Goat Days (10 page)

Although I feared and hated the male goats, there was also an instance when one of them happened to save my life. One day, I took them for a walk as usual. Leaving them to wander, I climbed up and sat on a sand dune. I don’t know why, memories of homeland awakened in me. All my suppressed thoughts stirred and erupted like a volcano. I must escape from here. I must go home. I must reach my ummah. I must see my Sainu. I must see my Nabeel. I must see my land. I must see my dusty roads. I must see my river. I must see my canoe. I must see my rain. I must see my earth. At such moments, I could truly comprehend the meaning of nostalgia. It is a craving. An acute craving that makes us hate our present condition. Then, that craving takes the form of a crazy urge to rush home, like a wild boar rushing wildly through sugarcane fields when it’s been shot. It happens only once in a while. But when it does, it is not easy to shut down the surge of emotions.

The arbab was standing up on his vehicle with his binoculars. As I was sitting on the other side of the sand dune, for the time being, I was outside the binoculars’ range. I took this as an opportunity to escape. I told myself that I would be doomed to this life if I hesitated. I jumped up as if on Allah’s invitation. I thought of nothing else and bolted through the desert. Alas, a billy goat that was standing near me also began to run alongside. Although I tried to dissuade it, hitting and poking it with my staff, it kept following me. Because of my extreme desire to escape, I did not look back at all. Far off, as far as possible, that was all my mind was saying. I had no idea where I was going. Just run, just escape, that’s all, I kept telling myself. The goat was just behind me, and it was running as if it would gore me down. Fearing that, I doubled my speed.

Suddenly, I heard the roar of a vehicle behind me. Fear blazed inside me like fire. The arbab had seen me running! The arbab would reach me soon and he would beat me to death. All of a sudden, a gunshot rang out. Fortunately, it did not hit me. Although I knew I would not make it, I kept running, trying to go faster. As soon as the second shot was fired, the goat came flying towards me with a loud cry and
rolled over me. Blood gushed out of its chest, as if from a motor pump. Writhing in pain, it leapt up and ran. After a short distance, worn out, it fell down. By then, the arbab had reached me. I ran and fell at his feet. The arbab removed his belt and whipped me. I howled. The arbab commanded me to get into the vehicle. Like a smacked puppy whining and running into its kennel with its tail between its legs, I ran and got into the back of the arbab’s pick-up. The goat was dead by then. The arbab dragged it and flung it into the vehicle and gave me another smack. Downcast, I sat there and wailed.

Open-eyed, the corpse of the goat lay next to me. My sobs became intense as I realized that it had died because of me. My dear goat … who asked you to come after me? To show your breast to the bullet that was ordained for me? My feeling that it was time to escape was wide of the mark. I had wrongly judged Allah’s call. Often it is like that; we justify our desires as the call of Allah. But things happen only according to Allah’s will. To discern his will correctly, one has to be close to Allah. I hadn’t anticipated the signs. But Allah had protected me. Were you sacrificed instead of me? Like the goat that was sacrificed instead of the son of Prophet Ibrahim?

The vehicle stopped in front of the tent. The arbab dragged me out and locked me up in a masara after tying me up. Then he beat me to his heart’s content. Blood oozed from all parts of my body. Still, I didn’t cry. I didn’t shed a tear. I endured everything. A goat gave up its life for me. If I cry about my fate, even Allah will not forgive me.

The arbab skinned the goat right there. He chopped it into pieces and roasted it a fire in the open. He ate to his fill and brought the rest to me. When I declined, he hit me some more and forced the meat into my mouth and made me eat it. I felt nauseated, as if I was devouring my own brother’s flesh. I couldn’t eat any of it. I vomited the little that went in. Since then I have never eaten mutton. I have never felt like having it.

The arbab left me locked up in the masara that day and the next. He didn’t let me out at all, didn’t even give me a drop of water or a piece of khubus. For two days, I lay there without complaint. By the second night, I was very hungry. When I was sure that the arbab was asleep, I slowly untied my legs and, creeping out through the goats, I reached the water container and drank water till my thirst was quenched. In the next container, there were some wheat grains left uneaten by the goats. I gathered them up and ate
greedily. Raw wheat. Unhusked. There was some salt in the small pail nearby. I ate the wheat with the salt. It was on that day that I realized uncooked wheat could be tasty! I guzzled water again from the container. My belly full, I was finally at ease. I slept in the masara with the goats.

By then I had indeed become a goat.

Even though summer had set in the heat was tolerable. But as I found out later that was just the beginning of the season. As the days passed, the temperature rose steadily. Heat filled the air in all its intensity. Each time the wind blew, I felt like I was inside a furnace.

What do you think I wanted most during my first summer in the desert? Freedom? Water? Good food? Seeing my child? Calling my Sainu once? No, none of those. My fervent desire was to sit in a bit of shade for some time. You can imagine my sufferings if
that
was what I dreamt of and longed for! I tried to make some shade with my garment. I even tried to find some shade in the shadow that fell from my staff. I had only heard about places that didn’t have shadows even the size of a crow’s wing. It was in the desert I experienced its reality.

This summer, however, I managed to make a tent by spreading the woollen blanket over my cot. When I sat under it, the heat was somewhat bearable. But I hardly found the time to relax. Work started at five in the morning. It wasn’t done even by ten at night. When I returned with the goats from one section of the masara, the arbab would have released the goats from the next. I just had time to drink two mugs of water—water that had been literally boiling in the rusty iron tank! By then the goats would be spreading out in the desert and if I didn’t get them together, they would go their separate ways. Gathering them after that would be impossible. I’d run to them without wasting a minute at the masara, frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog.

I would raise my eyes to the heavens and ask, my Allah, what crime have I committed against you and my father to be left to wander with animals in this desert like the prodigal son? Allah would look back at me in the shape of the burning sun. He would tell me, the days of suffering you must go through are not over yet. Like a prophet in the desert, I would kneel on the hot sand and pray looking at the sky: My Allah, release me from this affliction. Send me a saviour as you sent Moses to the Israelites. Liberate me from this captivity.

I didn’t know if Allah heard me or not. But the belief that Allah was looking after me instilled in me a new confidence. Non-believers, those of you fortunate to live merrily in the pleasant greenery Allah has bestowed on you, you might feel prayers are ridiculous rituals. For me, prayers were my bolt-hole. It was because of faith alone that I could be strong in spirit even when I was weak in my body. Otherwise I would have withered and burnt like grass in that blazing wind.

The sand cools faster than it warms up. By eight or nine in the night, the sand would be cold. Then, it was pleasant to sleep on the sand. It was as if a spring had sprouted from the earth’s interior, cooling the sand and me on top of it. Ah, how pleasant it was! It would wash away the entire day’s fatigue. I refuse to believe that the earth’s interior is boiling hot. I also won’t believe that there is no water in the desert. I am certain that there was a river flowing silently under the sandy plain I lay on. I slept on that flow, like on a raft. Even thinking about that experience doubles my contentment and sleep now. However, my peace of mind did not last long. It ended on a note of fear. I will tell you why.

One morning, when I entered the masara, I saw four or five goats lying dead on the ground. I was frightened.
They had been leaping about yesterday without any problems. One of them was about to give birth. I could not figure out what had happened. Could it be some disease that struck them? Allah, is it some kind of contagious disease? If so, wouldn’t I have detected some symptoms? Nervously, I ran towards the arbab’s tent. I told him what had happened. In Malayalam. The arbab must have learned my language by then. Even otherwise, hasn’t it been proven many times that if necessity demands, a listener can understand any language. But it is also my experience that whatever the language, the listener will never understand if the need of the speaker to communicate is greater than the listener’s to understand.

The arbab got up and walked with me to the masara; he circled the dead goats, turned them over and inspected them. Opened their eyelids and looked into them. I waited, expecting to be accused and beaten. But nothing happened. The arbab walked around the masara looking for clues. Then he brought a shovel from the pick-up and asked me to dig a pit. When I finished digging, the arbab dragged the goats and dumped them in it. I was very surprised. Would my arbab, who wouldn’t even spare salt to apply on a wound, let so much mutton go waste? I just did
not understand, neither did he explain. I returned to my routine.

I milked the goats and served some milk to the arbab, drank some myself and gave the rest to the lambs. I went out with the goats, came back and ate two khubus, cleaned the masara, and filled all the different containers. My chores did not stop. What did it matter to me if the goats were dead or alive? It was only the arbab’s loss. I didn’t have anything to gain or lose. Still, a pain lingered throughout the day like soreness from an insect sting. Despite my best efforts to remain composed, those deaths kept haunting me. Especially the death of the pregnant goat. That goat was going to give birth for the first time! I could see its pride in all its movements and looks. Even though it was a goat, it too must have had dreams. How many times must it have dreamt about becoming a mother, feeding its child and playing with it? Poor thing, all of it ended in one night. That is life.

Goat, my dear goat, your life and mine are someone else’s gift. Neither you nor I have any right to live even a day more than we are permitted to by He who gifted it to us. We can’t escape from this world without going through all that we are destined to endure. Goat, your stars were unlucky, you were condemned
to die before you could even look at your child. I am twice as doomed. I too must go through hell in this masara. I too haven’t even seen my child. What a wretched life!

At night, after my meal of khubus, I lay down on the bare sand, with a stone for a pillow.

To my surprise, the arbab started his vehicle. A hope rose in me that he might leave for while. If so, I must abscond. I lay down as if I hadn’t noticed him. But all my senses were keenly alert. The arbab began driving around the masara. Very slowly, as if he was searching for something. After four or five rounds, he returned to the tent and stopped the car. Then he went inside the tent. Within an instant, all the stars rising towards hope were doused in darkness. I was angry and frustrated. I cursed everything. I even cursed Allah.

The arbab drove around the masara many more times that night. I didn’t understand why he was doing that, nor did I ask. After all, goats do not talk to men.

Lying in sandy comfort, I slept. It must have been late at night when I woke up to the commotion of goats bleating and milling about. When I looked around, I saw the arbab panicking and running around the iron
fence. He was also calling me, ‘
Hayya, hayya …’
I jumped up and went to his side. The arbab gave me a stick and pushed me into the masara. Completely at a loss, I stood there as the arbab started his vehicle to illuminate the place. The goats continued to bleat. Slowly, moving aside each goat, I looked for what was disturbing them. Finally, I caught sight of the reason why the goats were so jumpy. A snake! A snake coiled around a goat’s leg. I ran out, crying in fear.

At home, I wouldn’t even go in the direction where a mud snake or a water snake had been sighted, for three days at least. Even the mention of a snake terrified me. Seeing me so frightened, the arbab came out angrily and pushed me back inside and locked the masara from outside. Now I had only two options. Either kill the snake or die of snakebite. Necessity bestows a man with courage he did not know he possessed. I had many unfulfilled aspirations throbbing inside me, so I had to be bold. To live was my necessity.

Tiptoeing, I aimed for the leg of the goat on which the snake had coiled itself. It is very difficult to kill a snake in a crowd of people or goats. The stick merely touched its body when it turned towards me, hissing. I ran out. But the masara door was locked. Mad with fear, I started hitting out left and right. Most of the
blows landed on the backs of the goats. They began to run around but I kept on hitting. None of the strikes landed on the snake. But it must have got frightened by the sound of the blows because it went away on its own.

I was heavily reprimanded by the arbab. One of the goats died from my blows. I lost my peace of mind that night. I also lost the pleasure of sleeping on the cool sand. For how many days had I been sleeping on the ground exposed to the mercy of the poisonous snake? It could have slithered towards me, bitten me and killed me. I had heard that desert snakes were very poisonous. A mere touch is enough to end a life. But no snakes had come for me in all the days I slept on the ground. They must have moved away, knowing that I was sleeping there. Allah the merciful decides everything in advance. Everything happened only according to His plans. Not even a snake bit against His wish. Allah, praise be to you!

The next morning, three young goats were found dead in the masara. One of them was my Nabeel.