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.
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.