“She can’t read. Neither can Shahnaz. Jameela can read a little bit, I think.”
“Well, there you go,” she said. She leaned forward and exhaled slowly, her lips pursed. “Talk to her, nicely. I think it would be good for you to see the places your bibi Shekiba saw.”
The idea excited me even more once she brought up Bibi Shekiba. I had already experienced her double life, living as a boy. I wanted to see the places she’d seen. But I wanted more than she had too. I didn’t want to be a pawn the way she had been, passed from one set of hands to another. I wanted to be bolder. I wanted to make my naseeb, not have it handed to me. But from what my mother had always said, I didn’t know if that was possible.
“Khala Shaima, do you think you can change your naseeb?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Tell me this, how do you know what your naseeb is?”
I didn’t have an answer for her. “I don’t know. Madar-jan said it was my naseeb to be married to Abdul Khaliq. And for Shahla to be married to Abdul Sharif and Parwin to be married to Abdul Haidar.”
“And what about this morning? What did you eat for breakfast?”
“I ate a piece of bread with tea.”
“Did someone bring you the bread?”
“No.” I nearly laughed at the thought of someone bringing something to me. “Of course not! I got it myself.”
“So maybe this morning it seemed it was your naseeb that you shouldn’t have any breakfast at all. And then what happened?”
“I changed it?”
“Maybe. Or maybe it was your naseeb all along that you should have the bread and tea. Maybe your naseeb is there but waiting for you to make it happen.”
“But wouldn’t people say that is blasphemous? To change the naseeb that Allah has for us?”
“Rahima, you know how deeply I love Allah. You know I bow before God five times a day with all my heart. But you tell me which of those people who say such a thing have spoken with Allah to know what the true naseeb is.”
That night I lay awake thinking of what Khala Shaima had said. Jahangir breathed softly, tucked in next to me, his small hand on my neck.
Was it Parwin’s naseeb to die that way, her skin a mess of melted flesh? Or had she missed an opportunity to change things? To realize her actual naseeb? Was it Madar-jan’s naseeb to lie dazed with opium while Rohila and Sitara fended for themselves? Dodged my father’s angry rages on their own?
It baffled me. I sighed and pulled the blanket over my son’s shoulders. I traced his pink lips with my finger. His face twitched in his sleep and the corners of his mouth turned up in a dreamy grin. I smiled.
I didn’t know what my naseeb was, much less that of my son. But I decided that night I would do whatever I could to make it the best naseeb possible. For both of us. I was not going to miss any opportunities.
From what Khala Shaima had told me about Bibi Shekiba, she looked for chances to make her own naseeb. I, her great-great-granddaughter, could do the same.
CHAPTER 36. SHEKIB
Shekib’s heart pounded; her mouth was dry. Amanullah was again walking through the gardens. Shekib was standing at her post, just a border of shoulder-high shrubs between them. He was walking with the older man again, his friend. Shekib recognized him by his wool hat. They took a seat on a bench and made Shekib’s palms sweat.
It was naseeb that they should walk through here now, while I am on guard.
“There are many forces at play here. Your father will have to tread carefully. We are mice in a field of elephants but if we are smart about our moves, we can save ourselves from their heavy feet.”
“The problem is that we have unrest within our borders and unrest at the borders. Our attention cannot lag or we will be weakened.” Shekib could hear the respect in Amanullah’s voice. He trusted this man.
“This is true. But the two are linked. A country secure in itself will stand strong against those who eye it hungrily. And those who eye us know that troubles at home make for easy prey.”
“Our army is weak compared to theirs.”
“But our will is strong,” he said firmly.
Amanullah sighed thoughtfully.
Shekib stiffened at the sound of his breath. She took a step to the right and then two to the left, stirring to make her presence known.
“Our people know so little of what goes on outside these borders. They are barely aware what happens one province, one village away from their own.”
Shekib held her breath. She wondered if Amanullah realized it was her. Her back was facing the two men but she kept her head turned just slightly, her right profile to them — if they had bothered to look. They stood and walked back toward the palace. Shekib could not resist the opportunity to look at Amanullah when she was close enough to see the color of his eyes. She twisted at the waist and looked from the corner of her eye.
He looked back. A nod.
He looked! He nodded! He saw me!
Shekib felt her breath quicken. Nearly an hour passed before she realized that Agha Baraan, too, had nodded in her direction, a subtle acknowledgment. She rubbed her moist palms on her uniform pants. She had made contact with Amanullah. He had noticed her and nodded. She had not detected any repulsion in his expression, not an ounce of disgust. Was it possible? Could Amanullah have looked past her disfigurement?
The afternoon reenergized her. She needed more contact with the palace, with anyone outside the harem. But the guards were insulated, were they not? Shekib considered the situation. She had more freedom than the concubines. She could travel the palace grounds without restriction. She could interact with the servants who came to deliver meals to the harem.
Karim came to relieve her of her post.
“You can get some dinner. I think they were going to bring the carts over soon.”
“I am not that hungry yet, actually. I may just go for a stroll.”
“Whatever you want. Just keep your eyes open. It’s been weeks and we know nothing.”
The women were tightlipped. Each guard had her own suspicions but the questions they asked had gotten a spectrum of useless and curious answers.
Shekib traversed the gardens, passed the statues, the pond, two soldiers talking quietly to each other, eyeing her from afar. She looked out at Dilkhosha Palace, impressive and forbidden. She wanted to see inside but she had no business there. She let her imagination tell her what might be within.
Maybe there were doves inside, graceful white winged birds that fed on warm palace bread and chirped blessings for the monarch. Or perhaps there were mountains of food, delicacies baked by cooks to tickle the king and queen’s palates.
Things were so different here in Kabul, in the palace. So many things Shekib had never before heard of, things she had never heard her parents speak of. She wondered if the palace thought of the villages as much as they thought of these other things. Why were they so preoccupied by these Russians, whoever they were, when villages were struggling without water?