Forks in the Road

By: Bint Khalid

To loyal readers. The following is based on true events.

 

World War Two, and the world is unhinged. The abhorred senses of fear and uncertainty bask in the air; battles between mighty nations and superpowers ensue. Here is a war, and who knows what the new world will look like? Or who will emerge conqueror on the other side? In the turmoil, the innocent are dropping like dead leaves, some by bullet and others starvation. One wonders which is worse.

In Qatar, with a world in catastrophe, the contract with the Anglo-Persian Company to excavate oil is immobilized. Travel and trade are restricted. The largely bedouin community are unsure of what is happening with limited means of communication.

…………………..

Ojan, a man in his late twenties was leaning against the outdoor wall of his family home in the old Doha. It was afternoon, just after the asr prayers, and he was taking the time to consider how to handle this crisis that had fallen on their heads. He had been to the market in the morning, and all talk was about the obscene prices of food rations.

 Buyer: “1000 Rupees?!”

Seller: “1000 Rupees.”

Buyer: “For one kilo?!”

Seller: “For one kilo.”

Buyer: “For sugar?!!”

Seller: “For sugar.”

Buyer: “It is only 100 Rupees in Saudi Arabia.”

Seller: “Then buy it there. If you can.”

Oh yes. The black market was in hyper mode, and certain food items were in demand. Sugar, coffee, dates and flour were hot. The smuggling scene was lucrative, and it was the best chance to stave off hunger. Some people were making money, even if it was the riskiest way to make money. But high risk meant high reward, right?

Ojan contemplated the option that had never been an option before now. Their situation was getting ridiculous, how would they survive? He recalled a woman found dead in her home; had been dead for days. She was buried in a flour sack as there were no white ‘kafan’, death shrouds, available.  Her baby was found alive, it had fed on its dead mother’s milk.  He then recalled seeing a young man, haggard, licking the yellow stems of a barren plam tree, where all the dates had already been picked.

He was agitated. They were making the most of their limited rations as it was, and he hated to see his parents with that hollow look. He was tired of that knotted feeling in his stomach. He did not want to eat what dates they had, swallowing the seeds whole, just to feel full.  

So he made up his mind. He was going to Saudi Arabia. He would do what it took to help his family and himself. This was about survival.

Meanwhile, Mishlesh was having similar thoughts. A man in his fifties, he herded camels and was doing well except for the last two years when the general economy became depressed. He scratched his neck and popped the first button on his thoub, as he sat back against the thick cushion. He was at the family majlis with two of his uncles and a few cousins. His brother should have been there, but there was no sign of him.

“I saw Hamad bin Mohammed a few days ago”

“How is he?”

“Thanks to God, he is in good health.”

“I haven’t seen him since that time at the Alis’ majlis”

“He grew feathers*.”

“In such times?”

“He just got back from Al-Hasa.”

“I see.”

“Some people have the courage.”

Mishlesh said nothing to that last remark. He was intrigued and wondered what kind of man would decide to travel to the Kingdom of Saud, to the very city of Al-Hasa, the hometown of Bin Jloui. What would it take to venture there and come back laden with a cache of coffee and flour? He thought of Hamad bin Mohammed, a third cousin he knew as a quiet and reserved man. What could Hamad do that he couldn’t?

“He will be in the market on Friday after prayers”

“Oh?”

“Yes, with gifts for sale.”

Mishlesh sipped some diluted coffee as his brother walked in. He winked at him and smiled mischievously.

…………………..

Ojan was on his way. His camel was saddled and he was perched on its back. The Qatari landscape was rocky and sparsely any plants were there, except for a few shrubs and the few roudh he saw on his way to Salwa. By mid morning he was near the border and the sea could be seen shimmering in the distance. He gripped the ropes of his camel and pushed on heading west.

…………………

Out west the land bore a different face, and sands took an orange shade rolling infinitely to the end of the earth. This part was called Um Huaidh. If one was not careful they would be lost and buried in boundless monotonous sand. The Empty Quarter was no hollow name. 

This vast sandy carpet was not completely dead.  Its lively occupants included spiny tailed lizards, caracals, Arabian cobras, striped elegant racers, horned vipers, camel spiders, fat tailed and black tipped scorpions, and The Servants. The Servants  (el khiddam) were patrollers in the desert bordering Qatar and Saudi Arabia, given such a name by their superiors as well as the people. They were men, who were on the move, charged by the rulers of the Saudi Kingdom to track and scrutinize any travelers commuting between the two states. They understood the desert and knew its routes. They settled at night in make-shift tents, but mostly under the open sky. Their camels were racers, trained and hand-picked. The Servants were severe and forever armed, watching for outlaws and smugglers.

………………..

Mishlesh explained to his brother again what he planned to do. He went over the routes that he would take, and demonstrated how he would use the gella to bring back what he bought from the markets of Al-Hasa. The gella would be used as a saddle on the back of a camel, its middle fell on the hump, while its sides formed two stiff sacks on both flanks of the camel. The sacks were made of dried palm leaves. Here he would store his inventory of smuggled goods, whether flour, sugar or coffee, then cover the top with dates to hide his illegal commodities. His camel Simhoon was as ready as he was, gazing into the distance and back at him as if to say “When do we start?”

………………..

Ojan was in Al-Hasa. He was there for a day now, and walked through the market finding all things he needed to buy. The prices were unbelievably lower here than they were in Doha. He could not fathom how an invisible line on a land older than his oldest ancestor could arrange people into two sides, where all share the same climate, lifestyle and blood, but on one side people were on the brink of starvation. It was no wonder to him that many of the people of Qatar have migrated to Bahrain, and Saudi Arabia. He could purchase supplies that would last him for the next ten months at a price he paid in Doha for a month’s worth of supplies.

He was going to leave as soon as he arranged his newly bought flour and sugar into the gella he had brought with him from Doha. The town was an oasis and palm trees were in abundance. Despite the slightly better living standards in Al-Hasa, he could not stand the atmosphere of the place. The Hasawis were not the warmest of people, and their renowned callous demeanor was reflected in the smallest of interactions and the simplest of conversations. They deserved Bin Jloui, the governor of Al-Hasa, who ruled with a severe hand, and was notoriously known for his brutality. Bin Jloui was what the Hasawis required. A terror who enjoyed making public examples of those charged with misdemeanors.  

As Ojan walked he noticed a gated and armed area known as al-koot, within was the famous sejn el-‘abeed, The Prison of Slaves. Al-koot was An area one kilometer in diameter, that held the governor’s palace, the judiciary and the prison. It was said that The Prison of Slaves was shaped as a windowless fort, run by large and loyal black slaves, who perfected the art of torture. He did not want to think about what would happen if The Servants ever found him.

………………………….

Mishlesh was nearing Al-Hasa, just as Ojan was half way back to the border. It was noon when Ojan noticed men on camelback some distance away, and was uncertain whether they were friendly passersby or a patrol. If they were hostile, surely they would be on him by now? He decided not to flee as it would only rouse their suspicions in the event that they were patrollers. As they drew near he noticed their rifles. Adrenaline rushing through him, he yanked on his ropes, turning his camel South. Just as he did, two warning shots were fired. It was too late, he had waited too long to identify them.

The Servants went through Ojan’s belongings; they were pleased with their find and one of them kept his rifle aimed at him. They took his camel and all the supplies he had bought.  Then they assigned one of them to take him back to The Prison of Slaves, where the unfortunates wound up.

………………..

All around the desert strecthed. In the horizon the city sat, hidden behind a forest of palm trees. Other than this walled community the scene was entirely flat. Upon entering al-koot he saw the outer walls of the prison. No gaurds could be seen, but he knew they had ther eyes on him, he felt them looking at him, eager, from small round openings in the thick walls. They could monitor any passers and slip their rifles in those holes if needed.

His assigned guard brought him to the large gate, and walked him through the wide court. He saw a well some distance away, and in the same moment felt his throat dry. Another guard walked up to them, and the two of them marched him straight to the well. He thought of his parents, and turned to one of the guards near him. “Tell any Qatari traveler that I am in the Al-Hasa Prison, my father must know.” The sun was high, and the rays hit the stones that lined the well. The stones lined the inside of the well down to the very bottom, and he was surprised to see that the well was in fact dry. His thirst felt acute, and did nothing to relieve his anxiety. They stood him on the edge, and he looked down. With the sunlight falling into the bottom of the well, he was distressed to see scorpions trying to hide in the little shade provided them by the rocks. And then, the decomposing head of a man. The hair was still attached to what was left of the scalp. Bin Jloui had a reputation to keep.

They pushed Ojan into the well.

………………….

In Al-Hasa, Mishlesh went straight to the market to buy all he needed.  He decided it was best not to waste any time more than necessary in this inhospitable town.

…………………..

Ojan fell. The well was deep enough for him to get bruised and wide enough for him to get scraped against the side. He frantically looked around him. On the ground black scorpions were hiding in the crevices of the rocks, avoiding the sun. The light was coming directly through the top of the well and his surroundings were clear. There were some scattered bones, and the decapitated head was lying in a way that made it look up. The hollow eyes stared at him. Ojan thanked God that it was at noon and not at night that he was thrown into the well. He then clamored up the wall of the well, trying to find a steady footing. He perched on a jutting stone, and looked down at the scattered skeletal remains. He tried to ignore the itch against his back and legs.

………………….

Mishlesh was near Salwa. It was afternoon and he knew that dark would be upon him before he reached the border. The night would help him, and Simhoon had excellent pace, he would be in Doha in no time.

As he distanced himself from Al-Hasa, he was welcomed by a serene view. Smooth sands in a caramel color, the sun was in a clear sky, and the air was still. They strode in this peace for a long time. Nearing Salwa, he stopped Simhoon and got down to stretch his legs. Suddenly he found himself surrounded by six men on camels, four of them were black. They were armed and aiming rifles at Simhoon and himself. One of them came down.

“Who are you and where are you headed?”

“Mishlesh. I’m on my way to Doha. What is the matter?”

It was not looking good for him. He had a dagger on him, but what was a dagger against a bullet?

“Search his satchels.”

Mishlesh looked at the man who spoke straight in the eye.

He was detained after The Servants had ransacked his belongings. It did not take them long to find the smuggled coffee, flour and dates. They seized everything, including Simhoon.

The face of sunset was upon them and the sky was streaked with red. The last of the sun was disappearing behind the horizon. Mishlesh was alert. They were close to Salwa, but he knew they would be taking the way back to Al-Hasa, where he would rather not go. He was a captive to men who were trained to be ruthless in executing the law. They only followed orders and would not yield to pleas of compassion for their hungry fellow man. He was not prepared to be made an example of before all, who knew what kind of punishment Bin Jloui had arranged for smugglers, but he did not care to find out. Instead, he kept vigilant. 

“I understand. You are doing what you are commanded to do, and I will resign into your care.” He told them.

They set up camp, and prepared for prayer. All the while he commended them on their sense of duty, and how he respected their efforts in upholding such an arduous occupation.

They performed their ablutions and he joined them, wiping little water on his arms to the elbows, through his hair, and then his feet, making sure he reached between his toes.

As Mishlesh lingered back, the men faced west to start the Maghreb prayer, which they performed as a group; one of them assigned as an imam to lead the prayer. Mishlesh took his time unfurling his sleeves, observing the distance to the camels.

“Allahu Akbar”

As they started the prayer, he dashed to where Simhoon was tied. He tried to work quickly but quietly as he untied his four legged companion in captivity. The supplies he would definitely forget.  

Simhoon tore through the sand leaving the men lined in supplication.

A moment later, the men realized what had happened. Mishlesh was not in line for prayer with them, and they could hear the clamor of a camel making a run for it. They cut their prayer short, and raced to their tied camels. Night was fast approaching but their camels were faster.

Simhoon was a racer, and galloped as if possessed by a djinni, while Mishlesh goaded him with yelling “simhoon halali o mali!”. He tried to change directions as much as he could for fear of being shot by a stray bullet. They were in Salwa and he knew these parts, taking cover of the dark and flying into the oasis nearby, losing sight of his pursuers. He did not stop until he reached the outskirts of Doha.

………………….

Four days later, in Doha, Ojan’s father received news of his son’s imprisonment. He immediately set for the majlis of Sheikh Abdulla bin Jassim. In turn, the Sheikh inscribed a letter to Bin Jloui requesting him to release the prisoner Ojan from the Al-Hasa prison, stating that he was sent by ‘us’ as a form of explanation, and that he was not trying to smuggle any goods for his own personal gains but was given orders to do so.

Ojan was released from ThPrison of Slaves ten days after he was captured. Except for being let out to pray, his time during those ten days were spent in the dry well accompanied by scorpions and human remains. He described them as the most horrific days of his life.  

…………………..

In 1943 the British administered Indian government made a decision to stop all rice exports to the Gulf countries following the Bengal famine (an Indian territory at the time). What is more, all pearl exports and dried dates* from the Gulf to India were prohibited. Three million died of starvation in Bengal, while records of death tolls for the Gulf countries are unavailable. It is argued by some economists that rice shortages were due to hoarding rather than a real scarcity. During the war, Britain substituted rice with a mixture of barley, millet, rice and sugar, an alien mix that people were unfamiliar with. The priorities of Churchill led Britain to put their colonized areas at the bottom of the scale.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

 

Thanks to K.B.R and L.B.A

 

 

Note. the notorious Prison of Slaves (sejn el-‘abeed) was demolished in 1956 in an effort to put behind its reputation and tales of torture.

* “He grew feathers.” is an expression used in Arabic to convey the sense that a person has become well off and is rich.  

*Dried dates were exported to India as they were used in Indian wedding ceremonies.

 

Translation of Arabic words:

Asr:  afternoon

Thoub: the traditional white dress worn by Arab men in the Gulf region

Majlis: A formal meeting place where men gather

Roudh: plural for oasis, Roudha as singular

Allahu Akbar: God is great – announcing the start of the prayer