The Mind Creative MARCH 2015 | Page 51

pass repeatedly in my imagination; more vividly than ever because I lead such a vegetable existence and a call to a travel to another land would fall upon me like a thunderbolt. In the presence of this Kabuliwallah, I was immediately transported to the foot of arid mountain peaks, with narrow little defiles twisting in and out amongst their towering heights. I could see the string of camels bearing the merchandise, and the company of turbaned merchants, carrying some of their queer old firearms, and some of their spears, journeying downward towards the plains. At some such point in my thoughts, Mini's mother would intervene, imploring me to "beware of that man." Mini's mother is unfortunately a very timid lady. Whenever she hears a noise in the street, or sees people coming towards the house, she always jumps to the conclusion that they are either thieves, drunkards or even an English sailor. Even after all these years, she is not able to overcome her terror. The fear of the unknown had driven her to have many doubts about the Kabuliwallah and she often begged me to keep a watchful eye on him. When I tried to make light of her fears, she would turn round on me seriously, and ask me solemn questions. Were children never kidnapped? Was it, then, not true that there was slavery in Kabul? Was it so absurd that this big man should be able to carry off a tiny child? 51