For a second I could breathe. But it was only a second.
“But this can be easily arranged. My cousins are here, Abdul Sharif and his brother Abdul Haidar. They are looking for wives as well. We can arrange for each of them to take one of your daughters. They are strong men, able-bodied, and will provide well for your girls, who are now young women and should not be kept idle at home. Let these men bring honor to your home and ease your troubles.”
“Abdul Khaliq, dear uncles, you know I hold you in the highest regard, but… but this is a matter… well, tradition dictates that I should consult my family, as you have done. I cannot make such decisions without the presence of my father and our gray-haired family members.”
Abdul Khaliq’s father nodded in understanding.
“Reasonable. This is not a problem. We shall return in one week’s time. Kindly arrange to have your father and your elders here so that we may meet with them.”
It may have sounded like a request but Padar-jan knew it was more of a command. They would not take no for an answer.
As soon as the last man was out the door, Madar-jan ran up to my father.
“Arif, what are you going to do? The girls are so young!”
“It’s none of your business what I’m going to do! They’re my daughters and I’ll do what’s right for them. It’s not as if you’re capable of doing anything.”
“Arif, please, Rahim’s only thirteen!”
“And he’s right! She shouldn’t be a bacha posh any longer! She’s a young woman and it’s shameful to have her out on the streets and working with Agha Barakzai at this age. You’ve given no thought to her decency, have you? Do you know how this looks for my family’s name?”
Madar-jan bit her tongue. If only my father knew…
“You think you can come up with a better plan for this family? There is no money, Raisa! You’re thinking of nothing but yourself. And you’ve seen what happens to girls who stay in their fathers’ homes for too long. There is talk about them. There is scandal. Or worse! What will you do if some bandits come and take your daughters by force? This man, this family, they can provide for your daughters! They can give your daughters a respectable life!”
Madar-jan searched for a way to argue back. But a lot of what her husband said was true. She was barely able to feed us with what he provided. Padar-jan’s brothers were in no better a situation, not to mention the two widows and their children.
“Maybe I can ask my sister, Shaima, to be here when they return. She could reason with them.”
“Khanum, if your insolent sister dares step foot in this house on that day, I swear to you I’ll cut her tongue out and send her hunched back rolling down the street!”
Madar-jan shuddered to hear him talk about Khala Shaima in that way.
“Abdul Khaliq is a powerful man and he’s in a position to improve our family’s lot. This is a matter I’ll discuss with my father. You should concern yourself only with fixing what you’ve done. It’s time to undo Rahim.”
There was nothing more my mother could say to him. He’d been intimidated by Abdul Khaliq, and from what we’d overheard, it sounded like my father had planted the idea in Abdul Khaliq’s mind. I thought back to what Shahla had told me about their fight.
He wants this, I realized. My father wants to marry us off.
The thought sent a chill down my spine. I realized what my mother knew as well. Men could do what they wanted with women. There would be no stopping what Padar had set in motion.
CHAPTER 17. SHEKIBA
King Habibullah had taken the throne in 1901, just as Shekiba turned eleven years old. This was two years before the cholera epidemic that claimed her family and half her village. That was all she knew about the man. She was a girl from a small village and knew nothing of the palace or life in the capital of Kabul.
Having overheard Hafizullah’s brilliant plan for her, Shekiba became terrified. She had no reason to believe that life in the palace would be any better for her. The more powerful people were, the more harm they could do her. Shekiba sat in the night and chewed her lip, her fingers confirming the presence of the deed under her blanket.
I have to get to the hakim. That’s my only chance.
Shekiba did not know when the king would visit, but it would be soon. She had nothing to lose. She had a plan.
Shekiba tucked the deed into her dress and crept out of her room at first light. The azaan sounded, calling the town to prayer. She remembered the way from Azizullah’s house to the village center. There were a few shops there and surely someone would be able to direct her to the house of the hakim.
She heard Azizullah’s snores and crept past his and Marjan’s room. Fortunately, he rarely woke for morning prayers, claiming he would make them up later in the afternoon. The children were still asleep.
She slipped her burqa over her head and slowly pushed open the heavy gate. She was outside the courtyard. She paused for a moment, waiting to hear the sound of footsteps behind her. When she heard nothing, she took a deep breath, said a quick prayer and headed down the small dirt road. Shekiba walked quickly, trying not to look back at the house since that might draw more suspicion. But no one was out yet and the two donkeys outside didn’t even bray at the sight of her.
Agha Sharifullah, the hakim. Shekiba hoped someone in town would be able, and willing, to direct her to him. She rehearsed her appeal in her mind for the thousandth time. She wondered what her mother would have thought of her plan.
The sky was bright by the time she entered the village center and she passed by a family of five, the mother and children following behind their father, probably on their way to visit relatives. They looked at her oddly from across the road but said nothing. Shekiba exhaled when they were finally out of view.
A few moments later, two men exited a house and began walking ahead of her. They looked back at her and commented to one another. Shekiba bowed her head and slowed her gait, wanting to put more distance between them. The younger man pointed at her and shook his head. The older man nodded and fingered the beads on his tasbeh.
“Khanum, who are you?” he called out.
Shekiba kept her gaze lowered and slowed her step even more.
“Khanum, where are you going by yourself? Who are you?”
Shekiba debated asking these men if they knew Hakim-sahib. She stopped, afraid to get any closer to them.
“Khanum, this is very wrong! Whoever you are, you should not be wandering around alone,” he scolded. “What family are you from?”
Shekiba felt her tongue loosen.
“I am from Agha Azizullah’s home,” she said shakily.
“Agha Azizullah? But you are not Khanum Marjan. Who are you?” called out the older man.
“Khanum Marjan is not well,” she lied. “I have been sent to bring her medicine.”
“Sent out for medicine? Well, this is just absurd.” The younger man turned to his counterpart. “He is a dear friend of mine but I can’t imagine what Agha Azizullah was thinking.”
“This is truly bizarre,” he said, shaking his head. And then he made a decision. “Follow us into town. I’ll speak with Azizullah later.”
Shekiba nodded and walked about five meters behind them, now doubly panicked. Surely, by now, Marjan had discovered her absence and she had probably shared the news with Azizullah. Would they come looking for her? Although it seemed this man believed her story, he would surely report back to Azizullah. Although Azizullah already had plans to get rid of her, he could do much worse if he were angered and shamed by Shekiba.