Benyamin: Goat Days

I waited for the arbab to return. Fear had really taken possession of me now, a feeling that I had entered into a dangerous situation. It was as though Hakeem had been imprisoned by the arbab and that it was my turn next. He might have plans to lock me up in some dungeon. I would run before that, escape from this danger. But where to? All around there was only a vast expanse of nothing. Since I was unfamiliar with the terrain, if I tried to run, not knowing the direction, or the way out, I would die wandering in this desert. I was hungry and thirsty. How much distance could I cover? Yearning to run, yet refusing to move, I remained seated at the back of the vehicle.

After some time, the arbab came out alone. He locked the gate from the outside. I jumped out of the vehicle, ran towards him and enquired about Hakeem. The arbab frowned at me and walked to the vehicle. He told me something as he walked. It was in Arabic and I couldn’t understand anything. The arbab got into the vehicle. Hurriedly, I returned to my position in the back.

The vehicle stopped again after travelling hardly a kilometre. This too was an open area. Carrying my bags, I followed the arbab. At some distance, a tent became visible. I realized that this was my arbab’s destination. I didn’t see any light except the natural light of the wilderness. As we reached the tent, another arbab, also in Arab attire, came out. A short arbab, like a caricature from old Arabic stories. His clothes and stench his were worse than my arbab’s.

They talked for a while. Then, handing me over to the new arbab, my own arbab went back to the vehicle. I relaxed a bit as I figured out that he had probably entrusted Hakeem with some arbab like this. He was a naive boy. I was afraid that he had been locked up in some dark room.

Outside the tent, one could see a long iron fence. Like the compound into which Hakeem was taken, this too was a source of a foul smell. There were some unidentifiable movements. Pointing towards them, my new arbab went back into the tent.

I felt deeply sad. My arbab, how can you so cruelly walk away after leaving me here in this darkness in front of a tent, without saying a word? Don’t you know that I am here in the Gulf for the first time? ‘Have you eaten? Are you thirsty? Are you hungry?’ Shouldn’t you have asked me at least that much? Shouldn’t you have shown me where I should stay and introduced me to my co-workers? Is this the legendary Arab hospitality that I have heard about? What kind of arbab are you, my arbab? Don’t deceive me. In you rests my future. In you rest my dreams. In you rest my hopes.

I don’t know for how long I stood there like that. Did I expect that my arbab who had left would return with some food for me? I might have. But as soon as I realized the futility of waiting, I walked towards the place the arbab had pointed at.

My accommodation must be there somewhere. But there was no sign of a tent, let alone a building. Inside me, something burned to cinder. If my arbab lies down in a tent in the middle of the desert, where am I going to stay?

Worried, I paced along the iron fence. I could see some shadows move, moan and jump inside the fence. Then, as if to acknowledge my presence, I heard a light whimper. It was the bleat of a lamb! I peered inside the fence. Goats! Hundreds of goats! Rows of goats, undulating like a sea. It struck me like a thunderbolt. I had a rough idea of my job now.

After that distressing moment of panic, I sauntered along the fence. I only took three or four steps ahead before a cot, along the fence, became visible. A man sat on it, with bowed head. Seeing that figure, I was petrified.

Shaking slightly, I walked towards that scary figure. He had matted hair like that of a savage who had been living in a forest for years. His beard touched his belly. He had on the dirtiest of Arab clothes. Also that horrible stink that can drive anyone away! Although he saw me coming, the figure didn’t move. For a moment, I was confused. Was it a statue or a human being? Then quite unexpectedly, he chuckled. It became a long rattling laughter. I couldn’t fathom its meaning or relevance. After laughing for some time, he said something in Hindi. Because my schooling ended after fifth class, and because I never had any occasion to pick up Hindi, I didn’t understand what he said. Arabic might have been more intelligible to me than that Hindi.

There was pity in those words, and also sadness, resentment, scorn. Today I understand: he was lamenting my fate and wailing. Compassion doesn’t require any language.

Then the figure fell down like a log and went to sleep. After some time, I could hear snoring.

By then, I was somewhat aware of the situation I had ended up in, and about the nature of my job. I shuddered for a second thinking about becoming another scary figure. I should escape before that happens. Where to? Anywhere. How? However. Now, this very moment. The arbab must be asleep in his tent. The scary figure is a dead wood here. Nobody will see me. If I run … how long will I run? Which way …? In which direction? To which place? I don’t know anything. When I thought about the hours we had travelled from the city, a fear was kindled in me about the place I had reached. I was chained to that place by that very thought.

The night had advanced. The night breeze of the desert had the chill of the month of Makaram back home. The gruelling fatigue of travel hit me, to say nothing of hunger and thirst. Sleeping at nine after dinner had been my habit back home. In that open expanse, I became numb without a place to sleep or sit. Then, as my legs began to ache, I placed my bag near the scary figure’s cot and sat on it. Gone were the thoughts of the pickles packed by my ummah and my Sainu.

As I sat there, feeling utterly consumed by hunger, thirst and exhaustion, I could make out a large tank near the fence and, near its base, two or three valves. Grasping one in the dark, I turned its head. Ah! Cold water began to gush out. Greedily I gulped the water, till I was satiated, till I was full, till I had had enough for the next day and the day after, as if I was afraid I wouldn’t get any more. Oh my Lord, how can I explain the relief I felt? For a while I sat there before the tank, exhausted. Then I got up and went back to the scary figure’s cot. When weariness overtook me, I laid down on the sand, using my bag for a pillow. My back ached. I smiled at the emptiness. What dreams I had had! An AC car, an AC room, a soft mattress with a TV in front of it! I laughed. What else could I do in my present condition? No one else could have realized how far my dreams were from the reality of my situation. My first night in the Gulf was such a fiasco.

It was the commotion of the bleating of hundreds of goats that woke me up in the morning. The day was already very bright though the sun was yet to rise. I got up slowly. My body ached terribly from sleeping on the sand. I had a vague recollection of fishing out a sheet from my bag and covering myself with it. It was there in the sand, crumpled. The fearsome figure on the cot was not to be seen. I thought maybe it had been a nightmare.

I sat on the cot and looked around. There were many more goats than I had expected. The fence encircled a large area that was divided into many segments, and in each segment there were hundreds of goats. Beyond the fence, the desert stretched out as far as the eye could see, touching the horizon. There was not even the shadow of a tree to block that sight. On one side was a fairly large hill. Everywhere else there were only sand dunes rising to the height of two to three men. They made the otherwise flat surface uneven.

After some time, as if to prove I had not dreamt him up, the scary figure came out from among the goats. It was only then that I could clearly and closely see how terrifying he was. Dust had transmuted into scales on his body and dirt matted his beard and hair. His dirty fingernails had grown crooked and looked hideous. It must have been five years at least since his last bath, and a century since his clothes had been washed. A century!