Daughter of Nomads

by Rosanne Hawke

  Guiltily, Jahani realised she had only glanced at the groom because she’d been captivated by Azhar.

  She watched the game again being careful not to stare, but an idea was forming in her mind. Chandi was acting as she had in the forest; she was the fastest and nimblest horse on the field. Muzahid’s mount was a Marwari like Rakhsh, fit for a prince, but it wasn’t as well-trained as Chandi.

  Warhorse.

  Then she tensed. Azhar was close to the goal posts, ready to hit the ball, but Muzahid was hurtling toward him.

  ‘Bey ya!’ she shouted in Burushaski before she could stop herself.

  She earned frowns from the older women, especially Hafeezah. Then they all watched, mesmerised, as Muzahid struck out with his stick – not at the ball – but at Azhar!

  Azhar’s arm was bent, ready to strike the ball and he didn’t see the blow coming. But Chandi did. She reared, then galloped around Muzahid, and Azhar hit the ball between the goal posts. The beating drums rose to a crescendo, and Baqir’s men cheered. The game was over but Jahani felt nauseous. Muzahid’s actions were more in line with a warrior attacking an enemy, not a groom playing a game to impress his bride.

  She wanted to see Azhar, but there was no time to visit the stables, especially when so many men were about. Besides, Zarah took them straight to the divan room where a bamboo screen was set up opposite the divans. She indicated three chairs behind it. ‘You must sit behind this screen like the Mughal ladies do at the court in Delhi. Muzahid will not be able to see you, but you will see him.’

  Anjuli giggled. ‘We’ll be able to see if he is handsome.’

  Jahani looked at Anjuli’s sparkling eyes and wished she could feel the same excitement.

  Before the men arrived, one of the servants brought in a samovar of chai and placed it with cups and a tray of walnuts, apricots and carrot halva on a low table in front of the divans.

  Jahani peered through the screen and contemplated the samovar, the steam rising from the opening at the top. When she was younger, Jahani had thought she would be happy like Sameela if she had the opportunity to wed. But Sameela had seen her betrothed long before they were to be married and they had been allowed to write letters. Sameela had discovered he had a gentle hound; he read the poetry of Rumi and Hafiz and copied verses from them in his letters. Sameela even knew his favourite dishes and was learning to cook them, and her parents knew his parents socially. Did Baqir know Muzahid’s father and what he was like?

  Then there was the night of the wedding. Sameela had told her what her mother had said to do. Sameela had been looking forward to it, but Jahani wasn’t. And she couldn’t imagine asking Hafeezah or Zarah for advice.

  Just then Baqir and Azhar showed Muzahid into the room and there seemed little space left. Muzahid was as tall and muscular as Azhar. But there the similarities ceased. Muzahid’s black beard was trimmed, his dark eyes were piercing and his face had angles that made him look cruel.

  ‘Drink chai with us,’ Baqir said. ‘You played well, beta.’ There was a silence after the word ‘beta’ and Jahani realised Baqir would have a son after the wedding. She had longed for a father for many summers; maybe her father had longed for a son. Only she could grant him that wish.

  Zarah poured tea for the men and took three cups behind the screen for Jahani, Hafeezah and Anjuli. Anjuli’s eyes shone. This was obviously an adventure for her.

  ‘You played well also.’ Muzahid’s voice was not smooth like Baqir’s; he was a man who was a warrior.

  ‘And you too, Azhar.’ Muzahid inclined his head in Azhar’s direction in an attempt at politeness.

  It didn’t fool Jahani. She could tell he would be able to protect her – if it was needed, she reflected with annoyance – but she would have to live the way he wanted.

  ‘I am impressed with the mare you were riding.’ Muzahid raised an eyebrow at Azhar. ‘I will buy her. Name your price.’

  Jahani barely managed to stop an audible gasp. He hadn’t even asked!

  Azhar replied, ‘She is the mount of the missahiba.’

  ‘Ah.’ Muzahid said it as if Chandi was his already. Then he gave Azhar a searching look. ‘And what is your relationship to the bride?’

  ‘He is as a brother to the bride,’ Baqir said quickly. ‘I never had a son, but Azhar and my daughter played together as children. He is older and looked after Jahani well. His father was my master of horse, and friend.’ He glanced at Azhar before continuing. ‘But now you will be my true son, Muzahid.’

  Muzahid’s gaze narrowed before he slurped his chai. ‘I see. But now they are too old to be in each other’s company, gallivanting in fields like children. She has too much freedom.’

  Azhar made a sudden movement, but Baqir raised his hand slightly.

  Jahani stiffened. Muzahid knew about their outing to the flower fields. He must have someone watching her! Unless her father’s men had reported it to Muzahid.

  Baqir gave a short laugh but it sounded strained. ‘Rest easy. Azhar is her personal guard and brought her safely home. He is trustworthy.’

  Jahani saw the colour rise in Azhar’s cheeks. She frowned. Was it true she’d had too much freedom? She hadn’t thought she was free at all in Sherwan, yet Sameela always had to double think what her father would say before she acted. Hafeezah had kept a tight watch on Jahani but that was to ensure her safety, which was why this marriage was arranged.

  ‘That you’d risk your only daughter’s honour and that of your family’s?’ continued Muzahid.

  ‘I trust him with my life and with hers.’ There was an edge to Baqir’s tone this time and Muzahid dropped the subject.

  Azhar glanced at the screen with a frown.

  His look confirmed to Jahani that they knew she was there. How unseemly for Muzahid to raise such a delicate subject within her hearing. It was a warning, she realised. Jahani gasped and her cup rattled on the tray as she set it down.

  Hafeezah laid a warning hand on Jahani’s arm, but Muzahid had heard. He turned his head toward the screen. His lip curled in what was possibly meant as a smile, but to Jahani was a leer. In that moment she knew he wasn’t a man who would be thoughtful of her needs or read her poetry like Sameela’s betrothed.

  17

  Jask Persia Safavid Empire

  Azhar had to see his father Kifayat Ullah. Once everyone had retired, he took his carpet to the roof, unrolled it and flew off. Throughout the journey he thought about the events of the past week. He hadn’t handled anything very well. Perhaps he was too young to be entrusted with such an undertaking, after all.

  He was barely inside the door and embracing Kifayat before his concerns poured out. He told his father of the attacks on their journey to Naran and the way Jahani’s gifts were sprouting like magic seeds.

  ‘So, the young are seeing visions and power is returning to the north. It is nearing the time to rid the kingdoms of this tyrant.’

  ‘But each northern kingdom is so small … except Skardu.’

  ‘All the more reason to strike soon before Dagar Khan takes them all. He knows they can’t repel him on their own, so his plan is to keep them divided until he controls every one of them.’ Kifayat stood, contemplating.

  ‘Pedar, Jahani is wondering what is happening to her.’

  ‘Come.’ Kifayat led Azhar to his writing room. ‘Her ancestor was a descendant of the union of Sekandar the Great with a pari. The pari blood shows itself rarely, but it is possible.’

  ‘I told her this story.’

  He looked up at Azhar. ‘So she now knows.’ He raised his eyebrows in interest.

  ‘Nah kheir, no. She didn’t connect the story to her herself.’ Azhar sighed. ‘I should have just told her everything at the beginning and taken her straight to the Qurraqoram Mountains. If we delay much longer it will be too late to get through the passes to Hahayul.’

  ‘But we decided it was best she discover her own path when she is ready. And it is expedient for her to travel through the kingdoms. She will ga
in support. There are many living in the hope she will return.’

  Azhar took off his turban and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I know this. But there is unfinished business in Naran … The plan is not going to work. None of it is.’

  Kifayat regarded Azhar with concern. ‘Come. Sit here on the divan with me.’

  Azhar didn’t want to but he complied.

  ‘Now, what is the matter?’

  ‘Baqir Abbaas has arranged a marriage to protect Jahani. His wife Zarah didn’t even know about it until Baqir came home from travelling. I don’t like it.’

  Kifayat smiled. ‘Is it that you don’t want to see her married? Or that you don’t like this particular arrangement?’

  Azhar pulled a face at his father. ‘You know what I mean. The wedding will ruin our plans.’

  ‘Do I?’ he teased. Then he sobered. ‘Baleh, this is a complication we didn’t foresee. Find out all you can about the groom’s family. What is his name?’

  ‘Muzahid Baig, a war lord from the Kingdom of Skardu.’

  ‘A war lord?’ Kifayat sat forward, his chin in his hand.

  Azhar inclined his head. ‘Baleh, Baqir says this will keep Jahani safe. War lords are very powerful.’

  ‘And unpredictable. Is Baqir mad?’

  Azhar didn’t answer that. ‘Muzahid is cruel. He is not worthy of Jahani.’

  Kifayat gave him a searching look. ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘I just played polo with him. He treated it like a battle.’

  Kifayat nodded slowly.

  ‘Also, I’ve discovered in the bazaar that he has two wives already, but only one son. Jahani means nothing to him – she will be a breeding cow only. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to see any girl treated like this.’

  ‘Let alone Jahani?’

  Azhar’s lips tightened. ‘I have to find out what he knows and why Baqir is agreeing to the marriage. I have an ill feeling in my gut that not all is what it seems.’

  ‘What made Baqir approach Muzahid?’

  ‘That is the strangest part of all – Baqir didn’t approach him. Muzahid asked Baqir for her himself.’

  Kifayat exclaimed in surprise. ‘Without his family? That is most unusual.’

  ‘This is why I am worried.’

  Kifayat stood and looked out the window. ‘It seems someone else knows about her.’

  Azhar walked over to Kifayat. The moon was rising in the night sky. The sight of it usually calmed him. He took a deep breath. ‘Perhaps it is the same people who attacked us on the way to the Kingdom of Kaghan.’

  ‘Let us hope there is only one group. Though what if Muzahid is in partnership with Dagar Khan?’

  ‘That has been in my mind also,’ Azhar said. ‘Or perhaps Muzahid has plans of his own, if he suspects who she is.’

  Kifayat murmured, ‘The quest for power makes strange bedfellows.’ He turned suddenly. ‘You have a difficult road ahead. But rest here first. We will discuss the best course of action.’ He paused, thinking. Then he sighed. ‘I pray Qhuda will keep you both safe.’

  ‘And you, Pedar.’ Azhar made the customary reply and put an arm around Kifayat’s shoulder.

  18

  Naran Kingdom of Kaghan Mughal Empire

  Jahani felt a warm, tickly sensation on her fingertips. Her hand was hanging over the edge of the charpai and she snatched it back with thoughts of spiders. But when she opened her eyes she saw Yazan lying on the mat.

  ‘So, you can jump the wall like Zadi. But how did you get in my room?’

  She looked across and saw Anjuli was gone from her charpai. She had left the door ajar.

  Yazan’s pale blue eyes stared at her. He purred as she stroked his fur. Then he blinked at her slowly. She blinked back and he rested his head on his paws, his long tail wrapped around him. Jahani felt a calmness as if she were in the quiet centre of a storm. She placed her hand on his neck enjoying the hum of his purr.

  ‘I think you are a special chita. I wish you could come with me when I am married.’ She continued to tell Yazan all her fears as if she were praying. ‘So what am I to do? I will have to marry sooner or later.’

  Later would be best.

  The thought dropped into her mind as clearly as if it had been spoken. Was it her own? She frowned at Yazan. ‘Was that you? Are you a pari like Chandi?’

  Perhaps.

  ‘How foolish,’ she murmured, patting Yazan. ‘I must be more worried than I thought.’

  She changed her shalwar qameez and braided her hair. Then, with Yazan padding by her side, she walked into the garden to find Azhar. She found him shovelling out the leopards’ enclosure.

  ‘I’ll help,’ she said, picking up a cane broom. She looked around for Zadi but she must have been in the garden. Yazan walked off and sat in the grass, but Bili pounced on Jahani’s broom. Yazan gave a small growl and Bili joined him. Bili looked annoyed and Jahani laughed.

  Azhar glanced at her with approval. ‘These beasts are shy, yet so magnificent.’

  ‘I think they’re wonderful. They make me feel safe.’ She glanced at Yazan grooming himself.

  Jahani watched Azhar working as she swept. His qameez was unbuttoned and she tried not to stare at his chest. He wielded the heavy wooden shovel as easily as if it were a broom. His leg seemed better.

  ‘Azhar.’

  ‘Awa?’

  ‘When you were riding Chandi yesterday—’

  ‘I hope you didn’t mind,’ he cut in. ‘There was no time to ask you, but she plays polo the best.’

  That information made Jahani pause. Then she asked, ‘When you rode Chandi did you notice anything strange?’ Jahani kept her tone light.

  ‘She always knew what to do, even when I didn’t. She is well-trained.’

  Jahani took a deep breath. ‘But … did you hear anything?’

  He stopped and leaned on the shovel. ‘Like what happened to you in the forest?’

  She tilted her head in affirmation.

  ‘Bey ya, no, I didn’t hear anything like that. But Chandi is unique. Those Zanskari warhorses are.’ He resumed his task.

  She decided to drop the subject and kept sweeping.

  Then Azhar stopped and watched her. ‘Imagine if Muzahid could see you now. The bride of a war lord mucks out the animal pen with her guard.’

  Jahani flashed a smile. ‘He probably thinks you are my brother by now.’

  He stared at her curiously. After a while he asked, ‘Are you happy?’

  ‘Awa, I love being here with the chitas.’ She glanced at Azhar. ‘I feel a connection with Yazan,’ she said quietly. ‘Maybe like I did with Zadi when I was little.’

  Azhar raised his eyebrows. ‘And the wedding? Are you pleased about that?’

  She stopped sweeping and glared at him. ‘I think nothing about it. This is something every girl has to do: obey her father, then obey her husband.’ She didn’t mean to sound bitter, but his question had caught her off guard. ‘And nor does it have anything to do with you.’ With horror she felt her eyes burning.

  He stepped closer. ‘Jahani, you do not need to do this—’

  ‘Go away,’ she shouted. Didn’t he hear what Muzahid had said? She was no longer a carefree girl, riding through the mountains, able to talk with a young man, even if he was her guard. Suddenly a frightful thought dropped into her head: after the wedding she may never see Azhar again.

  There was a silence. Yazan padded over to stand beside her, nuzzling her hand. Jahani shut her eyes until finally she heard Azhar open the gate and walk away. She dropped to her knees and hugged Yazan.

  Then a little voice said, ‘I had an older sister.’

  Jahani looked up to see Anjuli standing by the gate.

  ‘When she was the same age as you she was married to a man in a nearby village. Before the wedding she cried for weeks. Abu said brides cry a lot and not to worry, but she didn’t want to leave us.’

  ‘Did you see her afterward?’

  ‘Not much.’ Anjuli’s eyes
closed.

  Jahani ran over and gathered Anjuli in an embrace, hoping that her sister wasn’t visiting Anjuli’s village the day the temple burned.

  Later Jahani sat in the pavilion with Yazan to think. Whenever Yazan raised his head and stared into her eyes, she felt more was out there for her: some task she needed to do, but she didn’t know what. She sighed. She had an overwhelming sense that the marriage would put an end to her freedom. The polo game had certainly shown Muzahid’s true nature. If only he was compassionate like Sameela’s groom had been.

  And Azhar.

  She caught her breath. She must never think that again. How could a guard marry the daughter of a wealthy landowner? Besides Azhar would be angry with her now.

  She decided she needed to see her father. Maybe he could give her some answers. ‘Come, Yazan, let’s find Bapa.’

  Yazan was on his feet before she spoke as though words weren’t necessary. He led her to the stables where they found Baqir tending to his horse.

  ‘Bapa?’ She said it hesitantly, hoping he would be more like a father today.

  Baqir turned. ‘You’re up early.’

  ‘I’ve been helping Azhar with the chita pen.’

  He sighed. ‘Muzahid is traditional in his thinking. He doesn’t want you spending time with Azhar.’

  Jahani bristled. ‘But he’s just a boy.’

  ‘He’s at least four summers older than you. In this mountain kingdom he is old enough to be wed.’

  Jahani blew out a breath. ‘I’ve come to see what you are doing. I wish to know you better before I marry.’ She hoped her tone didn’t betray her thoughts on the swiftness of the wedding.

  ‘You won’t be far away from us. Muzahid has a house here.’

  ‘But isn’t his family from Skardu? His team flew the Skardu flag yesterday.’

  ‘Ji, but he has not said he is returning.’

  ‘If he does one day, I may never see you or Zarah again.’ She sighed. ‘I have lost so many summers with you already.’ She thought of Sameela’s father: the way he hugged Sameela, discussed her studies and rode with her. ‘What if we ride our horses together before breakfast?’ She said it excitedly like Anjuli would. ‘My bridegroom couldn’t object to me spending time with you.’