Shahana

by Rosanne Hawke

  ‘Many men in my family don’t think girls should be educated but I disagree with this view.’

  Shahana doesn’t want to hear his views either. She looks out in the direction of the river. No one is trudging up the slope. No boys are walking down the mountain. When will he leave? Chello, move, go, go! She shouts it in her head.

  ‘Actually, I don’t agree about this jihad.’

  Shahana swings up her head to stare at him. What did he just say?

  ‘I am a true Muslim and the longer I am with the militants the more I am led to believe jihad is the way to peace, but I thought it would be different. Innocent children are caught in the crossfire. It is not why I joined. I came so Muslim brothers and sisters would have freedom, but we are killing them, destroying their culture, not freeing them.’

  Shahana watches him, fascinated. He sounds like a young man who wants to go home.

  ‘What do you think, little sister?’

  Shahana opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. He has called her his sister. What does that mean to a fighter like him?

  ‘No thoughts?’ he prompts, as if disappointed.

  No one has asked her what she thinks. Dare she say it?

  ‘I think . . .’ She licks her bottom lip. ‘I think there should not be militants or the army here. That the governments should make peace, so children’s lives aren’t destroyed. There should be no fence dividing us.’ She checks his face. Is he angry? What will he do now?

  The young man gives a short laugh yet he still doesn’t smile at her.

  She waits to see what kind of laugh it is.

  ‘I was right about you. Not only brave, but honest as well.’ Then he lays his right hand over his heart. Her father used to do that. It takes all of Shahana’s self control not to weep. ‘I am Amaan Khan. I don’t know for how long you will see me, but while I am here you and your brothers will be safe, little sister.’ He holds up a five-rupee note to her. It is too much again for the milk but she accepts it. He lifts the milk as if saluting her and then he leaves with Rani bleating after him.

  Shahana now knows more about the militant than she knows about Zahid, who lives under her house as her relative. The boys have brought home a water bird; Zahid showed Tanveer how to build a trap to catch it. That night after they have eaten and Tanveer is asleep she ignores her own secret and asks Zahid a personal question. She asks if he has a brother like Tanveer.

  He is quiet for so long that she is sorry she asked. People who take a long time to answer are wading through memories, trying to decide how to tell the story. She has picked up her embroidery when Zahid finally speaks.

  ‘I did have a brother. He was throwing stones. The soldiers fired above the crowd of boys, but still a bullet found my brother.’ Then he adds quietly, ‘I was there. My mother told me to keep him safe.’

  He gulps as if his air is gone and Shahana doesn’t say a word.

  ‘The soldiers get a bounty when they shoot someone suspected of being a militant. They called my brother a militant and so my father marched.’ He is blinking back tears. ‘When the van pulled up outside our house they pushed him in the back of it, and we have not seen him since. My mother kept me at home for weeks. I was not allowed outside except to relieve myself in the dark. She said she wouldn’t lose us all. That was when she sat in the park with other mothers and wives who had lost husbands and sons.’ He sighs. ‘Then we moved to the village and one day I did go outside—’ He stops again.

  ‘And you came here,’ Shahana prompted.

  Zahid turns to look at her. She can see the thoughts fighting in his eyes, but all he says is, ‘Ji, I came here.’

  Shahana tells him about Irfan then. It is the first time she has told this story. When she is finished Zahid’s hand is covering hers.

  ‘They should ask us what we think of war,’ he says softly.

  She remembers her conversation with the militant that morning. ‘Ji, I have much to say.’

  Zahid picks up the flute and plays a folk song. Tears prick Shahana’s eyes as she sews her silver leaves.

  Chapter 12

  Clouds are hanging low over the house. It is so cold now that Shahana takes out her pheran from the clothes trunk and puts it on. It is grey wool, like most pherans, but she has embroidered flowers and leaves in bright colours around the cuffs and on the front. She picks up Tanveer’s pheran and sees Nana-ji’s old brown one folded up in the trunk. She has been keeping his pheran for when Tanveer grows, but this winter Zahid will need it.

  The boys are outside with Rani when she emerges with the robes. The wind is cold and the boys are making Rani trot between them by offering pieces of stale roti. Rani butts Zahid and Tanveer giggles.

  Shahana stands still awhile, staring at Tanveer’s happy mouth. Then she calls them. She hands the larger pheran to Zahid. She notices how Tanveer watches as he puts it on.

  ‘Ji, Tanveer,’ Shahana says, for she knows what he is thinking. ‘It is Nana-ji’s, but if Zahid is careful with it you can still wear it in a few years’ time.’

  ‘Shukriya,’ Zahid says. ‘That feels better. I thought we would have to run races with Rani all day to keep warm.’

  ‘It will get much colder.’ Shahana helps Tanveer put his arms through the long sleeves.

  Then she brings Nana-ji’s scythe from under the house. ‘Have you used one of these?’ she asks Zahid.

  ‘Zarur, certainly. It is how my mother and I survived in the village – by clearing land and planting vegetables.’

  ‘We will not clear land,’ Shahana says. ‘We will cut grass for the floor. And we will take Rani to carry it.’ Her words are short and sharp today and she’s not sure how to fix them. Sometimes it is difficult to see Tanveer so happy with Zahid. How will he feel when Zahid leaves?

  She leads them to a secluded part of the little river. She doesn’t want to go so close to the river but it is where the best bulrush reeds are. A mist settles low on the water. Tanveer holds Rani’s rope and Zahid watches all around them. He has brought the rifle.

  ‘There are no dogs today,’ Tanveer says. ‘Usually when it’s cold the dogs come closer.’

  Shahana can’t decide if he is pleased or disappointed. She also wonders if Zahid is watching for something else. Militants, perhaps?

  Shahana stares in fascination as Zahid takes off his pheran and picks up the scythe to cut the bulrushes. His body is fluid, swishing the scythe against the grass. It is like watching the river curl along the bank in summer and she is lulled into stillness. Tanveer calls for a turn and Shahana shakes some sense into her head.

  ‘You can collect the grass in bundles.’ She says it crossly; this is not the way to be thinking of a brother. She pushes the thoughts of Zahid away.

  As Zahid cuts, Shahana and Tanveer tie the grass with the green string and secure it onto Rani’s back. When Zahid finishes, she says, ‘We will hang this from the rafters and dry it over the fire, and when it’s very cold we’ll spread it on the floor.’ She thinks of Ayesha’s house and how they won’t need to cut grass – they will have carpets.

  The militant doesn’t come that week. Shahana finishes embroidering the pheran with the silver thread. She uses a little silver thread to add a star in a small piece of embroidery of her own that she is doing. She prepares a square for Tanveer to sew as well. Maybe he will become as skilful as Nana-ji and they can sell small pieces that can be sewn into the front of shirts, like a bodice. It is hard to find time to embroider; there is so much to do to prepare for the winter: collecting extra wood, drying the hare flesh that Zahid is providing, hanging the grass to dry next to the apricots drying from summer.

  Once they have finished hanging the grass bundles, Shahana decides to take the embroidered pheran to Ayesha. She leaves the boys stacking firewood under the house. Zahid has the axe and is chopping smaller pieces for kindling.

  She sighs heavily as she crosses the log bridge. What will Mr Nadir say when Ayesha returns the pheran? Maybe she should go herself. Maybe Ayesha wil
l be in danger. But is Shahana in danger herself? Has she imagined it? She’s had a proposal, and she has refused, that is all. So why does she feel so trapped?

  Shahana stands outside Ayesha’s door. Should she leave it on the step? She calls out once. ‘Ayesha.’ As she bends to put the pheran down, the door opens.

  ‘Chup,’ Ayesha whispers. ‘Today you can come in. Ummie is resting but we can sit in the other room.’

  Shahana follows Ayesha through the door. She remembers this big room. Aunty Rabia is sitting in a chair dozing in front of the TV. There is no sound, just the light from the TV flickering.

  ‘Even though she doesn’t go out, she likes to see the news,’ Ayesha says softly. ‘I think she is hoping for some word of Abu. But it won’t happen.’

  In the other room there is a desk with a laptop computer on it.

  ‘You have a computer,’ Shahana says with wonder.

  ‘It was— I mean, it is Abu’s.’ She corrects herself and there is a short silence. Shahana thinks how difficult it must be not to know whether to say ‘was’ or ‘is’.

  ‘He did all his business on it,’ Ayesha continues. ‘Every now and then people email us for a carpet. We give shop owners a commission to handle the sale. It is just enough for our living.’

  ‘If your mother doesn’t go to the bazaar—’ Shahana stops, not sure how to form the words without being disrespectful.

  ‘I am running my father’s business. I give the carpet information to Mr Nadir,’ Ayesha says.

  Mr Nadir? Shahana is disturbed by his name. ‘So you have dealings with him too?’

  ‘Only by email. Of course I can only do it when the electricity is working.’

  Ayesha shows Shahana the computer. ‘Sometimes there is low shedding or no connection. It is very difficult through the winter – the dish doesn’t work as well then.’

  She opens a page on the computer and Shahana stares at it.

  ‘See this? This is an email. It’s like a letter but it arrives immediately – no waiting for old Baba-ji to bring the mail. I don’t have to meet anyone I send an email to.’

  Shahana doesn’t relax. Mr Nadir reminds her of a spider with a sticky web catching flies. She doesn’t want to be one of those flies, nor does she want Ayesha to be. ‘You must be careful,’ she murmurs.

  She fingers the keys. If her mother was alive she would have a computer like this. Both she and Aunty Rabia taught in the school. There was a desktop computer in Shahana’s home once.

  ‘I want to show you something,’ Ayesha says. She presses some keys. It takes a long time for the page to show on the screen. When it does, Shahana sees it is a site for children about peace. It is written in both Urdu and Angrezi. There are children’s stories written on the page, and pictures painted by children.

  Tears well up in Shahana’s eyes.

  ‘And look,’ Ayesha says. ‘Here is a page about what children can do. They are meeting with a minister from the government after the winter. He will come to the Neelum Valley and hear children’s stories and see their artwork.’

  ‘What good can it do?’ Shahana bursts out.

  Ayesha doesn’t speak straight away. Then she says, ‘Surely it is good to tell our stories?’

  ‘It might be too late,’ Shahana says in a small voice.

  Ayesha puts an arm around Shahana’s shoulders. ‘We can prepare stories together and send them to the website.’

  Shahana looks at her, amazed. ‘You know how to do that?’

  Ayesha dips her head to show she does. ‘And soon you will too. We always tell stories through the winter,’ she says. ‘Didn’t your grandfather tell stories?’

  Shahana nods. This winter would be bleak indeed without Nana-ji telling his stories. Maybe they were even the ones he had told her mother when she was young.

  ‘Shahana.’ Ayesha holds her hand. ‘This winter you have to tell the stories.’

  That is when Shahana cries. ‘I am so tired of being the one to keep Tanveer safe, the one to worry, the one to tell stories. I want someone to tell me stories.’

  It is the first time Shahana has wept this hard since her father died. She didn’t dare cry like this when Nana-ji died; she didn’t want to upset Tanveer.

  Ayesha puts her head close to Shahana’s and gently says, ‘Aram se, be calm,’ but Shahana cannot stop. She cries for Tanveer, for herself because of Mr Nadir, and out of fear. What if the militant steals Tanveer, or if someone finds out about Zahid? She will be worse than a half-widow. She hiccups. At least no one will want to marry her then. But could something more terrible happen?

  Chapter 13

  It is cold but Shahana has much to be thankful for. The militant hasn’t come for another week, she is friends with Ayesha again, and the last time she went to their house Aunty Rabia actually looked at her as if she remembered her. Tanveer catches a trout in the river and that night, full of fish and yoghurt, Shahana tells a story.

  It is one of Nana-ji’s stories, about a king who had two sons. She can tell by Tanveer’s smile that he remembers it.

  ‘The king’s first wife died on the birthing bed having twin boys,’ she starts, ‘and much later the king married again. The boys were as old as Zahid by then and the new wife was young. She thought the boys were handsome and she wanted to kiss them. They refused and said, “You are our stepmother.”’

  ‘And she got so angry,’ Tanveer says, ‘that she told lies about them and ordered them to be killed.’

  ‘Ji,’ Shahana carries on, ‘but the huntsman who took them into the forest to kill them let them go and they fled to the next kingdom where they became bodyguards to that king.

  ‘One night, in the neighbouring kingdom, there was a snake sliding up the king and queen’s bed. One of the princes, now a bodyguard, killed it. His bloody sword was raised in his hand when the king suddenly woke. The king thought he and his wife were being murdered. He shouted for the palace guard and ordered the prince to be put in prison. The prince’s brother was serving in the palace guard and said, “Sire, isn’t it best to inquire first and punish later?” He walked around the bed and found the dead snake. “Would your bodyguard have been killing this serpent and not you?”’

  ‘Yes,’ Tanveer adds with glee. ‘After that, the king always asked questions before he punished people. And there were two princesses that the brothers married as well.’

  Shahana isn’t sure she has told the story correctly. There were other parts of it that Nana-ji said, which made it last a lot longer, but Tanveer is happy, and right then that is all that matters to Shahana.

  Tanveer tells a story of his own. Zahid looks amused as he starts.

  ‘This is about a prince too. He became lost in the forest and everyone thought he was dead. And then one day his younger sister and brother found a big boy just like him. They rescued him from the wolves and discovered that he was their long lost brother returned. He had come back to protect the kingdom through the freezing winter.’

  There is a long silence. Shahana glances at Zahid in dismay, then back to Tanveer. Does he truly believe Zahid is their brother? Surely not. Finally, she says to him, ‘That is a good story.’ But she sees the intense look he bestows on Zahid, and again Shahana is afraid.

  ‘I have a story also,’ Zahid says then. His story is a funny one, about a haunted mosque and how a clever boy rids the mosque of evil jinns.

  Tanveer laughs and Shahana relaxes. Tanveer can be sensitive for all his brightness and questions. She’ll never forget how the night before Nana-ji died, Tanveer said, ‘He will not leave us alone.’ After Nana-ji died the next day, Tanveer didn’t speak for weeks. Shahana tried to explain how people cannot choose their time to die, but he wouldn’t listen. It wasn’t until he found her crying by Rani that he spoke. Rani had just kicked her bucket. Shahana felt Tanveer’s small arm sneak around her neck. ‘Shahji?’ he said.

  The next day Shahana takes Tanveer with her to Ayesha’s. He has been asking to see Aunty Rabia, and besides, all his question
s may help Aunty Rabia to remember things. Ayesha sits Tanveer next to Aunty Rabia on the couch and gives him his embroidery to do. The TV flickers off and Shahana sees Tanveer’s hand sneak across to touch Aunty Rabia’s before he starts stitching. She doesn’t say anything but she looks content.

  ‘Is she getting better?’ Shahana asks Ayesha in the next room.

  Ayesha quotes an old proverb. ‘Drop by drop the river fills. She’s better than before. Having you come has helped and it is slicing through the sorrow. She is taking an interest again.’ Shaking her head in amazement, she lights a lamp. ‘Sorry, the bijily, the electricity, has just gone off.’

  Shahana thinks how it is always off at her own house.

  Ayesha reaches across to a paper bag on the bed. It is the sort of bag Mr Nadir uses and Shahana feels as if she’s swallowed stones.

  ‘I told Mr Nadir that you were sick and I was bringing your work. He liked it very much and he gave me another garment for you to embroider. Here it is.’

  Shahana doesn’t take it. ‘I was hoping he’d be annoyed with me for not coming and that would be the end of it.’

  Ayesha frowns. ‘Men like Mr Nadir do not let go of a pot of gold. He was about to pay you some measly sum so I asked for more. He gave it willingly. He knows what your work is worth, Shahana, so don’t accept less than this.’ She hands Shahana thirty rupees.

  ‘But that’s more than double.’

  ‘It is silver work on wool. And you are an artist. He as good as said so.’

  ‘I can buy Tanveer’s medicine now.’ Shahana presses her lips together. She didn’t mean to say that aloud.

  Ayesha seems not to have heard but after a while she says, as if it is unrelated, ‘If you ever need anything like medicine, come and ask us. It would be our honour to help in any way.’

  Shahana smiles. It is what her father would have said. How strange that both Ayesha and herself do men’s work and talk like men now.