Goat Days (15 page)

We stayed at that oasis for the next three days. We drank enough water and ate dates from the palm trees. We slept enough and washed off the fatigue of all those days from our bodies. But the pain, swollen legs and burnt soles remained. Every morning Ibrahim went out to scout the area and returned in the evening. His goal was to locate human presence, so that we could find out more … Was there any way for us to get out? Where were we? And so on.

On the very first day, Ibrahim rejected my offer to go with him. ‘In the desert, you are like a fast-withering flower. The next step in your journey will begin only after we find a proper route.’ I was scared that he would lose his way during his wanderings and not be able to come back for me. I valued his companionship and did not want to be alone on this earth. Worry welled up in me when he was late to return. I couldn’t imagine being lonely. I would be at
ease only after I caught sight of him on some distant sand dune.

Once Ibrahim Khadiri left for the day, I would walk around the entire oasis. Usually, the greenery of an oasis spreads over many acres. Arabs and travellers visit the place. This was nothing like that. It could have been the world’s smallest oasis, it was so tiny. It had a pool, some date palms, some unknown cacti, some small plants. Surrounding this little green patch was an endless stretch of sand. A tiny oasis. God’s own Garden of Eden. I often wondered if God had created the oasis only for us.

On the afternoon of the third day, Ibrahim returned happy. It meant that he had seen something that pleased him. Dragging myself, I approached him. ‘What, Ibrahim, any signs of a road?’

‘We’re not very far away from life, Najeeb,’ he said. ‘Today, I discovered three stones. Three stones used by humans. Some people had come that way. Lit a fire in a hearth made with stones to cook food. It is a good sign.’

The next morning, we walked in that direction. It was pointless to stay in the oasis for much longer. So we left the safety of water to go where Allah would
take us. I also saw the stones Ibrahim was excited about. That open area did not have loose sand. As we went around inspecting it, a path slowly became visible. A path made by regular vehicle traffic. More evidence of human presence. It could have been a spot city dwellers frequented for fun. If that was the case, this path would surely lead us to a safe destination! Again our hope that we would be saved began to swell. With that hope we hurriedly followed the path. At each turn, behind every hill, we expected human presence. But that path took us through barren and uninhabited land. Then, we saw it. A long mark, like the lines on the squirrel’s back, running through the middle of a sand dune! My ravenous eyes spotted it from far away. Hurriedly I ran towards it.

My suspicion turned out to be correct. It was the mark of wheels. My Lord,
Rabb al alameen
, this mark could signify so many things. That some human being had been here! That there is human presence nearby. That there is a road somewhere nearby. That there is a human settlement somewhere nearby. A little lamp of hope was lit in that great world of darkness.

We decided to follow that track. We firmly believed it would lead us to a secure place. The wheel marks
were not of a vehicle belonging to any human being. It was the mark made by the wheels of Allah’s vehicle. A pointer to escape. Allah, thank you. A thousand thanks. A billion thanks.

Still we were apprehensive. A breath of wind would have been enough to end all that hope. If the wind turned direction, that wheel mark would dissolve into nothing. But that day, Allah was with us. He did not permit the wind to even stir. Forgetting all our discomfort, we started to run. I forgot the ache in my legs, the twitches, the swelling, the pain, the burning, the cuts, everything. We reached the path before the wind blew it away. Twisting and turning, it went on as we ran alongside. Our dreams also came alive.

I am not sure how long we ran following the flicker of hope. It was dusk when we were sure that we had almost reached our destination. But, in an unfortunate turn of events, the wind which had been dead throughout the day, suddenly sprang up and vigorously carried away the wheel trail on its wings.

We stood shocked. When the storm subsided, only endless emptiness stretched wide open before us. Desperately, I broke into a cry. I looked towards the heavens. ‘Enough, Lord, enough. Please don’t
play games with me any more, Lord. I can’t stand being mocked by you any longer.’ Ignoring Ibrahim Khadiri’s entreaties to go on, I lay over the sand waves, like the remains of a shipwreck. One more evening was washed away in tears.

Dawn had not yet broken. I was jolted out of sleep by an unfamiliar sound. It must have been a dream. I closed my eyes. Again that sound. I woke up. The desert, discarding all its fury, was sleeping serenely. One could clearly hear even distant sounds. Again that sound. I listened, paying close attention. When fully loaded vehicles pass through the highway, their tyres make a peculiar sound. How many times had I heard it in the silent hours of the night back at the masara. Surely, this too is the sound of a vehicle moving at some distance, somewhere. I could hear the traffic intermittently.

Before me was a reasonably big hill. There must be a highway on the other side of this hill, unless my senses had completely failed me and this noise was the hallucination of my tired mind. Vehicles passed through that highway! I scrambled up from my sleep. ‘Ibrahim!’ I screamed. ‘We have reached. We have
reached.’ My mind was fluttering with joy. I ran to where Ibrahim was sleeping. But he wasn’t there. I looked all around. Ibrahim wasn’t there anywhere.

‘Ibrahim! Ibrahim!’ I shouted, moving around the place. There was no reply from anywhere. Where had he gone? He had gone to sleep along with me. ‘Ibrahim! Ibrahim!’ I shouted again and again, searching for him. All those shouts blended into the desert’s infinity without any answer.

The first light broke in the desert’s eastern corner. The pall of darkness disappeared. Right in front of me, sand and hill came into view. Assisted by the light, I looked around for a long time. Ibrahim Khadiri was nowhere. Climbing up a sand dune, I looked all around. There was no sign of him. It was only after a lot of searching that I accepted the truth. My guide and my saviour Ibrahim Khadiri had disappeared from my life forever. Without leaving a trail.

I felt lonely and sad, as if I was the last man on earth. I cried sitting on the sand. Ibrahim, you left me alone like this, on the way to where? Weren’t we together all these days? All through the misery and the sorrow. And here we are, about to reach the road to safety. At most an hour’s walk to the highway. But where are you? Where did you disappear last
night? You could have told me. You could have said a goodbye, at least.

It was only after the day grew hot that I got up from there and walked. I found that walk a hundred times more difficult than all my days of walking with Ibrahim. I felt like I was moving backwards. How much that solitude hurt me! Finally, by about evening I reached the road. It was not a highway on which a lot of vehicles passed. A vehicle came along once in a while. They were mostly trailers carrying heavy loads. Infrequently, some cars screamed past. Worn out, I extended my hand at every vehicle. But all the vehicles ignored me and went on their way, leaving me very frustrated. As each vehicle moved away, I kept hoping that the next one would surely stop for me and take me along. But luck was not with me. No driver showed any sympathy. Rather, Allah didn’t direct any driver to do so. Thus, I passed one more night orphaned by Allah.

Day broke. The flow of vehicles, which had almost ceased in the last quarter of the night, started again. Most of them were vehicles carrying heavy loads. Going down to the middle of the road, I waved my hand at each vehicle. That day too every vehicle ignored me and drove past me. I wasn’t surprised. Seeing the shape that I was in after three years in a masara, people would not have wanted to take me along. And after many days of wandering in the desert, I had completely ceased to resemble a human being.

My hunger and thirst kept growing. It had already been three days since we set off from the oasis. I just couldn’t imagine losing my life after coming this close to freedom. I hated myself as Allah wouldn’t look at me. What sin had I committed to deserve this? I asked, beating my chest. Allah, you made me lose both my friends in the desert. The desert dried Hakeem to death and made Ibrahim vanish. You have brought me till
here. For what? For what? It remains unanswered in my mind.

The afternoon blaze soon set in. More vehicles kept moving past me. I saw a very expensive car zooming in from afar. I knew there was no use waving at it. Why would the driver let me get into such a car when even trailer drivers sneered at me! Still something inside me urged me to wave at the car as it drew near. Naturally, it didn’t stop and went past me. But, at a short distance past me, it screeched to a halt. I was surprised. Did it stop because I signalled? After wondering for a second if the car had actually stopped for me, I ran towards it. Inside it was a handsome, richly dressed Arab. Lowering the car window, he asked me something. I didn’t know what to answer. Revered Arab, how many vehicles have gone past me since yesterday. Nobody stopped for me. You didn’t ask what do you want, why are you staying here, how did you land here. You felt like applying your feet on the brake for me. Enough. That is sufficient for me. Unconsciously, my eyes overflowed.

The Arab didn’t ask me anything after that. He opened the back door of his vehicle for me. He beckoned me to sit inside. Then he drove down the road with me.

I hesitated to sit straight on the spotless seat of that splendid vehicle. Still, I sat. Some time after I got in, he switched off the air conditioner and lowered the windows. He covered his nose. I knew it was because of my stench. Had he wanted, he could have thrown me out of the car. But he didn’t show any annoyance. I asked that great man for some water. He gave me a bottle of water. I emptied it at one go. He asked me if I wanted another bottle. I nodded my head. He gave me another one. I drank that too. Still my thirst was not quenched. But politeness restrained me from asking for more.

Slowly I reclined on the seat. I was so tired I soon fell asleep. So, I don’t know how long I travelled. I only woke up when the vehicle stopped in a city area. It was almost evening by then. I looked all around perplexed. Very huge buildings. Many people and a lot of commotion. Heavy traffic. After travelling for some more distance, the Arab parked the car by the side of the road and looked back at me. I understood that was my signal to get down. How could I express my gratitude to that great man who tolerated me for so long? In return for his goodwill, I could only give him a teardrop. He didn’t ask anything. He didn’t say a word.

I got out of the vehicle and shut the door. Leaving me alone in the middle of the city, the Arab sped away.

I wept. I had realized that Allah occasionally travels even in a luxury car.

Eyes wide open, I stood in that area for some time. I could see those who went past me stare at me like I was a strange creature. I walked slowly, keeping to the side of the road. It was a market alongside a long, winding road. All around were heaps of vegetables and fruits. Their soft odour hung in the air. Crowds of Arabs flowed like a river. Women, with only their eyes showing, moved around in black robes. There were many Indian vendors. The sound of commerce. And among them all, I stood out looking like a primitive man. Everyone stared at me and tried to skirt around me to avoid touching me. I didn’t feel hurt. In fact, even I could smell my stink.

I was very hungry. But I didn’t have any money to buy food. During my life in the Gulf, that was the first occasion when I felt the need for money. Had I been in the masara, I could have eaten the arbab’s khubus at least. I didn’t need money for that. I could have
eaten the wheat meant for the goats. Money wasn’t required for that either. But one had to pay money to eat anything in the city. Who would give me food without money in exchange? I tried to enter one or two shops. I even begged for food. But their owners drove me away as if I were a despicable stray dog.

With hope springing anew in my heart, I walked through that market. I felt dizzy after walking for some time. I must have walked a little further when I spotted a board with ‘Malabar Restaurant’ written on it. Such relief! An assurance that someone who could understand my language was in there. Someone who could understand what I said. I steeled myself and walked towards it.

I have no recollection of what happened after I reached the place. Later I heard that I fainted on the steps.

In every Arab city, there is a loving, shelter-giving banyan tree.

It was in front of Kunjikka’s hotel, a refuge for Malayalis in Batha market, that I had fainted. Note the loving ways of Allah. I, who was a stranger to that market, could have strayed anywhere and could have fainted elsewhere. Nobody would have cared for me. But Allah had decided that I was to reach Kunjikka. So I walked that way, reached the doorsteps of the Malabar Restaurant and fell down. He had trusted Kunjikka’s heart to take care of the rest.

On the third day after reaching the city, when I opened my eyes, I found myself in Kunjikka’s room. When I regained consciousness there was a heavy ache in my hands and legs. There was a needle in my arm and I had been on a drip. I wondered if I was in a hospital. Still, seeing Malayalis around me, I wept. Taking my hand in his, Kunjikka consoled
me. I had become a topic of conversation among the Malayalis of Batha. When they heard I had regained consciousness, many of them rushed into the room. They brought me apples, oranges, grapes and bananas as gifts. Everyone wanted to know my story. How did I end up in that state? How did I land there? Their curiosity was written on their faces. But nobody asked me anything. It was only after another two days, after a doctor came, examined me and removed the drip, that Kunjikka gently asked me for my story.

‘I need a mirror,’ I said.

‘Why a mirror?’ Kunjikka, who was sitting beside me, asked.

‘I just want to see myself.’

The others present stared at one another.

I just wanted to see myself as everyone saw me, the man everyone thought was pitiable.

One of them brought me a small mirror. I looked at myself. I stared at it for a long time. I couldn’t recognize myself at all. The person I saw there was a stranger. His hair was cut short, his beard shaved off. The man in the mirror was not the one who had set off from the homeland. I was someone else altogether. A dark, frail, skinny figure with protruding teeth. Had I been told on any other occasion that the
person I saw in the mirror was me, I would not have believed it.

Kunjikka explained to me how he and his workers held me as I fainted and brought me into his restaurant to give me food and water; how I was taken to his room; how, with tender care, he bathed me on that day, the next and the day after; how a barber was brought in to cut my hair and shave my beard; how a doctor was brought in to examine and treat me. But my unconscious mind had not registered any of these events.

I had nothing to give them except my tears. I didn’t even have any love to give in return. I had only one regret, that they didn’t take my photo before cutting my hair and beard. I never got to see the primitive shape I had been in. Today, I don’t have any evidence to produce before you as proof of that life. Only my experience and memories. Even the passport that testified my arrival in that country was in the custody of the arbab …

‘What date is it today?’ I asked those who were gathered there.

‘It’s the thirteenth.’

‘Which month?’

They frowned. ‘August.’

‘Which year?’

They became anxious. ‘Nineteen ninety-five.’

‘Lord! Rabb al alameen …’ I placed my hands on my chest. Then I calculated the time that had elapsed.

‘Three years, four months, nine days.’

Those who heard me were dumbstruck.

Then, after two more days, when I was able to walk a little, Kunjikka took me from that room to the next one. There was a telephone in that room. Kunjikka made me sit before it.

‘Don’t you want to call home? Don’t you want to hear the sound of your ummah and your wife?’

I cried. I didn’t have a telephone at home. I told him the telephone number of the Moplah neighbour. I still wonder how I had remembered that number, which I had not used for such a long time. It was from Bombay that I had called that number the last time.

Kunjikka spent a very long time in front of the telephone. The connection wasn’t getting through.

Finally the phone rang at the other end. He gave me the receiver. I had to try hard to make my neighbour recognize me. When he finally did, there was a brief
silence. Then he asked, ‘Where have you been so long, Najeeb?’

I didn’t have any answer. I could imagine the many stories that might have spread about me back home.

‘Call after quarter of an hour. I will fetch your wife,’ he said.

Those fifteen minutes were longer than the three years I had spent in the masara. Kunjikka finally dialled the number again.

This time, it was easy. Kunjikka gave me the receiver. I only said hello. I heard the loud wailing of my Sainu at the other end. Then for a long time, both of us could only cry. She didn’t ask anything. Where have you been? Why haven’t you called till now? Sitting there, she must have read my mind.

After crying for some time, she said, ‘Our son Nabeel has started going to kindergarten this year. Don’t you want to see him? When is ikka coming home? Ikka, our ummah is no more. Last year. She died heartbroken, not hearing a word about you …’

I didn’t have the strength to hear anything more. I put the receiver down. My mind throbbed with pain. Covering my face, I wept. Kunjikka consoled me.
‘Haven’t you suffered so much, Najeeb? All that that was given to you was given by Allah. We don’t have any right to question His will.’

Feeding on Kunjikka’s generosity, I stayed with him for a period of three months. There, in the shelter he provided, my wounds healed. The swelling on my legs reduced. I regained my health. And at different times, I recounted my story to Kunjikka and friends. Many of them refused to believe my story. Only a few believed me. Even those who believed me, found the disappearance of Ibrahim Khadiri inexplicable. Their doubts were justified. I don’t have any proper explanation to offer.

Ibrahim Khadiri. My saviour. My liberator in the desert. My Prophet Moses. Where might he have disappeared after bringing me to the gate of safety? Like you, I don’t know.

It was while I was getting better that Hameed sought refuge in Kunjikka’s room. He had been working as a labourer in an Arab’s farm. He had to work hard till night and undergo much abuse for too little compensation. He absconded when it became intolerable. Having him for company was a relief. Otherwise I felt dreadfully lonely in the apartment
once Kunjikka and his friends left to work in the restaurant. His presence made my life pleasant.

Then, after several days of planning, and following the advice and directions of many, we decided to give ourselves up to the police without delay and somehow land in prison.