Equal of the Sun A Novel - By Anita Amirrezvani Page 0,53
accompany the shah wherever he wished to take them—to one of his other palaces, on a hunting trip, or to a picnic. With permission and with escorts, older women could travel to visit the households of their sons. Other cases were decided as the need arose.
“Ah, Javaher! You can’t expect me to reveal all of my secrets,” Pari replied with a toss of her snowy hair.
The expression on my face sent Maryam into fresh fits of laughter.
The coronation celebration was a masterstroke on the part of the Shah. He had finally thrown us a crumb of joy, and we gobbled it up as if it were a whole meal. It was followed by three days of leisure, during which Sultanam invited her son and all the women of the harem to a picnic in the countryside. The women immediately began preparing and packing luxurious foods and games, excited by the rare outing. The whole household was busy until Friday morning, when we set out right after morning prayers. I left the palace with a group of eunuchs armed with daggers and swords as part of the advance party; we rode for about an hour until we arrived at the palace’s favorite picnicking spot near a river, and eunuch guards were posted around a huge perimeter so that no men would accidentally wander into the women’s sphere.
It was a clear, hot day, the hawks zooming overhead as if racing with the clouds, the mountains bluish in the morning light. The day before, servants had staked large tents to provide shade and laid down mats and cushions. Archery targets had been set up, and games like chess and backgammon, as well as balls for the children, were placed a safe distance away. Fires had been laid for barbecuing meat and boiling rice, and an oven dug in the earth to bake bread.
A cloud of dust announced the arrival of those royal women who were adept at riding. The army of Arabian horses, so beautiful in dappled shades of white, tan, and brown, bore hundreds of chador-wrapped women on embroidered saddles with red, yellow, and silver fringes. Some rode sidesaddle, but Pari rode like a man, leading the pack with the grace of a soldier.
Older women and children followed not long after in carved wooden palanquins that had left the palace earlier in the day. Isma‘il had ridden separately, with his own guard, and when he approached the site, he sent his guards far away. Then the ladies shed their head and face coverings, revealing bright short-sleeved robes, padded trousers, and low boots.
We breakfasted on tea, cheese, nuts, fruit, and puffy bread fresh out of the oven. Pari and her mother jumped up and began strolling arm in arm near the river, talking animatedly. Other women followed, their girls in tow; the herbalists among them collected plants. Boys kicked off their shoes and dared each other to get wet in the river; others played with balls or wrestled. Massoud Ali observed them, his shoulders sagging. I called him over to the games area and taught him the rudiments of backgammon. He picked it up quickly, and when I praised him, I was rewarded with a shy smile. I found another novice player for him to test himself against and watched their young foreheads pucker with concentration as the game deepened.
Khadijeh and Isma‘il had mounted their Arabian mares; they spurred their horses and disappeared into the distance in a mock race. All the unmarried women followed them with their eyes, watching Isma‘il’s horse overtake hers. When they returned, Khadijeh’s cheeks were glowing like the moon, and for a bitter moment, I hoped she would not take pleasure in his male parts.
Before lunch, Isma‘il invited Pari to shoot with him, and we all gathered around the archery range. Women spoke together so excitedly that Balamani and Anwar had to march to opposite ends of the field and demand silence. Finally, all was ready, and Pari stepped onto the range. I was eager to see how well she could shoot. Her brown cotton robe draped gracefully over her long, lean body as she threaded an arrow between her fingers, placed its nock against the bowstring, drew it back to her cheek, and fired. The arrow obediently struck a target, and her ladies ululated so loudly that the air seemed to vibrate with their high-pitched cheer. One voice was higher and louder than the others: Maryam’s.
Pari waved her hand to indicate that no further ululation would be