The Leopard Princess Page 12

  ‘Perhaps.’

  She sat on the mat beside him. ‘My father told me a tale about a carpet. Would you like to hear it?’

  ‘Awa,’ Azhar replied.

  ‘A long time ago a mir of Nagir could fly one. In a time of great trouble when hoards from Chin were to descend upon the kingdom, he flew south to the Kingdom of Qashmir and raised an army. They followed him across the Qurraqoram Mountains and put a halt to the overthrow of Nagir.’

  Azhar regarded her. ‘That was my great-great grandfather. My father couldn’t fly, but he told my foster father, Kifayat, to always guard the carpet. He said that if the kingdom was ever overthrown to find the carpet and flee with me. There was always the hope that a descendant would one day be able to fly it when it was needed.’

  Hafeezah said, ‘It is certainly needed now. So are you telling me you are a shehzada? The crown prince of Nagir?’

  He inclined his head.

  ‘I can’t say I am surprised. There was always something about you I couldn’t explain.’ She smiled. ‘I shall still call you acho, my brother, though. When you were young living at Zarah and Baqir’s in Naran and I was Jahani’s ayah, you were like a little brother to me. The three of us were always together, speaking Burushaski when no one else was around.’

  ‘They are happy memories for me, too.’ Then he said, ‘I always knew who I was, that I was uushaki, fostered for political reasons. I still saw my parents but only when Kifayat took me to the palace.’ He fell silent thinking of the massacre. The last time he had visited his mother she had told him a story about a prince and a princess – how they needed to join their kingdoms together to keep their people safe from enemies. ‘My mother said that Qhuda will honour me if I do what is right and just. A shehzada becomes a mir but can only rule wisely with kindness. “Serve the people,” she said, “feed them, educate them and give them peace.” Perhaps she had known of the trouble brewing like a blizzard in neighbouring Hahayul.’

  Hafeezah stroked the hair on his forehead like his mother used to do when he was a boy.

  ‘After my family was massacred, Kifayat and I travelled to Hahayul to warn the royal family there, but we were too late. The smell in the fort was terrible, like a flock of sheep had died by the side of the road.’ He could still remember the stench. No wonder Jahani had blocked her memories. He wished he could. ‘Kifayat said we must save who we could, but no one was alive. We could only save the sword of the ghenish. Kifayat knew it was charmed like the carpet.’

  ‘You saw so much as a child,’ Hafeezah murmured. ‘My father and I left Hahayul just after the massacre. When I was settled at Naran in the job of ayah to Jahani, my father returned home.’

  Azhar watched her. ‘You believe now that Jahani is truly the lost shehzadi of Hahayul, don’t you? Did you never suspect before?’

  Hafeezah was silent a long while as she stroked his hair. Then she stopped and folded her hands in her lap. ‘It did cross my mind when she answered my Burushaski words as a child. That was when I suspected she wasn’t Zarah’s natural child. But then I found the nomad dress with her other clothes. I naturally thought she was a nomad child and had picked up the words on her travels.’ She thought awhile. ‘So that was why Kifayat told me to keep the language secret: to keep her safe. He must have known. Did you?’

  ‘Bey ya, not then.’ Azhar’s voice slowed as his breaths grew deeper and his eyelids drooped. ‘Only when … I came back to … to protect her.’ Azhar felt Hafeezah curl up on the mat next to his as he drifted off to sleep.

  Some dawns later, Azhar finally woke with no fever even though he’d had a restless night. He’d dreamed that Yazan could speak into his mind. The snow leopard had told him Jahani was in the zenana, the harem, of Muzahid.

  Come quickly.

  The thought echoed in his head as he tried to shake out the image of Yazan, the grey spots on his white fur coloured in red blood. Azhar wanted to jump up and fly his carpet to the Kingdom of Skardu that very instant. If only he were strong enough.

  Ali Shah visited Azhar later that morning. ‘My intelligence tells me a guide took some guards and a girl through the Haramosh Mountains to Muzahid’s fort in Skardu.’ Ali Shah blew out a breath. ‘There is also grievous news—’

  ‘What could be worse than this?’ Azhar leaned against cushions, glaring up at Ali Shah. How helpless he felt.

  ‘In the bazaar there are rumours that a guide and his party perished in those same mountains.’

  Azhar’s breath caught in his throat. ‘Was it the shehzadi?’

  ‘No one is sure. There was talk of a girl.’

  Azhar clung to his dream. If it truly was Yazan talking to him, Jahani was still alive. ‘We have to go to Skardu to Muzahid’s fort.’

  ‘I agree we need to find her urgently, but I can’t take the Makhfi across those mountains in this weather. Blizzards are expected until the next moon. It would be suicide.’ Ali Shah popped a betel leaf in his mouth.

  ‘But if she’s alive Muzahid will marry her!’ In his agitation, Azhar managed to stand though he staggered with the pain.

  Ali Shah regarded him. ‘The shehzadi is Muzahid’s pass into Hahayul. He won’t harm her, at least not until he gets hold of the kingdom from Dagar Khan. We could wait until then to rescue the shehzadi.’

  ‘He’ll mistreat her.’ Azhar’s voice rose. ‘He’s cruel and evil.’

  Ali Shah remained quiet awhile, chewing on the leaf. ‘There will be more unrest in all the northern kingdoms if Muzahid tries to take Hahayul and the Silk Route from Dagar Khan. They will wage war and kill the shehzadi. It’s unlikely that she will escape. So, you are right. It is best to rescue her as soon as possible.’

  Azhar closed his eyes as he sat down against a cushion, trying to stay detached, to force his expression to show he was thinking of strategy, not Jahani and her perfect face and blue eyes … her courageous spirit … her lithesome body in Muzahid’s bed. It was no good. ‘I have to free her from Skardu.’

  ‘But how?’ Ali Shah asked. ‘It’s still snowing up there. You’ll die.’ His eyes flicked to the rolled carpet.

  Azhar inclined his head ‘I cannot leave her in Muzahid’s zenana all winter.’

  Ali Shah sank to his haunches beside him. ‘The lover is a king above all kings, unafraid of death, not at all interested in a golden crown. Hmm?’

  Azhar recognised the poet Rumi’s words as Ali Shah considered him, eyebrows raised. ‘If you die what do you think will happen to your Kingdom of Nagir? And to Hahayul? You have more right to the Kingdom of Hahayul than Muzahid Baig or Dagar Khan. If the shehzadi hasn’t survived, we will pledge our allegiance to you, for the kingdoms must be purged of this oppressive rule. But do not think of seizing the kingdoms on your own. Choose life, Shehzada.’

  ‘But for me there will be no life without her,’ he burst out. Azhar stared at the older man, and for the first time he didn’t care about secrecy, planning or honour. His heart tore open with longing to share the pain of the love he hid daily. ‘She is not just the heir to the most important kingdom in the empire on the Silk Route and the key to uniting the north – she has captured my heart and I am hopelessly in her enthral.’

  20

  Askandria Fort

  Kingdom of Skardu

  First Moon of Winter, 1663

  Jahani’s dreams were turbulent: green mountain slopes with wildflowers caressed her one moment, then white avalanches crashed into her the next. Chandi called for her to wake up, Yazan walked on the clouds with Azhar. Then there was a voice in her head asking how she was. So cold … would she ever feel warm again? Through the mist women came to bathe her, a man too, but she couldn’t see his face. Hissam? No, he had died. Someone tried to spoonfeed her liquid; it tasted like Hafeezah’s thyme tea for healing.

  Piercing her dream came a voice pealing like a bell in her head. It was peaceful but insistent. Shehzadi. Wake, Shehzadi. Are you well?

  Chandi?

  Awa, I am here.

  Where are
you?

  Under Muzahid’s fort.

  Are you safe?

  A nice groom is feeding me barley in the stable.

  Is Yazan safe?

  This I do not know.

  Chandi’s voice pulled away. Jahani’s head swung like a pendulum and she felt like vomiting. Now there were goats’ bells tinkling in her head. The images of Yazan tumbling backward from the rock and Hissam falling from Kaveh came in flashes. She shut her eyes with a moan. What if Yazan had perished? What use were the prophecies then? She remembered everything now: the mountains, the punishing cold, the wretched mare. Hissam. She groaned. Another loyal man killed on her behalf.

  Just then a woman spoke. ‘Qhuda be praised. You are with us at last.’

  Jahani blinked and focused on the lady sitting in a chair beside her. She was slim, with a round face and fair skin. There were two small moles on her left cheek. ‘Where am I?’

  ‘Welcome. We call this place Askandria, the fort of Muzahid Baig. You are safe in the zenana.’

  ‘What?!’ Jahani tried to sit up. ‘Is he here?’

  The lady gently pushed her back. ‘You are not yet strong enough to rise. Nay, Muzahid is still in the south, but he will surely come soon since a message has been sent that you have been found, near death, but still alive. He would have heard the news by pigeon.’

  ‘How long have I been here? Where’s Anjuli?’ Jahani couldn’t keep the panic from her voice.

  The lady smiled. ‘So many questions. Anjuli is with the other unmarried girls. There are almost one hundred women living in the zenana, so she has plenty to occupy her. It has been over two weeks since you came. You’ve missed the solstice. First, we heard you were dead. And then one of Muzahid’s guards found you alive, after all. It was a miracle. No one has survived so long in such a blizzard.’

  Jahani stared at the lady. Barrel mustn’t have told them about Hissam. The guard was protecting his own hide, for Muzahid would surely kill him for not finding her sooner. She didn’t mention Yazan either; perhaps the guards had never heard of the leopard prophecy.

  ‘My name is Zeb-un-Nissa. I am the distant cousin of Shayla, one of Muzahid’s wives.’

  Jahani frowned. ‘One of?’

  Zeb-un-Nissa pressed her lips together before answering. ‘Ji, his first wife is Vardah.’ Then she said brightly, ‘We have all been looking after you, since the hakim came.’

  ‘Muzahid’s wives will not want me here …’ Jahani faltered.

  Zeb-un-Nissa nodded. ‘There is always a challenging time of adjustment when a new wife joins a zenana.’

  Jahani was too tired to hide her curious gaze from Zeb-un-Nissa. She was a beautiful woman, with black hair and dark eyes. Even her shalwar and long qameez were black. She looked austere, yet kind, too. Suddenly Jahani could not keep her eyes open.

  ‘I’ll leave you to sleep,’ Zeb-un-Nissa said gently. ‘One of us will bring soup when you rouse.’

  Jahani woke to voices arguing near her charpai.

  ‘I don’t want to feed her. I wish she would die.’ The voice was raspy, like a crow’s squawk.

  ‘Vardah, that’s a dreadful thing to say,’ said a younger, kinder voice. ‘She can’t help her situation.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Vardah replied. ‘Anyway, Muzahid said he wanted a girl with red hair, and hers is as dark as ours.’

  Jahani felt a whisper of a touch on her head. ‘Look, it’s been dyed. See, it’s growing out. I wonder why she did that,’ the second voice said.

  ‘Why indeed. She’s supposed to be something special, a shehzadi, but she’s no prettier than you, Shayla.’

  ‘Chup. People who are unconscious might still be able to hear. My mother always believed that.’ There was a pause then, ‘Ow, you’re hurting me.’

  ‘Squeamish little nobody,’ Vardah growled. ‘I can do more than that. You be careful who you tell to be quiet. I’m the first wife and my son will inherit Muzahid’s legacy. Don’t forget your respect.’

  ‘Leave me alone.’

  At that point Jahani yawned and opened her eyes. She saw a younger woman glance quickly at an older one. She guessed that the older woman was Vardah, and the younger, Shayla, Zeb-un-Nissa’s cousin. Shayla looked sweet with a gap between her front teeth; if Vardah wasn’t so bad-tempered she could look nice, too. Jahani tried to smile at them, but her mouth was so dry it probably looked like a grimace.

  The women didn’t smile in return. Jahani sighed inside. How would she survive in a zenana? She had to escape.

  ‘I’m not here to upset your lives,’ she said carefully.

  Vardah cast Jahani a vicious look, showing exactly how she felt, then left the room.

  Shayla helped Jahani to sit up, then took a bowl from a tray. ‘I have your soup.’

  As Shayla put spoonfuls into her mouth, Jahani glanced around the room and out into the inner courtyard. There were rich red carpets decorating the walls and floors, silk material hanging in doorways and embroidered runners lining the tops of walls. There were even Mughal paintings and miniatures. ‘It’s very beautiful here,’ she said.

  ‘Ji, Muzahid likes beautiful things.’

  Jahani tried to make sense of Muzahid and the word ‘beautiful’ in the same sentence. She noticed her clothes and cloak had been cleaned and were hanging on a hook in the corner. She couldn’t see where Hissam’s blood had been. She wondered where Shamsher was. How excited she had been when Azhar gave her the scimitar at Lake Saiful Maluk on their way to Naran. She’d saved his life with his dagger not long before. All of a sudden she remembered how she had blacked out as the guards took her to the fort. She sighed. They must have taken Shamsher. She hated feeling so defenceless.

  A rolled rug leaned against her mattress, no doubt to use for prayer. She missed the little prayer rug she’d always had, the one she’d kneeled on all those moons ago, vowing to discover why Sameela had died. Taking a deep breath, Jahani said, ‘I had a sword.’

  ‘We’re not allowed weapons in the zenana,’ Shayla countered.

  ‘I wouldn’t attack anyone.’

  ‘It’s to save us from ourselves.’

  Jahani frowned. What did Muzahid do to them? ‘Do you have children?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Shayla put more soup in Jahani’s mouth. ‘Muzahid is often away. Vardah has a boy and girl.’

  Jahani put her hand around Shayla’s and smiled. ‘I can feed myself now.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re strong enough? We will be in trouble if you are overtaxed in any way.’

  Jahani checked her face for sarcasm, but Shayla’s expression seemed guileless. ‘Where do you come from?’

  ‘Hindustan. The emperor gave me to Muzahid as a reward for service to the empire.’

  ‘The emperor?’

  ‘The Emperor Aurangzeb, Zeb-un-Nissa’s father. Our families are distant relatives through marriage.’ She peeked into the bowl. ‘Ah, you are finished. You will be strong again in no time.’ Then she said shyly, ‘When you came it looked as if you would die, but I’m glad you didn’t. It will be good to have a friend in here.’

  Jahani stared at her. Seconds passed before she remembered to respond. ‘Certainly.’

  ‘This was in your pocket.’ She handed Jahani the embroidered jewellery pouch Yasmeen had given her. ‘It looks tribal.’ She looked at Jahani with interest.

  ‘Ji, I was travelling with nomads.’ It seemed so long ago now.

  ‘Nomads?’ Shayla’s eyes grew wide, but Jahani didn’t explain; she just tightened her fingers around the pouch.

  Within a week, after learning how to balance without her little toes, Jahani could walk around the zenana. Her feet still hurt, but she practised every day using a walking stick that a tall eunuch found for her. Her ordeal in the snow had taken a heavy toll as she felt increasingly tired. But she was determined to feel better so she could escape.

  She was reunited with Anjuli in the rooms where younger girls learned dancing and singing. After embracing and weeping, the first thing Jahan
i wanted to know was how the others had fared.

  Anjuli was subdued. ‘I didn’t see Rahul after you flew away on the carpet. He tied Chandi to a tree and then left me. He must have gone up the mountains with Farah.’

  ‘Why would he leave?’

  ‘I don’t know. He looked sad, like he couldn’t see me. You left, too.’

  Jahani squeezed Anjuli’s hands. ‘I’m sorry. I would have come back if I hadn’t been taken off the carpet by Rabb.’

  Anjuli’s eyes grew wider. ‘So that’s what happened.’

  ‘Ji, I wonder where Rahul is?’ Jahani took a deep breath. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to hear the truth, but she had to ask. ‘Any news of Azhar?’

  ‘He was barely alive after the fall—’

  Jahani cut in, ‘What? He survived?’

  Anjuli hesitated, ‘Just. But he was unconscious when I saw him last. He had a fever. I didn’t think he would live.’ She gulped in air and Jahani hugged her, not sure whether to allow herself to hope. Anjuli sat back suddenly. ‘But I saw Hafeezah—’

  ‘Truly?’

  Anjuli tipped her head. ‘She was travelling with us after you left.’

  ‘And she’s well?’

  ‘Ji, she was worried about you though.’ She looked downcast again and Jahani made a show of normalcy for Anjuli’s sake. ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘In the middle of the night, Yazan woke me and I climbed on Chandi. I knew Azhar was too sick to find you – so I thought I could.’

  ‘I’m glad you did.’

  ‘We stayed a long time in the forest at Gilit. Yazan found food for us. Once I had to eat a raw fish.’ She paused. ‘When I saw you buried in the snow I thought you’d died, too.’

  ‘Fortunately I didn’t and all because of you, Chandi and Yazan.’ There was silence as Jahani thought of Yazan. Anjuli’s eyes welled. ‘I know, Anjuli.’ Jahani drew the girl into her arms again.

  ‘Maybe he’s all right,’ Anjuli whispered with a shudder.

  Jahani set her back to look at her. She wiped a tear from Anjuli’s cheek. ‘Come, let me hear you sing with the other girls.’