The Lady or the Lion

by Aamna Qureshi

  “It isn’t so simple,” Durkhanai argued. “Marghazar looks immensely guilty right now. To appease the other zillas, it had to be done.”

  “But what precisely are the ambassadors doing here? What were those two discussing?” Zarmina asked, dark brown eyes confused. She played with her long braid of thick black hair. It is clear they do not simply wish for a view into the land of legend.”

  “I doubt it’s so simple,” Saifullah countered. His eyes matched Zarmina’s. They looked so alike to one another and nothing like Durkhanai, who everyone said looked just like their mother, her Nazo Phuppo. The twins resembled their father, while Durkhanai was all her grandfather.

  “The other zillas have never had the opportunity to negotiate with Marghazar,” Durkhanai explained. “This is the first time any of them have been allowed a serious audience with the Badshah, and while Agha-Jaan won’t be bullied into any sort of agreements, he is open to negotiation in order for appeasement. Nobody wants war. And it’s buying time to prove our innocence.”

  “We shouldn’t have to prove our innocence,” Saifullah said. “The other zillas should accept our word.”

  “I suppose,” Zarmina sighed. “I still don’t like it, nor do the people.”

  “What do you mean?” Durkhanai asked. “Have you heard of unrest?”

  This was new.

  The twins nodded.

  “When we were travelling here from Dirgara into here, along the way, many seemed disgruntled,” Zarmina explained. “They don’t understand why foreigners are being allowed entry into S’vat when for centuries they have been turned back. Marghazar does not need to prove anything to anyone.”

  “If the Badshah was a strong leader, he would see that,” Saifullah said.

  Durkhanai stilled.

  “Mind your words, Saifullah,” she warned, voice deadly. She straightened to her full stature, which was broader than her cousins’ wirier builds.

  The transition from cousin to princess was seamless.

  “Pardon me,” Saifullah said. He met her eyes with a hint of anger and frustration, as if she couldn’t see what he saw. Regardless, while disapproval and discontentment were bearable, outright criticism was unforgivable.

  “Acha, bas,” Zarmina said, breaking the silence. “How are the ambassadors, Durkhanai? Any we can possibly trust? That Palwasha-sahiba seemed awfully elusive.”

  “Gulalai-sahiba of Kurra is nice,” Durkhanai said, steering the tension from her tone. She discussed her thoughts regarding the ambassadors with her cousins, the same way she had with Gululai yesterday. She was left with the same frustration at the end. Durkhanai groaned. “Nevertheless, this is a puzzle for which we don’t have all the pieces yet.”

  But she had a sneaking suspicion Asfandyar knew more than he let on.

  “Teerza is the worst, of course, because of their insistence in establishing a united nation,” Saifullah said “Especially because of their disapproval for the Badshah’s . . . semi-barbaric ways.”

  “But they don’t understand him,” Durkhanai argued. She hated anyone to disapprove of her grandfather.

  They didn’t appreciate what it meant that he had been a boy-king, given the throne at fourteen when his father and three elder brothers had been slaughtered by Luhgams. Of course he would be eccentric, a little bit overzealous—a little bit unhinged.

  “I wouldn’t trust Jardum, either,” Saifullah added. “I haven’t heard good things about Asfandyar.”

  He gave Durkhanai a pointed look.

  “By the way, what were you two doing earlier?” Zarmina asked, eyebrows raised.

  “Nothing!” she said, a little too sharply.

  The siblings exchanged a glance.

  “That was entirely unconvincing,” Saifullah said. “But we’ve more important matters to attend to. Just be careful around him.”

  The twins were eighteen, only a year older than Durkhanai, but they sometimes spoke to her like she was a child.

  “He isn’t so bad,” she replied curtly.

  Zarmina raised a brow, giving her a look that said she saw through everything.

  “Don’t worry! I’m only searching for weaknesses,” Durkhanai said, but it tasted acidic, like a half lie.

  She wasn’t a fool. She could handle herself.

  “We shall all search for weaknesses,” Zarmina said.

  “We will protect our people,” Saifullah said. “We will protect the mountains of our home . . . even though we are not heir to it.”

  His voice was strange, as though he knew something Durkhanai didn’t; nonetheless, he sounded . . . bitter. She gave him a glance, but he didn’t notice, or pretended not to.

  It was true Saifullah and Zarmina were not heir to any part of the mountains, but it had always been that way. They and their younger siblings were born of Agha-Jaan’s youngest, her Nazo Phuppo, the youngest of her father’s three siblings.

  Zmarack Chacha, the eldest after her father, was the Wali of Trichmir. The next of her father’s siblings was Suweil Chacha, the Wali of Dirgara. They were obedient branches in the tree of her grandfather’s domain—a bit distant from the trunk, but connected all the same.

  Marghazar encompassed the three smaller regions of S’vat, Trichmir, and Dirgara, and each family stayed in their own ruling region.

  Nazo Phuppo and her family, without a region to rule, lived in Dirgara, where the twins’ father was from. She was a sapling that had spread her roots elsewhere and did not visit often.

  “Dirgara is too far away,” Durkhanai sighed. “I am cross with you for not bringing Nazo Phuppo along to stay.”

  “Uff, the way Ammi dotes on you and forgets us,” Zarmina said, “you would think you were her child and not us.”

  “You know that is only because Ammi and Wakdar Taya were exceptionally close,” Saifullah said. Durkhanai’s heart squeezed.

  “And I adore her so,” Durkhanai said. “I wish you all lived here permanently, with me.”

  Zarmina laughed. “You call me here every few months anyhow, and my stay is always for another few. Are you still not content?”

  “No,” Durkhanai said, voice purposefully petulant. “I want you all to myself, always.”

  Durkhanai grabbed Zarmina and hugged her tightly to her chest. Laughing, Zarmina struggled, but Durkhanai held her close.

  “Alright, alright,” she said. “I’m here, may I breathe?”

  “No,” Durkhanai refused.

  “You’re such a baby,” Zarmina said, pinching Durkhanai’s chubby cheek. With a laugh, Saifullah pinched her other cheek. Durkhanai pouted.

  “Aw,” Saifullah teased. “Are you going to cry now?”

  “Yes,” Durkhanai responded, swatting both of them away. “I am going to cry to Agha-Jaan and then you’ll both be sorry.”

  On either side of her, Zarmina and Saifullah dropped her cheeks and pulled her into a hug.

  “No, no!” they said. “We’ll be good to you now!”

  “Fine,” Durkhanai said with an elaborate sigh. “But to make amends, you must never leave my side!”

  The twins laughed

  “We’ll never leave you,” they said. She smiled and held them close.

  “Good,” she replied. “Now let’s play some games!”

  They moved to her game room and immediately set up a game of kadam board. The next few hours passed in the bliss of laughter and competition and games. The mockery and teasing that belonged to family.

  That night, as Durkhanai and Zarmina climbed into bed, Durkhanai was grateful the emptiness was filled. Zarmina had her own room in the marble palace, but tonight, they would stay awake until fajr talking and talking.

  “My heart has longed for you in this time apart,” Zarmina said, holding Durkhanai’s hands. Durkhanai squeezed her hands and was glad her cousin was finally home. She felt safe, more like herself. Stable.

  “Finally Saifullah has left,” Zarmina said, snuggling in. “I can ask: how is the kind Rashid?”

  Zarmina wiggled
her eyebrows. Durkhanai laughed. She’d almost forgotten about Rashid. Though as son of the strongest nobleman, he would make a good ally . . .

  “Quiet, as usual,” Durkhanai replied with a sigh. “I wonder when he’ll gather the courage to talk to me.”

  “Not all are as courageous as you,” Zarmina teased. “Besides, it is good to have shame.”

  How boring, Durkhanai thought to herself.

  “Any new gossip with you?” Durkhanai asked, changing the subject.

  Zarmina sighed. “Mama showing me this nobleman and that, but they’re all too old or too stupid for me to consider. I yearn for love, just as you do.”

  “But duty must always come first,” Durkhanai said, reminding both Zarmina and herself.

  “Yes,” Zarmina agreed. “Or I told Mama I’ll just stay with her forever, and she said she would like that, to keep me all to herself, but such is not the way of the world. When she and Baba have passed, what will become of me?”

  “You could stay with me!” Durkhanai said. “I’ll take care of you, always.”

  “Mm,” Zarmina said. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it? Just you and I.”

  “It would,” Durkhanai agreed.

  Durkhanai knew one day she would be Badshah, and she would fulfill her promise to take care of Zarmina, to take care of everyone, from her extended family to all the families that lived in her mountains.

  It was her sacred duty.

  Chapter Six

  Some days later, Durkhanai made her way down the mountain, enjoying the view: the emerald green mountains, the tufts of trees, the cerulean blue sky. The thin streams of a waterfall looked like the white strands of an old man’s beard. On another mountain, clouds hung low in the sky like smoke, making the mountains look like they were on fire.

  Here, nature was an entity of its own, and to Durkhanai, it was the loving presence of the parents she had never known. The trees had supported her when she had learned to walk, the air had kissed her cheeks every morning. The rain had softened her angry tantrums, the sweet hum of birds had sung her to sleep.

  It warmed her heart. This was her home.

  She was on her way down to the villages. Durkhanai, the devoted princess, tried to spend a few hours with her people, every few days, at least. There were various villages scattered along their main mountain, and she tried to visit different ones on different days. She’d been neglectful with the arrival of the ambassadors and wanted to investigate the unrest her cousins had mentioned.

  Besides, a little love from her people would help assuage the shame she felt at her failed espionage attempt. It might clear her head a bit, too, to be away from the palace. Give her more time to consider her conversation with Gulalai and consider allyship with Asfandyar.

  Today, she had tried to get Zarmina to accompany her, but Zarmina had been busy with something. Durkhanai had asked Saifullah, then, but he was suspiciously quiet and busy as well.

  Durkhanai set out anyway and let the hours spool away listening to the villagers’ grievances, quelling their qualms. Durkhanai would read books to children in schools, or help the women cook, or go on walks with the elderly. It made her feel less lonely, most days.

  Today, she knew it would ease the tension she felt from the ambassadors’ arrival and Saifullah’s strange distance.

  Above all, she reassured her people that the Badshah and the Wali and the Shehzadi would not let them down.

  “Shehzadi Durkhanai Api!” a little boy’s voice called. She turned to see Mahd, a five-year-old village boy.

  “Hello, guddu!” she replied, crouching down to catch his running hug. He wrapped his arms around her neck and squeezed.

  “Look, look!” he said, bringing a piece of paper before her. He unfolded it to show her a drawing he had made. It was a drawing of the pointy mountains with clouds on top, and standing atop the clouds were two figures.

  “Wow!” she enthused. He smiled, proud of himself.

  “Will you come play cricket with us?” he asked, grabbing her hands. With a laugh, she nodded, allowing him to bring her to the rest of his friends.

  They all cheered upon her arrival, crowding her, waiting for hugs and kisses. She was smothered by them all; her heart felt full.

  When she tired of playing, she went to where one of the elderly women of the village was sitting, stitching embroidery onto a little kurta.

  “Nano, how are you today?” Durkhanai asked. “Did the salve I had sent help at all?”

  “Ah, my Shehzadi,” the nano responded. Durkhanai lowered her head to allow the old woman to hold her face. “Yes, the salve helped, but my blasted knees . . . I am too old.”

  Durkhanai waved a hand. “Tch, nonsense! Come for a walk with me; they just need to be put in use.”

  Durkhanai took the woman’s hand, and they began a slow walk. This was what it was to be Shehzadi: to spend time with the people, to be their princess, their daughter, their sister, their friend. To be everything, for everyone.

  They walked past a little creek, and the whitewater looked like a stream of luminescent milk.

  “Look, Nano,” she said. “See how beautiful Allah has made our world.”

  “And He made our Shehzadi most beautiful of all,” Nano responded, kissing Durkhanai’s face. “But how I miss my Hussain.”

  The old woman spoke of her son, who had died in the ongoing war against the Kebzu Kingdom.

  “He died with honor,” Durkhanai reminded her, but she knew it was of little consolation.

  The people were too heartbroken over those lost to the endless wars against the Kebzus and the Luhgams.

  The war against the Lughum Empire was the only thing keeping Marghazar safe from becoming a colony. Their imperial-minded neighbors had been expanding for decades, and the Lughum Empire had the advantage of size and resources. The only reason Marghazar had remained unconquered was because of their ability to fight in the mountainous terrain.

  The wars had become worse in the past few years. She knew it was because the Badshah was getting closer and closer to defeating the Luhgam Empire once and for all and was thus disbursing all his energy and resources to the eastern front.

  But she couldn’t tell the people as much.

  Losing their men was tough on the villagers not only emotionally but economically. With fewer workers in the field, they couldn’t keep up with the crops. Durkhanai tried to think of solutions. The women could work in the fields, but the children would need to be watched. Perhaps she could establish centers for the children to go after school, or extend the school hours in order to give the adults more time to work?

  But as Durkhani continued on through the village and met with more and more people, war wasn’t the only grouse the people had. Everyone was in a mood because of the ambassadors: from the women tending to the grain to the men cutting and cleaning meat.

  “The ambassadors are only here for a little while,” she tried to explain. “And it’s in the best interest of Marghazar. We wish to avoid war at all costs. Especially with our men already fighting the Kebzu Kingdom and the Luhgam Empire.”

  She could tell they were angry with the Badshah, that they disagreed with and resented what was going on, but they would never say as much out loud. They were discontent, not dissident. She listened attentively to their grumblings.

  Always the devoted princess.

  “I will speak with the Badshah,” she assured them. “Don’t worry.”

  Durkhanai tried her best to dim the people’s worries, yet she could tell they listened only for her happiness. This was the part where they thought she was silly, pretty and young, to be doted on and adored, not capable of true action, not capable of really understanding their grievances.

  Beloved, yet useless.

  Durkhani was adored and loved being adored, but sometimes she wanted more.

  She didn’t know how to appease the unrest growing through the villages. At the very least, everyone disagreed with allying with the other zillas.

  Someth
ing flickered in the corner of her eye. Durkhanai glimpsed a shadow somewhere, a tall and lean man. For an instant she wondered if it was Asfandyar, following her.

  Perhaps she was imagining things.

  Nonetheless, it made her sharper, even though she knew there were guards silently tailing her, ensuring her safety. She was more on guard as she walked through the silent trail.

  Durkhanai stopped in her tracks when she heard something. Muffled voices ahead. On another occasion, she might have ignored it, but her sharpened attention refused to let it go. She approached, then stopped when she saw a young man and woman pressed against the side of a house. Lovers.

  Her heartbeat quickened, and she averted her gaze quickly, but something wasn’t right. She could hear the girl whimpering as the boy’s mouth moved across her neck. Durkhanai cleared her throat. The girl met her eyes and gasped.

  The boy, however, was preoccupied, until the girl tried to shove him off her. Unrelenting, he held her in place.

  Durkhanai picked up a rock and threw it at his back.

  “What—?” The boy turned and immediately paled. “Shehzadi!”

  He released the girl and took two steps back, lowering his head. The girl scrambled to retrieve her dupatta from the floor, while the boy had the good graces to look embarrassed. When Durkhanai looked closer, she noted the girl was crying, her mouth swollen.

  Durkhanai narrowed her eyes.

  “Come here,” she commanded the girl. “What’s your name?”

  The girl came close, wiping her cheeks and sniffling. She couldn’t have been older than fifteen.

  “I-Inaya,” she stammered.

  “Was this boy hurting you?” Durkhanai asked. Inaya looked back at the boy, who answered with a sharp look of his own. “Don’t look at him. Answer me.”

  Inaya lowered her head, then nodded slightly.

  Anger burned in Durkhanai’s chest. She rounded on the boy, who was staring at his feet. He seemed a year older than her, just eighteen. “Come here,” she demanded.