She hesitated. Would it be seemly?
He tilted his head up and a mysterious smile played on his lips.
She drew closer, remembering when she’d sat on his carpet at Lake Saiful Maluk and the flower fields. Both times she’d felt a hum, almost a vibration, coming from the carpet. Gingerly she lowered herself to sit opposite Azhar. Again, she felt the hum through her body as a corner of the carpet rolled toward her. She glanced at Azhar to find him watching her with an intriguing expression on his face.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘I have something to show you. It is time.’
‘Time for what?’ But she didn’t wait for his answer; she watched the carpet rolling away again as if being moved by an unseen hand. ‘The carpet!’ she said in awe. ‘It’s like the wind is moving it.’
‘Do not be afraid. It is quite safe.’ Azhar whispered a few words she didn’t catch because the carpet was rising! Then it hovered a hand’s breadth above the ground.
She gasped and clutched the carpet to her side. ‘What dream is this? What sorcery?’
Azhar’s eyes shone. ‘No sorcery, I promise. It is an ancient art.’
‘How? I thought no one knew how to do this – it’s just a myth!’
‘There is one artisan left who knows and he taught me the skill.’
‘It came from your family?’
Azhar paused. ‘You could say that.’
‘Surely only kings could afford such a treasure.’ She regarded him intently. ‘So, you have artisan blood.’
Azhar stared back as if deciding what to say next.
Before he could reply, she said, ‘How does it work? Is it magic?’
This he seemed happy to answer. ‘Less magic than you’d think. The carpet is an ancient one dyed with clay and water found in a mountain spring. When it’s heated hotter than the seventh ring of hell in a cauldron of boiling oil, it repels the earth. It’s the opposite of magnetism.’ He smiled.
‘You are jesting.’
‘Truly. The earth is a magnet with many such lines crossing it from north to south. When the wool is dyed in this special clay it creates an opposite force that repels the earth below and so the carpet rises. Though I believe it has more to do with the way it ripples. At times it ripples so fast when it’s flying in the air that the ripples aren’t noticeable apart from the thrum.’
‘But we are on it now and it is not rising any higher.’
He grinned. ‘Perhaps there is a little magic.’ He stood and held out his hand to her.
Jahani hesitated, but Azhar captured her gaze and, almost without her volition, she allowed him to pull her up toward him. His hand felt warm and she imagined it tingled in hers.
‘Ooper, jao, rise up.’ The words were spoken respectfully. Suddenly the carpet’s corners curled, there was a noise of rushing air and the carpet rippled as it rose higher and moved faster the higher it went. Azhar put his arm around Jahani, steadying her. If he hadn’t been holding her, she would surely have fallen far to the ground whirring past them below. She gasped as the horizon stretched out before them and she saw the beauty of the majestic mountains, already covered in snow as they folded back in on each other. The nomad camp was like a nest of ants far below.
She pointed to green mountain fields and forests of yellow, red and orange leafed trees. ‘Where is that?’
‘The fields of Lalazar.’
‘But we will be seen!’
Azhar threw back his head and laughed. ‘From up here we look like an eagle in the sky – no one ever suspects.’
‘What if you are attacked by a hunter?’
He indicated his bow and quiver. ‘An arrow can silence from afar. Fortunately, I haven’t had the need to do so. Carpet flying has been forbidden for one thousand summers. If the carpet is captured, no one can fly it unless they have a gift and are taught to use it. It is not just the words used, it takes much concentration. The carpet is almost alive.’
Jahani’s fear fell away and she was sure her eyes were shining. Azhar’s joy in flying was infectious. ‘How did you learn?’
‘When I grew up in the port of Jask in Persia. Not all carpets fly, of course – only a few special ones made in the ancient way, which survived the cull of Ghengis Khan centuries ago.’
‘But who—’
‘A few artisans survived and kept the carpets safe in vaults and told only their sons the secret. My tutor was a descendant of an artisan and realised I could fly.’
‘He taught you.’
Azhar inclined his head. ‘But since carpet flying was outlawed, he gave me secret lessons.’
‘Could you teach me?’
Azhar’s smile curved across his mouth. ‘Perhaps. One day.’
She became aware of his arm around her back, but she pretended not to notice. It warmed her against the cool breeze whooshing in their faces.
‘Jao, jaldi jao, quickly go.’ Azhar’s arm pressed her closer to him as instantly the carpet shot toward the north. Jahani’s plaits and shawl streamed behind her. After her initial shock, she squealed as if she were Anjuli. The world passed below – villages, the Indus River, fields and forests. Then they navigated the passes along the river and soared above the mountains.
She gasped as they rose. ‘The peaks, the snow. It’s like pristine cream, beaten for giant genies to eat.’
Azhar sighed. ‘It is truly beautiful. No one else has seen the mountains like this. Those are the Qurraqorams, standing so silently to the north like peaceful sentinels.’
Wind whistled past their ears as Azhar gave another command and the carpet banked like a bird and wheeled in the sky. Then it flew toward the setting sun.
Azhar recited:
‘This is love: to fly toward a secret sky,
to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment.
First, to let go of life.’
Jahani added:
‘In the end, to take a step without feet …
Sami and I read Rumi with her tutor.’ Jahani smiled. ‘This carpet is incredible!’ She shouted it above the wind. ‘I wish I could show Ammi.’
Suddenly the carpet stopped flying and hovered in the air. The wind was gone and just a breeze remained.
Azhar sat and indicated for her to join him. ‘There are many stories about flying carpets,’ he said. ‘Once, after flying carpets were outlawed, a young warrior called Mustafa fell in love with a shehzadi in Baghdad. He was caught holding her hand and was thrown out of the palace in disgrace.’
‘And the shehzadi?’
‘She was imprisoned in a tower. Mustafa flew on a carpet, glided up to the window and helped her climb out in full view of the city. All the people in the bazaar cheered. The cavalry pursued them, but Mustafa and the shehzadi disappeared into the clouds.’
‘A lovely story.’ Then Jahani stared over Azhar’s shoulder, her eyes wide. ‘What is all that blue? A huge lake?’
‘It is the gulf at the border of Hindustan and Persia.’
‘Persia? But how have we come so far? It would take moons of walking.’ She took in the water with amazement. ‘Ammi would love to see this, though I doubt she’d approve of your method of transport.’
Azhar said just her name, ‘Jahani.’
She wondered at his tone and gave him her full attention.
‘I understand about your sadness over finding out Hafeezah isn’t your true mother.’ He took in a breath, then said, ‘I, too, have a foster father.’
She didn’t comment at first. Then she said, ‘Where is he?’
‘In Jask.’ He pointed to the land before them. ‘Persia. It’s not so far away as you see.’ He gave a wry grin.
‘So this is how you visit him?’
He nodded.
‘Why were you fostered? Did your parents die?’
His eyes watered at the mention of his parents, and she was sorry she asked.
But then he answered, ‘I was fostered before my parents died. It was something our family did, to keep the bloodlin
e safe.’
Jahani nodded. She had heard of this custom: if a poor family couldn’t feed their children they could give one to a relative to raise. The child was usually not told. It made her think of Hafeezah. Would she share the same relationship with Hafeezah today if she had been told earlier that Hafeezah was her foster mother only? ‘Did you like your foster parents?’
He nodded. ‘I only have my father now. My foster mother died when I was young.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It hasn’t been long since I was told—’ he hesitated, ‘—about my family. Soon after, I came to find you in Sherwan.’ He leaned toward her. ‘I feel I know you so well because I knew you when I was a child, but I realise this is not the same for you.’ He took in a breath as if he were readying himself to reveal something difficult.
Jahani watched him intently. She felt lightheaded as if she were floating through one of her dreams.
Then he glanced away. ‘There are so many things I want to do.’
‘I feel like that, too. Things I don’t understand, but I know I’m meant to … Like my yearning to go to the mountains. Do you know why I feel that way?’
He blew out a breath. ‘I don’t want to influence you. You have to discover what you need to do yourself. Find your own calling.’
She gazed at him, wondering what he meant.
‘But I can take you further north now. And I can help you learn more that you need to know.’
‘Is that what you meant when you wanted to take me to a safe place the night we fled from Zarah and Baqir’s?’
He inclined his head.
Just then the carpet turned north and began flying toward the Qurraqorams. She didn’t even hear Azhar’s command.
‘Wait!’ she cried, panicking. ‘I can’t leave the nomads.’ Her breaths came faster. ‘My nomad mother would be distraught if I disappeared again. And Anjuli is there, I can’t go without her.’ An image of Rahul filled her mind. ‘Rahul wouldn’t like it—’
‘Rahul?’ Azhar’s face transformed as he scowled. ‘What part does he play in decisions you make?’
‘He takes my safety seriously. Like you do,’ she added, more calmly than she felt. ‘Please, do this for me. Take me back.’ Chandi and Yazan filled her mind now. Azhar was asking her to leave them all.
He stared at her, his eyes dark and unreadable, his mouth a hard line. ‘So be it.’
She had never heard him speak like this as though she had asked too much.
He gave a sudden command. ‘Neechay, jao.’ Jahani’s stomach dropped as the carpet descended so quickly that the landscape below her blurred. Within minutes, it slowed and they were landing in the same clearing. The nomad camp was just over a rise.
With a heavy heart, she stepped from the carpet. She couldn’t leave the nomads now, not when she was discovering her heritage and learning her language. She glanced at Azhar, sitting on the carpet, watching her. Was he waiting for her to change her mind?
He rested his right arm across his chest, then lifted it out as if saluting a queen. ‘Be careful who you trust. When you are ready to hear, I will tell you what you need to know. Qhuda keep you safe.’
‘And you.’ She truly meant it. She wanted him to be safe, always. Especially since she was the reason he was on the run from Muzahid. As she walked away, she looked back to find he hadn’t moved. She hesitated. What if she was making a mistake? She told herself to keep walking. There was nothing else she needed to know.
When she returned to the river, she could barely concentrate as she found her pot and filled it with water. Her mind flitted from one image to another: Azhar’s confusion and disbelief when she said she wouldn’t go north, the way he’d said goodbye, and the carpet. She remembered the old stories Hafeezah had told her: only a prince with sacred blood was able to fly a carpet. She was so engrossed with this new thought that she didn’t hear a footfall behind her.
‘Are you supposed to be out by yourself?’
She jumped and turned to find a man leering at her. He wasn’t a nomad and he was armed. She clutched the heavy pot of water to her chest, willing him to go away. Was he alone or were there more men?
‘I can see what’s going through your beautiful head.’
She wasn’t far from the camp; she could hear the sounds of the sheep and a dog barking. Layla – where was she? If she called for help would they hear?
He stepped closer. ‘But it will do no good. I want some information and then I’ll let you go on your way. We’re looking for a girl.’ He looked her up and down. ‘About your age, too.’
Her heart jumped in her breast.
‘But she has prettier hair than yours. I’m told it’s red like a carpet. Are you hiding a girl like that in the camp?’
She shook her head and pointed to her mouth, hoping he’d think she didn’t speak Hindustani. Most of the women only spoke the nomads’ mother tongue. If she spoke Persian or Hindustani, she’d give herself away.
‘But you understand some of what I say. I can tell.’ He narrowed his eyes at her.
She tipped her hand from side to side to show ‘a little’.
His stare was piercing as he took another step closer. She stumbled backward, clutching the pot. He grabbed her arm.
‘Not so fast. You nomad girls are freer than the nice girls kept at home in the villages. You wouldn’t mind a kiss.’
She strained her head back as he bent closer. She could hear his heavy breathing and smell the meat he’d eaten on his breath. She did the first thing she thought of: she dropped the pot of water. It landed on his feet and his grip on her arm loosened as he cursed. It gave her the moment she needed.
Chandi! She ran toward the sounds of the animals. Chandi, am I close?
Suddenly the mare was beside Jahani, neighing and snorting, her rope torn. ‘Oh, ju na, Chandi. Quick, get me away.’ She mounted and Chandi turned toward the camp.
When Rahul saw Jahani riding Chandi, he ran over to see what was happening. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I was getting water. An armed man questioned me about a girl with red hair. But I didn’t speak.’
Just then the man stumbled into view. ‘That girl nearly broke my feet.’
Chandi pawed the ground, her eyes white and wild. Then she reared as though to attack. If Chandi had been a tiger she would have roared.
Even the man paused when he saw her. ‘Your horse is wild,’ he said. ‘And your girls.’
‘We will not allow you men to bother our women.’ Rahul’s voice was raised. ‘You must bring all your questions to my father or myself.’ He indicated Jahani. ‘Our girls are respectable. Do not presume that no veil invites a lack of respect.’
Jahani heard the man mumble a response.
She was shaking as she rode toward the tents.
Chandi’s thought dropped into her mind: You are safe now.
But Jahani knew the man would not have stopped at a kiss. She would need to be more careful, and no doubt Rahul would tell her so later.
‘Later’ came as Jahani finished her food at the cooking fire with the other single women and Anjuli. Rahul didn’t sit with them but called Jahani and Anjuli aside. ‘It is best if you do not collect water or firewood. Let the older women and younger girls do it.’
‘A younger girl would have been in just as much danger from that man as I was,’ Jahani objected.
He regarded her and she shifted under his gaze, trying not to notice that his hair was as black as a raven’s. She knew Neema and the others were watching. ‘Why haven’t you been riding with me?’
She struggled to keep her expression blank. ‘The women told me not to.’ She didn’t feel like saying why.
‘But that is where you belong. I used to ride with you on my horse when you were a child,’ he said as if it were that simple.
But Jahani knew there was more at stake than he realised, now she was grown.
‘Chandi misses you riding her,’ he said. ‘It’s obvious that you miss riding her, too.�
��
She glanced up at him sharply. He couldn’t know about Chandi, surely.
‘I miss you.’
Even though she felt relief that he didn’t know she could talk to Chandi, she felt uncomfortable at his words. She heard Neema clear her throat and spit on the ground.
‘If you want to walk, that’s fine, but don’t be dictated to if you want to ride.’
She smiled at him in thanks, hoping he’d leave, but it was Anjuli who rescued her, when she asked, ‘Rahul, can I brush Farah for you?’
‘Zarur.’ And he took her to the mare.
When she sat again at the women’s cooking fire, she thought about Rahul’s words. Did she feel as if she belonged here? She felt she was learning, but most of the women still treated her like an outsider. One thing she did know: it would be easy to care for Rahul.
Then Neema growled at her. Jahani didn’t catch it all, but it sounded like, ‘I know what you’re doing. And you won’t get away with it.’
26
Jask Persia Safavid Empire
Azhar waited until he knew Jahani would have reached the camp, then took the chance to visit Kifayat. Much was filling his mind as he encouraged the carpet to rise higher. He flew as high as the eagles, even higher than when he flew with Jahani. The wind currents were smoother up there, almost allowing him to float and glide, like he had done when he was a child in Kifayat’s garden pool. Kifayat had grown a Persian garden in Jask, too. Azhar smiled as memories from his childhood in Persia came to mind. He had mastered many princely skills like carpet flying, swordplay, archery and swimming. ‘There must be no room for slipups,’ Kifayat had said. ‘A man who cannot swim can be defeated in battle when he is trapped in a river.’
Now there was too much discontent in the kingdoms, like an evil mist rising, and the time for learning had passed. There were so many warriors, the kingdoms were clanging with their armoury. No one was safe; if anyone withheld a favour from Muzahid or Dagar Khan, their men cut off heads and killed children.
Jahani was the only person who could make him forget the horrific things he had seen. Azhar was desperate to tell her who she was. When he was with her, the words rushed into his mouth and he ached with the desire to tell. But what if she didn’t believe him?
Daughter of Nomads Page 17
