She had no time to think this through, jostled into following the crowd of people moving in the direction of the stage, but Malik steered her towards the side where ropes strung loosely between stakes marked the boundaries of the audience area. She pulled the other way. She wanted to get up to the front, near the stage, and join the girls there who were jumping up and down and clapping in time to the warm-up band. But Malik tugged her back and pointed to a huge screen showing the performers on-stage. She realised that she’d get a better view from here, and it would be more comfortable than being squashed in the crowd and probably seeing very little.
The warm-up band finished playing and the crowd clapped and shrieked as they went off the stage. Then a tall Asian man came on with a microphone in his hand. It was Amrit Sandhu, presenter of the local TV station’s music channel. The crowd roared as he waved to them, then gradually the noise died down.
‘ Namaste, everyone,’ he shouted.
‘ Namaste,’ the crowd roared back.
‘ Salaam, ’ he shouted.
‘ Salaam,’ they roared back.
And finally ‘Hello,’ and back from the crowd ‘Hello.’
‘Are you enjoying yourselves?’
‘Yes,’ the crowd shouted back.
‘Well, now you’re in for the treat of the afternoon. They’re here, straight from their successful European tour, already booked for a US tour and waiting to perform, just for you. Put your hands together. It’s… the Chick Peas!’
A huge answering roar came from the crowd.
Tahira was watching the big screen beside her as the group’s band began to play a heavy bass line accompanied by loud insistent drums. Suddenly from the wings the lead singer, Banditti Kahab, marched on to the stage wearing a white leather miniskirt, stamping her tall, shiny, high-heeled boots in time to the beat. She had huge silver hoop earrings in her ears, silver bangles on her arms, and her hair was brushed out in a lustrous black mane.
The two other Chick Peas now came on to the stage, one in wide-bottomed silk trousers displaying a bare midriff, the other in skintight crops and what looked like a bra made of sequins.
They stood side by side at the front of the stage, waving and smiling at the audience. Then suddenly the band started to play the intro to their hit single and the girls began to sing. Banditti waved to the crowd to join in and the resulting noise was deafening.
Tahira sang too, and glanced over at Malik to see if he was joining in. But he wasn’t singing; he was looking at her. She smiled but he didn’t smile back. She felt uneasy again. What was the matter? As the song ended and the applause died down a bit, she said, ‘That was great, wasn’t it?’
He didn’t reply. A guitar was being tuned before the next song and over Malik’s shoulder, on the screen, Tahira could see Banditti moving around the stage, waiting till the band was ready. Malik said, ‘Listen, I have to go now.’
‘What do you mean, go?’ She couldn’t believe it.
He nodded. She said, ‘So you aren’t enjoying it.’
‘No, no. It’s not that,’ he said. ‘I just have to leave.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why have you got to leave?’
He gave a thin smile. ‘It doesn’t matter. Just trust me.’
‘But where are you going? You’ll never be able to get out in this crush. When will I see you again?’
He looked at her and said, ‘I can’t predict that. But I am sure we will meet again. Maybe not in this world, but certainly in the next one.’
As he said these words, Tahira went cold from head to toe. She stared at him open-mouthed. There was a dreamy look on his face now, as if he was already somewhere else.
She didn’t want to think about that. Instead she said, ‘Why are you talking like this? Why can’t you stay here with me? You wanted to come,’ she added accusingly.
But he wasn’t listening. Malik seemed to be drifting away from her, right before her eyes. She was helpless to call him back.
He said slowly, ‘You are very special, Tahira. Please always remember that I said that. Goodbye.’ And he reached out his hand and touched her lightly on the cheek, then turned and walked away. She watched, mystified, as he headed towards the gates.
Then Malik suddenly changed direction, angling sideways into the back of the crowd. She lost sight of him for a moment, then saw the orange baseball cap bobbing among the excited teenage girls. What was he doing?
And then she realised he was heading for the stage, and suddenly she knew. It had all been a sham. He hadn’t changed his mind about the Chick Peas, or the West, or the evil he seemed to see in everything Tahira enjoyed. He had tricked her, pretending to have changed; he’d used her as cover to get into the concert. He was going to do something terrible.
‘We’ve lost them.’
