“I’m so sorry, Khala Shaima-jan. I wish I could come to you.”
“Eh, forget it. I’ll walk as long as my feet allow. Now, let me sit and get myself together. You must have something to tell me from your trip. And what the hell are you doing back here for so long?”
I told her about everything, the hotel, the guards, the buildings and the foreign soldiers. Then I told her about the bombing and the reason we came back.
“I heard about that on the radio. Bastards. Can’t handle a woman with a voice.”
“Who do you think was responsible?”
“Does it matter? They may not know who brought the bomb there but we all know why. She’s a woman. They don’t want to hear from her. The last thing this country needed is one more cripple. And that’s what we’ve got now.”
“She’s not dead? What happened to her?”
“You don’t know?”
“We heard so many things before we left. And here no one cares to find out. I’m sure Abdul Khaliq knows, but . . .”
“But you’re not going to ask him.”
I shook my head.
“It seems the bomb went off just next to her car. Exploded and killed one of her guards. But she survived the attack. I think they said her leg was burned but nothing more.”
“Is she going to come back to the parliament?”
“She wants to.”
I didn’t doubt that. Zamarud was not one to be scared off easily. I wished I could be more like her—so determined and brave.
And I should be, I thought. I’d been so self-assured when I was a bacha posh. Walking around with the boys, I feared nothing. If they had dared me to wrestle a grown man to the ground, I would have done it. I thought I could do anything.
And now I trembled before my husband, before my mother-in-law. I had changed. I had lost my confidence. The dress I wore felt like a costume, something that disguised the confident, headstrong boy I was supposed to be. I felt ridiculous, like someone pretending to be something he was not. I despised what I was.
Khala Shaima had read my mind.
“She’s taking risks and she just might be a total lunatic, but she’s doing what she wants. And I bet she doesn’t regret it. I bet she’ll keep doing it. That’s what people have to do sometimes to get what they want. Or to be what they want.”
Khala Shaima was like no one else. Everyone else thought Zamarud was a fool to say the things she did and an even bigger idiot for willingly offending men.
Carefully, quietly, I told Khala Shaima about Abdul Khaliq wanting to take another wife and what Badriya and Bibi Gulalai had said about me.
She said nothing but I could tell the news unsettled her. She looked anxious.
“Did they say how soon?”
I shook my head.
“Dear God, Rahima. This is not good.”
Her words made me more nervous.
“We have to figure something out. But keep this to yourself for now. Remember, the walls have mice and the mice have ears.”
I nodded, blinking back tears. I had hoped Khala Shaima would say something else. That the rumor was absurd. That I was safe here as Abdul Khaliq’s wife.
“Things don’t always work out the way you think they will. I bet you’ve been wondering what became of Bibi Shekiba. Shall I pick up where I left off?”
I half listened to my great-great-grandmother’s story. My mind was preoccupied.
I did have to figure something out. And I should be able to, shouldn’t I? Why did it matter if I wore a dress now? Why did it matter that I no longer bound my breasts flat? I wanted to be the same person I had been. Zamarud let nothing get in her way. She wore a dress and she had married and she campaigned to get a seat in the jirga. A seat she occupied as a real parliamentarian.
The dress didn’t hold her back as it did me. I felt restless. I thought how much more comfortable I would be if I could just button my shirt and walk into the street. If I could just slip into my old clothes . . . how much more capable I would be. Zamarud might have disagreed but the clothes meant something different to me because I’d lived in them.
The dress, the husband, the mother-in-law. I wished I could toss them all aside.
CHAPTER 46
SHEKIB
WHEN SHEKIB HAD BEEN A GIRL, she’d heard about a woman in a nearby village condemned to stoning. It was the talk of their town as well as the neighboring towns.
The woman had been buried shoulder-deep in the earth and encircled by a crowd of onlookers. When it was time, her father had thrown the first stone, striking her squarely in her temple. The line continued until she slumped over in atonement.
Shekiba had listened to the story being recounted by her uncle’s wife. Her mouth gaped at the horror of such a punishment and the grains of rice she was sifting fell through her drifting fingers and missed the bowl. An anthill of rice collected on the floor.
“What had she done?”
Her uncles’ wives turned around and paused their conversation, surprised. They often forgot she was there.
Bobo Shahgul’s eyes narrowed seeing the wasted rice on the floor.
“She ruined her father’s life and gave her entire family nothing but grief!” she said brusquely. “Watch what you’re doing, you absentminded fool!”
Shekiba looked down to see the mess she had made. Her mouth closed sharply and she turned her attention back to the rice. Bobo Shahgul tapped her walking stick in warning.
Sangsaar? A chill coursed through Shekib’s veins as she looked at Benafsha and pictured her half-buried. Stones hurled at her head.
She asked no more questions of Benafsha. The room was silent but for the grumbling of two empty stomachs.
Two days passed without food or water. The door did not open once, though Shekib could see people walking behind it, stopping and listening before walking off. From the slit beneath the door, Shekib could make out the soles of army boots and knew soldiers were guarding them.
On the third day, the door opened. An army officer looked down at the two women, curled up on the floor. Shekib pulled herself to stand. Benafsha barely stirred.
“Guard. Khanum Benafsha.”
Shekib dusted her pants off and straightened her back.
“Your offenses against our dear king are grave and reprehensible. You are both to be stoned tomorrow afternoon.”
Shekib gasped. Her eyes widened in disbelief. “But, sir, I—”
“I did not ask you to speak. You have shamed yourself enough, have you not?”
He turned around abruptly and slammed the door shut behind him. Shekib heard him order a soldier to lock the door. A chain clanged and a key turned, leaving the two women with their fate.
Benafsha let out a soft moan once the door closed. She had known.
“They’re going to stone us both!” Shekib whispered, her voice tight and unbelieving. “Even me? I did nothing!”
Benafsha had her elbow tucked under her head. Her eyes gazed at the wall in front of her. She had known exactly what they would do to her. Why had she brought this upon herself?
“This is your fault! They’re going to stone me because of you!” She knelt at Benafsha’s side and grabbed her shoulders roughly. “Because of you!”
Benafsha rattled limply in her hands. “With Allah as my witness, I am sorry that you are here,” she said softly, her voice tearful and resigned.
Shekib pulled back and stared at Benafsha. “Why? You knew what they would do to you. Why did you do this? How could you do such a thing in the king’s own palace?”
“You would not understand,” she said for the second time.
“No, I do not understand how you could do something so stupid!”
“It is impossible to understand if you do not know love,” Benafsha whispered. Her eyes closed and she started to recite lyrics Shekib had never heard before. Phrases that she memorized because they echoed in her mind after she’d stopped talking and meant different things at different moments.
There is some kiss we
want with our whole lives,
The touch of Spirit on the body.
Seawater begs the pearl to break its shell.
And the lily, how passionately it needs some wild
Darling!
At night, I open the window and ask the moon to come
And press its face against mine. Breathe into me.
Her melancholy verses pulled at Shekib’s heart. I knew nothing of that kind of love. I knew nothing about pearls and shells either except that one had to free itself from the other. We were both calmer than we should have been, Benafsha because she had lived her love, and me because I had never known it.
The hours crept by.
Day turned into night and night became morning. One final morning.
Maybe this is how it is meant to be. Maybe this is how I will finally be returned to my family and saved from this wretched existence. Maybe there is nothing for me in this world.
Shekib swung wildly between anger, panic and submission in those hours. Benafsha whispered words of apology from time to time but mostly prayed. She held her head between her hands and atoned for her sins, said there was no God but Allah.
Allahu akbar, she whispered rhythmically. Allahu akbar.
There was talking outside their door. Shekib could not make out what they were saying but heard a few words here and there.
Whores. Stoning. Deserved.
Whores? Shekib realized she was a woman again. As guilty as the woman lying a few feet from her.
I have been both girl and boy. I will be executed as a girl. A girl who failed as a boy.
Stoning. Today. Stopped.
Stopped? What was stopped?
Shekiba listened carefully.
King. Pardon. Gift.
At hearing “gift,” Shekiba realized something was happening to her. She strained to hear the voices more clearly but could not make out most of what they were saying.
The door opened. The same ranked soldier reappeared, his face cross.
“Khanum Benafsha, prepare yourself. You,” he said, looking at Shekiba with disgust. “You will attend the stoning and then you will be punished for your crime. After that, you will be given in marriage. You should thank Allah that you have been shown a mercy you do not deserve.”
The room went dim again and the chains were locked in place. Shekiba’s heart pounded.
They will not stone me! I will be given in marriage? How could this be?
Benafsha looked at her, the corners of her mouth almost turned up in a weak smile.
“Allahu akbar,” she whispered; the condemned’s prayer had been answered.
Shekiba’s hands trembled. Was it Amanullah? He must have intervened! But why would he want her now that she had been accused of such treachery? Now that she had made herself an unworthy wife?
Everyone spoke of Amanullah’s noble character. Maybe he had seen through the accusations. Maybe in their brief exchanges he had seen something, something that told him she was more than just a woman-man, more than just a harem guard. Was that not what he had told his friend Agha Baraan?
Tears ran down Shekiba’s cheeks. Now all she could do was wait. The hours passed slowly. It became painful to sit in the same room with Benafsha. Shekiba looked at her glazed eyes and broken spirit. She crawled over and crouched at her side.
“Khanum Benafsha,” she said, her words a hush. “I am praying for you.”
Benafsha’s eyes focused on Shekiba. She looked hollow but grateful.
“I cannot understand why you . . . but I want . . .”
“I fulfilled my destiny,” Benafsha said calmly. “That is all I did.”
When they came for Benafsha, Shekiba was holding her hands. Two soldiers dragged Benafsha to her feet and another two pulled Shekiba up by the shoulders. Shekiba’s fingers lost their grip when they bound Benafsha’s wrists together and covered her with a blue burqa. Benafsha looked at her and began to wail, long slow moans that grew louder as they walked through the hallways.
“Shut your mouth, whore!” a soldier snapped, whipping his hand against the back of Benafsha’s head after he had made sure they were not being watched. Though she was about to be executed, she was still the king’s concubine.
Benafsha’s head bounced forward. She began to pray loudly.
“Allahu akbar. Allahu akbar. Allahu . . .”
They shook her gruffly by the shoulders and warned her again. Her prayers went on.
Through the palace, out a back door and into the courtyard, where the afternoon sun nearly blinded the women. Shekiba looked at the harem and saw the women lined up outside, head scarves pulled across their faces. Halima in silhouette, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed. Sakina stood among them, her arm linked with Nabila’s.
You did this, Shekiba thought bitterly.
Ghafoor, Karim, Qasim and Tariq stood in front of the women, solemnly watching the dead woman walk by. Even from this distance, Shekiba could see Tariq trembling. Ghafoor kept her eyes averted, whispering something to Karim as she looked back at the concubines.
Coward. You can’t even look at me.
“Allahu akbar. Allahu akbar . . .”
Soldiers stood everywhere. The palace grounds were quiet, an eerie silence given the number of people in sight. Benafsha’s prayers echoed through the gardens, her toes dragging through the ground. The women of the harem shrank into the distance. Shekiba could hear someone crying. Others tried to hush her but the sobs continued. Shekiba thought it sounded like Nabila.
“Do not weep for those who damned themselves!” a voice boomed.
Shekiba turned around to see where the voice came from. Ahead of them stood a general. From this distance she could not tell if it was one of the men who had come to their makeshift prison cell. Three soldiers stood on either side of him, their backs straight as rods.
A hundred times Shekiba had crossed the palace grounds but never had it seemed this far. They inched along.
“Allahu akbar. Allahu akbar. Allahu . . .”
Shekiba began to mouth the words too. Her voice was barely audible, her throat so dry it burned to talk.
As they neared the general, he nodded to the soldiers and they walked past the fountains, toward the far limits of the palace. They marched solemnly to a clearing where a semicircle of soldiers stood at attention. Shekiba’s heart dropped. In front of the soldiers lay two separate piles of stones, most the size of a fist. The heaps reached the soldiers’ knees.
Shekiba’s prayers grew louder, synchronizing with Benafsha’s. She tasted tears. They walked to the edge of the palace; high walls shielded the onlookers. King Habibullah emerged from the palace and stood beside the general he had placed in charge of the execution. The men whispered to each other, keeping their eyes on Benafsha.
The general nodded at something the king said and approached the condemned as she was brought to the center of the semicircle. A deep pit had been dug in these outskirts of the palace, behind a row of fruit trees, a place Shekiba had never before ventured. The soldiers, about fifteen feet away, stared at Benafsha. Shekiba was still within earshot.
“Tell me, Khanum Benafsha, are you ready to divulge the name of the man you welcomed in your chambers?”
Benafsha looked up and met his stare.
“Allahu akbar.”
“You could be granted mercy if you would at least tell us who this man is.”
“Allahu akbar.”
The general threw his arms up and looked back at the king, exasperated. The king nodded, his face a contorted mix of wrath and disappointment.
“Very well! Khanum Benafsha, your crimes have been reviewed by the scholars of our beloved Islam and according to the laws of our land, you are to be stoned for the grave offense you have committed.” He looked at the two guards and pointed at the hole. Benafsha let out a wail as they held her by the armpits and lowered her into the pit, her legs kicking, her blue burqa flailing like a goldfish pulled from the palace fountain.
Shekiba took a step toward her and
felt two hands tighten on her arms. She looked over at King Habibullah. His arms were folded, a finger over his lips as he mouthed something. At the sound of Benafsha’s voice, he shook his head, lowered his gaze and walked away. He would not stay for the execution.
The soldiers shoveled the earth back around Benafsha until she was buried to her chest. She continued to twist and turn but she was deep in the ground and her arms stuck to her, useless. As the dirt piled up around her, she moved less but moaned louder. Shekiba closed her eyes and heard the wails: “Allahu akbar. Allahu akbar. Allahu . . .”
Suddenly a sharp yelp. Shekiba opened her eyes, startled. A thin line of darkness formed above the eye mesh of Benafsha’s burqa. Three stones lay near her.
It has started.
The soldiers bent over, picked stones from the arsenal before them and mouthed something before hurling them at Benafsha, the blue half person.
May Allah have mercy on you, Khanum Benafsha!
Her body jerked with each stone that hit her. The soldiers took turns. Picking, hurling, and moving to the back of the half circle. Ten minutes passed, a hundred stones. Benafsha’s voice grew weaker; she slumped forward, her burqa stained in a dozen places, dark circles bleeding toward one another. The earth around her grew dark as well, blood soaking into the soil. Two stones had ripped through the blue fabric, gashed flesh showed through the holes.
Shekiba turned around, unable to stomach any more. She saw the row of blue burqas behind a row of spectator soldiers. Benafsha was to be an example to the dozen or so who had been brought out to bear witness. As horrified as Shekiba, the blue cloaks were half turned away.
Stone after stone, scream after scream, until Benafsha went silent and still. The general raised his hand. The execution had been carried out.
CHAPTER 47
SHEKIBA
BENAFSHA’S LIMP BODY FLASHED OVER AND OVER in Shekiba’s mind as she received her own punishment. She had been sentenced to a hundred lashes, which were delivered precisely by one of the soldiers, a general standing watch over him. Shekiba had been made to kneel while they stood behind her, her wrists bound as Benafsha’s had been.