“Madar! Be careful what you say! He’s a powerful man and don’t be part of any loose talk about him. Do you understand me?”
“I’m not the one starting this talk. There are lots of tongues flapping about him. That’s all I’m trying to tell you,” she said, annoyed to be silenced by her son.
“Anyway, I’ll be making some changes at home soon and things will be easier on my pockets. It’s time I relieved myself of some of these girls.”
“And how do you expect to do that?”
“Just watch what Raisa does while I’m gone and I’ll find a way to take care of the rest.”
Shahla and Madar-jan were right. Padar-jan was about to shake up our home.
Eleven days later, Abdul Khaliq showed up at our home with seven other men. They pulled up in two black SUVs, their tires leaving clouds of dust in the street. Abdullah saw the car and knew immediately who they belonged to. Most people in our town traveled on foot.
It was my cousin Muneer who opened the front gate and pointed out our home. Not even my father was expecting him. Muneer watched openmouthed as Abdul Khaliq and his entourage walked by. Two men had black guns slung over their shoulders. Abdul Khaliq was a burly man in his late forties, judging by the lines around his eyes and the gray in his beard. He wore a white turban and a beige tunic over loose pants. An antenna stuck out from the pocket of his gray vest, another sign that this man was something other than common folk. He was the first person in our town to own a mobile phone. Few had access to any phone at all.
We usually sent one of the men to the front gate to greet a visitor. People didn’t just barge in, since the women of the home could be wandering about the courtyard without their head coverings. But it was either Muneer’s stupidity or Abdul Khaliq’s presence that changed things from the usual routine. He and his men were in our courtyard, their eyes assessing the situation. I caught sight of them and recognized Abdul Khaliq from the bazaar. I darted inside to warn my mother and send my father out to meet his friend.
“Padar-jan, Abdul Khaliq is here — with a lot of people.”
My father sat up straight and pushed his newspaper aside. “What are you talking about? Where?”
“Out there. In the courtyard. He’s got seven men with him. And guns.”
My father’s brow furrowed. He got to his feet faster than usual.
“Tell your mother to prepare something for our guests,” he said, and went outside to meet the warlord.
Madar-jan heard us and stood in the kitchen looking disturbed. She shot a look at the doorway to our bedroom, where Shahla and Rohila were putting Sitara to sleep. Parwin was peeling onions at Madar-jan’s feet. She was the only one whose eyes didn’t sting and tear when the layers came off.
“He’s going to want more than tea,” Parwin predicted without looking up.
Madar-jan looked at Parwin almost as if she heard some prophesy in her daughter’s words. She bit her lip and took out some cups.
“Bring these to them, Rahim-jan,” she said nervously.
I took the tray and willed my hands not to shake. I could feel their eyes boring into me when I entered the room, their conversation suddenly pausing. The men had spread out, Abdul Khaliq sitting on the cushion across from my father, his fingers nimbly working a string of prayer beads as he leaned back. On either side of him sat older men, more gray in their beards than black. The armed men were closest to the door. I didn’t look at their faces and tried to keep my gaze off their weapons as well. Kneeling, I put a cup in front of each person and backed out of the room as quickly as I could to listen from the hallway. Madar-jan was doing the same.
“Arif-jan, I’ve come here today to discuss an important and honorable matter with you. For that reason, I have brought my elders with me, as well as a few members of my family whom you have met before. I’m sure you recognize my uncle’s sons, my father and my uncle. You have fought with me for years and I respect you for that. From one man to another, we both know that there are traditions in our culture.”
“You honor me with your visit, sahib, and I have been proud to fight under your leadership. We’ve done great things for our people thanks to you.” I’d never heard Padar-jan speak in such a way with anyone. Abdul Khaliq unnerved him. “And I am honored to have your family in my humble home. Dearest uncles, I appreciate you traveling this far to be our guests.”
The men nodded, acknowledging my father’s platitudes. Abdul Khaliq’s father cleared his throat and began to speak. His voice was raspy and he had a light lisp.
“My son speaks highly of you, and of course, your family is well respected in this town. I’ve known your father for many years, Arif-jan. He is a good man. That is why I’m sure we will see eye to eye on this matter as well. As you know, my son is a man who takes pride in meeting his duties as a Muslim. And one of the duties that Allah has outlined for us is to build families and to provide for women and children.”
I could feel my heart pounding. Madar-jan stood behind me, one hand on my shoulder and the other covering her mouth, as if she thought she might let out a scream otherwise.
“Of course, dear uncle…” Padar’s voice trailed off; he was unsure what to say. Abdul Khaliq began to speak.
“And you came to me recently talking of your concerns. That you have young women at home and not enough money with which to provide for them. I have been thinking about your situation and am here to offer a solution.”
Abdul Khaliq’s father gave him a look. Let me do the talking, his eyes said.
“We must often think of what is in everyone’s best interests. In this case, you have a young woman whom my son would like to honor as his wife. Our family is large and well respected, as you know. Your daughter would do well to join our family and a union between us would be cause for celebration. Of course, as a result, you would be better able to provide for your family as well.”
“My daughter?”
“Yes. If you give it some thought, I’m sure you’ll see it’s the wisest choice.”
“But my eldest is—”
“We are not here for your eldest daughter, Arif-jan. I’m speaking of your middle daughter. The bacha posh. My son has expressed an interest in her.”
“The bacha posh…”
“Yes. And do not be surprised. You have kept her as bacha posh beyond what anyone should accept. You are breaking tradition.”
I turned around and looked at my mother, my face drained of color. Padar was silent. I knew he was wondering how Abdul Khaliq knew about me but word had way of traveling. I remembered the day in the bazaar, the way Abdul Khaliq had looked at me and the way he had smirked and nodded when the man next to him leaned in and whispered something in his ear.
My mother’s fingers tightened as she wrapped her arms around me. She was shaking her head, willing her husband to refuse this man and praying he could do so in a way that wouldn’t offend him or his guns.
“With all due respect, sir… it’s just that… well, she is a bacha posh… but I have two other daughters older than her. And as you said, we are people of tradition and usually the younger daughters are not given until the eldest… I just don’t think…”
There was a long pause before Abdul Khaliq’s father began to speak again, slowly and deliberately.
“You are right. It would be improper to give your middle daughter’s hand without the other two being wed as well.”