Benyamin: Goat Days

Running wasn’t hard at all, as the moon was bright. We felt that both Allah and nature were with us. All through the way, we didn’t talk or even glance at one another. We just ran. Despite all that running, a feeling that we had not reached far enough, a panic that someone was after us, constantly followed us. We feared that every sound and whirr of the wind was that of the arbab’s vehicle. Therefore, the speed of our running only increased with each second.

After running like that for a long time, we reached a point where that mud trail forked into two different paths. One to the left and one to the right. We faced enormous uncertainty about which road to take to get to the highway. After a lot of discussion, we decided to take the left path. We began to run again.

After running for some more time, a ray of light appeared from far away. When we listened to the sound, we realized that it was a vehicle, moving slowly, swinging and rocking. I felt relief. We had reached the highway. The final means to our deliverance. Suddenly Ibrahim pulled us behind a sand dune. The vehicle was coming in our direction. We could not risk being seen. It could be our arbab. Or some other familiar Arab. Then we would be taken straight to the spot of the arbab’s wedding feast. Moving away from the vehicle’s path, we hid behind the dune. The vehicle crawled past us. Only after it passed us completely did we recognize that it was a mini-lorry. Its driver was the Pathan who brought hay to our masara. Oh, he knew me. Ibrahim thumped his chest. ‘He will save us!’ Shouting loudly, all three of us ran after the vehicle. But by the time we reached the road, the vehicle was very far away.

The frustration and sorrow I felt! I even cursed my destiny and the Lord himself. What greater sorrow than watching your luck zoom past you? Angrily, I pulled my hair and beat my chest.

‘What is gone is gone. It can never be retrieved. What’s the use of lamenting over it? We will find another way,’ Ibrahim Khadiri said.

We decided to wait there and try our luck with the next vehicle. The desert sprawled out dead on its back, desolate and empty. I prayed intently, Allah, let any driver, any familiar person, come our way. But no vehicle came in our direction.

Each of our decisions affect our future lives in one way or another. Now when I look back, I see that it would have been better for us to have waited there. But that night we didn’t think we could afford to waste any time. We felt that it would be stupid to wait. We had to get away as far as possible, as soon as possible. In the morning, the sun would light up everything; there would be no place for us to hide in the desert. When the arbab reached the masara and realized that we were not there, he would come with his binoculars and the gun. He would spot us in the desert, wherever we were. Then our fate would be that of the scary figure’s. We didn’t want that to happen to us. We thought since we had decided to escape, we must escape.

Again, we began to run. Now let me tell you something. If you are in the midst of misfortune, whatever you do will be in the order of first-rate stupidity. I say this from experience. If one thinks logically, we should have run in the direction of the vehicle. But, in our perplexed state, we ran the other way. That stupendous mistake is an example of how panic and perplexity put us out of our rational minds. In retrospect I can only console myself with the thought that this was destined to happen in my life and that I merely ran into my destiny.

We ran as fast as we could, keeping ourselves to the side of the road. The arbab had a vehicle and we were on foot. Within five minutes the arbab could reach what we covered in one hour. So we tried to get as far away as we could within one night and find a safe haven to hide.

As we ran we realized something — we were not alone. There were other masaras scattered over the desert. There too, unfortunate men like us were guarding goats. We saw a couple of masaras along the way which proved to be big hazards — because all the arbabs were not out attending weddings. Even a blind arbab would recognize us as absconders. Our appearance gave us away. Therefore, we ran maintaining a certain distance from the path. But there was another problem. As I mentioned earlier, the moon was bright. If we ran through the plains, anyone could spot us from a distance. And no one would mistake our three ugly figures for those of djinns. So, we ran by sand dunes and hills to have as much cover as possible. But that landed us in more trouble.

One of the hillocks we climbed led us straight into a masara. We didn’t have time to hide. Someone had spotted us. Besides, Hakeem stepped on someone as he ran. When the man got up and looked around he saw some figures running past him. He began to shout ‘Thief! Thief!’ He was not alone in that masara. Hearing him, others in the masara woke up and ran after us, trying to catch us. We scampered past them.

Their arbab must have woken up by then. We heard some shouts in Arabic. Suddenly someone pushed me down from behind. I fell on my face. In the next instant I heard a gunshot. Had I not fallen then, a bullet would have pierced my back. ‘Don’t get up,’ Ibrahim said, lying close to the ground. When they looked, they could not see us anywhere. They seemed astounded. They must have thought that we were indeed djinns. The three of us began to crawl slowly. Our hunters fired aimlessly in the dark for a while before turning back. We crawled and hid behind a sand dune. It was only after ensuring that they had all left that we started running again.

As we ran, I thanked Ibrahim for his kindness and common sense in pushing me down at the nick of time. He was surprised. ‘Me? You were not within my reach. Moreover, I wasn’t expecting a gunshot at all.’

‘Hakeem, was it you?’

‘No, not me,’ he said.

How did I fall down, I wondered. Apprehensively we looked at each other. Only then did we realize the presence of a fourth among us. Filled with gratitude my eyes began to overflow.

Only around daybreak did we end our marathon through the desert — hurtling, halting, falling, rising and dashing past hill, sand dune and ditch. At some point in the night the moonlight had disappeared and the desert turned into a cavern of darkness. Still, we kept running for our lives through that wilderness.

Hakeem was the first to stop. ‘Enough. I can’t. I need some rest.’ He fell to the ground panting. We were sure that we had covered a lot of distance and would not be caught soon. In that belief I too sat down with him. Actually, I fell down by him. My feet were aching severely. I was panting like a dog. My throat was so dry that I couldn’t utter a word. My heart pounded so heavily it threatened to break my ribcage any moment. My vision was blurred. After sitting for some time, I felt like lying down. Uncaring of the possibility of snakes or centipedes, spreading out my arms, I collapsed. But Ibrahim’s face showed no signs of fatigue. He came and sat with us as though he was enjoying the cool breeze after some light work. Before his great strength, we lay there curled up like stray dogs.

At dawn a new sun came calling — of freedom, of new life. I woke up rubbing my eyes as I heard Ibrahim call us. At some point, we had fallen deeply asleep. For a panicky moment, I thought I was in the masara and it was the arbab calling me. But when I opened my eyes, there was no masara in front of me — no goats, no camels, no arbab, no tent. Hakeem was lying nearby, curled up. Suddenly, I became alert. Coming to life, I shook Hakeem. ‘Hakeem, do you see, this is where we are. Our days in hell are over. Now we are free forever. Allah, thank you. Lord of all beings, your benevolence is great. Your love is immeasurable.’ I wept looking at the sky. I shook Hakeem and called him again. Knocking my hand away, he turned over. He was enjoying the deep sleep of freedom. The freedom to lie down till one had had enough sleep. I left him sleeping. Stretching my back, I looked all around. There were small hills and sand dunes all around. I couldn’t see very far. I looked for Ibrahim Khadiri. He was standing on a sand dune, peering into the distance.