they all began talking and ordering food.
Majid could not help that he was speechless with awe but he hoped it would pass soon, so he could
appear less like an idiot. It was in those moments, though, that he recalled the Emissary most
likely did not speak more than a few words of Urdu. English then, sadly, was the common language for
so many who had come to the cause through Rashmana . Kali had told Majid that the Emissary
deliberately sought his high-level recruits from amongst those educated in the West.
Of course there was the rumour, which most chose to disbelieve, that Jamal Zahkri was himself not
simply born in the United States, but that he was half Anglo-American. Certainly his blue eyes
hinted at the possibility but then Majid had met many Chitrali, and even a Mongolian once, who had
the same blue - but not so deep and wise as the man beside him. This possible lineage also clashed
with other stories that his father's father came from Istanbul or perhaps Syria.
When the roti, rice and two huge curries, one with panar and palak and the other with meat, were
laid on the table the men took to eating as if they had not done so for days.
The Emissary commented on the meat and asked what it was.
Majid flicked his outstretched hand questioningly at the boy and said, ' bakri ka mans, ji
ha ?' The boy nodded, and Majid, glad to have found an easy way to test his voice, turned back to
the Emissary. 'It is goat.'
'Then it is very good goat.' The Emissary added something else, in a language Majid did not
recognise, but only one of the other men laughed. This was apparently not done to exclude anyone;
but rather to include the small foreign man who was still grinning.
'I reminded our southern friend,' Zahkri explained, switching back to English without hesitation,
'of the last time we had eaten goat together. It was near the Thai-Burmese border, and the meat was
hot and tough like the cloven one himself. The flavour of this meal is much more to our liking.'
Majid tilted his head and smiled, yet he could not believe his first conversation with the great
Jamal Zahkri al Khudri was about meat.
'Kali tells me you have taken to the Rashmana like a duck.'
A duck ? Majid couldn't help but look taken-aback. That his friend should make such a
report to the Emissary about his studies being apparently less than fitting, could not be true.
First goats, now birds; perhaps there is some code I am missing.
Zahkri looked puzzled with his latest recruit's odd reaction. He glanced questioningly at his
other companions, then tore a piece of roti with his right hand, used it to envelop a piece of meat
and pushed it into his mouth.
Kali meanwhile launched into a quick exchange in Urdu to find out what was wrong with his
best-friend-in-all-the- world. He then laughed out loud and even Majid managed to smile at his own
mistake.
'He didn't understand the duck to water reference,' Kali explained, again in English. 'He thought
it might be a code.'
Everyone laughed, except the little man who Majid suspected was neither Thai nor Burmese despite
the previous reference. He's Malay perhaps or Indonesian, Majid decided.
Jamal Zahkri put his elbows on the table and clasped his hands in front of his face. As all the
others followed suit, Majid did the same.
'This,' explained Kali, 'is just in case we are being watched or perhaps filmed. The CIA has been
known to use lip readers when they have not been able to leave their bugs.'
'I swept here every day for devices,' Majid stated.
'We know,' said the fourth man in the group.
'Samir has been watching you waiting,' Kali grinned.
'For three days?' Majid was astonished. He looked around to see how this could have been so.
'For three days indeed,' Samir replied. 'And I helped sell a good many copper pots.'
For a moment, Majid thought the Emissary was smiling at his discomfort, but realised he was in
reality simply smiling at him.
'It is okay, arkadasim , my friend,' Zahkri said. 'Samir was simply
Majid could not help that he was speechless with awe but he hoped it would pass soon, so he could
appear less like an idiot. It was in those moments, though, that he recalled the Emissary most
likely did not speak more than a few words of Urdu. English then, sadly, was the common language for
so many who had come to the cause through Rashmana . Kali had told Majid that the Emissary
deliberately sought his high-level recruits from amongst those educated in the West.
Of course there was the rumour, which most chose to disbelieve, that Jamal Zahkri was himself not
simply born in the United States, but that he was half Anglo-American. Certainly his blue eyes
hinted at the possibility but then Majid had met many Chitrali, and even a Mongolian once, who had
the same blue - but not so deep and wise as the man beside him. This possible lineage also clashed
with other stories that his father's father came from Istanbul or perhaps Syria.
When the roti, rice and two huge curries, one with panar and palak and the other with meat, were
laid on the table the men took to eating as if they had not done so for days.
The Emissary commented on the meat and asked what it was.
Majid flicked his outstretched hand questioningly at the boy and said, ' bakri ka mans, ji
ha ?' The boy nodded, and Majid, glad to have found an easy way to test his voice, turned back to
the Emissary. 'It is goat.'
'Then it is very good goat.' The Emissary added something else, in a language Majid did not
recognise, but only one of the other men laughed. This was apparently not done to exclude anyone;
but rather to include the small foreign man who was still grinning.
'I reminded our southern friend,' Zahkri explained, switching back to English without hesitation,
'of the last time we had eaten goat together. It was near the Thai-Burmese border, and the meat was
hot and tough like the cloven one himself. The flavour of this meal is much more to our liking.'
Majid tilted his head and smiled, yet he could not believe his first conversation with the great
Jamal Zahkri al Khudri was about meat.
'Kali tells me you have taken to the Rashmana like a duck.'
A duck ? Majid couldn't help but look taken-aback. That his friend should make such a
report to the Emissary about his studies being apparently less than fitting, could not be true.
First goats, now birds; perhaps there is some code I am missing.
Zahkri looked puzzled with his latest recruit's odd reaction. He glanced questioningly at his
other companions, then tore a piece of roti with his right hand, used it to envelop a piece of meat
and pushed it into his mouth.
Kali meanwhile launched into a quick exchange in Urdu to find out what was wrong with his
best-friend-in-all-the- world. He then laughed out loud and even Majid managed to smile at his own
mistake.
'He didn't understand the duck to water reference,' Kali explained, again in English. 'He thought
it might be a code.'
Everyone laughed, except the little man who Majid suspected was neither Thai nor Burmese despite
the previous reference. He's Malay perhaps or Indonesian, Majid decided.
Jamal Zahkri put his elbows on the table and clasped his hands in front of his face. As all the
others followed suit, Majid did the same.
'This,' explained Kali, 'is just in case we are being watched or perhaps filmed. The CIA has been
known to use lip readers when they have not been able to leave their bugs.'
'I swept here every day for devices,' Majid stated.
'We know,' said the fourth man in the group.
'Samir has been watching you waiting,' Kali grinned.
'For three days?' Majid was astonished. He looked around to see how this could have been so.
'For three days indeed,' Samir replied. 'And I helped sell a good many copper pots.'
For a moment, Majid thought the Emissary was smiling at his discomfort, but realised he was in
reality simply smiling at him.
'It is okay, arkadasim , my friend,' Zahkri said. 'Samir was simply
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