The Lady or the Lion

by Aamna Qureshi

He shot forward and stood before her, though he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  “Do explain,” Durkhanai said.

  His cheeks burned red. “I-I didn’t mean to,” he said pathetically. “My hands slipped.”

  “I see.” The woods were silent around the trail, no one else in sight.

  The boy mumbled an apology, but that wasn’t good enough.

  “On your knees.”

  The boy had no choice but to obey. He went to his knees.

  “Hands forward.”

  Hesitantly, the boy put his hands forward, and she saw angry tears glistening in his eyes. He apologized again, his voice clipped. Inaya shifted uncomfortably, still behind Durkhanai.

  “Inaya, hand me those rocks,” Durkhanai said, pointing to two large stones. She obliged, one by one. They were heavier than they looked. Durkhanai took one and held it at her eye-level above his hands. The boy whimpered, understanding. But he didn’t pull away.

  It was not in the Marghazari to be cowards in the face of punishment. Moreover, he knew doing so would insult the Shehzadi, which would earn him the Badshah’s wrath—something nobody in their right mind would solicit.

  Durkhanai forcefully dropped one on each of the boy’s hands.

  The crunch of bones was loud in the quiet. He cried out in pain.

  “Oh dear,” she said. “Looks as though my hands have slipped, as well.”

  The boy was crying now, hands still beneath the stones. She kicked them off and saw his fingers were bloodied, the bones at strange angles.

  How gruesome. Guilt panged through her, but she could not have the locals thinking she hadn’t inherited anything of her grandfather’s spirit.

  The guilt gave way to anger. She would not be underestimated, considered silly and frivolous. She could be just as quick and clever as her grandfather.

  “Get up,” she snapped. He did as he was told. With one finger, she tilted his chin so he looked into her eyes.

  “Let us hope such a mistake won’t reoccur,” she said, voice sweet. “Tell your friends as well.”

  Where there was one scoundrel, there was bound to be an entire herd.

  He nodded, face wet with tears. Fear and pain shone in his eyes as he fled.

  Durkhanai turned to Inaya. “You have nothing to fear from him, anymore,” she said, voice soft with kindness. Inaya nodded, wiping away her tears.

  “I thought he loved me,” she said.

  Poor fool. And how Durkhanai hated fools, and scrupulously avoided becoming one herself. She gave Inaya’s arm a pitying squeeze. “Let me walk you home.”

  Inaya lived in a cluster of homes that seemed eerily silent. Usually, the women here would be out hanging laundry at this time. When Durkhanai followed Inaya into one house, she heard a cacophony of coughing.

  A young man stopped her before she could go any further.

  “Lala Farukh, what is it?” Inaya asked her older brother. She went to his side.

  “Abu’s health has taken a turn for the worse,” Farukh replied. “And four more have fallen ill.” He turned to Durkhanai. “Shehzadi, I beg your pardon, but you mustn’t enter here.”

  “Are they alright?” Durkhanai asked. “What’s the matter?”

  “Hay fever, perhaps, due to the changing of seasons,” the man responded. It was April, and winter had thawed to spring.

  But as Durkhanai visited more villages and homes over the course of the next few weeks, more and more people were falling ill. Until it was no longer merely a coincidence.

  It was a concern.

  Chapter Seven

  By the time Durkhanai made it back to the palace after another round of visits to the villages, she was weary and sad. Another village riddled with illness. First foreigners, then the Kebzus slaughtering the soldiers, and now illness and a very upset people?

  The past few weeks had been brutal. She needed a hug and a miracle.

  “Dhadi!” Durkhanai called out to her grandmother. She rushed to her and was enveloped into a firm hug. It was enough to fuse some of her heart together for a little while.

  “Yes, gudiya?” her grandmother asked, holding Durkhanai’s face in her hands. “What’s upset you, my dear?”

  Durkhanai sighed.

  “Dhadi,” she said. “Everything seems to be going wrong, and it’s hardly three weeks since the ambassadors have arrived.”

  “What now, janaan?”

  “The villagers are uneasy,” Durkhanai explained. “They don’t like having foreigners in our home.”

  “Ah,” Dhadi said. “Nor do I, but I have been negotiating with them, trying to see what advantages we can gain from their arrival. It is at least buying us some time to avoid war.”

  “Have we gotten any closer to finding out who was behind the summit attack?” she asked. Dhadi waved her off.

  “You don’t worry about that, chiriya,” she replied. “Your Agha-Jaan is handling it.”

  “But Dhadi—”

  “That is enough, Durkhanai,” she said, voice stern. “I told you it is being handled, so it is being handled.”

  “There is an illness spreading through the villages, too, Dhadi,” Durkhanai added. “When can we send medicine?”

  “I am aware, and I have begun distributing it,” Dhadi replied. “But there is not much, so we must be circumspect. Priority goes to the families of soldiers.”

  Durkhanai frowned.

  “Don’t worry,” Dhadi said, tapping the crinkle between Durkhanai’s eyebrows. “Your Agha-Jaan has been Badshah for nearly fifty years. All will be fine. Don’t fret about a thing.” She smiled, pulled Durkhanai close before motioning her out the door.

  As Durkhanai turned to leave, though, her grandmother said one last thing.

  “And Durkhanai, janaan? Do steer clear of that Jardumi ambassador,” Dhadi said, voice sweet, but there was no mistaking the command. “It does not bode well to be so closely associated to foreigners.”

  “Bu—” Durkhanai stopped when Dhadi’s eyes sharpened. “Yes, Dhadi.”

  “Now, go, my pretty little princess. Calm your heart and your thoughts.”

  Durkhanai tried, but her heart would not be calmed. As she walked to her library, she wondered why Dhadi would forbid her from seeing Asfandyar, specifically. Dhadi had no qualms with Durkhanai spending time with the other ambassadors. If anything, Dhadi had encouraged her to be hospitable to them!

  Perhaps it was because Asfandyar was the only male ambassador? It made sense that Dhadi would forbid their acquaintance on those grounds, but being forbidden from something only made Durkhanai want it all the more.

  She was never forbidden from anything. It was one of the perks of being the beloved princess. Her every wish and want was granted.

  Frowning, she stood before the window in her private library. Then there was the matter of the illness. Surely, Dhadi would arrange for more medicine to be procured. Then what of the evidence? Dhadi said Agha-Jaan was handling it, but he was preoccupied with fortifying the eastern border against the Lugham Empire.

  Durkhanai wanted to obey her Dhadi: to not worry about any of it, but she couldn’t quite convince herself.

  Which is how she found herself seeking out Naeem-sahib. She rode her beloved horse Heer to the estates on the periphery of the palace compound, where many of the noble families had their homes. The Yusufzai estate was closest to the palace and was thus a short ride. She was led into the house and into a receiving room, where an elaborate chai spread was quickly set up for her.

  She sipped her tea, waiting. She did not have to wait long.

  “Shehzadi, to what do I owe this immense pleasure?” Naeem-sahib asked, joining her. He lowered his head in respect, and she nodded, acknowledging him. She did not rise from her place.

  He smiled, his black and grey beard wrinkling in the folds of his face, eyes warm. Durkhanai had always liked Naeem-sahib. He was a clever tribe leader and was fiercely loyal to the Miangul family.

  But he was the most powerful noble and was well aware
of the fact.

  He sat across from her.

  “I wanted to speak with you about the illness that has been spreading recently,” Durkhanai said, smiling sweetly. “I hope it is not proving too detrimental to the village people?”

  Naeem-sahib was one of the three provincial governors within the S’vat state. He managed the tehsil directors, who controlled the villages within the province. The tehsil directors in turn managed the jirga councils, which were made up of the villages’ elders from each family.

  His forefathers had been the head of his tribe for centuries, and the Yusufzai clan had consistently maintained a system from which all tribespeople have benefited. They were good farmers, had sturdy craftsmen, and had a natural talent for dealing with people. They were a wealthy, versatile, and powerful tribe.

  Naeem-sahib had personally cultivated the respect of every other tribe leader, and they were almost as loyal to him as they were to the Badshah, though the two always went hand in hand.

  Marrying Naeem-sabih’s eldest son and heir, Rashid, was probably the most auspicious match she could find. It would unify their clans even further, and bridge the nobility with the royal family twofold.

  “You bring up an important subject,” Naeem-sahib said, stirring sugar into his chai. “It is something I have been contemplating myself. Seeing as the Badshah is preoccupied with the wars, and the Wali busy with the ambassadors, I may as well discuss it with you.”

  Durkhanai straightened. While she did not enjoy being a last resort, at least Naeem-sahib thought her capable—even if only in regards to domestic affairs. “Please do.”

  “I am finding that the illness is taking its toll,” he said. “The workers are not able to accomplish as much as they once were.”

  Durkhanai nodded. “I feared as much. What can be done to aid those in need? Perhaps a redistribution of resources and skills between clans?”

  Naeem-sahib shook his head. “This idea has been brought up before, but clan members do not like working for others for no apparent benefit. While I can understand and appreciate how sending a Durrani farmer to a Wazir field, while a Waziri mason comes to fix Durrani homes, will benefit the community at large, unfortunately, the people do not wish to participate unless there is some advantage to them personally.”

  “I see.”

  “What we need is more medicine, properly distributed.”

  “The medicine is . . . being tested for accuracy,” she improvised. “I assure you, distribution will be swift and soon.”

  “It must be sooner,” Naeem-sahib insisted. “The farmers are angry—they are threatening to leave their work until their families are cured, which is understandable, Shehzadi. I have tried to raise the issue at the palace, but no one has heard my concerns.”

  He paused, collecting his thoughts.

  “I, as well as the other tribe leaders, have tried to keep the people calm, but they are understandably upset, particularly with the onslaught of foreigners in the capital. We don’t want any riots or protests on our hands, do we?”

  Durkhanai blinked. She had not expected a threat, however subtle. She had thought she would have a polite conversation with Naeem-sahib, learn what she wished to know, then be on her way.

  “I understand, Naeem-sahib,” she said. “And I assure you, the medical staff is working as hard as they can. I will speak to the villagers—reassure them.”

  Naeem-sahib let out an irritated noise, unconvinced. “If the Badshah does not do something and soon . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “What then?” Durkhanai would not allow him even to insinuate discontent with her grandfather. When Naeem-sahib did not reply, she continued in a low voice, “I would advise you not to question the Badshah. Not now. Not with everything else going on—when you know his attention is elsewhere for understandable reasons. One may misinterpret it as purposeful.”

  Naeem-sahib’s eyes widened slightly, face stunned and frozen. Then he lowered his head.

  “Of course, Shehzadi,” he replied. “That was not my intent.”

  He stepped back, and she nodded.

  “Abu!” Rashid’s voice called as he entered the room. He froze when he saw Durkhanai, then quickly lowered his head in respect. He joined them, and Durkhanai smiled sweetly at him. He looked away, cheeks pink.

  “I have been looking for you, Abu.It is good you are here, as well, Shehzadi,” Rashid said. “The women from the Nurzai family refuse to work until their men have been healed. Many others are saying the same.”

  They were in the eve of the second of two seasons, Manay. The crops of this season—maize, rice, jute—were to be sown in June and July, then harvested from September to the end of October. But with many people ill, already not all the lands were being sown. With these protests . . .

  “Shehzadi, this is what I was speaking of,” Naeem-sahib said with a sigh. “Something must be done.”

  And it was his final glance toward her that warned: or else.

  Durkhanai wanted to punish him for that glance alone, the barbarism within her boiling, but she bit her tongue. Though he respected her, Naeem-sahib was clearly not willing to back down either.

  “Of course,” she replied, voice curt. “I will take my leave.”

  Durkhanai would have to attend to this matter, as well, and the sooner the better.

  “Let me walk you,” Rashid offered, smiling brilliantly at her.

  They walked together to the stables, where Heer was waiting for her.

  Free of Naeem-sahib’s observant gaze, Durkhanai let out a sigh. She clenched her jaw, pinching the bridge of her nose. Taking in her worry, Rashid frowned.

  “Shehzadi, what’s wrong?” he asked, voice hesitant. They had never been alone together before. He seemed nervous. He readied Heer for her, then handed her the horse’s reins

  “Your father is discontent,” Durkhanai said, voice weary. “As are some other tribe leaders. And at a time like this, we must all be united, more so than ever. We cannot show weakness to the ambassadors.”

  “Don’t worry,” Rashid reassured her, “I’ll handle my father, and the other nobles will fall into line. I’ll manage them.”

  “You would do that?” she said, genuinely touched. But her voice was extra sugary sweet, and she batted her lashes just in case.

  Rashid looked away, laughing nervously. “Yes, of course.”

  She touched a hand to his arm, and his cheeks burned red. “Shukria, Rashid,” she said, drawing close, waiting to feel something.

  “Of course, Shehzadi,” he said, offering her a sweet smile in response. “Excuse me.”

  As she watched him go, she realized how steady her heartbeat was. She told herself this was what mattered: stability, comfort, surety.

  And yet.

  She returned to her palace, thoughts turning. Something needed to be done. Perhaps there was nothing she could do for the villages just yet, but there was another matter she could try to attend to.

  Durkhanai went to find Zarmina and Saifullah and found the latter in the halls.

  “Saifullah, I was just coming to find you,” Durkhanai said. “I was hoping we could call for tea with Rukhsana-sahiba from Teerza. Perhaps find out a little more about her . . .”

  “Sorry, dear one, but I must attend to something,” Saifullah said. There was a letter in his hand, but it was not addressed to anyone. Before she could ask, Saifullah began walking again. “Do try Zarmina! Not like she’s ever up to anything.”

  Dhurkhanai felt unavoidably hurt by the brush-off, but she redirected her steps all the same. Zarmina was in her room, reading a book of poetry.

  “What’s the matter?” Zarmina asked, closing her book. “You look prepared for war.”

  “I wanted to call for tea with Rukhsana-sahiba. She’s the only ambassador with whom I haven’t spoken personally. Will you join me?”

  Zarmina nodded. Durkhanai grabbed parchment and wrote a note to Rukhsana-sahiba, to invite her, followed by a word to her maids to prepare her sunroom wi
th a chai spread.

  “Let me just get ready, and I will meet you there,” Zarmina said. Durkhanai nodded, going to her room. While she dressed, the maids wove her hair into a complicated braid. They fixed her dupatta in place with her crown, and she replaced her walking shoes with silk khussay.

  Zarmina, too, was properly ready when she entered, her dark hair twisted into a simple updo, her simpler clothes exchanged for an embroidered gharara and kurta. The maids followed her in with fine porcelain plates of samosay and biscuits and chicken patties.

  They waited.

  And waited.

  Somebody arrived at the door. Durkhanai straightened her stiff back, but it was just a messenger with a note. The note was from her Dhadi.

  Rukhsana-sahiba is priorly engaged and cannot join you for tea.

  Durkhanai crumpled the paper and tossed it aside. Zarmina quietly went to read what it had said, then sighed. She came to take Durkhanai’s hands. “There will be more opportunities.”

  Durkhanai frowned. “I need to do something, now.”

  “You look tense, jaan,” Zarmina said. “Perhaps what you need is rest.”

  For once, she felt uncertain of what to say. She considered telling her cousin about what Naeem-sahib had insinuated and the refusal of the people to work without medicine. But while Zarmina was family, there was a distinct separation between their roles and thus, a distinct separation between their loyalties. Saifullah had shown as much already.

  Durkhanai did not wish for Zarmina or Saifullah to doubt her grandfather’s rulership. Nor did she wish her visit to the nobleman to come across as purposeful meddling, taking things a step too far from assuaging the villagers’ worries to direct action to address it.

  No, perhaps she should not bring it up until she had discussed it first with Dhadi.

  “The illness in the villages is only getting worse,” she said, able at least to divulge that much, “and the people are not getting the medicine they need.” Durkhanai rubbed her temples.

  “You worry too easily. I am sure Nano has things under control,” Zarmina said, referring to the Wali. “She has dealt with far greater challenges.”

  Durkhanai bit the inside of her mouth. “Yes,” she said. “Of course.”