I have no memory of summoning the black Ambassador, or of my ride through the choked traffic to the morgue. My first vivid memory was of incredible relief as I paused to gather strength at the now-familiar entrance to the autopsy room where the two bodies were laid out on top of the stone altars, side by side, naked, still awaiting the knife of the medical examiner, and I was struck by the unmistakable sign of maleness. It was a common tactic for men to disguise themselves in burqas and chadors, I reminded myself, assuming the roles of women, the perfect cover-up for all kinds of male mischief. As I drew nearer I could see that the bodies were severely battered and discolored and swollen, the noses smashed in, the limbs broken, they had been dumped from the train like trash. The maleness of the one nearest to me was confirmed as I stood beside him—Samir Khan, the one we had been seeking, surfaced at last. On the altar beside him was the girl, so young, so slight, so beaten, so abused, no one on the face of the earth would have recognized her except her mother.

Save your poor daughter, mother. See how they have tormented her.

O my daughter, Maya, would that it had been me in your place, my daughter, my daughter, Maya.

Her name is no longer Maya, mother says. It is Malala. Look, she lives. They tried to kill her in the Swat Valley but kind-hearted souls saved her and brought her back to life for the good work she was destined to do for the sake of the feminine gender. The perfect daughter, a mother’s heart bursts with pride. Did you know that she has just won the Nobel Peace Prize, the youngest laureate ever? Rejoice. It will look awesome on her college application.

Meena

Meena

1

IN THE MIDDLE of the journey of our life, having passed through the phases of studentship and householder, the first two of the four stages allotted to mortals on this earth according to the wisdom of the holy men of the East, I found myself in a black hole. Two more stages stretched ahead of me—renunciation and withdrawal—on the long road to liberation, but I felt myself unable to go on, craving death.