Jahani gave a tremulous smile. Hafeezah had taught her to forgive whether she felt like it or not, but that didn’t make it easy to do.
As soon as she could leave Zarah, Jahani went to the stables to spend her last moments with Chandi.
What if Muzahid sells you to someone else, she thought. You are such a special mare. There will be no others like you.
Chandi nuzzled her cheek. You must fulfil your destiny.
If I marry will I fulfil my destiny?
The snort exploded in Jahani’s ear. ‘Hie. Now I know what you think of the war lord.’
Chandi snorted again.
So what can I do? Jahani thought.
Azhar will help you.
The next day, Hafeezah and Zarah coated Jahani in turmeric paste, dressed her in a yellow shalwar qameez and left her to rest with Anjuli and Yazan.
‘You’ll be as beautiful as a queen when they are finished pampering you,’ Anjuli said. ‘My sister looked pale like a pari before her wedding.’ She fell quiet after that.
The week would be a long one, Jahani could feel it. She would much rather be playing with the leopards or riding Chandi for miles. At least Yazan and Anjuli could keep her company in her room. She tried not to think of the things she disliked about Muzahid – at least she’d be safe from Dagar Khan – yet she didn’t feel safe in Muzahid’s presence when he visited. This was the way she wanted to live: with Chandi and Yazan and Anjuli in her life. Would Muzahid let her bring Anjuli? Yazan? His behaviour on the day of the polo match didn’t give her much hope.
‘I’ll sing you a song,’ Anjuli said suddenly, then ran from the room. She returned a few minutes later with a tabla, a hand drum. ‘Your mothers are visiting the darzi at the bazaar to fetch your wedding clothes.’
Jahani smiled at the way she referred to Hafeezah and Zarah, but she didn’t want to think about the wedding anymore. ‘Where did you get the tabla?’
‘It is a servant’s, but Shaan taught me how to play in the village.’ She thrummed her hands on the skin stretched across the drum and sang:
‘Jahani, my sister, your life becomes new
for tomorrow your groom will come for you.
Around the fire you’ll walk, each step so small,
yet seven times you will vow to leave us all.
Jahani, my heart, I won’t hide my eyes
and these tears I weep will never dry.
I will sing for you when you become a bride,
the rice is thrown, and your saree is tied.
But don’t ask me my tears to hide
for Jahani, my sister, my heart has died.’
‘I know you won’t walk around a fire tomorrow, but we sang this on my sister’s mehndi night.’ Anjuli’s voice was quiet.
Jahani guessed that her sister must have died in the village fire. She opened her arms and Anjuli sank into them. ‘You have talent,’ Jahani told her.
Anjuli sat back and brightened a little. ‘Now you have to tell me a story, otherwise you will pine away for nothing to do.’
Jahani thought a moment. ‘Accha. A long time ago there was a hero who lived in Persia.’
‘Ji, that’s a good start.’ Anjuli’s eyes shone. ‘Did he look like Azhar? He looks like a hero – strong but kind.’
‘His name was Sohrab,’ Jahani said firmly, ‘and he was famous for winning all of his battles. He had never met his father and grew up not knowing who he was. When he was older his mother finally told him his father’s name. Sohrab discovered that his father was a mighty warrior like himself.’ She paused.
‘What was his name?’
‘Rostam. Sohrab searched for his father but an evil mir paid Sohrab to fight a mighty warrior. Sohrab never knew the name of the man he was fighting.’
Anjuli gasped.
‘On the day of the battle, Sohrab wore armour and a face shield. The other warrior wore a leopard head skin over his helmet. They were giants of men. Sohrab called out, “What is your name? Is it Rostam?” But Rostam didn’t know he had a son and denied that was his name. Then they fought.’
‘Did they both survive?’
‘Nay, Sohrab was told to fight to the death.’
‘Who won?’ Anjuli’s voice was small, and Jahani answered as though her own voice came from far away. ‘Rostam killed his son, but he didn’t know who he was until it was too late.’
‘That’s too sad a story, Jahani bai.’
Jahani’s gaze focused on Anjuli. ‘I don’t know why I’m so morbid lately.’ She glanced away because she did know why. She thought of the nomads and how difficult it was not knowing who her true parents were. She could pass her father in the bazaar and not realise; betray him as Sohrab nearly did. Sohrab wouldn’t have fought Rostam if he knew he was his father. They could have been happy. Then she said, ‘Anjuli, could you take a note to Azhar for me?’
‘Certainly, Jahani bai.’ Her eyes lit up. ‘Will you run away with him?’
Jahani stared at her in horror. ‘Where did you get such an evil idea?’
‘I was jesting. But you have been sad ever since Baqir sahib announced your wedding. You don’t have to marry.’
But I do, Jahani suddenly realised. Baqir needed Muzahid’s protection from Dagar Khan – for Naran as well as for Jahani. Yet it feels wrong to marry the war lord. Everyone except Baqir thinks it’s a bad idea. And she knew Yazan and Chandi thought the same.
Jahani whiled away the hours of the pre-wedding week with Zarah’s friends visiting, Yazan’s company, Anjuli’s chatter and pampering from her mothers – as Anjuli named them. Finally it was the mehndi night, the henna night before the ceremony. Jahani was washed, her hair brushed, braided and scented with jasmine oil; then she was dressed in a new shalwar qameez. She had never before worn such an outfit. It was pink with tiny jewels sewed onto the bodice, and the embroidery on the neck and cuffs was smothered with pearls.
‘Wait until you see your wedding outfit,’ Anjuli said. ‘There’s beautiful embroidery on the red dress and the veil is stitched with pure gold. You will look like a wife of the Mughal emperor.’
‘Put your feet in your slippers,’ Hafeezah said, proffering them. These too were heavily embroidered and embellished with jewels. Would Sameela have had clothes like this at her mehndi party if she had lived? The thought of Sameela brought Jahani’s vow to mind. She remembered how she had knelt on her rug in Sherwan and had vowed to find out why Sameela had been killed. Jahani realised she still didn’t know.
20
Naran Kingdom of Kaghan Third Moon of Summer
After the women’s singing and dancing, Jahani was left in peace. Tomorrow her new life would begin. She listened to the rain falling outside her window and it reminded her of the monsoon in Sherwan. Anjuli had just fallen asleep when Jahani heard footsteps outside her door. They sounded heavier than a woman’s and she stiffened. What man would dare come to her room, especially the night before the wedding? Surely not Muzahid, though he was possibly capable of anything. Yazan didn’t growl even though his ears were turned toward the noise.
‘Jahani, are you awake?’
She rushed to the door and found Azhar standing outside. He wore his turban and a travelling cloak.
She stared at him in shock.
He spoke first. ‘Anjuli said you were worried and that you were going to write me a note. What did you want to tell me?’
Jahani was speechless. Azhar’s presence terrified her. What if a servant saw them and told Muzahid?
‘Please forgive me for visiting, but I couldn’t get near you today.’ He kept his voice low. ‘I had to come to your room.’
‘You’re not meant to be here. Muzahid would kill you.’ She scrutinised Azhar’s face. His mouth was tight with tension. He glanced behind him as he slipped inside and shut the door carefully. He seemed frightened, too.
‘There is no time to argue,’ Azhar said. ‘Why did you want to send a note?’
She paused, then in a rush said, ‘That it doesn’t seem righ
t to marry the war lord. Chandi and Yazan have warned me.’ She bit her lip as she watched him. Then she took a deep breath and said, ‘I don’t want to marry Muzahid.’
Azhar let a sigh escape. ‘I also agree that you can’t go through with the wedding.’
Jahani bristled. ‘You’ve been thinking about this yourself. Why?’
‘I was in the bazaar this afternoon and discovered a few things. Muzahid is not marrying you for love.’
‘I know that already. He’s never met me—’
‘What I am saying is he does not truly want a wife. He plans to hand you over to Dagar Khan after the wedding.’
Her eyes widened. ‘For what reason?’
He hesitated. ‘For the same reason Sameela was killed, and the reason we were attacked on the road here.’ His eyes didn’t meet hers.
‘He wants to kill me,’ she whispered. ‘But why?’
A gentle look passed over Azhar’s face as though he cared for her feelings. ‘I cannot tell you. That is something you must discover for yourself.’
She turned away frustrated once again by these evasive answers. Would she ever find out the truth? ‘The problem is my father. He said Muzahid was offering the Kingdom of Kaghan protection against Dagar Khan. If I leave, what might Muzahid do?’ She faced him again. ‘Will Naran be safe?’
‘He only told Baqir that to marry you, but it isn’t true. He has an alliance with Dagar Khan. And when the kingdoms are conquered by Dagar Khan, Muzahid will be governor of Skardu.’
Jahani stared at him, frowning. ‘Are you sure? Wouldn’t Baqir see through such a deceit? Why should I believe you?’
‘What?’ Confusion spread over Azhar’s features. ‘You can question me after all I have done to protect you on our trek? I have known you since you were a child!’ His voice had risen but he checked himself.
She narrowed her gaze. ‘Did you know Zarah and Baqir weren’t my true parents?’
‘They finally told you?’
‘Awa.’
‘They are your parents by adoption.’ He breathed in and out as if deciding what to say. ‘Listen, there are more things you need to know, and I will help you to discover them, but here and now is not the right time. I must take you to a safe place – then you’ll find out everything. Get your things, we must leave now.’
She glared suspiciously at Azhar. ‘If you know, why didn’t you tell me?’
‘It is not my tale to tell.’ He said it simply, but she caught a flicker in his eyes. Was it fear or concern? His excuse was logical, but why did it feel as though he had also abandoned her? He glanced behind the curtain out the window.
Before she realised what she would say, the words burst out, ‘I want to go to the nomads.’
Azhar turned back to her. ‘The nomads?’
‘My true parents must be there. That is where Zarah first saw me.’
He moved closer. ‘Bey ya, it’s not a good idea. I can take you far away to a safer place in the north.’
Jahani dragged her bag from under the charpai. The noise woke Anjuli.
‘What’s wrong?’ She yawned and stretched.
Azhar closed his eyes and muttered, ‘Qhuda, help me.’
Anjuli sat up and saw the bag in Jahani’s hands. ‘Are you going away? I want to come.’
‘Go back to sleep,’ Azhar hissed. There was no sign of his usual kindness.
Jahani put the bag on the charpai and faced him. ‘She’ll have to come with us.’
Azhar frowned. ‘It won’t be easy travelling.’
‘What will happen to her? I can’t leave without her.’
‘Very well,’ his voice sharpened, ‘as long as we leave quietly.’
Jahani quickly threw items into the bag: a change of clothes for her and Anjuli, her prayer rug and Sameela’s quilt. She held the little nomad dress for a moment – she knew now where it came from – then laid it on the charpai for Zarah. She wrapped shawls around herself and Anjuli while Yazan padded around the room looking pleased.
When she was ready she stood stubbornly in the doorway, her sword and bag on the ground beside her. ‘What about Ammi and Zarah? I have to tell them we’re leaving.’
‘And let Muzahid’s men know where we are?’ Azar exclaimed. ‘It’s too dangerous. A servant could hear you. I’ll get word to them when you’re safe and away from here.’ He blew out a breath. ‘I would rather keep you alive than worry about honour.’
‘Bey ya. You wait here with Anjuli. I will only take a few minutes.’
‘It could be dangerous—’
But Jahani was already through the door. She couldn’t possibly leave without Hafeezah knowing. She slipped into the next room and found her lying on her bed, a candle still burning. ‘Ammi, you are still awake.’
‘What is the matter? I thought I heard voices.’ She sat up in concern.
‘Please don’t worry, Ammi, but I can’t marry Muzahid.’
‘What are you talking about? Your wedding is tomorrow. Muzahid will be shamed.’
‘I’m so sorry. I don’t want to leave you, but if I stay I won’t be able to refuse him. I have to go.’ Jahani knelt to hold Hafeezah in her arms. ‘I love you, pyari Ammi. You’ll always be my mother no matter what I discover, and I will live the way you taught me. Remember that, whatever you hear.’
‘Qhuda bless you.’
‘And you, Ammi. I will return and we’ll live together as before. There are things I need to discover.’
Then Jahani left before Hafeezah could convince her to stay.
She slipped back to her room and regarded Azhar. ‘You agree to take me to the nomads?’
‘So be it, but we must go swiftly.’ Azhar shouldered the bag, then turned back to her. This time his eyes were clear like mountain pools as they searched hers. Their reflections decided her. Holding Anjuli’s hand and with Yazan by her side, Jahani led them out the door, through the house and into the rain. Remarkably no guards stood in the courtyard and they made it to the stables without incident, apart from getting wet. Azhar had already prepared the horses and Chandi greeted them with a friendly nicker. Jahani mounted quickly; she could tell Chandi was as pleased as Yazan that she was leaving.
Azhar lifted Anjuli up to Jahani. ‘Until we reach the river, hold the reins with your hands on the bells so they don’t jingle.’
‘What about Yazan?’ she asked Azhar.
‘He will look after himself, but I don’t think he will let you out of his sight for long.’
‘Shouldn’t there be guards here? And at the house?’ Jahani glanced behind her.
‘They are in the bazaar, having a good time with the groom.’ Azhar sounded so weary that Jahani felt sorry for the way she’d questioned his intentions. But she had to be careful: there was so much she didn’t know and she had no idea who to trust anymore. But soon she would find out. For, now that she was outside and escaping with Chandi and Yazan, she knew she was meant to be doing this. It was a rare feeling.
They galloped north in the rain along the Kunhar River. Visibility was low but the roar of the river kept them on course. In a copse of trees, the rain eased and the horses slowed to a trot. Except for the jingling bridles and snorts from the horses, all was quiet until Jahani asked, ‘Why didn’t you want me to go to the nomads?’ She thought of the field she had sat in a week ago, watching them.
‘The nomads are still in Muzahid’s jurisdiction. And I want to take you north myself, but perhaps this is best for now. It is too wet – not even birds would fly in this rain – and the nomads will hide you.’
Jahani ignored his strange words about birds and clung to the idea of nomads. ‘How do you know they will welcome me? Do you trust them?’
Azhar drew Rakhsh beside Chandi and put his hand over Jahani’s. ‘They will care for you because you were one of them.’
Jahani pulled her hand out from under his. ‘I should have left a written message. Zarah will worry.’
‘Bey ya.’ His response was swift like an arrow hitting its tar
get and she flinched. ‘It has to look as if you fled the marriage. Because I am also gone, everyone will think I have abducted you.’
For a long moment Jahani stared at him, trying to make out his expression in the darkness. She would be without blame, but he wouldn’t. ‘You will be a marked man. Muzahid will kill you.’
Azhar chuckled without mirth. ‘He has to catch me first.’ He moved Rakhsh on.
Now Jahani’s head spun with questions and doubts. Perhaps Azhar had some scheme of his own. And how would she talk to the nomads if they accepted her? She didn’t know their language or their customs. She thought about returning, but then thought of Hafeezah. Despite her encouraging words, she hadn’t seemed happy about the wedding, and her protestation about Jahani leaving tonight was weak. Then the thought of finding her birth parents pierced through the confusion in her mind and she gently kneed Chandi to catch up to Azhar.
They arrived at a field and the tents of the nomads loomed before them in the darkness. The rain began falling gently, so they drew to a halt under a tree.
A few dogs barked. ‘Nomad dogs can be vicious when guarding the tents at night,’ Azhar said as a warning.
Azhar dismounted and helped Anjuli down. Then he reached for Jahani. Normally she’d ignore his help, yet feeling his hands circling her waist as he lifted her down, she felt a strange yearning. Her hands rested on his forearms and she felt his body shift. He held her a moment longer than necessary. She looked into his face, her shawl falling backward. She sensed there was more than concern in his eyes and she started in wonder – he didn’t want her to go.
‘I could ride back now,’ she whispered. ‘I could ask Baqir to stop the wedding and you would be safe.’
He frowned. ‘But you wouldn’t be. And Baqir won’t stop the wedding. You know that. If you won’t come north with me now, then this is the safest place for you. I will return later to take you further on your journey.’
Daughter of Nomads Page 13
