1 a vizier's daughter - Hazara.net

53
A VIZIER’S DAUGHTER – A TALE OF THE HAZARA WAR
My daughter must not arrive at these people’s house a beggar. What are
you thinking of, wife?”
“I am thinking there won’t be much left when this accursed war is
over,” the poor woman said , half-sobbing. “Ever ything is alwa ys
leaving the house. It’s seldom I ever see anything come in.”
“And yet we manage to live and have still something left,” her husband
said, trying to be gay, though he had seldom felt so broken down and
sad. “Go to your bed, wife, and don’t you troub le about clothes and
stores. I will see that the y are provided; you look after your cooking
and your children. That’s your department; never mind about the rest.
Leave that to me.”
“And am I not looking after my child when I come to see what Gul
Begum needs for her journey? Is she not one of my children? You seem
to think that she’s only yours.”
“I am his special one,” the girl said, smiling and nestling in to her
father’s side. “I am your pet, am I not, father?”
His only answer was to press her closer to him. “You won’t forget me,
Jan-e-man, will you?” he said jealously. “These strangers won’t turn
your heart away from your old father ?”
“These strangers?” the girl said proudly. “I shall not forget that they
are peasants. How could they, or any one,” she added more gently,
“estrange my thoughts from you? Far more likely you will forget me,
father, and will not remember that you have a daughter who is
watching and waiting every hour for you. Will you think of that when
shots are flying and knives are flashing, and sa y to yourself, ‘I have a
daughter; she would break her heart if I were killed. I am all she has in
the world to love and care for.’ Will you say that, father?”
“Yes, Gul Begum, I will say, ‘I have a daughter and she is young and
fair, and has a long life to live, and she must live in freedom and in
honour, and in peace and comfort, and mine is the arm that must strike
for her.’ That is what I shall say and think, my daughter. You would
not have me a coward, would you?”
“No, father, no. It is because you are so brave and grand, and such a
leader among our people, that I love and reverence you so; but, father,
a man can be prudent as well as brave. Will you promise to be
prudent?”
“It is my duty to be so where I can,” he said. “Our countr y cannot
afford to lose a soldier, still less a leader. You may depend on my
prudence, child,” and so they sat and talked far into the night, and
dawn found them still sitting together, clasped in each other’s arms –
but they were asleep.