The Lady or the Lion

by Aamna Qureshi

  “It’s alright,” Saifullah responded. “Your heart is in the right place. You did what was right, even when Agha-Jaan and Nano couldn’t.”

  “Don’t say that,” Durkhanai said. “You know Agha-Jaan always does what is best.”

  “Does he?” Saifullah whispered.

  She furrowed her brow. “Why are you questioning him all of a sudden? Has something happened?”

  Saifullah sighed. He was closing off again, like he didn’t know how to speak with her anymore.

  “I’ll tell you soon, Durkhanai,” he finally said. “It’s nothing to trouble over now.”

  She wanted to ask more, but knew he wouldn’t budge until he was ready to. The stubbornness ran in them all. And he didn’t look worried more than just . . . sad. Or perhaps guilty.

  They passed a little creek, and the water looked like blue grey marbles, looked like glass. If she looked close, she wondered what her reflection would show. But she did not go near, out of fear.

  Neither did Saifullah, she noticed.

  “Saifullah,” she said, remembering. “I saw you leaving the passageways once. What were you doing?”

  “Just familiarizing myself with them,” he told her easily. “In case anything happens. I haven’t been in them much.”

  “Oh . . . okay,” Durkhanai responded. She didn’t know if she should believe him, but what reason did she have not to?

  But in case what happened?

  “I’m surprised you even noticed. You’ve been distracted lately,” Saifullah told her. “You . . . haven’t been seeing things clearly.”

  “I’ll be better.”

  “Zarmina will be glad to hear that,” Saifullah said.

  “Glad to hear what?” a voice behind them said. When they turned, Zarmina stepped up to join them, looping her arm through Durkhanai’s. “I heard you were out here so I decided to see to it that you weren’t having any fun without me.”

  “How could we have fun without you?” Durkhanai replied with a laugh.

  “Fret not, little one,” Zarmina said, patting her head. “I am here now. And I heard Dhadi gave you a scolding?”

  “She did,” Durkhanai sighed. “I need to start acting more like a queen.”

  Neither of them gloated; they just nodded in agreement. Durkhanai was glad. At the end of the day, family was the most important thing. The one constant, the people she could always depend upon. There was no bond stronger than blood, nothing more sacred. She had lost sight of that, but no more.

  “Will you help me?” she asked them.

  The twins didn’t need to exchange a glance. It was understood.

  “Of course,” Saifullah sighed.

  Chapter Nineteen

  While Durkhanai waited for word from the Wali of B'rung, she focused on her people.

  The next day, Zarmina and Saifullah accompanied her to the villages for the day. They made their way to the stage in the center of the village, where the people were already gathered in preparation for her visit. Zarmina squeezed her hand, and Saifullah nodded at her.

  “Salam! As many of you may have heard by now,” Durkhanai began, voice strong. “There are rumors going around that the palace has withheld medicine distribution. I have come to tell you this is only half-true, and there was a reason for it.”

  “But, Shehzadi, why withhold the medicine at all?” a young woman asked. “When so many of us had fallen ill?”

  Her voice was not accusatory, merely confused. Durkhanai wished she had the answer to her question, but it was a solution she herself had been searching for.

  “It was necessary,” Durkhanai said, voice compassionate. “When medicine is made in such large supply, there is easy room for error—for impurities. We wanted to make absolutely sure the medicine was right before sending it to you all—wanted to make sure it would help you rather than make you feel worse. We only risked it for the sickest among you, when it was better to try something than nothing.”

  Guilt nudged her insides, but she told herself this was necessary. This was no time for the people to be losing their trust in the Badshah or their Shehzadi. It was better for them, anyhow, not to know all the gory details.

  What good would knowing do? Durkhanai knew and all it had done was leave her even more confused. But she had blood binding her to the Badshah; her loyalty would never waver. She could not guarantee the same for the people.

  “I assure you,” Durkhanai said, projecting her voice loud and clear. “Now that all the medicine has been tested and prepped, relief efforts will be intensified. I will personally work to bring about the swift recovery of all those afflicted.”

  They spent some time in the village, talking to the people, and by the time Durkhanai made it back to the palace, she was in desperate need of chai and a warm bath. Her heart raced with apprehension as she walked her halls, hoping to and not to run into Asfandyar as she often did, but she hushed her thoughts.

  This was her palace. She did not need to avoid anyone.

  Durkhanai made it back to her room with her head held high and freshened up for court. She swapped her lighter, traveling jewelry, for heavier sets. She changed out of her shalwar kameez into an emerald green zardozi lengha choli, the long skirt trailing behind her as she walked toward the courtyard.

  “Shehzadi!” a voice called. She turned to see Rashid catching up to her.

  “Come, let’s sit,” Rashid said, eyes glittering. “Rest—you need to take care of yourself.”

  Durkhanai smiled fondly, easing into the soft comfort that Rashid’s company brought. He felt so familiar, like a warm shahtoosh shawl wrapped around her heart, keeping her snug.

  “So, how has your day been?” Rashid asked, as they sat on a bench by the flowers.

  Durkhanai considered this and the wonder of him asking such a simple question. Something soft melted inside her as she regarded him, and a smile tugged at her lips.

  “My day has been alright,” she said. “How about yours?”

  “I read that book you recommended to me,” Rashid said. “It was quite good, though I don’t know how you manage to read such fictitious stories.”

  “They’re extraordinary fun!” Durkhanai said, defending her books. “Isn’t it wonderful to be lost in a story, to lose sense of time and place?”

  “Lose sense of time and place?” Rashid repeated, a smile tilting his lips. “Are you sure it’s reading you’re doing and not smoking opium?”

  Durkhanai laughed loudly, surprised by his humor. “Yes, I am quite sure!”

  She made a face as if to be offended, but she couldn’t help but to continue to laugh as Rashid laughed as well, clearly proud of himself for such a quip.

  Then, Asfandyar entered the courtyard and hesitated when he spotted her. She could feel him looking at her, noticing her with Rashid, the two of them alone.

  Durkhanai grinned at Rashid, looking through Asfandyar like he wasn’t there at all. She was ignoring Asfandyar completely—but she could not ignore the way her heart began to ricochet, a sudden jolt going through her that made her feel a thousand times more alert, a thousand times more awake.

  “Rashid-sahib,” Asfandyar said quietly, bowing his head in respect. “Shehzadi.”

  All he did was acknowledge Rashid, who bristled uncomfortably. Both boys were quiet for a few heartbeats, and while she expected it from Rashid, who was usually quiet and shy, it was new behavior for Asfandyar.

  For once in his life, he had nothing to say.

  She refused to react; she stayed quiet, as well. When Asfandyar continued on, leaving them alone, Rashid let out a short breath through his nostrils, but Durkhanai’s heart was beating uncommonly fast. She told herself it was rage; she was still furious with him: she didn’t understand why he would tell the people about the medicine without consulting her first, without even telling her.

  But she had been sick and preoccupied; perhaps he hadn’t gotten the chance? Or he knew she would advise against it, and he needed it to be done. Maybe he knew it would f
orce a quicker distribution plan. But then why hadn’t he mentioned it on that occasion they met in the hall . . . ?

  Durkhanai cut off such thoughts—there was no need to be making excuses for him. If he had wanted to explain himself, he would have.

  Just then, Gulalai entered the courtyard. She was passing Asfandyar, who was on his way out, and the two stopped for a moment to talk. Durkhanai couldn’t hear them, but when Gulalai laughed, she felt a sharp twinge of jealousy cut through her.

  What was she laughing about? She frowned to herself, but forced her face to remain neutral as Gulalai approached.

  “Kya chalra hai?” Gulalai asked, sitting down besides Durkhanai. “What’s going on?”

  Durkhanai let Gulalai link her arm through hers.

  “I’ll let you girls enjoy your time together,” Rashid said, bowing his head.

  “Khudafiz,” Durkhanai said. Gulalai waved enthusiastically, watching him go.

  The instant he was gone, Durkhanai turned to find Gulalai wiggling her brows. “So how was your tea time yesterday?” she said with a devilish smile.

  Durkhanai smacked her arm. “Batamez! What a lousy friend you are! Setting me up!”

  “Lousy!” Gulalai repeated, appalled. “Is that how you thank me for arranging one-on-one time for you and Rashid? Your future fiancé? I reckoned I would speed things up. Maybe there will even be a wedding before I go!”

  She clapped her hands, excited.

  “Bakwas band karo,” Durkhanai pouted. “You know it is not in my control. I will marry when my grandparents decide it, and to whom they decide.”

  It was an excuse. Her grandparents loved her too much to force her marriage.

  “Yes, yes,” Gulalai said. “And they will have great qualms with you marrying the most important tribe leader’s son, will they? Someone who’s lineage has been linked with yours in camaraderie for centuries?”

  “Gulalai,” Durkhanai whined. She didn’t want to talk about it or even think about it.

  “What?” Gulalai asked, confused. “I thought this was what you wanted?”

  Durkhanai didn’t know anymore.

  As more time passed, she became even more confused.

  Throughout the week, as Durkhanai waited for proof, she actively spent more time with Rashid. First, because the closer she was with him, the better her relationship with the Yusufzai clan and by extension the other nobles would be.

  And second, to see if the strange feeling in the pit of her stomach would go away, but it didn’t, and she couldn’t understand it.

  He was well-mannered and respectful and adoring and comfortable. She felt calm around him. They had an easy friendship with clear boundaries. Everything was always exactly in its place, no wrinkles, no crinkles.

  Unlike with Asfandyar—she couldn’t help to compare—with whom her heart was always racing, with whom she was always on the edge, nudging and being nudged.

  Why didn’t she love Rashid? It made perfect sense for her to. Everything about him was precisely what she needed, precisely what was good for her.

  So why didn’t her heart catch on him? She didn’t understand. It infuriated her. What a treacherous heart she had. Before, when she had known that maybe they would end up together, the idea of him excited her.

  But ever since Asfandyar had been introduced, it was like Rashid ceased to exist. What a cruel heart she had.

  How could she keep turning back to Asfandyar, the one who was the worst possible choice for her? Her people would never accept him. All they ever did was bicker. They were both cold and cruel and proud. Ice did not melt ice; fire did not extinguish fire.

  Why was this so? What a wretched, wretched heart she had.

  Perhaps she could grow to love Rashid. She had held him in her heart for so long, she should still give it a try. It would be so easy, seamless, and everyone would be happy. He was the son of the most important tribe leader. Their union would be most auspicious. And maybe in the end it didn't matter if she loved him or not because she loved her people and if this was what was best for them . . .

  Durkhanai shook her thoughts away. There was no use agonizing over something that was so far away, when there was so much else going on.

  Something she was reminded of the next morning, when a messenger knocked on her door at dawn.

  “Shehzadi, I have the mail you had requested I keep an eye out for,” he said, handing her a letter. It carried the seal of the Wali of B'rung.

  “Shukria,” she said, dismissing him.

  This was it.

  And with hardly any time to spare. In three days, their deadline would be over. If the ambassadors truly decided to declare war on behalf of their districts, the ambassadors would be killed on the spot—and no matter how angry she was with Asfandyar, she didn’t want to see him killed. Or Gulalai for that matter.

  Heart pounding, Durkhanai grabbed a knife, easing open the seal to reveal the letter inside.

  It was a short letter, one that she read quickly. Then read again just to be sure.

  The Wali had no idea what “Palwasha-sahiba” was mentioning. They were innocent.

  But if it wasn’t B'rung who told the Kebzu Kingdom about the summit, who had?

  Chapter Twenty

  A celebration was called for that Jummah.

  Durkhanai didn’t know how her grandparents could be arranging such a banquet when they were all on the cusp of war, but it was the fiftieth year of the Badshah’s rule.

  To celebrate, feasts were sent to all the villages, boxes of sweets distributed to every home. In the marble palace, a great banquet was held.

  A canopy was spread over the courtyard, from which fresh flowers and hanging candles dripped down. The floor of the courtyard was covered in mirrors, reflecting the flowers and candles, creating double the effect. The courtyard opened into an open field, where the flames of candles glittered on pillars and great big bonfires filled the skies.

  The aroma of firewood was thick in the air, mixing with the charcoaled smell of grilling meat, freshly slaughtered that day. There were tables upon tables of drinks and platters of food: a rich brown pilau topped with raisins and carrots, stacks of chapli kababs with mint chutney, rows upon rows of mutton roast.

  In the background, folk singers hummed low songs, in tune with the rubabs and dhols.

  Everyone was dressed in their finest for the celebration, and Durkhanai spared no preparation: she wore a heavy peach lengha intricately worked with silver and gold zardozi, with a matching peplum gown. Her hair was braided and twisted into an updo, fashioned with little pearls. She wore a seven-pronged string of pearls around her neck—Dhadi’s—which hung lower than the gold-and-kundan choker that sat on her collarbone.

  “Meri jaan, you look splendid,” Dhadi said, kissing Durkhanai on both her cheeks. Dhadi herself was a sight to behold, her hair twisted into a simple updo with a gold and pearl set adorning her ears and neck. She wore a deep pink peshwas gown with a delicately embroidered shahtoosh shawl hung delicately on one shoulder: elegant and regal as always.

  “Tumhari beti hai, na,” Agha-Jaan said. “She is your daughter, after all.”

  Dhadi grinned, clearly pleased.

  “Woh to hai,” she said, self-appreciating. “That is true.”

  “Agha-Jaan, how can you be so calm,” Durkhanai asked, voice low. “Our three months are finished tomorrow, and we still haven’t exonerated Marghazar from the summit attack.”

  All the time and effort Durkhaani had spent in the past weeks investigating had been for naught: the B'rung lead was a dead end.

  The Badshah and the Wali exchanged a private smile.

  “Don’t worry, janaan,” he told her.

  “Don’t you trust your Agha-Jaan?” Dhadi said.

  Durkhanai did, but there was a creeping feeling spreading within her.

  If they had evidence, why hadn’t they told her?

  “Come, now, let us address our people,” Agha-Jaan said, before Durkhanai could argue further. Dhadi an
d Durkhanai followed him to the front of the room, standing up on the incline of the hill.

  The Badshah motioned for one of his attendants to quiet the crowds. The crowd’s chattering came to a halt, all eyes turning to the Badshah.

  “Thank you, my dear family and friends, for joining me in this celebration,” the Badshah began. Durkhanai looked to her people: her cousins and aunts and uncles, the nobles and family friends, all the people she had known her whole life—her family.

  She felt safe, secure.

  “This year marks the fiftieth of my rule,” the Badshah said. “A rule that I, as a young boy, could have never imagined. As the third and youngest son, I was never meant to inherit this crown—never meant to inherit these lands or these people.

  “After the Luhgams ruthlessly slaughtered my family—my father and my brothers—I had no choice but to take this position. I had been full of grief and rage, just a young boy, then. But I am eternally thankful for the open arms that embraced me after my coronation—for all of you, who welcomed and supported me, who made me into a king worthy of its subjects.

  “A king is only as good as its people. Marghazar’s success comes not from me, but from all of you, who work hard every day, who live in peace and kindness and tranquility.”

  The audience clapped, as did Durkhanai, feeling proud and full of love.

  “One final toast, to the one without whom I would be nothing,” Agha-Jaan said. He turned to the woman by his side—to his wife. Dhadi smiled fondly, eyes moistening with tears.

  “Allah has blessed me with a life partner who is more brilliant than a thousand suns,” Agha-Jaan said. “Without you, janaan, the world would know no beauty, no peace, no joy. I am eternally indebted to you.

  “May Allah bless you with a life longer than mine so that I do not know how lifeless this world would be without you. May He bless you with infinite health so that I may see your shining smile every day. And may He grant you endless happiness, for mine is bound to yours.”

  Agha-Jaan lowered his head in respect to Dhadi, the only person in the entire world he would offer the gesture to.