‘I have called you here for the last time as members of the Jirga,’ she said, her voice full of authority, her words absolute. ‘As of tomorrow my father’s Jury will be retired and a new Jirga sworn in. They are your sons, and they have shown themselves worthy. They were prepared to put their lives on the line for the good of our people. I hope you will show them respect.’

These were clever men, they were smart men; they had left their homes and travelled to a foreign land and they had succeeded in their hopes of providing security for their children. Jia knew that they were aware of her plans to place them in retirement. She would not disrespect them by assuming otherwise.

‘I assure you that we will continue to follow the ways of the Jirga and in doing so seek your consultation in major decisions,’ she said. ‘Shura is the way of the Quran, it has always been the way of the Khans, and I will honour that. You have worked hard for us. Now it is time for you to rest and for us to work for you. People of honour stand by their word,’ she said.

The men nodded in agreement. The daughter of Akbar Khan had proved herself worthy. She had exacted badal and she had brought their sons together under one banner. They were pleased. The one or two dissident voices among them had been quietened, if not by the actions of Jia Khan, then by fellow members of the Jirga. Unity made them strong. It had been this way for centuries. A divided Jirga could lead to bloodshed and decades of unrest in business and matrimonial matters. Many of the men had daughters and they had secretly been worried about their futures. But the new Khan had allayed those fears. After all, she was a woman and had an understanding of these things.

Jia spoke again. ‘Rest assured that I am responsible for those who call me their Khan. And I will honour that responsibility until my death.’

It was time. Each man turned and placed his hand on the shoulder of the one in front and took the centuries-old oath. The sound of their voices rippled through the house as their emotions overcame them. Promising to honour the laws of Pukhtunwali and keep the covenant of secrecy, they were now bound to each other and their Khan by more than blood. Jia pulled her chador over her head and tight round her shoulders. One by one, the men came forward, each one placing his hand on her head, offering words of prayer and praise. She was their sister, their mother, their honour. What was said within the confines of the Khan’s study could not be repeated outside those four walls. And what was confided to the Khan by a Jirga member was sacred and secret.