1 a vizier's daughter - Hazara.net

24
A VIZIER’S DAUGHTER – A TALE OF THE HAZARA WAR
CHAPTER V
PREPARATIONS FOR A JOURNEY
“WHAT? Two clean shirts and two pairs of white trousers? Nonsense,
Gul Begum, your father can’t have said that; he must have meant that
he wished the shirt he went away in to be a clean one, and another with
him to change. No man could want two spare shirts. I would venture to
say that your uncle would not take one. He’ll not be more than a month
away.”
“He said, ‘Get two shirts ready for me to take with me, new ones if
possible; I can ride in an old one, and I want two pairs of white
trousers. I shall ride in barak, but I want the others with me; it will be
hot.’”
“And who’s to make them, I shall like to know; and where is so much
stuff to come from?” the elder woman went on fretfully.
“There’s plent y in the store, enough for a dozen shirts,” her daughter
said, “I’ll cut them out now, and Dilbhar can set to work at once, and
Shereen will help, and you, too, my flower,” she said, stooping down to
fondle a child of about nine years old, and who, from her resemblance
to the speaker, would have been recognised anywhere as her sister.
“Then where is Fatina? She can sew well; and, mother, you can help.
Why, it will be all done by to-morrow.”
“I will not have two shirts cut out until I’ve seen your father myself,
it’s quite unheard of; I’m sure you’ve made a mistake, Gul Begum.”
“I’ve made no mistake, and I don’t see why it should be unheard of –
the old one for the road and two to change about when he gets to
Kabul. It seems to me just what he ought to have.”
“Oh yes, it would just suit you, only you would travel in a new o ne and
have the store cupboard left full too, as well as the saddle-bags, and I
suppose the y would all be gold embroidered. We shall never get you
married, girl. Why, the man does not live that could keep such a wife.”
“The men don’t seem to agree with yo u, mother,” the girl retorted,
smiling, a strange light in her eyes, a smile of pride and conscious
power on her lips – a smile that seemed to say, “There are so many, it
is for me to choose, not they, and yet I choose none, I put them all
aside, I will have none of them. The hero of my dreams has not
appeared, he has yet to come forward . Where is he?” and then the light
and the smile slowly faded and gave way to a certain sadness that
seemed to ask, “Will he come? Will he ever come? This ideal, this
hero. Perhaps not, probably never, and then what?”