Daughter of Nomads (12 page)

Jahani stifled a gasp.

‘Zarah, do you think I had a choice? I cannot stop the wedding any more than stop the monsoon. Muzahid's retaliation would be swift indeed.'

‘So, she's to be the sacrificial goat. Baqir, she's our daughter!'

‘Is she?' Baqir's voice lowered and Jahani held her breath to hear. ‘Zarah,
is
she our daughter?'

‘How dare you say that? After all we've been through. All these summers of protecting her and not being able to see her.'

‘Zarah, why don't you tell her?' There was a short silence. ‘Isn't it why Azhar brought her here?'

Azhar?

Jahani couldn't help herself; she pushed through the curtain and saw them standing in the middle of the room. They stared at her, mouths agape. She walked in and stood before them, pulling her shawl tightly around her. ‘Tell me what?' Jahani demanded.

Zarah hissed at Baqir, ‘See what you have done?'

Baqir groaned. ‘I am sorry.' He took a step toward Jahani. ‘I didn't want you to find out like this.' He reached toward her but she ignored him. She felt frozen inside.

Jahani clamped her gaze on Zarah. ‘Tell me what?' she repeated.

Zarah began to weep. ‘Forgive me, beti.'

Jahani didn't ask what there was to forgive. Nothing mattered now except the truth. ‘What did Bapa mean when he asked if I was your daughter?'

Zarah shook her head and dabbed at her face with her dupatta. ‘I loved you as a mother, please understand.' She lifted her face to Jahani's. ‘You were barely four, just old enough to talk.' She gulped on a sob. ‘Such a beautiful child.'

‘I don't understand,' said Jahani, more confused than ever. ‘What are you talking about?'

Baqir put a warning hand on Zarah's shoulder. ‘Don't say another word!'

‘So beautiful. I wanted you for my daughter. But we are not your parents.'

‘What do you mean?' Jahani exclaimed.

Zarah gave a shuddering sigh.

‘Tell me the truth,' Jahani pleaded. ‘Who are my parents?'

Suddenly Zarah's sob went silent. ‘The … the nomads,' she whispered.

Jahani glanced at Baqir shaking his head. ‘This doesn't make sense. Nomads? I'm a gypsy? How did this happen?' Even as she said it she saw the little dress that Hafeezah had shown her just after Sameela had died, with the blue and silver threads and the embroidered peacock feather. And she knew it came not from Zarah but from the nomads.

‘How—' Jahani couldn't even voice the question.

Zarah made a sound like a baby animal. ‘They came here to feed their sheep when it was too hot in the plains. I saw you with them. You had that red hair and fair skin that some of them have, but on you it looked special, even in your ragged clothes.' She gazed at Jahani through her tears. ‘They were being bullied by a … a war lord.' She narrowed her eyes at Baqir. ‘He wanted protection money they didn't have, but they knew I wanted you.'

‘They sold me?' Jahani's resolve broke and she slid to the floor.

Zarah sank down next to her. ‘You have to understand,' she pleaded. ‘It wasn't like that. It was a matter of life and death to them – one child to save a whole community. The war lord would not have accepted Baqir paying him off on their behalf. He held the nomad chieftain's son to ransom. He could have easily killed him, so they sold us their land, received the money to rescue the chief's son and I got you – the biggest prize of all.'

Zarah took a deep breath to steady herself. ‘We could raise you, don't you see? We could educate you, give you things you would never have had.' She stopped. ‘At least that's what I thought at the time. I thought I was giving you a chance in life.' Tears dribbled down her face. ‘It was only later that I felt an overwhelming guilt,' her voice squeaked on the word, ‘that I shouldn't have taken you from the nomads. Perhaps you would have been safer with them.'

Jahani sat staring at the floor. Zarah's words and images from her dreams whirled in her mind but she could make no sense of them. ‘Did Hafeezah know this, too?'

Zarah shook her head. ‘Nay, she came to work for me later.'

‘When would you have told me? Don't you think it is important to know who we really are?' Jahani's voice rose.

Baqir gave her a sharp look. ‘I regret that you are finding out the truth like this, Jahani,' he finally said, ‘but I am sure we would have told you soon.' He frowned at Zarah.

Jahani wasn't in a mood to accept apologies.
A nomad?
Despite all of her dreams, she would never have imagined that. The nomads were looked down upon, moving from place to place. Zarah had tried to give her a normal life, tried to be her mother, but was this why Jahani recalled so little about life as her daughter?

Zarah gave Jahani a tentative smile, but Jahani couldn't return it. All her senses seemed to have fled as she stood, numbness creeping up her legs. She needed to lie down before she fell. ‘Thank you for looking after me, Zarah jan.' She looked at Baqir. How good it had felt at first to have a father, even though she'd come to realise he cared little for her. Whispers of abandonment swept into her mind and, before she wept, she ran from the room.

19

Naran Kingdom of Kaghan

T
he boy rode his horse through the mist and did not see her sitting by the roadside. She ran after him, but he couldn't hear her. The leopard walked beside his horse. It couldn't hear her either. Was she really there? Then a man threw knives at her. Wherever she went, he was there with a fistful of them: she could never escape. If she climbed a mountain, he was on a ridge; if she swam in a lake, he was in the water; if she walked through a forest, he was climbing the trees. Waiting for her. He followed her like the winter wind, his knives icicles in her back. She hid in a field of midnight wildflowers, watching the way she'd come, crying for her mother.

This was the image that stayed with Jahani as she woke. She ran into Hafeezah's room and knelt by her charpai. Hafeezah was still sleeping so Jahani watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Hafeezah's hand was cupped under her face as she always slept. Her lashes quivered, and Hafeezah opened her eyes to find Jahani staring at her.

‘You looked so peaceful,' Jahani said.

‘Why are you here so early? Did you have a dream?'

Jahani inclined her head.

‘Come here.'

Wrapped in Hafeezah's arms, Jahani told her all that Baqir and Zarah had said. ‘It is too much. Now I know why I feel so little for Zarah and Baqir. I'm sure I could feel more if given time, but I'm not sure I want to anymore.' She tightened her arm around Hafeezah. ‘You are my only mother and yet now I find I am a nomad. I feel I am stranded in an unknown place and I'll never find my way or know who I am. Why isn't anyone telling me the truth?'

Hafeezah didn't answer that. ‘With this marriage, you can start afresh, make your own family. Make new traditions.'

Her evasive words only made Jahani more frustrated. Didn't Hafeezah hear Jahani relate Zarah's misgivings about Muzahid? She pulled out of Hafeezah's embrace. ‘I only want your traditions, Ammi. What if Muzahid denies me that?' Then in her mind she saw an image of a young man with dark hair on a horse, watching her. She remembered yearning to ride with the nomads when she saw them on the road to Naran. ‘What if my true family is still in the nomad camp?'

Hafeezah's hand tightened around Jahani's shoulder. ‘You will become the mother of your own children. I look forward to seeing them.'

‘But I will always wonder who I am and who my real mother and father are. Shouldn't I go to the nomads and find out?'

Hafeezah kissed her on the forehead. ‘Muzahid wouldn't want you visiting their camp.'

Jahani barely hid her annoyance. Already Muzahid was controlling her life and they weren't even married.

‘Zarah and Baqir are still your legal parents. They adopted you.'

‘But I don't
know
them.' Jahani stood and paced around the charpai. ‘I feel uneasy in the same room with both of them together. They're like a pair of dogs circling a bone with an eye on each other.' She bit her lip and sat again. ‘There's more that I haven't told you. Remember the bazaar dog when I was small and we met Sameela?'

Hafeezah gave a small nod.

‘I think the same thing has happened with Chandi. And Yazan. I know what Chandi and Yazan want – even what they are thinking.'

Hafeezah lowered her voice. ‘Do not tell anyone else of this. Only a few people can do such things and others will not understand. They may think you are someone you might not want to be.'

‘But who? Who is this someone? I feel there is a task I must do, but I don't know what it is. Maybe if I find that person I will know.'

‘You are young and many girls feel restless and fearful before their weddings. It is the shutting of one door and the opening of another.'

‘Ammi, I don't believe you. Another door won't open. One will shut and I will be in the dark, crying for you.' Jahani burst into tears.

‘Chup,' soothed Hafeezah. She rocked Jahani gently, crooning her name until her tears fell no more.

Later Jahani took Yazan to walk alone in the fields, and it wasn't long before they came across the nomads performing their daily chores again. Jahani and Yazan sat in the shade where they wouldn't be noticed. She stroked Yazan while watching the shepherds minding goats and sheep, young lads talking together and women collecting wood and chopping vegetables in colourful clothes. The girls' embroidered dresses looked just like her little dress and would have been beautiful when new. They wore silver jewellery in their noses and ears and their dupattas hung loosely down their backs, revealing their faces and hundreds of plaits in their hair. Jahani looked at the animals and noticed the sheep had red streaks on their backs; they reminded her of the flock they'd seen when first setting out on their journey. That day had been the beginning of an adventure where she would find out about her family, yet still she knew little. Would she want to travel for the rest of her life as the nomads did? What would it be like living in tents for moons at a time?

So this is how it began and now how it ends.
Baqir's words from yesterday morning echoed in her mind. At least now she understood what he meant: she had come with them; now they were here again and she would be married and leave.

A white dog bounded over, sniffing as if saying hello. Yazan gave a low warning growl, but the dog didn't retreat. It sat a short distance away, its tongue lolling as though it was happy to see Jahani. Suddenly a young man whistled and Jahani caught her breath – it was the very same man she saw when they started their journey almost two moons ago.

As the dog sidled up to him, Jahani watched the man. He was striking with his dark hair and moustache. But was it only his looks that drew her to him?

When she arrived back at the house, a storm was brewing. Dark clouds banked up, speeding toward them from the mountains.

Zarah rushed to Jahani in a flurry. ‘Where were you? We couldn't find you.'

‘I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you. I went for a walk.'

‘Where did you go? Was Yazan with you?'

‘Ji, we went to the fields and watched the nomads.'

Zarah took her hand. ‘Please understand. You were too young for us to be able to explain it to you when you left. And most people never tell their children if they are adopted.'

‘You may not have told me?'

‘I didn't think it was necessary. You have a better life now. And it's going to get much better. This week you will stay in the house for the wedding festivities. You will sit in old clothes, as a symbol of your old life ending, while Hafeezah and I pamper you with beauty treatments. It will be a happy time for you. No one except us and other ladies will be able to see you.' She put a tentative hand on Jahani's shoulder. ‘Do you forgive me?'

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.