Benyamin - Goat Days

I was deputed to give water and fodder to the camels. I went up to their masara, but I was afraid. Do camels hurt humans? If they do, how do they attack? Kick? Bite? Trample? I had no idea. But I had to enter their masara and give them water and fodder. There was no way I could avoid entering the masara because there was a being more ferocious than a camel could ever be — a dreadful arbab, following me with sharp eyes. I stepped into the masara daringly. Expecting a bite or a kick, I walked in between their legs and somehow gave them water and fodder. Later, I had many more opportunities to learn how the right combination of circumstances can forcibly dissolve any man’s fears.

That day the camels didn’t hurt me. I had to fill water in four containers, fodder in four, wheat in two, hay in three. By the time my work got over, I was exhausted. With my eyes, actions and supplication, I implored the scary figure to help me. Whenever he stood up to help, the arbab came out and prevented him. Only then did I realize that it was the punishment for taking water to clean my backside.

I went and sat near the cot of the scary figure. When my breathlessness and fatigue subsided, I began to feel hungry. The khubus the scary figure had given me was still there under the cot. I did not worry about the fact that I hadn’t been able to clean myself. Couldn’t bother about cleanliness any more. Sitting there, I had four large khubus and gulped down two mugs of water.

When I finished, the arbab beckoned me to the tent and advised me and scolded me. While listening to him, I acted as if I understood everything. Even though I didn’t understand anything, I could comprehend the magnitude of my crime.

After that, for a brief while, it was rest-time. I searched all around for a little shade, but it was nowhere to be found. All that was left was the glare of the blazing sun and the scorching heat. The little shade there was was in the arbab’s tent. He guarded it like it was a sultan’s palace, not letting anyone in. I didn’t have the nerve to creep in there.

The scary figure slept soundly on his cot, unmindful, a cloth on his face to block the sun. The sunlight and the heat did not seem to affect his grimy body. Folding a towel on my head, I sat near the cot. After braving the heat of the sun for some time, the little rectangle of shade under the cot caught my eye. It felt like the greatest discovery in the world.

Indeed, if the worth of a discovery is measured by its necessity and the demands of one’s situation, to me, my discovery was greater than any other. How long had the scary figure been lying in the sun? Why didn’t he find the possibility of shade, like I did? Elated, I sneaked under the cot and stretched out. Although the sand was hot, my short nap was more pleasing than the sleep I had experienced before.

I must have dozed off when I was called. Again, like I had earlier in the day, I took the goats out, batch by batch. I noticed for the first time the different types of goats and the different types of masaras designated for them. In one, only milk goats; in another, the male and adult females; there were different masaras for goats of different sizes and lambs of different ages; in yet another, sheep; and in the last one, camels.

The gate to the camel enclosure opened as we were going out with the goats. They went on their way, on their own. When we returned with the goats of the last masara, the camels returned. The chores were repeated — water, hay, fodder, wheat …

The scary figure came with a large pail and I followed him as he went inside the masara of the milk goats. He milked them one after another at great speed. In one go, he filled that pail. Together, we carried it out.

The arbab drank some milk from it, and the scary figure had two cups. Although they told me to drink as much as I wanted, I couldn’t because of its disgusting odour. The remaining milk was taken to the masara of the young lambs. They gathered around the bucket, as if to drink kaadi —a type of cattle drink prepared back home from the water used to wash rice — and glugged from it. Again, I noticed — I had started noticing new things with my eyes and mind — that the little lambs were not kept with their mothers. Mother and child were kept separately. No lamb was allowed to drink straight from its mother’s udder. All were given milk in the same bucket. In that case, which mother’s milk did a child drink …? Isn’t it through taste and smell that a child recognizes its mother? It should be like that, whether it be a goat, dog, cow or human being. Is this communal drinking meant to sever the bond a goat and its mother enjoy? Who knows? That is the way of the Arabs, or at least the way of the arbab. I was fated to obey him. Why should I think and worry about anything beyond that?

Shadows lengthened, the sun disappeared beneath the desert folds. Dusk bloomed, night set in. By then, the night-arbab arrived with the night meal. He offloaded some provisions and water from the vehicle. The day-arbab loaded the vehicle with some things and left.

The night-arbab had brought khubus. No curry for it, though. Just khubus. I understood what my menu for the days to come would be.

Early morning drink: fresh, breast-warm raw milk (only if one felt like it)

Breakfast: khubus, plain water

Lunch: khubus, plain water

Evening drink: fresh, breast-warm raw milk (only if one felt like it)

Dinner: khubus, plain water.

And plain lukewarm water from the iron tank to drink in between meals (only when very necessary).

After finishing the night chores, the scary figure lay down on the cot. I spread a sheet on the sand. The arbab was inside the tent. I wanted to ask him many things, but as soon as his back touched the cot, the scary figure started snoring.

I was alone. My bag was my pillow. It had the scent of pickle. Suddenly, I recalled the people at home, Ummah, Sainu, our son (daughter) who grew inside her. They must be troubled not having heard of my safe arrival. I felt miserable. My heart felt like it was about to burst. How will I convey to them that I had reached? That I am fine?

I remembered Hakeem. What work would he be doing there? From far, it appeared that he too had landed in a masara. His situation can’t be different. Sad. How many dreams would he have had as he boarded the plane? How can he suffer this at so young an age? He was not very poor. His father was in Dubai. This visa came when they were trying to take him there. ‘Yes, go abroad, without wasting yourself at home. Learn the language and life there. Within two years you can be taken to Dubai,’ his uppah had told him.

Poor boy, how would he endure this arduous life? In my case, I am used to a hard life, mining sand. It’s fine with me. He was only used to fun and frolic back home. What will become of him? These are the designs of Allah. One must endure these things. What is the way out? The days to come will only be harder. My Allah, most merciful, grant Hakeem and me the strength to endure these sufferings.

The night dawned into my second day in the desert. I slept late that day too, maybe because I was not used to the sleeping posture I had to adopt.

I was exhausted even before the day began. As I got up in the morning, my hands, legs and body ached. My body hurt more than it did after a whole day’s sand mining in the river. More than the pain, it was the irritation of not being able to bathe myself clean after work that bothered me. I would never come out of the river without bathing though I had worked in water the whole day. It was the uneasiness of sleeping in the same dress one wore in the sun, sweating and moving among stinking goats, and being strewn with their urine and dung. My dress stuck to my armpits and in between the legs; to say nothing about my sweat-soaked shoes.