A King in Hiding Read Free Page B

again. But this time the child in danger was me. And the only way to avoid the danger was never to set foot outside the house.
    In the mornings I would stay inside. In the afternoons, when my friends came home from school, I would be allowed to play in the courtyard. But only in the courtyard. Never in the street. Never anywhere near the street. From the doorway, my mother would watch me constantly.
    My life was awful. I was bored. I was frightened. Whenever I looked at my mother, her red-rimmed eyes would make me feel sad. At night I would imagine men pouncing on me, kidnapping me, selling me as a slave in a faraway country where I would never see my family again. When I finally got to sleep, different men, wearing masks and dressed all in black, would come in and stab me to death.
    One morning, an anonymous letter arrived. That is, it didn’t say who’d sent it, but we knew all the same. My parents didn’t read it to me, or even show it to me, but they told me about it. It said that some men were going to kidnap me because I was so good at chess.
    I didn’t understand why these people were attacking me, I just knew that I was too young to die. That night in bed I heard voices:
    â€˜His life is in danger, you must take him far away.’
    â€˜But all five of you can’t go, you’d be spotted in no time.’
    â€˜A family with three children, one a baby, is bound to attract attention.’
    â€˜They’ll track you down, even in India.’
    â€˜You’ll need to cover your tracks. If it’s just the two of you it will be more discreet.’
    â€˜But what will you do for money? Travelling is expensive.’
    â€˜Leave the rest of them behind, nothing will happen to them. It’s Fahim who’s in danger.’
    â€˜We’ll look after them. Go somewhere safe, you and Fahim. You can send for them later.’
    I was outraged. I clenched my fists. I wanted to punch the men who were threatening me, the cowards who were attacking me without daring to show their faces. I didn’t want to leave Jhorna and the baby. I didn’t want to leave my mother. I couldn’t imagine life without her, far from her arms, her voice, her smell, her smile, the way she looked at me.
    My father called me into the living room. My mother was pale and silent. My father told me that the next day he and I would have to go away. He said I was too young to understand, but that we had no choice. And I didn’t dare to ask any questions.
    The neighbours came round. The evening was sad, like when someone has died. Except the dead person was me, and I wasn’t dead. Not yet. I’d be dead if I was killed. If I was kidnapped. If I was taken away from my mother.
    I cuddled up close to her. I wouldn’t leave her. We didn’t even think of going to sleep. In the morning, she hugged me tight. She was weeping. Over and over again she kept saying:
    â€˜Take care of yourself, my son, I love you. Don’t forget me. May God reunite us very soon. I’ll think of you every day. I’ll always be with you. You will be in my heart for ever.’
    We left. Just the two of us, my father and I. It was 2 September 2008, the worst day of my life.
    I was eight years old.
    I was lost.
    My life was over.

Chapter 4
    AN ENDLESS JOURNEY

    I t was all so confused. In my memory everything is all jumbled up. There were buses. Aeroplanes. Kolkata. New Delhi. Life on the run. Journeys that went on for ever, that put me off travelling for good. My father searching. Making calls. Always making calls. Trying to get as far away from Bangladesh as we could. Embassies, consulates, trying to buy tickets to get out of Asia, far away. So that no one could ever find us. An airport. An ancient Aeroflot plane. A night flight. A stopover in Russia, maybe?
    I forgot it all as soon as it happened, blotted it out of my memory. My father and I would never talk about those days and nights, the running away.