The guests were feasting; the air was scented with tender lamb, hot roasting coals and warm naan, and rang with the sound of rhythmic clapping and singing. The smells and noise drifted in through the open doors as Jia watched her brother walk across the lawn towards their father. The old man was laughing and dancing with her mother; she was pushing him playfully away and he was bringing her back into his arms. Benyamin joined them, his father enveloping him in a hearty embrace. It was rare to see Akbar smile. It was rarer still to see him laugh so heartily. As Jia watched the garden full of merriment, her heart filled with memories of Zan Khan. She moved back into the shadows, waiting for the longing to pass.

CHAPTER 10

Akbar Khan quickly descended the staircase of his home. His wife had been fussing over his attire and he had kept the men waiting longer than he deemed acceptable. Twelve of them, all immaculately dressed, were sitting patiently in the study.

The room spanned the length of the house, its large bay windows, covered with heavy velvet curtains, faced each other at opposite ends. The Khan’s antique desk sat in front of one of these windows, a leather captain’s chair behind it. Across from it was a tall, carved wooden jhoola, the kind of cradle swing found in the homes of feudal families of Pakistan and the royalty of pre-partition India. Matching chairs lined the sides of the room, each one intricately carved from rosewood with a small table beside it. Each one filled except for one.

The talk was small, of the weather and Eid and Hajj, and ended with Akbar Khan’s arrival. Each man stepped forward to shake his hand and they embraced thrice, as was the custom, multiplying between them the greeting of peace.

Akbar Khan surveyed his men. They were his brothers in arms. Although their work was not an appropriate subject at other weddings, it was welcome at Pukhtun House. Akbar Khan knew his men were here today as much for connection as for celebration. They needed to hear him speak, the way congregants need their preacher on Fridays.

He thought carefully before he addressed them. ‘One mouth but two ears,’ his mother used to say, and he had taken it to heart.

‘Our role on this earth, my brothers, is to serve God and to assist His people,’ he said. ‘We understand that this is the dunya and not the jannah. This world is meant as a trial. It is harsh on the believers, and its pain will not cease until we are in the ground. As holders of this knowledge it is imperative that we ease that pain in whatever way we can. Even if the world judges us harshly. Remember this, that you and I are believers, and the world itself is a prison for the believer.’