‘We must make preparations for the Janaza and for his afterlife. I have given orders for five hundred poor families to be given flour and meat and provisions across the provinces of our people. I hope you feel it is enough. We can do more if you so wish.’

Sanam Khan nodded without really listening. She was unable to focus on the afterlife of her husband while her son’s earthly life was in the balance.

‘There will be time to mourn my father, Lala,’ Jia said softly but firmly. ‘Right now our concern must be for Benyamin. We don’t know how much time we have. Please tell us again everything you know.’

It was beginning to get light by the time Bazigh Khan finished recounting the night’s events. Unbeknown to him, his brother had sent men to bring news of Benyamin after he failed to show up for the rukhsati.

‘He received a call soon after the wedding,’ Bazigh Khan said. ‘I must have just left. The men had found out that Benyamin was being held by a group called the Brotherhood in the old textile mills.’

The factories had once been the financial backbone of the city, a flourishing industry that had attracted workers from India and Pakistan, feeding their families and changing the course of their lives. Then everything changed. The workers stayed but the work travelled to the countries they had once called home. The mills remained dormant for decades until regeneration projects opened them up again. The Khan had business interests in these buildings and some of his foot soldiers owned apartments there. It wouldn’t have taken long for the information about Benyamin to reach him.

Bazigh Kahn groaned again. ‘I wish I had known what was going on. I would have stopped him going. I could have handled the situation myself.’

‘He would not have listened to you. You know what Baba was like.’

‘You must not think ill of your father, Jia, he was a brave man,’ said Bazigh Khan. ‘We will defend your honour, and when Ben jaan is home and our Khan is buried, we will have vengeance – we will invoke badal. As his eldest child, you are the only one capable of doing what must be done. The law of Pukhtunwali demands it.’

‘This life of ours has already swallowed one of my children – must it take more?’ said Sanam Khan. She was tired and unable to hold it together any longer. The tears came and she wept.

Jia wiped her mother’s eyes. ‘We will find a way to fix this,’ she said.