Part 19 (1/2)
”In time, the landscape changed from barrenness to plenty, and Muballigh knew he had arrived in a new country.
”Here were fields of ripening crops and orchards heavy with fruit. Animals grazed the land and people worked in the fields.
”But as he approached them, he was surprised to find that the people he had seen were not cheerful peasants. They looked more like slaves, toiling joylessly on the rich land, carrying huge loads on their backs, bending unsmiling to their work.
”When Muballigh entered a village, he found no children playing. No veiled housewives gossiped at the village well, but through the windows of the houses he saw richly dressed men and women lolling on cus.h.i.+ons, laughing, eating, and drinking.
”A dirty-faced child pa.s.sed him, carrying a tray of sweetmeats. When Muballigh asked her how to find the king's palace, she did not reply, but only pointed a thin hand toward a distant, gleaming city before hurrying away.”
”But why was the girl's face dirty?” asked Saboor. ”Why was her hand thin if she had sweets on her tray?”
”She was poor,” his great-aunt whispered. ”She had to work. But you must listen to the rest of the story.
”The city was both rich and beautiful. The carved gate to the palace had been polished until it glowed, and the gateway itself was inlaid with precious stones.
”A sumptuously dressed gatekeeper looked Muballigh up and down.
” 'I have come to see the king,' said Muballigh. 'I bring a message for his ears alone.'
”The gatekeeper clapped his hands. When a poor old man appeared, he pointed to a grand, nearby building. 'Take this person to the palace,' he ordered.
” 'The Vizier,' he said loftily, turning to Muballigh, 'will decide whether or not you will be allowed into the king's presence.'
”Muballigh followed the old man across inlaid courtyards and down painted corridors until he came to the king's Vizier, who lounged on a priceless carpet, surrounded by attendants.
” 'Who are you?' he demanded, curling his lip at Muballigh's travel-worn clothes. 'How dare you enter the king's antechamber?'
” 'I bring a message from my king,' Muballigh replied patiently, 'who rules the land beyond the Kingdom of Despair. The message is for your king's ears alone.'
” 'Very well.' The Vizier toyed with a thick rope of pearls around his neck. 'If your message proves to be as important as you believe it is, then you will escape with your life. But if it is as trivial as your appearance indicates, then before evening your head will adorn a spike on the palace wall.' ”
”Why was he going to kill poor Muballigh?” Saboor demanded in a stage whisper. ”He was only doing what his king asked him to-”
”Quiet.” His great-aunt held a finger to her lips. ”Like Muballigh's message, this story is for your ears alone.” She glanced about the sitting room, taking in a group of soporific old ladies with thin quilts over their legs, and some children playing with a tangle of colored threads. ”If the others learn that I am telling it, I shall have to start from the beginning.
”Muballigh was frightened by the Vizier's threat,” she continued, ”but he bravely followed the slave into an inner room. There, lying on a pile of brocade cus.h.i.+ons, was the king. He was fat as a baby, and covered from head to foot in jewels. Slaves fanned him with enormous feather fans, musicians played, and young female slaves danced before him.
” 'I have no need of messages,' he announced, when Muballigh told him why he had come. 'But for all I know, yours might amuse me. Speak.'
”Muballigh leaned over him. 'True happiness lies only in the faithful heart,' 'True happiness lies only in the faithful heart,' he murmured in his tenderest voice. he murmured in his tenderest voice.
”The king threw back his head and laughed aloud. 'I have never heard anything so funny,' he gasped, wiping his eyes. 'Happiness lies in the, what did you say, the faithful heart?'
”He slapped the nearest eunuch on the back, then collapsed onto his cus.h.i.+ons. 'I'll tell you where happiness lies,' he choked out. 'It is here, in this very room.
” 'What,' he crowed, gesturing about the sumptuous chamber, 'could make a man happier than to have defeated his enemy? Do you see these slaves who fan me? They are the sons of my brother, the King of Despair. These dancing girls are his daughters. My lands are tilled and tended by his people so that my own subjects do no work. All this wealth and happiness comes from one thing alone, my cleverness at defeating my enemy.
” 'Go your way, young man,' he added, mirthfully, 'and give your useless message to someone foolish enough to believe it. Throw him out,' he ordered the guards, 'but spare his life, for he has told me a fine joke.'
”Before he knew it Muballigh found himself lying in a heap outside the palace gate.”
”Poor Muballigh,” whispered Saboor.
”Sorely disappointed,” Safiya continued, ”he took the road leading to the next kingdom, but soon, too discouraged to travel any farther, he sat down and dropped his head into his hands. At once, a voice came from a tall dead tree nearby.
” 'Now that you have wasted your message on the King of Greed,' said the bird, 'will you return to your home?'
” 'No, Bird,' Muballigh said sadly.
” 'If you wish for my help,' it added, 'you need only tell me the secret you carry.'
”When Muballigh did not reply, it flapped its great wings and flew away. Soon it was only a speck in the sky almost too small to see.
”And that is all for today.” Tired of speaking, Safiya sighed and leaned gratefully against her bolster. An instant later, she sat up, frowning.
Small, miserable sounds were coming from the child.
”Now what is the matter, Saboor?” she inquired.
”I want to go ho-o-o-me.”
She drew him to her and stroked his face. ”We will go home soon. Very soon.”
”I want An-nah.” His tears dotted Safiya Sultana's kameez. kameez. ”Why is everything so sad, Bhaji? Why is poor Muballigh all alone? Why does Abba not bring An-nah home from Kabul?” ”Why is everything so sad, Bhaji? Why is poor Muballigh all alone? Why does Abba not bring An-nah home from Kabul?”
”Tch,” Safiya clucked. ”Your Abba is leaving soon for Kabul. Inshallah, he will bring your An-nah home safely.”
But the child would not be comforted. ”And why,” he sobbed, ”is Muballigh alone? The bird keeps going away, and-”
Safiya sighed. ”Hai ”Hai, Saboor, it is only a story. But since you will not stop weeping, I suppose I shall have to tell you the rest of it.”
November 15, 1841 It will not be long now.” Zulmai the merchant hitched his jezail on his shoulder and surveyed the heap of tents, piles of furniture, oil lamps, and other supplies lying before him on the dusty ground. ”I expect to have twenty more yabus yabus and a dozen mules within fifteen days. By that time that caravan I spoke of will be at Kohat, ready to leave.” and a dozen mules within fifteen days. By that time that caravan I spoke of will be at Kohat, ready to leave.”
”Fifteen days?” Ha.s.san gestured impatiently at the busy caravanserai that boiled around them. ”Why should it take so long to find pack animals? I see camels and ponies everywhere. Why can we not buy camels, and join some other caravan that is leaving earlier?”
”Those kafilas are not taking our route,” Zulmai answered patiently, ”and we cannot use camels, for a camel will not climb. As for the delay, everyone is traveling at this season. The mules and yabus in the market are thin and overworked. Fresh ones will not arrive for another ten days. But do you really want that many?” he added doubtfully. ”Surely you do not need all these extra tents and-”
”I want them all,” Ha.s.san Ali Khan said decisively. ”Who knows what we will find when we reach Kabul? There may be women and children who need our help.”
Ghulam Ali looked up from the bale of rezais he was tying. This heap of baggage, with its thick carpets, heavy bolsters, and satin quilts, was easily as lavish as that of the Tajik wedding party he had joined on his way to Jalalabad, but it was fitting that Ha.s.san should travel in luxury. After all, he was a rich man on his way to Kabul to collect his wife and bring her home.
If Ha.s.san Ali Khan were traveling with his own family instead of an Afghan merchant, if his beautiful Akhal Tekke horse were white, not gray, and if his wife were a veiled stranger instead of the woman who had braved the violent streets of Lah.o.r.e to save his life, this might be a wedding procession, and Ha.s.san the groom on his way to take possession of his bride.
Of course when they arrived, there would be no one to put flower garlands about Ha.s.san's neck as they did in the Punjab, or greet him with hospitality and respect.
”We will carry all our food,” Ha.s.san went on. ”I want to avoid the villages on our route. There is no point in risking shortages along the way, and I want us to draw as little attention as possible.”