Read Online Haveli by Suzanne Fisher Staples - Free Book Online
Authors: Suzanne Fisher Staples
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inside the back gate of the house. Shabanu was summoned for the recitation of an invitation from her family.
They had traveled to the edge of the desert, where they hoped she would join them to be with Phulan following the birth of her fourth son, the messenger said. The infant had come early, but both mother and child were well.
Just the sight of the soft-spoken desert man lifted her spirits. And a visit with Mama and Dadi, Phulan and Murad and their sons, Sharma and Fatima, and Auntie and her two sons couldn’t come at a better time!
The summons from her family was good enough reason to send her regrets for
Basant
. She wouldn’t miss seeing them for anything in the world!
Rahim wouldn’t return from Lahore for several days. When he wasn’t at Okurabad it didn’t matter much to him what she did, as long as he knew where she was and that she’d be there when he returned.
Without even placing a trunk call to Lahore to tell Rahim, Shabanu told the messenger to ask her father to come for her as soon as possible. She would be ready. She gave the messenger a ten-rupee note, which he refused. But she pressed it into his hand, and he folded the note into a package of country-made
bidi
cigarettes that smelled of cloves and tucked it into his breast pocket.
Early the next morning, a
tonga
cart carrying Shabanu’s father emerged from the cool mist of late spring. The servants made him wait outside the gate, but Zenat had been watching for him since before daylight. She ran to the stable yard to tell Shabanu and Mumtaz, who were ready and waiting.
Shabanu saw him through the gate. He stood in his embroidered slippers with turned-up toes beside the hired horse cart, his
lungi
and
kurta
clean and fresh, the breeze playing with the end of his turban. He looked awkward, his callused square hands hanging loosely at his sides, squinting at the wall as if puzzled by why it should stand between him and his daughter.
“Dadi!” she shouted, and he ran to the gate as she flung it wide. His beard was flecked with gray. But Mumtaz leaped into his arms, and he swung her high over his head. He was still strong and straight as a young man, and Mumtaz squealed with delight when he caught her, just as it seemed she would fall to the ground. Even Zenat gave a rare grin that showed the entire length of her wide-spaced loose teeth.
Shabanu and Zenat carried baskets of food and gifts of sugar and jasmine tea and cardamom and a large brass water pot for Phulan.
The morning held the promise of warmth in the fog that swirled around the pony cart as it made its way through the outer edge of the irrigated area. The acacia trees were pale and fragile with new growth.Even the meanest desert shrubs were misted in pale green veils of leaf buds.
Shabanu’s heart turned over and over again as they neared the dunes of the desert. Seeing the blue ribbon of smoke from her mother’s cooking fire curl lazily toward the sky, she could almost taste the sweet milky tea, and already she heard the camels’ growls and mutters, transporting her back in time to her Cholistan childhood.
Her family stood to greet her in a small clump, their bright cotton tunics like flowers against the pale gray sand.
Shabanu flew into her mother’s arms.
“Sh-, Sh-, Sh-, Shabanu,” her mother crooned softly, and cradled her youngest daughter’s head against her shoulder as she’d done when Shabanu was a child.
Her cousins, aged eight and ten, had grown tall and thin. Their hands were coarse and broad, but their faces were still soft and childlike.
Dadi held Mumtaz as if she were a treasure, and Choti pranced at his feet as if she too wanted to have a fuss made over her.
Mama’s face was lined deeply, though her shoulders were still straight and square. Phulan’s eyes were pinched at the corners, and pockets of flesh were forming beneath them. Creases had developed around her lovely mouth, although she had not long ago reached only her twentieth birthday.
The
They had traveled to the edge of the desert, where they hoped she would join them to be with Phulan following the birth of her fourth son, the messenger said. The infant had come early, but both mother and child were well.
Just the sight of the soft-spoken desert man lifted her spirits. And a visit with Mama and Dadi, Phulan and Murad and their sons, Sharma and Fatima, and Auntie and her two sons couldn’t come at a better time!
The summons from her family was good enough reason to send her regrets for
Basant
. She wouldn’t miss seeing them for anything in the world!
Rahim wouldn’t return from Lahore for several days. When he wasn’t at Okurabad it didn’t matter much to him what she did, as long as he knew where she was and that she’d be there when he returned.
Without even placing a trunk call to Lahore to tell Rahim, Shabanu told the messenger to ask her father to come for her as soon as possible. She would be ready. She gave the messenger a ten-rupee note, which he refused. But she pressed it into his hand, and he folded the note into a package of country-made
bidi
cigarettes that smelled of cloves and tucked it into his breast pocket.
Early the next morning, a
tonga
cart carrying Shabanu’s father emerged from the cool mist of late spring. The servants made him wait outside the gate, but Zenat had been watching for him since before daylight. She ran to the stable yard to tell Shabanu and Mumtaz, who were ready and waiting.
Shabanu saw him through the gate. He stood in his embroidered slippers with turned-up toes beside the hired horse cart, his
lungi
and
kurta
clean and fresh, the breeze playing with the end of his turban. He looked awkward, his callused square hands hanging loosely at his sides, squinting at the wall as if puzzled by why it should stand between him and his daughter.
“Dadi!” she shouted, and he ran to the gate as she flung it wide. His beard was flecked with gray. But Mumtaz leaped into his arms, and he swung her high over his head. He was still strong and straight as a young man, and Mumtaz squealed with delight when he caught her, just as it seemed she would fall to the ground. Even Zenat gave a rare grin that showed the entire length of her wide-spaced loose teeth.
Shabanu and Zenat carried baskets of food and gifts of sugar and jasmine tea and cardamom and a large brass water pot for Phulan.
The morning held the promise of warmth in the fog that swirled around the pony cart as it made its way through the outer edge of the irrigated area. The acacia trees were pale and fragile with new growth.Even the meanest desert shrubs were misted in pale green veils of leaf buds.
Shabanu’s heart turned over and over again as they neared the dunes of the desert. Seeing the blue ribbon of smoke from her mother’s cooking fire curl lazily toward the sky, she could almost taste the sweet milky tea, and already she heard the camels’ growls and mutters, transporting her back in time to her Cholistan childhood.
Her family stood to greet her in a small clump, their bright cotton tunics like flowers against the pale gray sand.
Shabanu flew into her mother’s arms.
“Sh-, Sh-, Sh-, Shabanu,” her mother crooned softly, and cradled her youngest daughter’s head against her shoulder as she’d done when Shabanu was a child.
Her cousins, aged eight and ten, had grown tall and thin. Their hands were coarse and broad, but their faces were still soft and childlike.
Dadi held Mumtaz as if she were a treasure, and Choti pranced at his feet as if she too wanted to have a fuss made over her.
Mama’s face was lined deeply, though her shoulders were still straight and square. Phulan’s eyes were pinched at the corners, and pockets of flesh were forming beneath them. Creases had developed around her lovely mouth, although she had not long ago reached only her twentieth birthday.
The
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