Daughter of Nomads

by Rosanne Hawke

  He regarded her with a curious expression. Then he sighed. ‘Let me tell you a story. The first mir of the kingdoms of Hahayul and Nagir – for they were one kingdom at that time – was born of the union of the great Sekandar and a pari. It is said that the pari’s powers appear sometimes in descendants – they are given gifts.’

  She held her breath a moment. ‘What sort of gifts?’

  ‘They are able to understand certain animals, have unusual strength, or can wield weapons with minds of their own. Usually descendants only have one gift, but in rare instances more than one is inherited.’

  Jahani stroked Yazan’s fur and glanced at Chandi quietly munching on wildflowers. The horse looked so normal. ‘But that’s just a myth, surely. I’ve never taken Ammi’s stories seriously. Not before …’ she faltered. ‘But then again, in the forest I was sure Chandi put thoughts in my mind. Maybe some of the mir’s blood mixed with common people’s, too.’

  Azhar gave her a perplexed look.

  ‘When we arrived at Naran, I thanked Chandi for saving me, but she didn’t answer. I thought I must have imagined the thoughts in my mind.’ Jahani looked at Azhar, her eyebrows raised in question.

  ‘Perhaps only when you truly need help the gift arises?’

  She inclined her head; that sounded feasible. She was glad he had at least taken her seriously.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he said then.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Leading you into an attack. I thought I was sending you to safety.’

  ‘You couldn’t have known.’

  ‘I should have … Jahani?’

  ‘Awa?’

  He glanced over at Anjuli picking flowers. ‘Let us have our lunch on the carpet.’ With difficulty he rose and limped to Rakhsh. He untied his carpet and rolled it out beside Jahani.

  It saddened her to see his discomfort. ‘I hope your leg is better soon.’ She remembered the easy way he used to move, his grace like flowing water.

  ‘Sit with me?’ He indicated the space beside him on the carpet.

  She hesitated. It was big enough for four people, but she wondered if she would feel strange sitting on it like she had at the lake that day. As she sat, the carpet rippled and a corner curled toward her hand. She looked up expecting to feel a strong wind, but the flowers swayed gently in the cool breeze. She frowned as the corner curled closer, touching her fingers as though it were caressing her. She drew her hand away and looked up to find Azhar regarding her curiously, his head tilted to the side.

  ‘Do you feel anything?’ He glanced at their guards.

  She gave a shaky laugh. ‘It’s like a pet.’

  ‘It is more than that,’ he said softly, leaning toward her. He looked so earnest as if searching for the right words to say. ‘There is something I should tell you—’

  Just then Anjuli raced up with flowers for Jahani and said it was time to eat. During lunch, Anjuli said, ‘It is wonderful here. Can we come again?’

  Jahani glanced at Azhar as he grinned at Anjuli. ‘I’m sure we could,’ he said.

  Even on the way back to Naran there was no opportune time for Azhar to talk further. What had he been about to tell her?

  When they returned, Anjuli followed the leopards as they padded to the compound of their own accord, while Azhar and Jahani brushed down the horses in the stables. They were nearly finished when Commander Saman found them and said he had boys to do such jobs.

  Jahani gave Chandi a kiss on her nose, then headed toward the house with Azhar. They found Zarah in the garden pavilion seated by Hafeezah and a bearded man. Jahani stopped short.

  Hafeezah approached Jahani with her arms outstretched. ‘Jahani, this is Baqir Abbaas, your father.’

  The man rose to his feet. He wore an embroidered vest over his cream shalwar qameez and a rolled mountain hat. The kamarband around his waist was embroidered as richly as Sameela’s father’s. And Azhar’s.

  Jahani felt shyness well up in her chest; what should she say? Hafeezah brought her forward and Jahani slipped down to touch his feet. He rested his hand on her head in blessing and she felt an incredible sense of peace and safety.

  When she stood, her eyes were at the same level as his, and the feeling vanished. His gaze was not like a father’s.

  His eyes raked over her as if she were for sale. ‘You are a beauty, and so tall. I hardly recognise you.’

  ‘Nor I you,’ Jahani said, instantly offended.

  Hafeezah glanced at her with concern. ‘We had a difficult trip,’ she said quickly as Baqir frowned.

  Then he chuckled. ‘You are feisty. I wonder which ancestor this came from.’ He glanced at Zarah who turned pale. There was an undercurrent between them that Jahani couldn’t place. She had been mistaken about her sense of safety.

  Hafeezah was making faces at Jahani, and so she apologised. ‘I haven’t known what to think since I have arrived. I am sorry, but I remember little of you or Zarah jan.’

  ‘You were young, I am not surprised,’ Baqir said dismissively. ‘And I advised your ayah not to speak of us in case your childish chatter to others endangered you.’ He took off his hat and Jahani noticed his hair was grey at the temples. ‘Come and sit, I have good news.’

  He waited until Jahani and Azhar had settled beside Zarah and Hafeezah.

  Their servant poured chai. ‘Thank you,’ Zarah murmured and glanced worriedly at Jahani.

  Baqir grinned at them. ‘This will be a surprise.’ He paused for effect. ‘I have a wedding proposal for you.’

  Jahani stared at Baqir wondering if she had heard correctly. His eyebrows were arched obviously anticipating her excitement. But her mouth was dry.

  Hafeezah put a protective arm around Jahani and they both looked at Zarah. She was almost in tears and kept biting her lip. Had Zarah already heard this news?

  It was Azhar who spoke first. ‘How did this happen? Who knows she has returned?’

  ‘Do not worry, Azhar. It is a man living in the town of Kaghan in our kingdom – a war lord and a wealthy man. His name is Muzahid Baig.’

  ‘This is highly irregular. What do you know of this man?’ Azhar’s voice was tight and Jahani wondered how he could speak to Baqir in such an impolite manner. She had never seen his face so dark. He caught her looking at him and his mouth tightened. Jahani ignored Azhar’s stormy features and tried not to concern herself about what he thought. A man had asked for her. Wasn’t that a good thing?

  ‘Azhar, there is no need for concern,’ Baqir said. ‘Do you not want to get on with your life? Have another occupation? You can’t play nursemaid to Jahani all your days.’ He smiled at her. ‘This way, Jahani will have protection day and night. None of us need worry about her safety ever again.’

  Jahani bowed her head. So she was a burden to her father. Did Azhar feel the same way?

  After the tea-time ritual, Jahani retreated to the leopard enclosure to see Yazan. He always knew when she was approaching and was standing by the gate. She let herself in and hugged him.

  ‘Oh, Yazan, when I’m with you I feel better.’ She stroked the fur on his neck and head. ‘You are a magnificent chita.’

  He purred and lifted his chin. Bili bounced up wanting attention, too, so Jahani sat cross-legged on a grassy patch with both leopards lolling on either side of her, Yazan resting his head in her lap.

  Despite the peacefulness in the enclosure, she could think of little else other than Baqir’s words. Her hand flew to her taveez as she murmured, ‘What is the war lord like?’ Sameela’s father and Azhar – if you could call him a man – were the only men she knew well.

  She thought of Sameela’s wedding preparations. Sameela had known a lot more about her bridegroom than Jahani knew about hers. It was considered unseemly to ask so, unless Baqir or Zarah offered information, she would know nothing about him until the wedding.

  She kissed Yazan’s ears. ‘Muzahid Baig must be powerful if Baqir believes he can protect me from Dagar Khan.’ But the truth was she wished she could p
rotect herself. A rumble rose in Yazan’s throat; it sounded like a growl. ‘Don’t worry, Yazan, it looks like now I’ll be safe when I am married, whether I like Muzahid Baig or not.’

  15

  Naran Kingdom of Kaghan

  The next morning, Jahani was returning from the leopard enclosure when she noticed Azhar and Zarah in the courtyard. Their faces were flushed as if they were arguing. But, as she walked past them toward the house, they fell quiet. Inside, she found Hafeezah in Jahani’s room sorting her new clothes from Zarah. Hafeezah looked up as Jahani slumped onto the charpai.

  ‘How are you feeling today?’ Hafeezah asked. ‘How is your arm?’

  Jahani pursed her lips. ‘My arm’s fine but Bapa Baqir’s news is a shock. I never thought I would marry.’ She looked apologetically at Hafeezah. ‘I mean, I didn’t think it was possible.’

  Hafeezah folded a qameez. ‘It is true I could never have arranged this for you, but it also wasn’t my place.’

  Jahani regarded her, sad to have upset her. ‘I realise that now. It’s just … so soon.’ There, she had said it. ‘We haven’t been here a week.’ She couldn’t shake the unwelcome thought that Baqir wanted to be rid of her.

  ‘Your father wishes to have it formalised quickly.’ Hafeezah put the pile of folded clothes in a trunk. ‘The darzi is coming tomorrow with cloth for you to consider for wedding outfits. He will have some ready-made clothes as well.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ Jahani sat up straighter.

  Hafeezah inclined her head. ‘The shoe walla will also come, and the jeweller. Soon the barbers will arrive to discuss a menu with Zarah.’

  ‘Bapa Baqir didn’t say much about the groom. Is he young, is he old, will he be kind?’

  Hafeezah didn’t make eye contact with her. ‘You’ll be able to see for yourself. In a few days the bridegroom and his men will play polo on the field above the stables with your father and his troop … and Azhar.’

  ‘Azhar?’

  Hafeezah shrugged. ‘He is like an honorary brother to you, and there is no one else to help entertain the groom. After polo, the groom will visit the house for chai and you will see him from behind a screen.’

  Jahani had never seen a polo match. She knew it involved horses, a stick and a ball, since ‘polo’ was the Persian word for ball.

  Hafeezah said, ‘In the Kingdom of Chitral they use a goat’s head instead of a ball to play polo. Sometimes a whole goat.’

  Jahani looked at her in horror. ‘How barbaric.’

  Hafeezah inclined her head, but said, ‘It is a custom they are used to there.’

  There was so much to take in and consider, but Jahani was stuck on the thought of Azhar as her brother. She had never thought of him in this way.

  Later that day, Azhar found Jahani with the leopards. He stood frowning as he watched her playing with Yazan. Jahani had never seen him in such a mood. She longed for the comradeship they had shared on their trek to Naran. She flushed, mortified when she remembered she hadn’t appreciated him. But she did now. Though now her life had become complicated.

  ‘Why are you so upset about the wedding?’ she asked.

  His frown didn’t shift. ‘You weren’t asked, and I don’t know why Baqir would do this when you have only just arrived. He hadn’t even met you again when he made this arrangement.’

  Jahani felt a heaviness invade her heart. She had thought her father would be so happy to see her that he would want to spend time with her, maybe even give a party. She’d never envisioned a wedding.

  His words made her think disloyal thoughts and, before she could stop herself, she said, ‘It’s not your concern, Azhar. I will speak to Ammi about it.’

  She was aware of Azhar watching her as she cuddled Yazan. When she finally looked up, Azhar was walking away and she sighed. She had only just found her parents and now she would be leaving them again, before she got to know them properly. Azhar was right, it didn’t seem proper.

  In the afternoon, Zarah invited Jahani to take chai with her in the divan room. Once they were settled Jahani could not hold back her questions. ‘Zarah jan, do you think the wedding is happening too quickly? Could it be delayed until I get used to the idea? Have you met the groom?’ Once she’d started it was difficult to stop.

  Zarah frowned as she answered, ‘Beti, your father has decided and that is the way things are done. You have lived so long with no man to tell you what to do – that is why it feels strange.’

  ‘This Muzahid, is he young or old?’ Jahani blurted.

  ‘Do not worry. Your father would have chosen the best for you.’ Her lips tightened and Jahani assumed that Zarah had not met him either. Otherwise, why not talk about him?

  Hafeezah passed the room and saw them on the divan together.

  ‘Join us,’ Zarah said.

  Hafeezah paused at the door and sniffed as if tears were close. It must be heartbreaking to bring up a child and hand her to another woman.

  ‘Please sit by me, Ammi.’ Then she noticed a sudden pallor on Zarah’s face. How could she please these two women who were both important in her life?

  Zarah drank her chai, then said, ‘Before the wedding there are many interesting things for you to do – clothes to choose, shoes to try, jewellery. Your father has spared no expense.’

  Jahani looked at her sharply. Zarah’s tone had sounded quite sarcastic.

  The following morning, Hafeezah woke Jahani for the clothes and shoe fittings. The sellers brought everything to the courtyard in trunks. She should have been happy – what girl wouldn’t have loved this attention? But she couldn’t find any joy within her.

  It was Zarah and Hafeezah who chose everything for Jahani. She had never tried on such fine clothes before and couldn’t have chosen even if she were asked. Anjuli came to watch and so did the servant girls until Zarah sent them back to the kitchen. The jeweller came while Jahani was trying on a red-and-gold wedding outfit in her room. She walked out into the courtyard for Zarah and Hafeezah to see.

  Anjuli gasped. ‘You look like my sister when she was married.’

  Hafeezah had tears in her eyes. ‘You look so beautiful.’

  Zarah paused, then said, ‘Oh, my beti, so lovely, but I wish we had you longer.’ She bit her lip as if she shouldn’t have spoken. Hafeezah took her hand and Zarah composed herself. She beckoned to Jahani. ‘Here, try this necklace.’

  The jeweller spent an hour happily trying his wares on Jahani. But he was the only one smiling. Zarah and Hafeezah haggled, but Jahani could tell there was no fun in the game for them.

  16

  Naran Kingdom of Kaghan Two Weeks before Third Moon of Summer

  Finally the day arrived when Jahani would see her groom Muzahid Baig. The polo game would show her what sort of man he was. After this week, she would stay inside for the wedding festivities.

  Zarah spoke to her as they ascended the steps to the roof of the fort where they would view the game. ‘Beti, you must keep your face veiled. We do not want the groom to see you too soon.’

  Jahani thought he must have very good eyesight to notice her face from the polo ground, but she tilted her head politely.

  On the roof was a charpai covered in a quilt for them to sit on and a table laid with a tray of green tea, vegetable pakoras and sweet carrot barfi. Jahani sighed with pleasure as she took in the surrounding mountains. Clouds hung in the distance over the western Hindu Qush; the Hemallehs stood like giants to the east; and to the north were the Qurraqorams – the mountains she yearned for.

  Jahani sank onto the charpai. Now that she looked back on it, she’d enjoyed travelling on horseback to Naran. She would love to travel again and see the higher mountains where Hafeezah was born. Would Muzahid travel there and take her with him? She bit her lip. He may leave her at home. She hoped she’d be able to keep Chandi and Yazan, but what if her groom disapproved of ladies riding; or didn’t like leopards?

  ‘Look!’ Anjuli pointed to the field.

  Baqir’s troops and Muzahid�
��s men trotted out from the stables, the flags of Kaghan and Skardu fluttering at the helm. The mounted horsemen broke into two groups and lined both sides of the field. Jahani could make out Baqir riding in front and Azhar riding Chandi slightly behind him. Why wasn’t he riding Rakhsh? She stared for a moment in shock to see him on her horse before looking at the horsemen on the opposite side; the man riding in front must be Muzahid.

  One thing she now knew about her groom: he was not as old as her father. Muzahid sat on his horse like a younger man, though he was possibly ten summers older than Azhar.

  ‘A game of kings,’ Zarah said with delight, ‘and of power and grace.’

  Proceedings commenced with beating drums. The musicians sat on a platform near the sidelines. It made Jahani think of kings and elephants – not that she’d seen either. But it was strange how the music stirred emotions deep inside her, as if she had heard it before. She caught her breath as her heart skipped a beat. She was growing far too fanciful.

  ‘I suppose you’ve never seen a polo game in Sherwan, but it has always been played in these northern kingdoms, especially further north in Skardu and Gilit,’ Zarah was saying.

  ‘Is Muzahid’s family from the Kingdom of Skardu?’ Jahani asked.

  ‘Perhaps so,’ Zarah answered. It was frustrating how little Zarah knew of him.

  The game began with a rush: the horses raced, parried, stopped, then turned swiftly as if they had wings.

  Anjuli shouted, ‘Azhar! Azhar!’, until Hafeezah asked her to shush.

  Muzahid swung for the ball, but ended up swinging at Azhar instead. Chandi skipped sideways, missing the blow, just as she had in the forest. Jahani stood to watch, holding her breath. It was as if Azhar and Chandi were one, dipping, sidestepping, stopping suddenly, twisting with ease as they danced between horsemen in pursuit of the ball. Azhar’s wound didn’t seem to be bothering him.

  Suddenly she was yanked down to the charpai. ‘What are you doing?’ Zarah hissed. ‘It is not seemly to gawk at the groom.’ Then she added, ‘Though he does cut a smart figure on his stallion.’