They led her to the village’s dry-goods store owner, who doubled as the local apothecary. She entered behind the older man.
“Salaam, Faizullah-jan.”
“Wa-alaikum as-salaam, Muneer-jan. How are you?”
So it is Muneer who will report back to Azizullah.
They exchanged pleasantries before Azizullah addressed Shekiba’s presence.
“Azizullah has sent this girl to bring medicine for his wife. I found her walking about in the streets alone. Can you imagine? I think the man has lost his mind.”
Faizullah shook his head.
“No doubt he is distracted by King Habibullah’s visit. It is just two days from now and I’m sure his brother has him running in circles.”
Two days from now?
“What illness does she have?”
Shekiba nodded yes or no arbitrarily as he rattled off a few symptoms. She left with a small bottle of blended herbs and Faizullah made a note of the purchase in his records.
Azizullah is going to kill me, Shekiba suddenly realized. She had gone too far.
“Excuse me, sahib,” she said outside. There was no reason to stop now. “I must take a paper to Hakim-sahib.”
“What? What sort of paper?”
“I was instructed to discuss this only with Hakim-sahib.”
The younger man looked indignant.
“Padar, this is ridiculous!” he said.
“It is indeed!” said his father. Shekiba waited nervously.
But they pointed her toward Hakim-sahib’s house, which, as Shekiba had prayed, was within the village’s central area. They were fed up with her and decided to let her find her own way. Azizullah could clean up his own mess.
A young boy answered the gate and Shekiba asked to speak to Hakim-sahib. The boy gave her a curious look before running back into the courtyard. A moment later, a puzzled man with a grayed beard appeared at the door. He peered out from behind the half-open door.
“Please, esteemed Hakim-sahib, I have come to you with a most serious request.”
“You? Who are you and what are you doing here? Is there no one with you?”
“No, sahib. But I have a paper that I need to show you.”
“Who are you? Who is your husband?”
“I have no husband.”
“Who is your father?” He still had not fully opened the door, uninterested in inviting this strange lone girl into his courtyard.
“Sahib, this paper is from my father. His name was Ismail Bardari.”
“Ismail? Ismail Bardari?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You are his daughter? You are the one who…”
“Yes, I am. Please, sahib, I have the deed to my father’s land.”
It all came in one breath. And then she heard her name.
“Shekiba!”
Shekiba almost did not recognize Azizullah. She whipped around to see him walking quickly toward Hakim-sahib’s house. Hakim-sahib pushed the door wide open. Shekiba turned to him and spoke quickly. Azizullah was a hundred meters away. Her words came fast and furious.
“Please, sahib, I have the deed to my father’s land and I am his only surviving child. I want to claim my inheritance. That land should belong to me and my uncles are taking it without right.”
Hakim’s eyes widened. “You want what? Azizullah-jan, may Allah grant you a long life,” he called out.
Shekiba could not take much hope from his exasperated tone. She pulled the paper from under her burqa.
“It is my land and it is my right. Please, sahib, just look at the deed and you will see—”
Hakim-sahib took the paper from her hand and glanced at it. His eyes returned to fast-approaching Azizullah.
“Please, Hakim-sahib, I have nothing else. I have no one else. This land is my only—”
A blow to the side of her head. Shekiba reeled.
“Goddamn you, girl!” A second blow knocked Shekiba off her feet.
She lay on her side, curled. Her hands instinctively rose to cover her head beneath the burqa. She looked at Hakim-sahib. He was shaking his head.
“Azizullah-jan, what is going on with this girl?”
“Hakim-sahib, those damned Bardari brothers gave this as repayment for their debt and never have I been so swindled in my life!” he screamed, pointing at Shekiba. “We have fed her and housed her and look at how she treats us!” A kick to her flank. Shekiba yelped. “What are you doing? What kind of girl sneaks out of a house? Have you no shame?”
“What is this talk of a deed?” the hakim said.
“What deed?”
“This girl is here to claim her father’s land,” Hakim explained.
“To claim what? Is there no end to this girl’s stupidity?” He turned to Shekiba and landed another kick into her side.
The pain threw her into a rage.
“I am only here to claim what is rightfully mine! I am my father’s daughter and that land should belong to me! My father would never have chosen his brothers over me! He never did!”
“A family of fools!” Azizullah shouted. He threw his arms into the air in exasperation.
The hakim sighed heavily and clucked his tongue.
“Girl, you know nothing of tradition,” he said, and tore the deed into pieces.
CHAPTER 18. RAHIMA
Tradition hadn’t lost importance between Bibi Shekiba’s time and now.
Our home was tense all week. Madar-jan’s hands trembled. She dropped forks and food while her mind wandered and worried. I caught her watching me and my sisters. Shahla shook her head and Parwin made comments that made Madar-jan burst into tears.
“The pigeons look sad today. As if their friends all flew away and now they have no one to talk to.” Parwin looked up from her paper. She’d sketched five birds, each flying off in a different direction.
My mother took one look at the drawing, covered her mouth with her hand and went to talk to Padar-jan. We heard yelling and the sound of glass breaking. She returned to us, her lip quivering and a dustpan full of glass shards in her hands.
My father spoke with our grandfather and summoned my uncles to join us at the house. Kaka Haseeb, Jamaal and Fareed showed up along with Boba-jan. They looked solemn. I wondered what Padar-jan had told them.
As promised, Abdul Khaliq’s family returned in the afternoon. My sisters and I had Sitara look out the window and tell us what she saw.
“Lots of people,” she said.
Madar-jan came back into the room with us, leaving the discussion to the patriarchs of our compound. She had tried several times to talk to my father but to no avail. He was not interested in hearing her. She stood in our doorway and craned her neck to hear down the hall. In our small home, we could hear every word of the conversation.
“Thank you, agha-sahib, for coming today and joining your sons for this important discussion. Our family takes these matters very seriously and we come to you with the best of intentions. This is an issue of honor and family. We have known each other for many years. Our fathers were born and buried in the same soil. We are nearly kin,” Abdul Khaliq’s father said.