The Pearl That Broke Its Shell

“She knew my sisters would be the hardest to convince. Everyone else—teachers, aunts, uncles, neighbors—they would accept my mother’s new son without reservation. I wasn’t the first bacha posh. This was a common tradition for families in want of a son. What Madar-jan was already dreading was the day they would have to change me back.” 

Sons are more valuable to families in Rahima’s society. Boys and men are afforded a greater mobility and can perform different public tasks without incurring shame. The ability for a girl to “become” a boy in the eyes of society opens many new opportunities for Rahima and her parents. 

“In Afghanistan, disabilities define people. There were many others in the village who had such names. Mariam-e-lang, who had walked with a limp since childhood. Saboor-e-yek-dista was born with one hand. And if you don’t listen to your father, your hand will fall off just like his, mothers would warn their sons.” 

Shekiba, Parwin, and Khala Shaima all have disabilities, be they serious or superficial. Shekiba deals with being treated like a monster or a curse. Parwin is treated as an invalid. Khala Shaima is never able to marry due to her twisted spine. 

“‘You’re so busy being a boy that you’ve forgotten what can happen to a girl.’” 

Raisa is correct, but this is not entirely Rahima’s fault. Tradition dictates that the bacha posh acts masculine in all regards in order to keep up the disguise. However, there are lines that cannot be crossed, and excessive physical contact with a boy is evidently one of them. 

“‘I am only here to claim what is rightfully mine! I am my father’s daughter and that land should belong to me! My father would never have chosen his brothers over me! He never did!’” 

The deed to her father’s land is Shekiba’s last, best hope, and it is falling apart in front of her eyes. Tradition proves stronger than any sort of claim she has over the land. In Shekiba’s society, females cannot own land; the hakim’s judgement is clear when he tears up the deed. 

“‘Oh, the hell with naseeb! Naseeb is what people blame for everything they can’t fix.’” 

Khala Shaima is one of the first characters in the novel to question the notion of destiny. Belief in predestination causes the individual to cede agency to the divine. However, this form of resignation also helps women endure awful situations. 

“I felt out of place and I hated wearing a dress. It felt unnatural, awkward. I was a bacha posh! Just like Bibi Shekiba, the palace guard!” 

Though the narrative of the novel renders Shekiba and Rahima’s stories largely separate, Shekiba’s story has a profound impact on Rahima. Shekiba lived in a more conservative, traditional time; and yet, as far as Rahima is concerned, little has changed. She still wants the freedom Shekiba inexplicably found as a palace guard. 

“I wanted to get away from Hashmat, from this boy who knew me as I wished I still were—a boy just as free as him. I hated that he lived here. I knew he would bring it up. He would always look at me and laugh at the girl who used to be a boy.” 

Rahima cannot escape the effects of having lived so long as a bacha posh, and Hashmat is now a constant, physical reminder of the life that is now forbidden to her. His presence reminds her of the freedom she experienced as a boy and emphasizes the absolute confinement of life in Abdul Khaliq’s household. 

“‘Don’t listen to the garbage that some people say about girls belonging to other people. Bah! Girls belong to their families and always do. You have a mother and sisters and nothing changes that—I don’t care who you’ve married.’” 

Khala Shaima has always made it evident that she does not care for her society’s social traditions. She advocates for the women in her life, reminding them that they are autonomous, individual beings. Their existence is not contingent on the approval of the men that control them.

“Shekib melted into Shekiba.” 

Physical attraction to the prince causes Shekib’s male disguise to dissolve. Having spent most of her life as a woman, it is hard to erase feminine behavior. This also mirrors Rahima’s reaction to wrestling with Abdullah when she was a bacha posh. 

“But Khala Shaima was our voice. She said what others dared not say. I needed her.” 

Khala Shaima has long been the advocate for her sister and her nieces. Part of her boldness in front of men comes of her being unattached to a man due to her physical deformity. Rahima realizes more and more how important Khala Shaima has been as the only outspoken woman in her life. 

“‘The human spirit, you know what they say about the human spirit? It is harder than a rock and more delicate than a flower petal.’” 

In many ways, this statement describes the pain and resilience that define Rahima and Shekiba’s lives. At many points, they have been beaten down to the point of breaking. However, the human spirit endures, allowing them to live on. Even Parwin’s death demonstrates this resilience: In the end, she was able to make one final decision for herself and speak—through action—against the abuse she suffered. 

“‘Maybe your naseeb is there but waiting for you to make it happen.’” 

While it is easy to be fatalistic and believe that one’s fate is set in stone, one cannot know their fate until it happens. Khala Shaima’s suggestion injects agency into the idea of fate. If whatever happens to a person is their fate, whatever actions they took to get there were fated as well. Everything is fate, in retrospect. 

“Everybody has a role in the palace.” 

This idea is expressed several times through the narrative. Each person in King Habibullah’s court serves a specific function and does not do anything outside their purview. This contrasts with Shekiba’s old life at Bobo Shahgul’s and Azizullah’s households, where she took on an overwhelming number of chores. 

“Don’t speak to the guards. They’ll watch out for you but if you do anything…let me assure you…you’ll regret it. And in Kabul, I have people. I will hear about everything you do. If you do anything to embarrass me, I promise you that you’ll wish you never stepped foot in that city.” 

Abdul Khaliq is a tyrant of a husband, who uses his resources as a warlord to control his wives. Rahima took a great risk even asking him to let her go and pushed his “generosity” too far by asking if Jahangir could go with her. 

“She was dead. She was alive but had lost a leg. She was unscathed but three children walking by had been killed. It was the Taliban. It was a warlord. It was the Americans.” 

Though Rahima grew up in a war-torn country with a soldier father and a warlord husband, violence has always been at an arm’s length, always somewhere else. The bombing outside parliament is her first real taste of danger. It emphasizes the anti-progressive sentiment of many Afghan citizens: Zamarud is targeted because she is an outspoken woman. 

“There is some kiss we want with our whole lives,/ The touch of Spirit on the body./ Seawater begs the pearl to break its shell.” 

This stanza of verse, recited by Benafsha in prison, is used to describe the otherwise unspeakable longing that motivates many of the women in the story. For Benafsha, her love for Baraan was what caused her to “break her shell” and betray the king, even though she knew the consequences. 

“She was leaving the palace with Agha Baraan. Her nikkah had been signed, the contract official and binding. She was married to Agha Baraan.” 

Though Shekiba has grown wiser in many ways, her naïve nature still shows through. Because of her own scheming and planning, and because of coincidences, she convinced herself that she was going to marry Amanullah. This shows that Shekiba truly does not understand the class differences in her society: There is no way a prince would condescend to marry a disfigured servant. 

“My little boy. His tiny face looked pale, his lips gray. I fell to my knees and put my head on his small chest. I stroked his chestnut hair. I talked to him as if there was no one else in the world. I wanted to comfort him and breathe life back into his little body. I was his mother. I had given him life and when he was ill, I had nursed him back to health. Why should now be any different?” 

Of all the tragedies in Rahima’s young life, this is the greatest. Jahangir was the one thing anchoring her to life in Abdul Khaliq’s household; he was also the one redeeming quality of her relationship with Abdul Khaliq. The warlord favored this boy; without him, Rahima’s place in the compound is even shakier. Her future is more uncertain than ever. 

“She knew from experience that she should not consider herself a permanent fixture of any man’s house, even if she was his wife.” 

Shekiba’s life has been disrupted enough for her to come to expect disruption. Her experience is juxtaposed with Rahima’s: Though Rahima is Abdul Khaliq’s wife, she cannot count her position as permanent. If Shekiba does not give Aasif a son, or if Abdul Khaliq decides to remarry, Shekiba and Rahima could be forced out of their households. 

“It meant a permanent break from her previous life. She could no longer float between genders like a kite carried by the wind. No more binding her bosom to disguise her figure. She would fool no one.” 

Shekiba can no longer go back to the freedom she felt as a male harem guard. However, this is what she wanted. Throughout her life, Shekiba did whatever she could to find stability. Now, with the birth of Shah, she is cemented in her role as a woman—and in a more stable position than she has ever been. 

“We Afghans marked both life and death with a forty-day period, as if we needed that much time to confirm what had truly happened. We had celebrated Jahangir’s birth forty days after he’d left my womb, unsure if this child was here with us to stay. And now his death. Forty days of praying, alone, with others, and everything in between.” 

Forty days of praying for the dead allows the community to come together to console the family and contemplate the loss. For Rahima, the grief does not simply end with the traditional mourning period. Despite her grief, she is expected to return to her usual household chores on day 41. 

“‘Remember where you come from. Bibi Shekiba is not a fairy tale. She is your great-great-grandmother. Her blood courses through your veins and gives strength to your spirit. Always walk with your head high. You are the descendant of a somebody, not a nobody.’” 

Rahima’s parents leave her no legacy. It is Khala Shaima that delivers Rahima the story of Shekiba, which helps give Rahima strength throughout her life. This is the last time Rahima and Khala Shaima meet; consequently, Khala Shaima reminds her of the strength of her lineage to sustain Rahima through her escape from Abdul Khaliq.

“This life is difficult. We lose fathers, brothers, mothers, songbirds and pieces of ourselves. Whips strike the innocent, honors go to the guilty, and there is too much loneliness. I would be a fool to pray for my children to escape all of that. Ask for too much and it might actually turn out worse. But I can pray for small things, like fertile fields, a mother’s love, a child’s smile—a life that’s less bitter than sweet.”

This is the culmination of Shekiba’s character arc. She has at last found the stability that she so desired. While she knows that the change will be incremental, she can hope for a better life for her descendants. She has no way of knowing how her prayers play out or how her life will affect Rahima, her great-great-granddaughter.