it out like a gift to Markwick. Droon had given him our confiscated book.

“Please . . . please,” he said, fawning, half in obeisance.

“
The
Rules of Cricket,
published by my club.” Markwick was delighted and took it.

Azlam spoke to the interpreter. “I want him to sign the book for me. I will treasure it all my life with his name in it.”

“He's an expert in bribery too,” Veer said sardonically.

“Of course I will,” Markwick said when he was told, and signed it with a flourish, saying to Azlam, “With the best wishes from the MCC to Azlam.”

I remained close by Qubad, sitting on the grass, as our team went to field. Wasim stood a few feet away, waiting to see Veer play. Parwaaze consulted with Veer in placing his fielders. They had decided to have Namdar bowl first.

I cannot leave Jahan behind here, they will kill or imprison him.

Azlam and his partner went in. In the way he prepared himself, it was obvious Azlam had not read the cricket book. Just possessing it, and depriving Parwaaze of it, was his only strategy. He held the bat like a club; he was going to hit the ball as hard as he could. Namdar ran up to bowl and Azlam did connect; though the ball didn't reach the stands, they made two runs.

With his next ball Namdar hit Azlam's wicket, and both he and Parwaaze jumped high in joy. Namdar took another two wickets, and I was so proud of him. In three weeks, he was now an accurate bowler, bouncing the ball in the right place. Veer came on to bowl at a medium pace. I thought that in all the years in Delhi I had never seen him play and here he was in Ghazi Stadium. His first was wide and he windmilled his right arm to loosen up. His next was straighter and bounced high. With his third one, he hit the wicket.

Qubad and I shouted, “Good, good,” waved, and followed every ball with “Stop the run,” “Catch the ball,” “Good, good.”

When we heard the call for prayer, the game stopped and everyone on the field, and in the stadium, performed
namaaz
. Veer was taken by surprise and stayed standing until I gestured for him to kneel and he did so quickly. Markwick remained the lone upright figure, waiting patiently for prayers to finish. Everyone stood when
namaaz
was over and continued playing.

However, after every over bowled, the team would gather in a tight circle to talk. It was normal in cricket to discuss strategy, but these conferences didn't seem to be about the match, as they frequently looked at the dozing policemen or else surrounded Jahan. I wondered what they discussed. When they broke up, I signaled for Jahan to come over but he ignored me.

I will insist we marry only after Jahan is safe and after the forty days of mourning for my mother.

Hoshang, as wicketkeeper, caught two catches from nicked balls and danced with delight. Azlam's team managed to score twenty-five runs, and my Omaid got three wickets, much to his joy.

When our turn came to bat, Jahan and Parwaaze went to the pitch. At first, they played cautiously, but when they soon saw that Azlam's team didn't have any good bowlers, quickly began to hit the ball hard. Parwaaze was out first, with our score on fifteen, when Veer went to join Jahan. Veer had a stylish technique and hit the ball with ease. We scored twenty-seven runs and won.

Jahan will leave then, and will never see my face again.

Markwick congratulated the two winning teams, consoled the losers and told them not to give up playing this great game.

Azlam stared furiously at a sweetly smiling Parwaaze. For a moment, I thought he would stick out his tongue.

“Be careful,” Bilal whispered. “He hates you now.”

“He always has.”

Then Markwick gave another speech on bringing cricket to the country and said that he would see us tomorrow for the final. He was escorted out to a waiting car and we were left to celebrate our first victory with our fans, other cousins, and their friends, who crowded around us.

“You'll be in Pakistan tomorrow night . . . don't forget us . . . well played,” they were saying as they patted everyone, including Qubad and me, on the back.

We moved toward the exit, and the two policemen woke from their long afternoon siestas to trail us. They looked for Jahan among us and when they saw him, relaxed. Youseff fell in beside Veer, and spoke softly.

“Youseff says it won't be a problem tomorrow,” Veer told me. “They both need money, but he hasn't made an offer. They're on duty tomorrow too. And the smuggler will pick up the team from your house tomorrow morning in his minibus.”

The team, in unison, slowed down, leaving a widening gap between our fans and the other spectators trickling out of the stadium.

“We can't leave Jahan behind,” Parwaaze said in a steady voice. “If he has to stay, we all stay. We discussed and agreed on that when we were fielding.” He looked at the others and had affirmative nods from them all.

“Then you'll all go to Pul—” I started.

“Wait,” Veer broke in. “Parwaaze and the team are going to talk to the cousins and friends who were in the stands today. They'll come tomorrow and they will dress in white
shalwars,
and sneakers, if they have them. But they'll wear black
pakols
or
lungees,
with
hijabs
.”

“Like today, they'll come onto the field after the game,” Royan said, taking it up.

“They'll carry white
pakols
too to wear and put them on when we're ready. Twelve of them will then take our place in the smuggler's minibus,” Namdar said, eyes glistening with the risk.

“The cops will follow the minibus back to Karte Seh,” Bilal continued.

“We hide in the tunnel until they've gone,” Veer said. “When it's clear, we take the Jeep to the airport when we win. If we lose we take it for the border and hope it won't smash an axle with the load.”

“But they'll be looking for Jahan,” I said sharply.

“Yes, they will be looking for me,” Jahan said. “I'll get into the bus first so they can see me inside, and then when all the cousins start crowding in, I'll slip out the back door of the bus. We'll have our friends surrounding it to cheer the team, and I will then mix with them. The bus drives off and the cops follow it. And I'll join you.”

“What about the bribes?” I was determined to puncture their dreams.

“They'll be paid,” Veer said. “Then they'll swear he was on the bus.”

“Have you got another plan then?” Atash asked, querulous.

They looked at me expectantly.

“No,” I said. It had to work to save us all.

“We're going to talk to our cousins and our friends this evening,” Parwaaze said.

“Will they agree?” I asked.

“To save Jahan, why not?” Qubad said. “We're family.”

“They can always say they didn't know Jahan wasn't on the bus,” Omaid said quietly.

We moved to join the crowd as it drifted to the main road. I lifted Veer's hand to my mouth and kissed it quickly, caressing his hand against my bearded cheek.

“Are you comfortable where you're staying?” I asked in a normal voice, a polite inquiry, not wanting to think about tomorrow and possibly my last day with him.

“A cheap guesthouse Youseff knows. I've stayed in worse.”

“I wish you were staying with us, close to me.”

“It won't be long before we'll be together always. No more good-byes.” He quickly kissed my hand. “Be ready to leave tomorrow, and we will take Jahan with us.”

It was dusk by the time we reached home in another taxi and the police car slid into its usual position, across the road. The two men settled back in their seats to continue sleeping once they saw Jahan and me enter the compound and the gate close behind us.

Dr. Hanifa, who had decided to stay and help with our final preparations for escape, had surpassed herself and we immediately sat down to eat. We regaled her with stories of the match, Markwick, and our winning the game. She didn't understand a word about cricket but knew we now had a chance to escape the country if we won.

“Will it work?” I asked Jahan after Dr. Hanifa had gone to bed in Grandfather's room.

“It has to. What else? I know I sounded brave saying I'd stay behind, but I want to be out too, and not face Droon alone.”

“I don't want you to either. I couldn't live knowing you were in prison or—”

Abdul interrupted us from the front step, calling, “Parwaaze and the other cousins are here.”

The team shuffled in and we closed the door.

“We've spoken to our cousins and their friends,” Parwaaze announced. “They will do what we ask to help Jahan.”

Jahan clapped his hands, bringing smiles to all our faces. Now he would just have to slip off the bus and join us. But my cousins lingered in the hall, watching me, watching Babur. They turned to Parwaaze, nodding their heads like puppets.

“What is it?” I asked.

Parwaaze looked both embarrassed and pleading at the same time. “Hoshang won't be playing tomorrow. Father said if the team wins and we go to Pakistan, he cannot lose both his sons. One son must stay in Kabul to look after the business and care for the family should anything happen to him. As Hoshang is the older son, he has to stay.”

“But he loved being behind the wickets!”

“He's very disappointed. But Father is right. One of us must stay home. He can't lose both of us.”

“Then you'll have to play with one of the others dressed like us.”

“But we have to win,” Omaid said quietly.

“We can't risk losing the game by having someone who doesn't know how to play,” Daud echoed.

Omaid stepped forward. “We want you to play in place of Hoshang.”

“I can't,” I answered immediately. “They'll see I'm a woman very quickly on the field and arrest me.”

“No, they won't,” Nazir said. “Hoshang was our wicketkeeper. You'll be in the center of the field, behind the wickets the whole time when we're fielding and not anywhere near the stands.”

“And you don't have to run for the ball,” Royan said.

“You bat last,” Parwaaze added quickly. “If we win before you bat, then you won't have to be on the field.”

“You're placing yourselves in great danger, and me, and Veer, by asking me to play,” I warned. But the chance to help them win and get Jahan to safety was percolating through my mind, eroding my reluctance.

“You must,” Qubad said in a no-argument tone. “I'll be twelfth man.”

They were waiting expectantly, their eyes pleading with me to agree. They were so hungry to win and escape and I couldn't deny them. It was a risk I had to take. “I'll play.”

They clapped and smiles lit up their faces.

“You have played wicketkeeper?” Royan asked as they moved to leave.

“Many times,” I said cheerfully, although I'd done that only twice when Lakshmi, our college wicketkeeper, had fallen ill. It was a great position—the wicketkeeper was constantly a part of the action, and I could help the bowler decide which ball to send down.

I felt a surge of adrenaline at the thought of playing the game again, and not just teaching it. I went down to my stuffy room, thinking about the game, strategizing it, knowing I would be playing a game I loved, with a man I loved.