Gulzar sat on cushions with them to eat. Breakfast was the same as always: buckwheat pancakes and maltash butter she had eaten as a child. Hafeezah also made thyme tea to help heal Jahani from all she had been through. Yazan sat by her side licking the bandage on his leg as they ate. There was so much to decide – how could she rescue her grandmother and raise support to conquer Dagar Khan?
After breakfast she visited Chandi and hugged her neck. It’s so wonderful to see you, Chandi. How are your hooves?
Gulzar has changed my shoes. They feel better. The trek was exhilarating.
Only a horse like you could do that, Chandi. Any other would have frozen in the snow.
Yazan is a good guide.
Are you up to a walk? I haven’t ventured far since we arrived.
It will bring you sorrow, but it must be done. Time is short.
Kaveh shifted his feet and snorted. Jahani stroked his neck. Thank you for coming with Chandi. I’m sorry about Hissam.
He would want me here. I will serve you.
You have a famous name. She recalled one of the stories of the evil King Zahhak she’d read in The Shahnameh with Sameela.
The stallion whinnied.
She chuckled. Will you lead an uprising like the famous hero Kaveh the Blacksmith did against King Zahhak before Fereydun killed him?
I will do as you wish, Shehzadi.
Gulzar needed to buy supplies and Jahani said she’d go along to take Anjuli and the horses for a quiet stroll.
‘You need to regain your strength,’ Hafeezah argued. Then she appealed to Gulzar. ‘What if someone should realise who she is?’
‘She could dress as a boy,’ Anjuli said, which made Hafeezah frown all the more.
Gulzar only spread his hands.
Hafeezah peered at Jahani. ‘Don’t forget that Dagar Khan will hear you have escaped and he will be searching for you. He’ll know you’re in the kingdom. His pir will see you in a vision.’ She paused. ‘And his soldiers crowd the streets. What if they see you?’
But Jahani would not be swayed.
So, under Hafeezah’s orders, every strand of Jahani’s red hair was tightly plaited and hidden under heavy dupattas. Then Hafeezah pulled her nomad cloak over the top. It rendered her quite hidden.
Gulzar walked beside Jahani and Anjuli until the bazaar was in sight. ‘I will see you back here in an hour,’ he said. ‘Be careful.’
Jahani nodded and turned Kaveh toward the outskirts of the town. Anjuli followed on Chandi. They trotted along the river. It was near the end of winter but the snow was as deep as Kaveh’s fetlock. The air was not as cold as at Skardu.
‘The mountains are the most beautiful I’ve seen,’ Anjuli cried. ‘Hahayul looks like Paradise. Imagine what it will be like when the trees grow leaves again.’
Jahani stared as much as Anjuli for these were the mountains of her dreams. They rose behind the river and folded back on themselves, rolling away, each row higher than the one in front, the snow glistening in the pale sunshine. What a beautiful land she had travelled through, like a nomad. She had seen multicoloured flower fields, a charmed blue lake and towering mountain passes – even the rocky starkness of Skardu was breathtaking – but Hahayul was like a land created by fairies. Its mountains were so much taller and majestic, its valley cut in half by a rushing river of melting snow.
Then she glanced at the fields nearby and frowned. She could see all was not right in Anjuli’s Paradise. Where there should have been forests, there were now blackened and hacked stumps. They walked past an orchard, but the trees looked misshapen. She bent to break off a twig, but no green showed inside the branch. She reined in Kaveh and studied the area. Farms looked as if they hadn’t been worked for summers. No birds sang. It was as if the land were dying.
Up ahead she saw children scrabbling on a rubbish heap. She clicked her tongue for Kaveh to walk over, then she called to the children, ‘What are you doing?’
They looked up like mice caught in a flour bin and scuttled down the other side.
‘They were searching for food.’ Anjuli’s brow creased.
Horses stood in a huddle nearby. A small settlement beyond had been burned. ‘Why has this happened?’ Jahani murmured.
Chandi answered. Men disobeyed Dagar Khan, the snake king.
But he is not the tham.
He acts as if he is. When the people rebel, he punishes them.
How do you know this?
Those horses told me.
Jahani frowned at the horses by the road. They looked old and unkempt. One of them approached and the others followed.
The leader shook his greying head. We welcome you, Shehzadi. We have been waiting.
Chandi, he spoke to me!
Awa, Shehzadi. Ask him how he can.
Jahani kept her gaze locked on the stallion. I don’t know your name, so how is it I can hear you?
Your father named me Shaheen. All the horses bred in this land can hear but can only speak to certain humans, like yourself. Your father could also speak to us. It is how we know you are his child, the lost shehzadi.
Come, Shehzadi. Chandi’s thought slipped in. There is more to see. Soon you will know what to do.
Jahani could hardly control her breathing. Even the horses in Hahayul had been waiting for her.
‘Are you well?’ Anjuli asked. ‘Your face is pale.’
Jahani could only nod, for, as Chandi predicted, an idea had begun forming in her mind.
They approached the main street and a fort loomed before them. Jahani stared at the stone walls rising from the hill. The river flowed behind it and dwellings dotted the land in the front. Stone steps led to the fort and, higher up, she could see balconies decorated with carved wood like lace. This should be her home, not the headquarters for Dagar Khan and his army.
Gulzar caught up with them. ‘You mustn’t be this close to the fort. Dagar Khan often sits on the balcony.’
Jahani noticed women with baskets entering the fort through huge wooden doors at the top of the steps. ‘Api, what are they doing?’ She tilted her chin at them.
‘They bring food to Dagar Khan’s army. The men have acquired a taste for our mountain delicacies.’
‘Is my grandmother in there?’
‘Awa, her rooms are on the ground floor at the back, so this is how her food is delivered. Your ammi has taken her special treats.’
‘But doesn’t my grandmother have servants?’
‘Dagar Khan has cut off your grandmother from everyone she knows so that she cannot send messages.’
Jahani took in a deep breath. ‘I would like to see her.’
‘That would not be wise. It is possible she is being held as bait.’
She gazed at him, eyebrows arched in question.
‘To catch you,’ he said softly.
Jahani didn’t comment. She couldn’t help staring at the fort where her true grandmother was being held captive. Azhar would warn her to be cautious; it would be stupid to forget about Dagar Khan’s extensive spy network. She glanced around but, apart from some soldiers on the lane, all seemed calm. People went about their business, without speaking. As she studied the scene she realised there was none of the usual bustle of a busy and prosperous bazaar. And now she saw armed men in tan shalwar qameezes and red turbans patrolling the street, batons and swords in their kamarbands.
Just then a group of boys sauntered down the main street. Their jaunty movements looked out of place as they approached the first group of soldiers. Suddenly they took stones from their pockets and threw them at the soldiers’ feet and over their heads.
‘We do not want you here!’ one shouted. ‘The shehzadi is returning,’ called another. ‘She will stop your puppet actions and brutality.’ They began to chant: ‘Shehzadi! Shehzadi! Free us! Free us!’
Then, as instantly as their protest began, the soldiers pulled batons from their kamarbands and beat the boys. The bazaar filled with their screams and shouts. A few bystanders stepped in and tr
ied to stop the beating.
‘Just arrest them, you fools,’ one soldier called, riding up.
Jahani pushed Kaveh forward but Gulzar took hold of the reins. ‘Bey ya, Jahani, this is not your time. Come back home, it isn’t safe for you here.’
She did as he bid, but all the way she observed what she hadn’t noticed when they’d first set out: the people were oppressed and frightened. They scuttled here and there to buy their goods, then stayed in their homes. People looked out of windows as she passed, but if she glanced at them they dropped the curtain hurriedly.
Gulzar spoke as he walked beside them. ‘As you can see the kingdom is ailing. Your people have been taxed to the extent that they have no money to farm, to look after their orchards, or even to buy barley seed. Some survive by serving the army either by fighting or providing what little food they have. All these summers Dagar Khan has dispensed with our culture, our traditions. There have been no barley rites like Bophau, the seed scattering ceremonies each third moon of winter. There have been no barley harvests for summers, either.’ He paused. ‘And no thumshaling at winter solstice.’
‘What’s that?’ Anjuli asked.
‘A huge bonfire where every family brings wood. Over the flames we pray to prevent the return of the evil king Shiri Badat.’
‘Who is he?’ Anjuli asked.
Gulzar glanced up at Jahani. She had heard this tale from Hafeezah when she was young, but she let Gulzar answer. ‘He was an evil ruler who imposed many taxes on the people, even taking their lambs, which he then ate. Soon he wanted their babies to eat.’
Anjuli gasped.
‘The people decided they must kill him to keep their children safe. His daughter pushed him into a pit and the people brought a bundle of sticks to throw in to burn him. They were frightened that he may have escaped so, every winter solstice, they held the bonfire to stop him returning.’
‘He died, didn’t he?’ Anjuli looked around.
Gulzar shook his head. ‘Some say Dagar Khan is Shiri Badat’s living revenant. He is just as evil, killing red-headed girls and keeping innocent people captive in the fort.’
Jahani shivered.
‘If anyone tries to rebel, Dagar Khan’s retaliation is swift. There are even children imprisoned because they threw stones like those boys today. People are becoming desperate. So many are hungry. The rest of us do what we can.’
Jahani thought of the children on the scrap heap and frowned. Why should a tyrant cause so much distress and poverty? ‘I have to do something,’ she said.
Gulzar shook his head. ‘Not yet.’
‘But everyone is suffering.’
‘They will suffer more if the timing isn’t right and you are captured.’ He put his hand on hers.
She inclined her head and all the while she thought and planned.
29
Baltit
Kingdom of Hahayul
The next morning, Jahani dressed in Hafeezah’s old clothes used for doing chores in the house. She strapped Qadi’s dagger against her leg. The night in the forest when Azhar had lent her his dagger flashed into her mind, but she shook the thought away. She couldn’t be distracted. Then she and Anjuli helped Hafeezah to make burutz – fresh cottage cheese. ‘Let me take some to my api,’ Jahani said.
‘And chapattis too?’ Anjuli asked.
Hafeezah argued. ‘It is too dangerous.’
‘Lots of women go into the fort. Even you have visited,’ Jahani said as she packed a basket.
‘But for you it would be like walking into a trap with a hungry tiger.’
Jahani thought of Bagh Chal, the game she’d played with Zeb-un-Nissa. The way to trap a tiger was to render it immobile. She spoke gently. ‘Ammi, I have to do this. Do not worry for me. It is my destiny.’
Hafeezah watched her with trepidation in her eyes. ‘Promise me you will be very careful.’
‘Certainly, Ammi, and don’t forget I have my taveez.’ She embraced Hafeezah. ‘Thank you so much for what you do for me.’
Jahani hurried up the narrow streets toward the fort. This was the first time she had ever been truly alone without an escort or friend. She didn’t realise how unnerved she’d feel.
By the time Jahani neared the fort she was puffing from walking uphill. She took a deep breath and followed another woman carrying a basket. She caught up to her on the stone steps and asked, ‘Can I enter with you? It’s my first day.’
‘Who are you bringing food for?’ the woman asked.
‘Kaniza, the Dowager Ghenish.’
‘I usually take food to the men’s dining hall, but I’ll show you the old queen’s rooms on the way.’
Jahani nodded her gratefulness as they walked up the steps through a wooden archway. Had she crawled up these steps as a child? Or had her ayah kept her under close watch? There was so much she would never know. At least some memories from her early summers were now hers to claim from her dreams.
They continued walking down a hallway lined with tall and short cane baskets. Just then she caught a flash of herself running as a child, a woman catching her and lifting her up to a man on a horse. The man in her vision was young but as soon as she pictured his face she knew it was Ali Shah. This is my ancestral home, she thought, and I will stand against Dagar Khan who is choking it and this land. She heard a loud rustle like dry leaves in the wind. It was coming from the baskets.
‘What’s that noise?’ she asked the woman.
‘Snakes,’ she replied. ‘Makes me think of jinns, but Dagar Khan and Pir Zal love them. They’re everywhere in here.’
Jahani shuddered. No wonder they called him the snake king.
The woman stopped at a door guarded by two soldiers. ‘This is it,’ the woman said, and she walked on.
The guards were tall and muscular. One of them gave Jahani a piercing look. ‘Rokko!’ he said. ‘I haven’t seen you here before.’
‘I’m here to bring food to the dowager ghenish.’
The guard checked her basket and, with a lingering glance at her eyes, let Jahani into the room. She put the basket on a low table and picked out a spoon. ‘I will feed her,’ she said to the guard. He nodded and shut the door. She exhaled in relief. She was inside.
‘I don’t need to be fed, thank you. I am quite capable,’ an old woman said. ‘You may leave.’
Jahani turned to find her grandmother sitting on the floor against carpeted cushions. She was dressed just like an ordinary woman with an embroidered cap under a white dupatta and a shalwar qameez. ‘Api Kaniza, my name is Jahani. I have only just returned to Hahayul.’
The old woman stiffened. ‘Jahani, you say?’
There was a bang at the door and Jahani swung around. It was nothing, but she picked up a bowl, spooned some burutz into it, and then took out a chapatti. ‘Let me pretend to feed you so we have more time.’
‘Come closer so I can see you properly. Is it really you? Your foster mother came with food and said you were alive. I hardly dared to believe her. But I have clung to this belief all these summers that you would return.’
Jahani sank to touch her grandmother’s feet. ‘Oh, Api, I wanted to meet you, as soon as I found out you were alive.’
‘Sit here, Amis. You are my beloved grandchild. When did you discover your heritage?’
‘Some moons ago.’ Jahani sat facing her grandmother. She looked regal with her white hair wrapped around her head in a crown of plaits.
‘Dagar Khan has heard that you are returning to Hahayul, so take care. He may use me as a way to trap you.’
‘Actually I am hoping to trap him.’ Jahani watched as Kaniza considered her words.
‘Dagar Khan gives the impression of strength, as do all those who oppress others, but he is in the thrall of the powerful Pir Zal, who I believe is controlled by demons. Zal is the one to be careful of.’
Jahani raised her eyebrows. ‘So, Pir Zal has turned Dagar Khan into the Demon King.’ She thought of the snakes lining the hallway.
Ka
niza smiled warily. ‘Think carefully, Amis.’
‘I will. It is wonderful to meet you.’ Jahani gazed at her and for once she didn’t feel bad for not remembering her grandmother – she would have been too young when they’d last been together.
Kaniza retuned Jahani’s gaze. ‘You resemble your mother, but you have the looks of my son, too. Like your father you are tall – you have his eyes – but your hair,’ she touched Jahani’s plait under her dupatta, ‘it is russet like hers. Your father loved it.’
‘What were they like?’
‘Your father was moderate and wanted to unite the kingdoms in the north to aid the people.’
‘I heard my mother was from Skardu.’
She tilted her head. ‘Your mother, Zahara, was a warrior princess. She could wield a sword like a man, but not just any sword, a scimitar that was said to be enchanted. It was given to her by the Mughal princess, Jahanara.’
‘Was the scimitar called Shamsher?’
‘The Lion’s Tail, awa. But how do you know of it? It was lost in the massacre. Stolen, no doubt.’
‘I believe it was found and was kept in trust.’ Jahani thought of how Azhar had given it to her, without wanting to keep it for himself. ‘I now have this sword. A young man called Azhar Sekandar gave it to me. I have used it and it fights for me when I am in danger.’
Kaniza stared at her. ‘Incredible. Your mother said a similar thing.’ Her face wrinkled in thought. ‘Azhar Sekandar, you say? Wasn’t the shehzada of Nagir, poor child, called that?’
Jahani forced her next words out without emotion. ‘Azhar is alive. He was my protector, but I didn’t know who he truly was. He didn’t tell me until recently.’
‘How astonishing! Even I thought he was dead. Bey ya, I expect he couldn’t tell anyone in case he was discovered. There are spies everywhere. In here also. I am afraid for your safety even now.’
‘I know how to defend myself and I will do the same for Hahayul. I want to see peace in the northern kingdoms. And our thrones restored,’ Jahani said.
‘And so you shall. With Azhar alive the kingdoms can be united. I had thought your father’s vision was lost.’
The Leopard Princess Page 18