Nadia Hashimi - The Pearl that Broke Its Shell

Rohila shrugged her shoulders and glanced over at Madar- jan . “She just lies around most of the time, just like Padar- jan . She cries a lot, especially when Khala Shaima comes over. That just makes Khala Shaima angrier.”

At the mention of her name, Khala Shaima looked in our direction. I expected her to give us a chastising look but she didn’t. She didn’t give a damn about decorum.

“Are you going to school?”

“Sometimes. Depends on what Padar- jan says. Sometimes, when she’s taken Padar- jan ’s medicine, I have to stay home to clean up and get Madar- jan up and dressed. If Bibi- jan sees her the way she is, there’s always a big fight.”

Sitara stared at the ground but I could tell she was listening to our hushed conversation. She looked so timid, so different from the inquisitive little girl I’d left behind. I looked back to see Madar- jan wiping tears away, muttering angrily and fidgeting in her chair. I stared at her cheekbones, the lost look in her eyes. She was every emotion and blank at once. She was as badly addicted as my father.

Madar- jan, what’s become of you?

My stomach sank when I thought of what might happen to my sisters. I prayed for God to keep Khala Shaima alive and present in their lives. I pushed away the thought that they would be addicts soon too.

Things were worse than I’d let myself believe, even with Khala Shaima’s dismal updates.

“Rahima, why isn’t Shahla here?”

Shahla hadn’t been allowed to come. She had just delivered her second child and it wasn’t proper for her to be out of the home in her condition. I wondered how she had taken the news, alone and so far from the rest of us.

Respects had been paid. The prayers were complete. The women repeated the procession, again wishing for Allah to ease our suffering, praying for Parwin’s place among the angels in heaven and to themselves thinking it was in her best interests that she put herself out of her handicapped and childless misery. I wanted them all to disappear so I could spend this precious time with my mother and sisters.

The fateha passed quickly. I was back at the compound, but even more miserable. Madar- jan was in bad shape. Rohila had taken over as matriarch. How had this happened to us? I was the only one of my sisters who’d had a chance to live any kind of childhood at all, and that was only because I’d been a bacha posh . I looked at my son and thanked God for making him a boy. His lips turned up in a cheerful smile, his eyelashes so long they looked like they could get tangled. At least he had a chance.

I wanted to be alone but there was little possibility of that at the compound. With the fateha over, so was my period of mourning. I was expected to resume my duties. Bibi Gulalai treated me just as she always had, if not worse. I think she had convinced herself that Parwin’s suicide had been a purposeful attack on her family. With Parwin gone, I took the fall for the tragedy she’d brought to her extended family.

I ignored everything and everyone. I carried out my duties, often with Jahangir a few feet away, playing or napping. I watched him wistfully, vowing to be better to him than my mother was being to my sisters. Thankfully, Abdul Khaliq had no trouble clothing and feeding his family. Jahangir was his son, as much as the other boys in the house. He would go to school and enjoy the privileges that came with being a warlord’s son.

And his father loved him in a way that surprised and relieved me. Abdul Khaliq kept his daughters at arm’s length but his sons stayed at his side. The older boys even joined their father in some of his meetings. The younger ones nervously scattered when Abdul Khaliq came home, afraid of getting yelled at for spending too much time playing. He didn’t have much patience for crying babies but he would watch them while they slept. Except for my son. Often, I caught him gently stroking Jahangir’s cheek or whispering something into his ear. He held him with the same adoration I did. He chuckled when Jahangir spilled things and his chest swelled with pride to hear him say “ baba, ” as if he were hearing the word for the first time. The rhythmic breathing of his sleeping son calmed even his foulest of moods. I was happy Jahangir was a favorite, knowing I never would be. At least my son was safe.

The older boys, my son’s brothers, both feared and adored their father. They vied for his attention and looked for ways to make him happy — or at least not angry. The older boys stood tall when they recited suras from the Qur’an and the younger ones would bring him his sandals when he asked. He was proud to have boys. He smiled for them, and for little else.

My husband was spending more and more time with foreigners and the men he kept around as close advisers. Plans were brewing. The wives were on edge, though only Badriya knew why. If things were not going well for Abdul Khaliq, then things would not be going well for us. When we asked Badriya, she brushed us off dismissively.

“Don’t bother yourselves worrying about it. He’s worked up because he’s renegotiating the arrangement he has with some of these people. It’s too complicated to explain to you,” she would say, not wanting to divulge the knowledge that set her apart from the rest of us. As his first wife, he discussed these matters with her. It was really the only interaction he had with her since he rarely called her to his bed. Everyone had a role in the house. That was hers.

But walls were thin and I spent most of my time at the main part of the house. I started to hear things when Abdul Khaliq and his men sat in the living room.

“They’ve got five more open seats for the province. The seat from our region needs to be filled. There are a few other powerful men who will be looking to step in and challenge you, Abdul Khaliq, but a woman candidate would be a sure thing. She would take the seat without question because of these stupid rules they’ve created.”

“I don’t like this idea. Why should we put a woman in a man’s place? And even worse, you’re asking me to put my wife in my place? Since when do we have a woman do a man’s job?”

“I understand that, sahib, truly. And, believe me, I don’t like it any more than you do, but these are the rules. I’m simply suggesting we find a way to work around the system so that we don’t lose all control over this area. The elections are coming up soon. We must plan for this.”

“Damn whoever decided on these shameful rules! Telling us we have to have women representatives? They have no business there! Who do they think is going to look after the children then?”

His advisers were silent. I could hear my husband pacing, grunting. I was surprised at what I was hearing. It sounded like they were suggesting that one of Abdul Khaliq’s wives run in the upcoming parliamentary election! Would he really even consider such a move? We wives rarely left the compound. How could he possibly send us out to interact with strangers?

I looked at the clock on the wall. Jahangir had been sleeping for forty minutes. He would be waking up soon. And Khala Shaima had promised to come over today. Tomorrow would mark forty days since Parwin’s death.

“I’m simply presenting an option, sahib . I know it’s not an attractive one but it may be our only one. I just don’t want you to lose the opportunity to have some influence in the government. You’re already in good position with the contracts you’ve secured.”

Smoke wafted from under the doorway, the acrid, thick smell of opium. My mind drifted home, to my father asleep in the living room and my mother sewing our clothes.