Read Online Shabanu by Suzanne Fisher Staples - Free Book Online Page B

Desert as soon as we leave the edge of the city. The heat shimmers from the ground shortly after Dadi and I set off at sunrise.
    “Are you sorry you have only daughters?” I ask. Dadi has been silent for some time.
    “God has been very good to us, and I’m not sorry about anything.” Dadi leads the camel, and I walk beside him, swinging my arms, listening to the tinkle of my glass bangles. I’ve learned to keep the
chadr
in place, and even to like the way it blows out behind me as I walk. I’ll never wrap it around me like a shroud, the way Phulan does.
    We stop to rest under a stand of thorn trees, and Dadi sits on a branch that runs along the ground. He unwinds his turban, and I notice the lines around the corners of his mouth and eyes.
    I feel better, and while the camel kneels, eating in the shade, I take the puppy out of his basket so he can relieve himself. I walk to the other side of the camel to take out
chapatis
and tea. Sher Dil pounces on the corner of my
chadr
, yanking my head back and landing me on my backside in the sand.
    Dadi throws his head back and laughs as I haven’t heard him laugh since we left Cholistan. I try to be dignified, but Sher Dil leaps on me as if I were another puppy. I laugh too.
    That night I wrap the
shatoosh
around me. For all its lightness, it’s warm as my quilt. I look up at the stars and am surprised at how brightly they pulse. I haven’t noticed them in a while.
    I scatter pieces of onion around us on the ground. Sher Dil climbs under the quilt. As I fall asleep I hear the ancientsymphony of the animals coming to the nearby
toba
to drink, the gong and plunk of their large brass bells muffled by the dunes.
    Cholistan, I am home!

Dowry
    Phulan and Mama
come running to meet us, their
chadrs
flying out behind them when we are still half a mile from home. Loping along behind is Mithoo, bigger by a head than he was when we left, his legs still too long and flying out in funny little kicks. Tears spring to my eyes, and I run, arms wide, to Mama and embrace her fiercely.
    Dadi joins us and we walk toward our hut, all talking at once.
    “We have dozens of new baby camels,” says Phulan, who wears a red
chadr
over her hair, her face lovely and golden in the full sun. I’m so pleased she has shed her pretensions and her black
chadr
that I hardly mind her insinuating she’s been looking after my job.
    As we near the huts Auntie waddles out, puffing noisily, my two cousins in tow. They’ve grown too.
    “Are these my pots?” asks Auntie, thumping the shining brass with her knuckles.
    “They’re good, heavy ones,” says Mama. “They’ll last longer than you will.” We use only clay pots.
    Auntie sniffs and inspects the rest of our cargo to see what else Uncle has sent from Rahimyar Khan.
    Sher Dil announces his presence with a loud “Yap! yap!” Auntie leaps backward and pulls her
chadr
over her nose. Phulan and I try not to laugh, but Phulan has to turn her head away.
    Mama reaches up and unlashes the basket, and my cousins jump up and down, squealing and clapping their hands. Sher Dil pushes the lid aside with his wet, black nose, blinks once, and recognizes the boys as what he’s been looking for: puppies to play with. They chase one another, and Sher Dil takes turns jumping on each cousin, licking their faces and barking with joy to be out of the basket. The boys turn him over to inspect him and rub his round belly. Sher Dil paws the air, whining happily.
    “We’ll have to keep our eye on him every second when we get to the settled area,” Mama says. She had been fond of the dog that was poisoned last year.
    We unload the camel, and I carry our cooking pots through the neatly swept courtyard. The curved mud walls and spiky thatch of the hut are welcoming, but I feel like a stranger. I stoop to enter, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. Metal cups and serving platters stand in neat, shiny rows against the wall. The reed mats feel fresh and smooth underfoot.