Nadia Hashimi - The Pearl that Broke Its Shell

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.

Tradition hadn’t lost importance between Bibi Shekiba’s time and now.

Our home was tense all week. Madar- jan ’s hands trembled. She dropped forks and food while her mind wandered and worried. I caught her watching me and my sisters. Shahla shook her head and Parwin made comments that made Madar- jan burst into tears.

“The pigeons look sad today. As if their friends all flew away and now they have no one to talk to.” Parwin looked up from her paper. She’d sketched five birds, each flying off in a different direction.

My mother took one look at the drawing, covered her mouth with her hand and went to talk to Padar- jan . We heard yelling and the sound of glass breaking. She returned to us, her lip quivering and a dustpan full of glass shards in her hands.

My father spoke with our grandfather and summoned my uncles to join us at the house. Kaka Haseeb, Jamaal and Fareed showed up along with Boba- jan . They looked solemn. I wondered what Padar- jan had told them.

As promised, Abdul Khaliq’s family returned in the afternoon. My sisters and I had Sitara look out the window and tell us what she saw.

“Lots of people,” she said.

Madar- jan came back into the room with us, leaving the discussion to the patriarchs of our compound. She had tried several times to talk to my father but to no avail. He was not interested in hearing her. She stood in our doorway and craned her neck to hear down the hall. In our small home, we could hear every word of the conversation.

“Thank you, agha-sahib, for coming today and joining your sons for this important discussion. Our family takes these matters very seriously and we come to you with the best of intentions. This is an issue of honor and family. We have known each other for many years. Our fathers were born and buried in the same soil. We are nearly kin,” Abdul Khaliq’s father said.

“I have a great deal of respect for your family and always have,” Boba- jan said simply. It was up to the suitors to do the talking.

“And it is for this reason that we have come to this home. We believe that your granddaughter would make an excellent match for my son Abdul Khaliq, whom this village has come to respect and appreciate for defending our people and our homes for years.”

“Our people owe him a debt of gratitude. He has shown great bravery.”

“Then you will agree that he would be an honorable husband for your granddaughter.”

“Well,” Boba- jan said slowly. I could picture my father’s eyes on my grandfather, hoping he would stick to what they had rehearsed. “With the highest respect, Agha Khaliq… we have concerns, which I believe my son Arif expressed to you last week. I understand you are speaking of Rahim. We agree that he… she has been kept as a bacha posh for too long and should be returned to what Allah created. But, still, there are two sisters before her, and as you know tradition dictates that—”

“This is understood and we have already discussed your other two granddaughters. We have here again my nephews Abdul Sharif and Abdul Haidar. Each of them will be honored to take a daughter as a wife. Even better to further strengthen the ties between our families.”

“Hmm,” Boba- jan said, considering the proposal. My father cleared his throat.

“My second daughter — you probably do not know this, but she was born with a lame leg. She limps…”

“No matter. She will not be a first wife anyway. I’ve seen lame-legged women bear children. You should be happy then, anyway. Unlikely you would otherwise marry her off.”

“Yes, unlikely…”

Three daughters married off at once would be a huge burden lifted from my father’s inept shoulders. While his mind toyed with the idea, my uncle Fareed spoke.

“Abdul Khaliq Khan, sahib, you honor us with your proposals but… but my family also has traditions. I don’t mean to insult you but there is something that has been passed down through generations…”

“I can respect tradition. What is it?” I could hear annoyance in his voice. He was losing patience with our family, having had to make a second trip. He’d acquired his last wife with much less fuss.

“Well, my family traditionally asks for a large bride price for our daughters and I am embarrassed to bring up matters of money with a man such as yourself, but it is something that I cannot brush under the carpet. This goes back generations and to break from what our ancestors…”

My father must have been nervous. The bride price was the critical part he and his brothers had discussed.

I could tell by my mother’s face that my uncle was lying. She was trying to read through the wall if Abdul Khaliq was buying his story.

“What is it?”

“Excuse me?”

“How much is the bride price?”

“It’s — as I’ve said, I’m embarrassed to be discussing this but it’s quite hefty. It’s… it’s one million afghanis,” he said finally. My mother and I nearly choked at the amount. We’d never heard of such a large figure!

“One million afghanis? I see,” he said, and turned to one of the men with a gun slung over his shoulder. “Bahram,” he said simply. We heard the door open and close. The room was silent until Bahram returned. Abdul Khaliq was tired of cajoling.

We heard a soft thump. Abdul Khaliq began speaking again. “That should cover it,” he said simply. “You’ll have plenty there to cover the bride price of each of your three daughters. Of course, as family, we will share with you some of the products of the land to the north. Perhaps that would be of interest to you.” I knew my father’s eyes were bulging at the promise of opium. My mother shook her head.

“Now we need only arrange the nikkah date for these three unions. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I… I suppose… Abdul Khaliq, sahib, what about a wedding? A celebration?” Usually there was something. Guests, food, music.

“I don’t think that’s really necessary. My cousins and I, we’ve all had weddings. The most important thing is to have the marriage done properly with a mullah . For that, I’ll bring my friend Haji- sahib .” He waved his hand in the direction of the bag. “Now that this matter has been settled, I’m sure you agree that the nikkah is the most important part.”