Daughter of Nomads

by Rosanne Hawke

  6

  A Hindu Village Kingdom of Hazara

  She was rolling, tumbling until she hit the water. The river wrenched her from the bank and dragged her downstream. She screamed, gulped in water, screamed again and slipped under the surface. A spectre reached out for her. She cried out, but only swallowed more water. She found the surface again, coughing and crying. A huge serpent slid toward her. It opened its mouth. ‘I like little girls,’ it said. There was a knife curled in its tail.

  Jahani woke with a jolt and sat up before she could be stabbed with the dagger. She was tired of her recurring nightmares. Falling into a river was one of her fears. The snake was a new addition, though the knife wasn’t. Her next thought was of Sameela. No wonder I dream of daggers, she thought sadly.

  It was still early, but she rose to pray on her small rug. Then she folded Sameela’s quilt to pack. The quilt displayed a piece of material that Jahani had cut from a shalwar qameez Sameela had worn when she was eleven summers old. Her family had hosted a street party because Emperor Aurangzeb had risen to the throne. Both Jahani and Sameela had worn new outfits, though Hafeezah had been reluctant to let Jahani celebrate: ‘He imprisoned his father Shah Jahan to become emperor. How is that honouring your parents?’ Jahani felt a pang as she thought of Hafeezah; there was a distance between them now and she wasn’t sure how to bridge it.

  She helped Hafeezah pack and realised the three of them were falling into a rhythm: Azhar tended the horses and secured the bags, while Jahani and Hafeezah prepared food. She felt like a nomad, travelling with no home.

  They travelled until midday when they saw an archway to a village looming ahead. As they rode closer, Jahani couldn’t hear the normal sounds of village life: the food wallas calling their wares in a marketplace or the busy sounds of industry. Instead there was silence, and smoke hung around them so thick it was like walking through black fog.

  Azhar halted Rakhsh and put a steadying hand on Chandi’s reins.

  ‘What is it?’ Hafeezah asked.

  ‘Best for you both to stay here.’ Azhar whistled to slowly move Rakhsh forward, checking in every direction. Jahani watched him closely and realised there was something familiar about the way he sat on the horse. Then he drew his sword and Jahani gasped. At that moment he looked like a seasoned warrior.

  Within minutes, Azhar was swallowed by the smoke and Jahani felt a sudden wrench in her belly. What would he find? The urge to follow him was stronger than her fear and she pressed Chandi forward.

  Hafeezah cried, ‘Bey ya, no, Jahani! Azhar said—’

  ‘Why do we always have to do what he says? He’s probably only seen four more summers than me. Isn’t he meant to serve us?’

  Hafeezah pursed her lips. ‘Actually, he offered to guard you.’

  Jahani gave her a perplexed look as she rode past, but she could hear Hafeezah riding behind her. They followed Azhar’s path and a deathly stench enveloped them, like charred meat and hair.

  Jahani coughed as she halted Chandi to take in the scene. For a long moment she sat rigid; it was as if she had been here before. She saw flashes of fire and a tiny girl crawling through smoke, crying and not stopping. Her breaths came faster.

  Her dream.

  Jahani gasped and Hafeezah leaned toward her. ‘What is wrong? Are you unwell?’

  Jahani shook her head. ‘It’s just the burning, the smoke. My throat feels so dry.’

  Azhar raised a hand to keep them quiet. ‘We need to pass through here quickly,’ he whispered. ‘Some dreadful evil has occurred.’

  Their horses trotted slowly through the village. Mud and wooden houses were smouldering, some with their thatch roofs still burning. Azhar searched the area around them for survivors, but there didn’t seem to be anyone about.

  ‘There’s a girl!’ Jahani cried.

  The child looked about ten summers and sat in the dirt sobbing. Jahani slipped from Chandi and ran over. ‘Where is your mother?’ Jahani asked, putting an arm around her. The girl didn’t stop weeping but pointed toward a temple.

  Azhar sheathed his sword and rode Rakhsh forward at a canter. He jumped to the ground at the temple steps. The door had been barricaded with planks of wood. He ripped them away and smoke billowed out. Azhar disappeared inside.

  ‘Qhuda be merciful,’ Hafeezah murmured.

  A long minute passed while Jahani held her breath. Finally Azhar emerged, coughing and retching.

  Hafeezah and Jahani stood in silence until he recovered and he walked Rakhsh over to them. Then Jahani asked quietly, ‘There were people?’

  His eyes watered. From smoke or emotion Jahani couldn’t tell.

  ‘The whole village.’ Azhar wiped his eyes and she could see his hand shaking. ‘All dead.’ He glanced at the girl. ‘I wonder how she escaped.’

  Jahani felt an ache in her throat trying to hold the tears at bay, and then anger rushed in. ‘Who would do this?’

  ‘Soldiers?’ Hafeezah said, tears falling freely down her face.

  ‘The mir of this place wouldn’t destroy temples and his subjects, would he?’ Jahani asked. ‘It must be bandits.’

  ‘This isn’t the first village to suffer this way,’ Azhar said quietly.

  Jahani frowned.

  ‘The old ways are changing in the mountains,’ he explained.

  ‘But that’s not possible. Emperor Akbar decreed almost one hundred summers ago that all kingdoms must have religious tolerance.’

  Azhar’s face tightened and Jahani realised he was attempting to control himself. She glanced at him in concern but wasn’t sure how to help.

  Instead she held the girl close and gradually her sobs lessened. She looked up at Hafeezah. ‘Please, Ammi, we can’t leave her here.’ Jahani kept her voice strong.

  Azhar didn’t object. ‘We’ll take her to her relatives.’ He turned to the girl. ‘Can you tell us where they live?’

  The girl shuddered as she drew in a breath.

  Azhar crouched in front of her. ‘You are safe with us. What is your name?’

  ‘Anjuli Singh.’ It was barely a whisper.

  ‘And your family?’

  She stared at the temple. ‘Gone … my mother, my brother Shaan …’ Her face folded in on itself and she buried herself in Jahani’s chest.

  Azhar and Jahani shared a glance. He looked pale. ‘Anjuli,’ he said gently. ‘Your mother’s people, do they live in a village near here?’

  She raised her head and nodded. ‘They won’t want me.’

  Jahani caught her breath at the girl’s response. Then she helped her onto Chandi and mounted behind her. For a long moment Jahani sat, unable to move, with her arms around Anjuli. Silent tears streamed down her face. All these people. It was as if everything she had felt at Sameela’s death was resurfacing. Suddenly Hafeezah was beside her, an arm around her waist.

  ‘Can you ride?’ Hafeezah asked.

  Jahani looked at Hafeezah through her tears. ‘I’m sorry, Ammi.’ Jahani could tell Hafeezah knew she wasn’t apologising for her tears, but she still needed her as a mother.

  ‘Come. Thank Qhuda Anjuli was saved.’

  Jahani gave a shuddering breath.

  ‘We mustn’t linger,’ Azhar said.

  ‘In case the men return?’ Hafeezah asked.

  Azhar glanced at Anjuli. ‘Perhaps.’

  That night they camped as far from the burning village as they could manage. There was no caravanserai to stay in and Jahani felt an unfurling in her belly. What if those men were still about? At their cooking fire they huddled together to keep warm, especially Anjuli, who was shaking from the shock. Jahani suspected that, like her, Anjuli was fearful.

  Azhar seemed lost in his thoughts. Jahani was loath to interrupt him, but she needed to know. ‘What did you mean today when you said the old ways are changing in the mountains? Emperor Akbar’s decree of tolerance?’

  Azhar sat back from the fire. ‘My father likes to keep abreast of what is happening in the mountain kingdoms and he has
received news of incidents like this.’ Then he said, ‘You were brought up in a quiet village far from the main thoroughfare.’ He glanced at Hafeezah. ‘I am sure your mother chose it carefully.’

  Hafeezah broke in, ‘Sameela’s father travelled a lot but he never spoke of such things.’

  ‘Even if he knew, he would not have burdened his family and friends,’ Azhar said.

  ‘You told us,’ Jahani said.

  Azhar regarded her. ‘You saw it for yourself,’ he said softly.

  Jahani sat in troubled silence with Anjuli’s head on her lap. She stroked the girl’s hair and, before long, Anjuli was asleep. The world was a very different place than she had imagined in her lessons.

  Jahani leaned into Hafeezah and, after a while, she asked, ‘Do you know any stories, Azhar?’

  He blew out a breath. ‘Perhaps a story can explain when ordinary words cannot.’ Azhar frowned. ‘Well then, this is the story of the Demon King, Zahhak. Have you heard of him?’

  ‘Sameela and I read about him in the Shahnameh, The Persian Book of Kings,’ Jahani said.

  Azhar inclined his head and began. ‘In the early days in the land of the Arabs there was a good king called Merdas and he had a son called Zahhak. This son had ten thousand horses with golden bridles, but no one could bridle his evil disposition. One day Shaitan, the devil, told Zahhak he should be the ruler instead of his father, and he’d give him the world. So Zahhak murdered his father Merdas and was named the Demon King. No good comes from evil conduct and so two black snakes grew from the Demon King’s shoulders which he fed with human brains.’

  Azhar fell silent staring into the fire until Hafeezah gently said, ‘What happened to the Demon King?’

  He looked up as if surprised to find them there. ‘A young man called Feraydun killed him. Feraydun wasn’t yet born when the Demon King first dreamed that he was coming to slay him. The Demon King searched for him and killed his father, but Feraydun’s mother saved the baby and secretly gave him to a cow herder to bring up safely. When he was in danger again his mother took him to the mountains where he played in fields of wildflowers.’

  Azhar paused, gazing at Jahani.

  She wondered at his intense look as if he expected a reaction from her. ‘And?’ She was enjoying Azhar’s retelling and didn’t want him to stop. Sameela’s tutor had not added the gory details.

  ‘When Feraydun was sixteen he discovered who his father was: a descendent of Tahmures, the third king of Persia who was the binder of demons. Feraydun wanted to smite King Zahhak immediately, but his mother counselled him to wait until he had followers and support.’

  ‘And he won?’ Hafeezah had an odd look on her face as she glanced at Jahani.

  ‘Awa, yes. He had many adventures narrowly escaping death and he killed Zahhak with a huge ox-head mace. Qhuda and the angels helped him to free the world from treachery and tyranny.’

  Jahani thought of the burning village and drew Anjuli closer. It would be good to live in a world free from tyranny.

  7

  En Route to Balakot Gateway to the Kingdom of Kaghan

  Early the next morning, Jahani woke Anjuli and they washed in a nearby stream. Wafts of smoke drifted past them like mist. Anjuli watched them so forlornly that Jahani hugged her. Jahani was mourning, too, and could imagine Anjuli’s pain, but there was nothing she could say to ease it. In silence they sat embracing on the bank as the sun rose.

  Hafeezah found them. Taking Anjuli by the hand, she said, ‘I have made chapattis to eat, then we will set out to find your relatives.’

  After breakfast, they rode on a track Anjuli indicated until mud houses filled their view. The houses were even smaller than Hafeezah and Jahani’s in Sherwan. A few goats nibbled the grass and jumped away as Azhar led their horses into the village. Men were working on a small plot of earth behind the houses; one man pulled a wooden plough. They don’t even have a buffalo, Jahani thought.

  ‘Which house?’ Azhar asked. Anjuli pointed the way.

  Jahani jumped off Chandi and helped Anjuli down. They walked to the courtyard gate.

  Azhar called out. ‘Aunty ji? Anyone there?’

  A weary looking woman appeared. ‘Anjuli? Why are you here?’ She glanced at Azhar. ‘Where is your mother? Your brother?’

  Anjuli kept silent as tears welled in her eyes.

  ‘Their village was burned,’ Azhar said. ‘Anjuli is the only survivor.’

  The woman put her hand to her mouth and stared.

  ‘We found Anjuli soon after the attack,’ Azhar said. ‘Can you send the dead on their way and take the child?’

  The woman began to weep. ‘We cannot take her.’

  Jahani cut in. ‘Couldn’t she help in the house?’

  The woman glanced toward the men in the fields. ‘Please understand. She will eat more than she will help, and we won’t be able to marry her. We’ll be burdened with her forever.’ She held out her hand in supplication.

  Azhar said nothing. Instead he gave the woman a gold coin.

  The woman stared at her palm, speechless. So was Jahani. A mohur, a gold coin? Where did he get that?

  They rode out of the village quietly, Anjuli with Hafeezah, Azhar abreast of Jahani.

  Jahani could not keep silent for long. ‘Anjuli is part of their family.’

  ‘It is the way of poor families,’ Azhar said. ‘They are just trying to survive.’

  ‘Why should some be so poor they can’t feed an extra child?’ Jahani said. ‘I would change that if I could.’

  ‘Truly?’ Azhar slowed Rakhsh and studied her in earnest. ‘And what would you do – if you had the power?’

  ‘I’d make a law that girls are to be treated equally with boys, that weddings needn’t have dowries. I would do what the Emperor Akbar did and reduce the tax that cripples the poor and rescind the one that minority faiths pay.’

  Azhar stared at her thoughtfully. ‘It would be like bringing snow in summer.’

  Jahani glared back in defiance. ‘You can scoff, but something needs to be done. Why do we have so many poor?’

  Azhar didn’t answer and urged Rakhsh forward.

  ‘It’s because some have too much,’ she called to his back.

  He turned in the saddle and said, ‘It is not a sin to be blessed by Qhuda.’

  Jahani coaxed Chandi to a trot and rode beside him. ‘It is a sin if the wealth was gained by killing or thieving.’

  Azhar gave her a long considered look. ‘Such passion. I trust it will be put to good use.’ Then he pressed Rakhsh into a canter.

  Jahani wasn’t sure if he was impressed or disgusted by her opinions. Not that she cared what he thought. One day she’d show him.

  As it grew dark, Azhar led them from the main thoroughfare and through a wooded area until they found another stream. ‘We will camp behind these rocks,’ he said.

  Jahani and Azhar brushed down the horses, while Hafeezah cooked chapattis over a fire. Anjuli sat watching the flames with tears rolling down her cheeks. Jahani’s breath caught at Anjuli’s distress. She also had an aversion to fire but, unlike Anjuli, she didn’t know why.

  As she cooked, Hafeezah spoke to Anjuli trying to engage her in a conversation. ‘I suppose you make chapattis like this, too.’

  Anjuli shifted her gaze from the fire to Hafeezah, but she didn’t say a word.

  That night Jahani lay on Sameela’s quilt near Anjuli and Hafeezah. She could hear Anjuli’s gentle breathing and won­dered if exhaustion from her sadness had sent her to sleep. Anjuli hadn’t spoken many words since they found her. Jahani supposed the shock had stolen her tongue. She glanced across the fire to where Azhar was lying rolled in a blanket. There must be so many weeks ahead and miles still to travel; she hoped Anjuli would be able to talk freely when they reached the Kingdom of Kaghan.

  Just as Jahani was drifting between wakefulness and dreams she heard a crack. Her eyes shot open.

  There it was again: a twig snapping.

  Azhar sprang fro
m his blanket. Jahani could see the moonlight glint on the sword in his hand.

  Hafeezah stirred. ‘What—?’

  ‘Chup, quiet,’ cautioned Jahani. She sat up and peered over the rocks to watch Azhar creep behind a line of trees.

  Suddenly there was a clash of steel. Jahani stood up, but Hafeezah pulled her back. ‘Lie down. If they are bandits and Azhar is not successful they mightn’t notice us.’

  ‘We can’t let Azhar get hurt. I could help him,’ Jahani said, putting out the fire.

  Hafeezah frowned. ‘What sort of talk is this? You would be killed or, worse, abducted. Girls do not fight.’

  ‘I’ve read stories. The wife of Emperor Akbar could use a sword and battled beside her husband.’

  Hafeezah snorted. ‘You can put that thought out of your mind – you will not be marrying a king.’

  ‘I might marry someone. I have a father now.’

  The silence hung heavily between them.

  Just then they heard a groan.

  ‘Azhar!’ Hafeezah’s voice shook.

  ‘I should go to him.’

  ‘Bey ya, no, Jahani. You are just a girl. Quickly, pick up Anjuli. I’ll fetch the horses. If Azhar is overpowered, we must escape.’

  ‘But we can’t leave without him.’

  ‘Azhar will not want us to be in danger.’

  They had just mounted when they heard someone approaching.

  ‘If it is not Azhar, we will flee,’ Hafeezah said, holding the reins high.

  ‘It has to be him,’ Jahani whispered, surprising herself. She cradled Anjuli as the girl yawned.

  There was the glint of steel in the moonlight.

  Jahani urged Chandi forward.

  ‘Stay here.’ Hafeezah tried to grab Jahani’s bridle, but Chandi trotted toward the shadow moving ahead.

  ‘Azhar?’ Jahani whispered.

  ‘The very same.’ He came closer. ‘You are mounted.’ He sounded surprised.