Haveli by Suzanne Fisher Staples

Author:Suzanne Fisher Staples
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780375985881
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2011-03-01T22:00:00+00:00

chapter 13

O mar’s schedule continued to be filled with lavish entertainments arranged by relatives and friends wishing him well in his approaching marriage. Shabanu heard of caravans of thirty vehicles, carrying as many tents, and fifty servants for week-long hunts for the bustard and other rare birds of Cholistan; of wooden barges rafted six across floating down the Indus River, carrying bands of musicians and tables mounded with food; and of lavish dinners under billowing shamiyana with embroidered walls of primary colors in geometric patterns, silver candelabra, and whole oxen roasted outside under the stars.

Shabanu began to guess that Omar had been caught in the moment—that he might have intended to visit her in the summer pavilion but was too busy celebrating his approaching marriage. For more than a week she felt bereft. Then she was angry that he had made a promise he had no intention of keeping.

Overriding her dizzying feelings was a sense of danger. If this went any further, she thought, there would be no turning back. If she and Omar met and Rahim found out—the thought made her shudder. For as kind and gentle as Rahim was, the law of the land prevailed: Shabanu’s sin of desiring another man was punishable by death at the hands of her husband.

She knew she must stop thinking of Omar. Still, the thought of him made her emotions swirl within her so that she began to wonder whether she’d lost her senses.

She filled her time with lessons, Zabo’s plans, play with Mumtaz, and a secret project.

One still evening when Zabo had gone to bed early, Rahim was out, Selma was going to a reception in the Cantonment, and Mumtaz was asleep, she had supper alone in her room. She was not hungry and was anxious to go to the roof and see what the summer pavilion would need to make it habitable. But she ate anyway, because it had become a habit at Okurabad, where rumors would circulate if a meal tray was returned to the kitchen untouched.

There was a light tap on the door. Selma stuck her head in.

“I wanted to see you a minute before I go out,” she said.

“Come in!” said Shabanu, looking up from her dinner. “I’m just finishing.” She patted the charpoi beside her. She wondered whether the turmoil she felt had found its way to her face and if Selma, who missed nothing, had seen it.

“I don’t want to disturb you,” said Selma. “I’ll stay only a minute.”

“I’m finished,” Shabanu said. She poured water over her fingers into a small basin and wiped them dry. A servant came and cleared her dishes. This seemed to take a very long time.

“What is it?” she asked, for Selma’s brow was furrowed and her hands were clasped before her so tightly that the skin on her knuckles was pale and shiny.

“Has Nazir spoken to you?” Selma asked.

“To me? He’s hardly ever spoken to me. Why?”

“Well, it’s very odd. I was out behind the kitchen helping Shaheen pluck chickens.

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