Daughter of Nomads

by Rosanne Hawke

  Hafeezah pulled away and noticed blood on Jahani’s qameez. ‘You’re wounded! I’ll send for the hakim.’

  Before Hafeezah stood, Jahani grabbed her hand. ‘What did Sami’s father mean, Ammi? About Sami and me – was there a choice?’

  But Hafeezah didn’t answer and hurried out to the courtyard.

  An hour later the hakim arrived.

  He rolled up Jahani’s left sleeve. ‘You have been fortunate,’ he declared. ‘The blade only sliced through the skin of your arm and has not caused lasting damage.’ His face was full of questions, but Jahani had no answers.

  ‘A man pushed me – we fell. I didn’t feel the knife.’ Her arm was throbbing now.

  ‘You have another scar on your arm,’ the hakim said. ‘How did this happen?’

  ‘Ammi said I had an accident riding a pony when I was very young. A friend saved me.’

  ‘You have been fortunate again, it seems. Your friend saved your life today with her own.’

  Jahani’s heart ached. It should have been her. She should have stopped the knife for Sameela. ‘But Sami was to be married!’

  The hakim said nothing more, just returned his potions to his bag.

  And that was the moment that Jahani finally acknow­ledged the truth: now, Sameela would have a funeral instead of a wedding.

  The funeral was held late that afternoon as was customary, but Hafeezah didn’t want Jahani to attend. ‘You are weak from your wound,’ she said.

  ‘But, Ammi, I have to go! Sameela’s my dearest friend. Please!’

  ‘It mightn’t be safe.’

  Jahani sighed. Always Hafeezah worried about safety. ‘We will only be in the house. You’ll be able to see me all the time.’

  Finally Hafeezah relented and dressed in her best white outfit and embroidered cap under a white dupatta. Jahani wore a white shalwar qameez with matching dupatta. They didn’t wear any jewellery as expected, though Hafeezah made sure Jahani wore her taveez, hidden beneath her qameez. Hafeezah prepared a special Hahayul dish called maltash butter as a gift.

  A cloud of white-clad mourners descended on Sameela’s house to the blowing of bronze horns. Sameela’s parents wouldn’t allow professional mourners to attend. ‘We were planning a wedding,’ her father said, ‘so we shall celebrate Sameela’s life, not wear black and blue, nor wail and mourn.’ But as soon as Sameela’s mother saw her daughter wrapped in the white shroud, she clutched Sameela to her chest and wailed as loudly as the best paid mourner.

  To Jahani’s horror, Sameela’s mother had to be dragged away as the men took the body to be buried and, at that moment, the shroud fell away. Underneath, Sameela was dressed in the red-and-gold skirt and long tunic that would have been her wedding clothes. Seeing her like that made Jahani weep for the thought of what would have been.

  Sameela’s betrothed was allowed to attend the funeral to mourn his bride-to-be. He had not seen Sameela since they were children, but he looked as aggrieved as if they had been married for years. Jahani watched tears roll down his cheeks and knew he would have been a good husband.

  At the wake Jahani helped serve food to the guests, but she was brushing tears from her eyes so often she forgot what she was doing. Everywhere she looked she was reminded of Sameela and their friendship: the rooms where they’d played games, the desks where they’d had their discussions about poetry. Even glancing out the window brought to mind the horse riding and sword lessons they’d had with Sameela’s brother.

  Hafeezah was also in a state. Jahani heard one of Sameela’s aunts say, ‘Anyone would think it was Jahani who died. Why is she so upset?’

  Jahani watched Hafeezah as she laid platters of sweet rice on the table. Hafeezah was weeping, yes, but there was something more in her eyes – she looked stricken as she glanced up and saw Jahani standing there.

  As she stared into her mother’s face, Jahani’s eyes opened wider. Her mother was afraid.

  That evening, Jahani couldn’t concentrate on her sewing. For moons she had been sewing Sameela’s wedding quilt. Now it lay incomplete on her bed without Sameela’s name, and that’s where it would stay; to give the quilt to Sameela’s family now would only cause more sorrow.

  She glanced up as Hafeezah dropped a pebble into the basket to show the beginning of a new day. In the most northern kingdom where Hafeezah had come from, days began at sunset and ended the following evening. There were the same number of pebbles in both baskets now: they were halfway through the lunar year.

  Jahani stood up to make thyme tea and brought a cup to Hafeezah. It was Hafeezah’s cure-all for everything, but neither of them touched it as they sat quietly on their embroidered cushions. Hafeezah seemed far away, tapping her hand against her thigh.

  ‘Ammi, what else is worrying you?’ Jahani paused, but Hafeezah didn’t answer. ‘It’s not just about Sami, is it?’

  Hafeezah gently took Jahani’s hands in her own. ‘These hands were meant to have henna on them soon.’ She sighed. ‘There is something I must tell you.’ She looked up at Jahani. ‘You are old enough now and I think I can trust you to keep a secret.’

  Jahani tilted her head. ‘Certainly, Ammi.’ She thought about how she’d kept Hafeezah’s language a secret all her life. She hadn’t even told Sameela.

  Still Hafeezah waited, staring into Jahani’s eyes. Jahani breathed deeply, wondering what it could be to trouble her mother so.

  Finally Hafeezah said, ‘I do not think that dagger was meant for Sameela. Nor was it an accident.’

  Jahani gasped. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Summers ago when you were small you were in danger—’

  ‘Me? Why?’

  ‘I do not know.’ Hafeezah winced, choking back tears.

  ‘Ammi, what is it?’

  ‘I have tried to keep you safe all this time …’

  Jahani thought of her mother’s obsessive concern for her safety and how it made her appear crazed. ‘But, Ammi, you have looked after me well.’

  ‘Nine summers ago we came. Nine wonderful summers …’ Hafeezah’s voice trailed to a whisper.

  Jahani frowned. But hadn’t she been born here? Nine summers ago she was five. She opened her mouth to ask when Hafeezah said, ‘Today, I almost failed.’

  Jahani stared at her. ‘Ammi, you’re not making any sense.’

  Hafeezah inclined her head. ‘I think that dagger was meant for you.’

  ‘But why? What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m not sure—’

  ‘But, I haven’t hurt anyone. I have nothing anyone could want.’

  Tears welled in Hafeezah’s eyes again.

  ‘Isn’t that right, Ammi?’

  Hafeezah didn’t answer Jahani’s question. Instead she said, ‘I have more to tell you and I’m afraid it will hurt your heart.’

  Jahani stared at her mother, a sick feeling rising in her chest.

  Hafeezah kissed Jahani’s hand and pressed it against her cheek. ‘Jahani, you are the daughter of my heart, you always will be. But sadly, I am not your birth mother.’ Tears spilled over Hafeezah’s cheeks.

  Jahani snatched back her hand. ‘You’re lying! It’s just the shock of Sami dying.’ Her breath snagged in her throat. ‘Why are you saying this? Ammi, it has always been you and me.’ Her words choked into a sob.

  Hafeezah reached for Jahani to draw her into her arms, but Jahani pulled away. She was so confused, but perhaps this explained why she often felt restless and different. Her red hair wasn’t the only thing that stood out in the village. Even Sameela had remarked on Jahani’s unusual blue eyes, her height and the graceful way she walked. Without saying another word to Hafeezah, Jahani retreated to the other room.

  The room was dark when Jahani had finally cried all her tears. Sameela had died and now this? But her heart told her Hafeezah was telling the truth. She returned to the other room and found Hafeezah still awake. She sat on the edge of the charpai.

  ‘I am truly sorry, Jahani. I hoped this day would never come.’


  ‘Why not tell me the truth when I was little …’ Jahani’s words faded when she saw Hafeezah’s distress, but she had to ask: ‘Did you adopt me?’ Her voice was louder than she meant it to be and Hafeezah flinched.

  ‘Bey ya, no, I am your foster mother only.’

  Jahani thought for a moment. She didn’t want to ask the next question, but she had to. ‘But I don’t understand. Do you know my true—’

  Hafeezah laid a finger on Jahani’s lips. ‘You must not upset yourself – surely what I’ve said has caused enough heartache.’

  Jahani couldn’t stop herself. She pushed Hafeezah’s finger away. ‘Why don’t you explain?’

  ‘So many tales, so much trouble …’ Hafeezah’s voice trailed away.

  ‘Tales?’ Jahani echoed.

  Hafeezah took in a deep breath and said in a rush, ‘There was a lady. I was her companion and your ayah.’

  ‘So you knew me when I was little?’

  Hafeezah tilted her head in affirmation. ‘I met you when you were four.’

  ‘Who was the lady?’

  Hafeezah glanced up and Jahani was taken aback at the despair she saw in her eyes.

  ‘Do you remember the sweets you’ve received each Eid from Aunty Zarah and Uncle Baqir?’ Hafeezah asked.

  ‘Aunty Zarah? What does she have to do with it?’ Jahani checked herself, then her eyes widened. ‘She is the one? My mother?’

  ‘Awa, yes.’ Hafeezah’s voice was so quiet, but Jahani kept going.

  ‘And Uncle Baqir?’

  ‘He is your father.’

  My father. She had a father! Jahani sat stupefied. ‘But why? Why did my parents give me up?’

  Hafeezah sat up and leaned against a cushion. ‘Jahani, it is not that simple. I will try to explain what I know. It isn’t much and I doubt my answers will help you feel better.’

  Jahani’s hands shook as Hafeezah held them in her own. ‘This is a shock for you. And I am afraid there is more to come. Zarah and Baqir live over a moon’s journey from here – in the Kingdom of Kaghan. It’s on the way to the Kingdom of Hahayul in the Qurraqoram Mountains where I was born.’

  Was that why Jahani had dreams of mountains? She had thought it might be because of Hafeezah telling her stories about them. ‘But why haven’t we visited all these summers? We could have travelled there—’ Jahani broke off as she noticed Hafeezah’s eyes fill again. ‘Ammi, I’m sorry.’

  Hafeezah wiped her eyes. ‘Bey ya, no, I am the one who is sorry. Jahani, there was a reason why you couldn’t go.’

  Jahani’s voice was small, but she had to say it. ‘They didn’t want me?’

  ‘It wasn’t that, Jahani. It was too dangerous. I was told to keep you hidden in Sherwan. Listen. When you were a child, living with Zarah and Baqir, someone tried to hurt you. Zarah thought they meant to kill you. You were saved by the young son of Baqir’s master of horse,’ she paused, ‘and a snow leopard.’

  ‘A leopard?’ Jahani’s brow furrowed.

  Hafeezah inclined her head. ‘The very next day Zarah asked me to take you away.’

  ‘But did she say why she thought I was in danger?’

  ‘Bey ya, no, but she must have had reason enough. Zarah and Baqir doted on you, so to give you up was a heavy burden for them to bear. You are the jewel of their life, until you marry.’ Hafeezah glanced at Jahani. ‘You see, it is Zarah who has paid for everything since we made our home here. She told me that when it was safe she would send for you, but she never has. To tell you the truth, I was hoping she never would. I love having you as my daughter.’

  Jahani managed a smile, but it soon faded. ‘So Zarah must think it is still dangerous. Do you?’

  ‘You can ask that after what happened to Sameela?’

  Jahani’s face grew hot with the memory of her friend lying in her arms, but she persevered. ‘It could have been a badmarsh, a bandit. You truly believe the dagger was for me?’

  ‘A thief would have taken your purse.’ Hafeezah hesitated as if she didn’t want to continue. ‘I believe it was for you, but for what reason I do not know.’

  Jahani sat with her head in her hands. ‘I don’t understand. I thought I was born here. I thought you were my mother. Why don’t I remember any of this?’

  Hafeezah leaned closer. ‘I’m not surprised you don’t remember. Those days were a frightening time for us all, and you were very young. You were barely five summers when we came to Sherwan.’

  Jahani fingered the silver taveez at her neck that Hafeezah insisted she wear to protect her from the evil eye. ‘So was it you who gave this to me?’

  Hafeezah gave a slight shake of her head.

  ‘It was Zarah?’

  ‘Probably. I wasn’t there when you were born.’ Hafeezah sounded miserable.

  ‘But who would want to hurt me?’

  ‘I do not know who is a danger to you, only that you were in danger when you were little and now you are again. I have wondered lately if you were being watched.’

  Jahani remembered the feeling of being observed recently, but whenever she’d turned no one had been there. But when she remembered the man staring at her in the tonga she knew Hafeezah was right: someone wanted to hurt her.

  ‘But how did they find me?’

  Hafeezah gathered Jahani’s hands in her own again. ‘It is possible a visitor saw you at Sameela’s house. There have been more people there of late because of the wedding. Sameela’s betrothed comes from an influential family. His uncle serves at the emperor’s court in Agra.’

  ‘Does Sami’s father know that you are not my true mother?’

  ‘Bey ya, no, unless he suspects – you do look like a girl from the Qurraqoram Mountains. And that is what is frightening. If he does suspect, someone else could also.’

  ‘Perhaps he could help us.’

  Hafeezah shrugged. ‘We cannot take that chance. Baqir said to tell no one. Not even you, unless you accidently gave the secret away.’ She smiled sadly at Jahani. ‘What we have to do now is find a safer place to live.’

  Hafeezah pushed herself up from the cushions and, in the other room, pulled her wooden clothes box out from under the charpai. She rummaged for a while and brought a child’s dress to Jahani. ‘See this?’

  Jahani did not recognise it. She ran her fingers over the patterns and silver decorations. A peacock feather was embroidered in blue and silver threads on the bodice of the tiny dress. A small square silver ornament, another taveez, was sewn onto the sleeve. ‘Zarah dressed me in this?’ The taveez was pure silver, with intricate patterns similar to the one Jahani wore around her neck.

  Hafeezah frowned. ‘Jahani, Zarah believed you were in grave danger. There was much trouble and fighting in the mountains at the time. I have kept you with me these past nine summers, hoping no one would know where we were. But it seems it was all for naught. Whoever it is, they have found you after all.’

  3

  Sherwan Kingdom of Hazara

  Jahani took the embroidered dress and slipped into the other room to think. In only one day her whole world had crumbled and now she had no idea who she was. A few summers ago she had pestered Hafeezah to tell her about her father, and Hafeezah had told her he’d died. So she had lied. About everything to do with her parents. Jahani frowned. And all for safety.

  ‘Zarah and Baqir.’ She said their names aloud. Was she now Jahani Baqir?

  Her fingers found the raised edge of the stitches on the little dress. Nothing about the dress brought memories of her parents to the fore. The squares of material were made of different pieces of fabric, some velvet, others light cotton. It was like the quilt she had made for Sameela, except the embroidery was unlike any Jahani had seen before. If only she could ask Sameela her opinion. But she was no longer here.

  To stop herself from crying, Jahani took up a board with paper and dipped a reed pen in ink. She would finish the poem for Sameela.

  She and Sameela had been like sisters, telling each other everything. They even acted
out the stories they told. Most of Jahani’s tales came from Hafeezah. Like the ones about the mountains, the giant bird called the Simurgh and the paries – fairies – who married princes and had pari horses.

  Sameela’s stories were different – hers were of the Persian kings.

  Jahani murmured as she wrote:

  ‘Don’t weep for me, my Sameela dear,

  wear your gold bangles the whole year.

  Don’t cry for me, for you shall see

  fate did not mean that you should weep for me.

  For the day will come, I know it will

  a bright new sun, my dreams fulfil.

  Across that plain you will see me then;

  remember when we did pretend?

  I wore Rostam’s helmet, my hair it hid

  just like the lion, blessed Gordafarid.

  So, no more fear, my Sameela dear,

  wear your gold bangles the whole year.’

  They’d had disagreements, but never for long. Like the time they rode horses with Sameela’s brother Arif. One afternoon Arif let Jahani ride the feistiest gelding when Sameela wished to ride him. ‘Only Jahani can ride this horse,’ he had said. ‘It is the one time all day he is quiet, Shehzadi.’ He had used his pet name for Sameela, which meant princess, to calm her, but she had scowled at Jahani with jealousy. Luckily Sameela was only cross with her for a week. After that, Arif decided to teach them both to use a sword. He was an only son and Jahani understood they wouldn’t have received this treatment if he hadn’t been so bored.

  In truth, Jahani had often felt at odds with Sameela and not just because she had no pedigree to list at times of introduction. There was also her hair. She wondered if Zarah and Baqir had red hair. If she went there would she feel as if she belonged?

  The image of Sameela in her arms rose again in her mind. It was like one of her recurring nightmares. She frowned. Sameela’s murder couldn’t be because of her, surely? If she travelled to see her parents would she find some answers?

  Jahani stood and paced around the room. If she sat here mourning and doing nothing, she would go mad. She couldn’t let Sameela die in vain.