Bazigh Khan was a stout man with a red beard, and his business was butchery. Those who knew him understood that he was a man to frighten Iblis and his army of fallen angels. He was a man of myth. There were those who would swear blind that he was responsible for all chaos in the world, saying that when God ordered the angels to bow before Adam, it was Bazigh Khan who whispered in the ear of Iblis. Growing fat and arrogant on the butcher’s friendship, the devil raised a rebellion that took on the Lord of heaven and earth Himself.

In the real world, Bazigh Khan owned the country’s largest supplier of halal meat, and his produce was eaten in all the best restaurants, halal and haram alike. Today, he had personally taken it upon himself to prepare the roasting lamb, the baby chickens and the keema for chappal kebabs. This was his gift to his niece. After all, she had been raised in his arms and was his heart and honour.

‘You’re looking a little skinny, Benyamin jaan. Eat! Make us proud, like a real Pukhtun!’ he told his nephew.

‘Yeah yeah… Look, I’ve brought poison for all you REAL Pukhtun diabetics. It’s part of my plan to kill you all and take over the family business.’

‘It will take more than a little sugar to kill that old man!’ called a familiar-looking man stirring the curry pot on the stove. The wedding was awash with family; Benyamin wasn’t even sure how some of them were related to each other – they were ‘cousins’ and that was all he needed to know. ‘Have you not heard? Even the plague runs and hides from Bazigh Khan!’

And Bazigh Khan laughed wholeheartedly at his cousin’s words. The men’s lungs filled with air, their bellies with food. It was a good day to be alive. It had been too long since this house had heard such laughter.

‘Put the mithai in the dining room,’ Bazigh Khan said to his nephew. ‘It will start to smell of karahi if you leave it here.’

Benyamin took the basket into the dining room. He looked around for a place to leave it, but boxes of Maria’s wedding trousseau lined the walls. He was about to exit when he felt someone’s eyes on him. A woman with a familiar face, one much thinner than he remembered, was standing by the window. He flinched at the sight of her. She’d caught him off guard.

‘What are you doing here?’ he said. His voice was soaked in annoyance, the kind one saves for family. It surprised her.

‘Benny?’ she said. She’d been slow to recognise him.