Goat Days Read Free Page B

and I were relieved. Nobody was ever going to come searching for us. And being in the line became an amusementand a diversion. Casually talking and cracking jokes, we idled those two hours away. This was our way of dealing with our situation—we had arrived at a compromise with the fear that had once overwhelmed us. This was true for all those who had spent four or five months in the jail.
    Our block was like a railway station where people arrived and departed. There were no permanent residents. All the prisoners didn’t come at the same time; they came separately, from different police stations from various corners of the country, on different days, at different times. We sometimes didn’t even discern the slow inward flow. But some departures were like the emptying of a platform when a train arrived.
    The day after the inspection by the Arabs was the day of the embassy visit. Embassy officials of different countries came to the prison with release papers for the prisoners of their respective countries. If the previous day was one of tears, the next was one of joy. On that day too, all the prisoners would be taken out in a line. Embassy officials would read out the names of those whose papers—exit passes—had been processed, and they would step forward. It was a rather impatient wait. It amused me to compare it tothe anxiety of beauties waiting for the announcement of the Miss Universe contest results. A joy similar to that which lights up the face of the winner when her name is announced must have erupted in the heart of each one whose name was called out. That roll call marked the final release from a long agony. But nobody expressed it openly. There were many more for whom the waiting—wracked with anxiety and hope—continued. There was despair when one recognized that one’s name wasn’t among those that were called out. Some, who had been waiting for months, would just burst into tears.
    The five-minute period after this announcement, when the officials went into the prison office to take care of the paperwork, was for us the time of goodbyes. It was the time to recall with tenderness our life together, the many days spent with each other sharing each other’s griefs. Still, it was with great jubilation that those left behind bid farewell to those who departed. It wasn’t possible to say goodbye to too many. Because, by then, the policeman’s whistle, like that of the moving train, would go off. All those called would run towards the exit. Who would like a policeman’s belt smack his back as he leaves prison?

Four
    I felt an intense fear creep into my heart as I spent many days like that in the prison. Those who came before me and after me had left for the homeland. My papers alone were yet to be processed. I knew those who were released had passports and other documents. It was not reasonable to expect the processing of my permit to be as fast as theirs. Still, there was only so much time one needed to get the papers in order. It was already four or five months since I entered the prison. My only solace was that Hameed was there with me to share my misfortune. His papers hadn’t been processed either.
    Every week, we would have great expectations when the embassy officials arrived and we would suffer greater disillusionment when they left. I had surrendered myself to the police believing Kunjikka’s assurances that he would take care of all the rest. It will be taken care of. I must trust Kunjikka. My God… who else will I trust in this world if I don’t trust Kunjikka? In Your mercy, forgive me for doubting him even for this half a second of despair, and for forgetting all the favours he did for me in Your name.
    These are embassy matters. Everything will happen only in its turn. I have waited and endured for so long. What is another day or two? The time Allah, the merciful, has set for me has not yet come. That was the satisfactory explanation for the delay.
    It was that day of the week when the