Beyond the kitchen and hidden in the heart of the bakery was a large, windowless conference room. A select few knew of its existence, and if its whitewashed walls could talk, they would have destroyed many a powerful man. The room was a place of shura, of consultation, and this was the way of the Jirga. Akbar Khan had long held that debate and discussion gave people a sense of control over their destiny, and prevented rebellion, and he had encouraged it in his tribesmen. Consultation was the closest they came to democracy.

Today, the room was empty of most of its furniture, the twelve leather armchairs that were usually there having been replaced by white cotton sheets spread across a polished parquet floor. The Jirga sat cross-legged, their heads covered with soft prayer hats and bowed in solemnity. Some of them prayed silently, some a little louder, others discussed personal matters quietly between themselves.

Their Khan had gone on to the next world, leaving them in a place between life and death; their affairs were unfinished, their questions unanswered. They needed a leader who could bring them together. Like fatherless children they waited for someone to show them the way. They waited for the child of their Khan, as was tradition, but a woman had not led their people in centuries and few had faith in her abilities.

‘Of course, nowadays these youngsters want to put us aside and think for themselves, as though we are stupid and know nothing of the world!’ Sher Khan said to one of his fellow Jirga members. While his sons had been in prison, they had developed opinions that did not sit right with him. He wanted to hand over his responsibilities as a Jirga member, but he had little faith in their ability to step into his shoes. He had been relying on the Khan’s power and wisdom to bring them into line. With Akbar Khan gone he was forced to seek counsel elsewhere. ‘What are we to do?’ he said. ‘I am afraid our ways will die if something is not done. Akbar Khan promised to help but now he has passed to the next life, may Allah be pleased with him, and I do not know where we will turn for answers.’

The man beside him nodded in understanding; the demise of their homeland and scant hope of pure-blood Pukhtun grandchildren in this new land concerned them greatly. A way would have to be found to navigate issues of marriage and still maintain family loyalties. But for now it would have to wait. The Khan was gone and rumours of a rebellion were surfacing. The limbo in which they found themselves could quickly turn to purgatory if plans were not put in place to restore faith.