Shabanu (17 page)

“Why?” I ask quietly.

She sighs and pokes a stick into the fire.

“What does it matter, Shabanu?”

“Because what he wants of us matters!” I cry.

“Rahim
-sahib
is a politician,” Mama answers wearily. She too has been up all night, listening to the men talk on the radio. “Nazir Mohammad threatens to take Murad’s land and cut off his water, to turn it back into desert—out of spite. A councilman wouldn’t want his constituents to know he had a brother like that.”

“Thank God for pride and greed,” I say, and Mama gives me a sharp look.

“What does he want in return?” I ask again, for I know nothing comes without its price.

“That’s what we’re waiting to hear,” she says. “Go get your father and Murad to come in out of the rain. They’ve lost the sense God gave them at birth.”

They are only a few feet away, but my tunic is soaked through by the time I am close enough for them to hear me. I can’t look Murad in the face, but I take Dadi’s hand.

“You can’t help any of us if you die of wet and cold,” I say. I feel Murad’s look on my face, and it burns under the cool rain water. Dadi puts an arm across my shoulders, and the two follow me under the shelter like old men shuffling to their graves.

Spin Gul rides up, water dripping in rivulets from his rain cape, the fur on his camel’s neck matted and clumped. He orders the camel to kneel, and his weariness too is apparent from the way he moves slowly, as if double weights have been added to his arms and legs.

“When the rain stops we should start out. Probably by tomorrow morning,” he says, accepting a cup of sweetened milk tea. Dadi and Murad are standing, but Spin
Gul squats beside the fire. “Rahim
-sahib
has shamed his ass of a brother. They have agreed to meet you at Yazman. We will accompany you to Dingarh. The Rangers at Dingarh will take you straight to the post at Yazman. The landlords will meet you there.”

Murad paces, and Dadi stares into the fire a moment before answering.

“Is that all? What of Murad’s family?”

“Rahim
-sahib
said he wants nothing in return. Just peace in his constituency. He offered to protect Murad’s family personally, but they will stay with the Rangers until things are settled and they can return home.”

The day is endless. Phulan sleeps most of it, and when she wakes, she is staring and silent. I know she is in pain. I have thought of Murad as a husband just this one day. I don’t know where the joy has come from amid this pain and confusion. But Phulan has aimed her entire existence at marrying Hamir. Her life has come to a sudden stop. I pity her, but I can’t help wanting to shake her, to tell her to wake up and prepare for what comes next.

I fear Nazir will want her; that will be the price of freedom for the rest of us, peace for Murad’s family and water for his land. I doubt she has thought that far ahead, but if she has, it’s reason enough to grieve. Again a vision of Nazir Mohammad’s fat flesh wobbling as he sweats over my beautiful sister sends a shiver of revulsion through me.

The rain ends late in the afternoon, and pools of water surround us. Sher Dil paws and barks at the water. The
camels drink deeply; it is the first time they have had sweet water in the two months since the sandstorm dried up our
toba
. Mithoo gallops through the water, splashing up great silver sheets and frightening the other young camels.

I try to get Phulan to look at the magical sunset, hoping the great opal haze will soothe her. But she is immobile, and I sit with her at the edge of a dune.

Mama, Dadi, and Murad have spent the afternoon resting, and they come out to check the gear and count the herd before the sun goes down. I watch Murad’s wide shoulders, his strong hands probing gently at a tender spot on the leg of a lame camel. The thought of marrying him brings immeasurable joy and fear to my heart. Phulan’s joy has turned to dust, and it has taught me a lesson about the fragility of happiness.

We sleep little in the night, all of us thinking about the consequences of Nazir Mohammad’s fury and whether his brother Rahim
-sahib
will be able to negotiate a settlement. It’s difficult to imagine that the greedy, spoiled man in the silk trousers will let the indignity he suffered pass. The life of a peasant farmer may not be enough payment.

We are up and moving about, filling our goatskins and loading camels before the stars have left the sky. When the Rangers come for us we have been waiting nearly two hours, ready to leave.

Phulan takes some milk tea, the first time in two days she has drunk or eaten. The skin under her eyes is bruised from crying. But she seems more alert and answers Mama’s questions about how she feels.

“Empty,” says Phulan. “As if nothing inside me or outside is worth caring about.”

“You have so much to care about,” says Mama, stroking Phulan’s pale forehead. “You have Dadi and Shabanu and me, all of your cousins and aunts and uncles who love you. We will make another marriage for you.”

“It was so perfect. He was more than most girls can expect to marry. And Shabanu would be with us in another year, and we would always be together. Now I’m afraid. I don’t know what will happen.”

“We won’t let anything bad happen to you, daughter,” says Mama. Dadi has been standing with his back to them, adjusting straps and balancing the loads, distributing them so that the stronger camels carry more, the females and smaller males less. He says nothing, just turns away to another camel.

Five Rangers accompany us to Dingarh, all of them armed and watchful. They are men of the desert and ride their camels as if they are part of the animals. None of them speak, and we are quiet as the sun rises higher in the sky, heating the day like an oven fired for bread, the water coming out of the sand in steamy shimmers.

We reach Dingarh, where another group of Rangers comes forward on camels. They salute our escorts, who turn without stopping for food and water and head back toward Derawar.

We have made the trip in ten hours—good time, considering we walked slowly enough for the herd to keep up with us. One of the Rangers rides ahead to the Wing
Command mess to fetch Murad’s nephew, who will stay with Sher Dil and the herd while we go into Yazman. We walk the rest of the way into town, the Rangers making a protective ring around us.

We go straight to the Wing Command headquarters, where Colonel Haq greets the other Rangers with a smart salute. Without getting down or giving us a chance to thank them properly, the Rangers turn their camels and head back through town toward Dingarh. Everyone is very solemn.

Colonel Haq shows Dadi and Murad to a room next to his office where they will wait for the landlords to arrive. He orders a young captain to show us to the quarters where Bibi Lal, Kulsum, and little Sakina have slept since Hamir died and we fled into the desert. Suddenly it occurs to me they may blame us for Hamir’s death.

We are shown to a room that adjoins Bibi Lal’s, and Mama knocks on her door. Kulsum opens it and embraces Mama, a long, full embrace of shared sadness.

“Oh, sister, God will protect us,” she says softly, holding Mama at arm’s length.

“Come in, come in,” says Bibi Lal, sitting on the floor feeding one of her grandchildren from a tin cup. The furrows of grief on her face are deep, but she is calm and purposeful. “We have as much to discuss as the men do.”

She wipes the child’s chin and sends her with Sakina and the other children into our room, shutting the door between us.

Phulan lies with her back to us on one of the string
cots, and Sakina stands tentatively by the door, biting her lips, her small niece straddling one hip. She wears a blue faded tunic and skirt that have grown too short above her brown bare feet. She reminds me of myself just six months ago.

“Come in, Sakina, come sit beside me,” I say. She sits down on the cot shyly and lifts her little niece up to her shoulder. Her nephew bangs a stick against the wooden leg of the cot. Auntie’s boys start banging cups against the floor. I send the three little boys outside with strict orders to stay by the door, which I leave open so I can keep an eye on them.

I feel very awkward as I sit down again beside Sakina, who adored her older brother Hamir, as I’m sure I would have adored an older brother.

“I’m so sorry about Hamir,” I blurt out, not knowing what to say. Phulan sits up on her cot and gathers her
chadr
around her.

“How did it happen?” Phulan asks. Sakina remains silent, her lips pressed between her teeth and looking at the floor.

“You don’t have to tell,” I say.

“Yes, she does!” Phulan says, showing some life for the first time in three days. “I want to know what happened.”

“Uncle Abassi came riding fast on his camel,” Sakina begins, her voice barely a whisper. She hugs the child closer to her. “He told us Nazir Mohammad was going to kidnap Phulan,” she says, looking up for the first time.

“He said ‘They’re going to give Phulan to the man who shoots the most quails, and probably Shabanu will be passed around them.’ He said they might even come for me.” Her voice grows stronger, and she bends to set her sleeping niece down on the cot, covering her with a shawl.

“He said you had gone into the desert, and he thought you’d be safe. But he was worried about us.

“Before we could decide what to do, Hamir stood up, as if he was going outside to relieve himself. Then he turned in the doorway and came back and got his gun. Uncle Abassi and Murad asked him where he was going with the gun. But Hamir was angry and he started shouting. Uncle tried to take the gun away, but Hamir aimed it at him.

“Hamir was like a wild man. He always had a terrible temper, and he took offense easily. He told them they didn’t know how to act like men, that the landlord had insulted the woman he was going to marry and his uncle and brother were acting like cowards. Then Uncle said they should go outside.”

Sakina stops for a breath. Phulan sits transfixed, and I get up to pour Sakina a cup of water. She takes a sip and goes on.

“Murad told Kulsum and me to begin packing some things, and that we should follow you into the desert. He and Hamir would come with us to Derawar. Uncle would go straight to Yazman to get help from the Rangers. Uncle said the police superintendent wouldn’t be powerful enough to stand up to Nazir Mohammad because he
has two other brothers, including Rahim
-sahib
, who is a member of the district council.

“Uncle and Hamir were outside, and Hamir was shouting at Uncle that he was a coward. My mother went to the door to beg him to be sensible. She didn’t want him to be shot. Hamir said Nazir Mohammad would steal our land if we went away. She and Uncle tried to talk to him.

“But the more they talked, the crazier Hamir got, and he threatened to kill Uncle. I think they were going to fight, but suddenly we heard a jeep, and we knew Nazir was coming after us.

“It was after dark. We saw the lights coming from a long distance. Murad hurried us up and put us on the camels. He told us to ride straight for Yazman to the Desert Rangers Wing Command. I knew where to come. We deliver milk to them.”

“Did you go straight away?” asks Phulan, pressing for every detail.

“We started out, and then a second jeep came from the other direction. The men in the jeep saw us in their lights. Murad had disappeared, so we turned back toward the house. I think the men were drunk. They were shouting, and we couldn’t understand their words. The fat landlord said something like ‘Hamir, bring us your sister!’ and then there was a gunshot and shouting and confusion, then another gunshot, much louder than the first.”

She sits and thinks for a moment.

“Go on, go on!” Phulan says.

“I think the first shot was Hamir’s and the second was
one of Nazir Mohammad’s men. Nazir was too drunk to shoot a gun straight. My mother got down from her camel and she saw the whole thing. After the second shot, Hamir flew off his feet and never moved again. The blood was everywhere. It almost cut him in half and …”

“Oh, God! Oh, God!” Phulan cries, and buries her face in her hands.

“What happened then?” I ask.

“People were running in all directions. The men got back into their jeeps and drove away, their wheels skidding in the sand. We got down from our camels, and Uncle Abassi and Murad carried Hamir inside. We washed him quickly and buried him inside the house, all of us saying prayers at once. We were afraid they’d come back. Your father insisted it would be safer for us to stay at Yazman, and he and Murad came after you. That’s all. You know the rest.”

We have been so transfixed that I have forgotten all about my cousins until I hear them shrieking. I run to the doorway. They have put a ladder up to the mango tree by the colonel’s office door, and it has fallen after they have climbed into the branches.

“Wait, don’t move!” I shout, and run out to pick up the ladder. As I hold it steady, I hear a car in the driveway. Oh, Dadi will kill me if I’m out here with the boys when Nazir comes.

But I can’t help it. The boys are terrified, and I am afraid they’ll fall or try to jump from the branch. I prop the ladder again, its feet in the mud at the base of the
tree, and climb to the branch they cling to and coax them to come down. The car stops, and a door opens and closes. I don’t dare turn around. I feel the ladder slipping away from the tree, its feet unsteady in the mud.

I hold my arms around the boys and cling to the tree and ladder when suddenly the slipping stops.

“Just hand one boy down at a time,” says a calm, deep voice. I look down, and a man about Dadi’s age, perhaps older, holds the foot of the ladder.

I take Kulsum’s son first, as he is heaviest and least frightened. I tell my cousins to hold tight to the limb while I hand the first boy down to the man at the foot of the ladder. Then I hand down the older of my two cousins and finally climb to the bottom with my smallest cousin on my hip.

“Thank you,” I say, looking into the man’s face. He has kind eyes with a twinkle in them. His hair is gray around his ears, and he is clean-shaven.

“Young ladies shouldn’t be climbing trees,” he says.