Lost to Life
by, Khalid Fateh Muhammad
A cold wind blew constantly, as it always did. It never stopped. The trees were very tall…… as tall as time itself ….. or perhaps time was as ancient as the trees themselves. He grew in these trees; he considered himself as a part of the trees, and at times, a tree in his own right. He loved each and every tree, he had been seeing them since he was a child. There was an affinity between him and the trees. He would think about how a person loves only one person rather than hundreds of thousands of persons. He would laugh sardonically. This is one forest, and he loves the forest: hence, every tree.
No one had planted these trees; the nature had nourished them, and they had remained loyal to her; they had weathered the onslaught of seasons and always stood tall and proud. They were spread over mountains and foothills, but they were not their own masters; there was a man who owned them. They were fed and nourished by nature, but ironically, he was earning a fortune because of them.
Zeb was a laborer on daily wages working in the forest. He was one of many working there. They all lived in hamlets along the foothills. They would patrol the forest in given area of responsibility and keep the poachers away. There was no fixed salary and it depended on number of poachers they had caught. And months would pass without their getting hold of a poacher yet poaching was in abundance.
His canvass shoes now needed replacement, and he had requested the super wiser time again for new shoes or a small amount of cash so that he could get a cheap pair of homemade contraptions from a local shoemaker who lived in their hamlet. He was now bare footed and walking in his area of responsibility was hurting his feet. One day he saw the owner there. He was a young man. It was the first time that he had seen someone different from his people. His first glance fell at the stranger’s feet, he could not take his eyes off the shoes. He stole a glance at other people’s feet; they were either bare footed or wore homemade contrivances tied by strings.
He felt a surge of excitement rising within him. Taking a step forward, he could not take his eyes off the man’s shoes. While looking at them, he cleared his throat:
“ Sir!” He addressed the man, looking him in the eyes.” I have been without shoes for a long. My feet hurt. You have a wonderful pair of shoes. Can you be kind enough to give these to me? You are rich; you can always buy new ones.” He bowed his head in reverence.
There was a collective sigh of exclamation. The owner did not bother. He was looking at Zeb. There was a benevolent smile on his lips. He bent down, untied his shoes, and threw them towards him. He caught them mid -air like a crow. He wore them; they fitted him perfectly. His feet had not known the taste of comfort, they were truly comfortable.
“What is your name?” He asked in a ruthless manner. His eyes had fire in them. Zeb was more shocked than scared.
“ Zeb … Sir!” He stuttered.
The benevolent smile had been replaced by hatred.
“You have dared to speak to me and made me bare footed. My status did not let me refuse. You have got my shoes. In the future, if you are seen here, I will have you lynched.” He looked at someone, who murmured, ‘yes, sir!’
Zeb looked at the faces around him; and all had their eyes downcast. He felt that he had been abandoned by everyone. If he went to the hamlet to see his parents, they might also abandon him. He has to leave this place, he thought.
He started walking in the opposite direction of the mountains. He had no idea how long he had been walking. The forest started getting thinner till there was only a solitary tree here and there.
He was now on a plateau, a flat piece of land spread before him. It was barren and dusty, devoid of trees and shrubbery. When he looked back, he could not find the beginning, and there was no end in sight; it was stretched from horizon to horizon. How many hours had he been walking? Apart from his many other fears, he was terrified of losing his way, and ending up back where he started and be lynched.
He had come from an area full of landmarks. Whenever someone was tasked to travel a long distance, they always kept certain landmarks in mind, and for fear of getting lost, always walked from one landmark to the next.
He was traversing a flat and barren country. He had to invent a method of moving in a straight line; minor deviations could be accepted. He kept moving on instinct, his mind busy solving his riddle as night started to fall. He was tired, hungry, and thirsty. He had to keep moving straight and find a way to survive.
It was still dusk when he lay down. He studied his shoes; they were as good as new. He could walk with torn clothes but not in broken shoes. He took them off, and on a sudden inspiration, pointed the toes in the direction that he was going; unaware of his destination. Besides them, he drew two arrows set apart from each other, their points towards the direction that his shoes were pointing.
And in between the arrows, he lay down again.
He was in a state of slumber, waiting for the rooster to crow, when he suddenly became aware of his predicament. He sat up with a start and reached for his shoes. They were drenched with overnight dew. Instinctively, he started sucking the dew. He sucked them with all the strength that his lungs could muster. By the time the shoes became dry, he was so exhausted with his effort that he blacked out. When he came about, he felt energized, and fresh. He stood up and stretched his cramped limbs; he had a close look at the heads of the arrows and started walking towards the rising sun.
When the sun was up, he stopped and looked far ahead to fix a point to walk towards. Shimmers had started to form, moving constantly, and there was no point visible that the eye could fix upon. He kept moving in the direction of the sun. After travelling reasonably for a longer period, he realized that instead of going straight towards the west, the sun was slightly towards the south. He had heard that the sun took a longer route during the summers. He now inferred that it would set somewhere in the southwest, so he decided to keep it on his left shoulder.
When he stopped, the sun was settling. He was tired, hungry, and thirsty. He had been walking for two days. He was hoping there would be no clouds; the clouds would take away his only source of energy. His clothes were drenched in sweat, and he was at the last stage of exhaustion.
He followed his usual routine; he drew parallel arrows to sleep between them and ensure he would wake to follow the direction in which their heads were pointing .In his state of dizziness, he had a look at his shoes. They were as new as the day he had put them on. He pointed them in the direction of arrow and fell unconscious.
He was delirious throughout the night. One part of his mind kept pressing him not to wake up. At last, he opened his eyes; It was bright, and his throat was parched. He reached for his shoes immediately; they were still wet. He began sucking the dew absorbed by the leather of his shoes. Every drop he sucked was like a drop of water on fire.
He felt relatively energized and started walking in the direction the arrows pointed. Every step that he took was a distinct effort, and he felt his energy sapping. He wanted to sit down and wait for death, but then he was afraid of the painful end that he would have to endure here.
He trudged on; It was an effort for him. Initially, he had a motive, but now he just wanted to keep moving! Where was he going? He had to keep moving until he reached somewhere or died.
Suddenly, he sensed a change in the topography. There was a slight descent in the ground, a surge of exhilaration took hold of him ; he was finally reaching somewhere. He knew from mountains wherever there was a descent, there always was human life.
There was a spring and a new energy in his stride; disappointment had been replaced by hope. Instead of looking straight ahead, he now began observing around him. Just before sunset, he spotted a thick clump of trees and a cluster of houses.
He now had a goal in front of him and was not afraid of losing his way; he changed his direction. He thought of nothing except a pail of water and a cauldron full of curry. His mouth was watering constantly; he was surprised by how his stomach managed to send so much water to his mouth.
He could now clearly make out the houses… all built of mud. This meant there was water down there; sufficient to build mud houses. He was now close enough to the hutments that waited for a dog to bark, hoping to warn the people of an approaching stranger.
When he reached the first houses, he saw a middle -aged couple stepping out of a home. At the sight of them, the last of his energy deserted him, and with a thud, he fell down unconscious.
He could hear some voices, but could not discern whether they were near or far, or if he was actually listening to anyone at all? He remained lost on a plateau that was devoid of everything. He yearned to smell woody scent and the fragrance of wildflowers, caught in a state of being and not being. He tried to sit up but was too weak to do so, and lost consciousness again.
When he regained consciousness, he felt a little stronger. This time, he was able to sit up with some effort. He looked around. There was no one in the room. He was on cot with a pitcher of water and an earthen bowl near it. First slowly and then in a frenzy, he finished the pitcher. He still felt dryness in his throat. He checked himself, knowing he might fall ill by drinking too much water on an empty stomach.
His position was precarious, but not perilous. The couple sheltering him appeared to be ordinary people like him. Apparently, he was safe. When he regained his strength what would he do?
He looked around. There was not much in the room… just a pitcher of water and an earthen bowl placed on a makeshift table with a stool nearby. Definitely someone must have been looking at him from there. If he not sure of them, they certainly had similar doubts about him.
He was not delirious, but he was still not very alert. Weakness was gnawing at him and he wanted to get up to decide his next plan of action. He looked down. His shoes were right where they should be. He heaved a sigh of relief.
He perched himself a bit higher; he was very hungry. He sat with his eyes closed. He heard footsteps stop near him, but did not open them. He was afraid that the owner of the forest might have been following him to have him lynched.
“How are you feeling ,boy?”
It was more of a motherly voice that just a woman’s voice. He opened his eyes. She was the same woman whom he had seen before falling unconscious.
“How many days have I been here?”
“It’s the fourth day today.”
This effort was too taxing for his resilience. He blacked out for a short while. When he regained his senses, he saw the man was also in the room. The woman and the man both looked worried. There was a tempting smell of a freshly cooked meal. His stomach cried out at the smell. God knows when he had last eaten!
“Where are you from and what is your name?”
“I am starving to death. Give me something to eat first.”
The woman at once went out and came back carrying a wooden tray that had a steaming bowl of broth and a few chapatis. He attacked the food like a madman. After devouring the last morsel, he drank half the bowl. The man put a hand on the bowl.
“Enough. You will fall sick.”
Now feeling drowsy, having food in hos stomach after… he had no idea… how many days, he gave a sleepy smile. The man shifted in his seat; the woman put the tray in a corner and sat back in her seat.
The man was looking at him inquiringly.
“ I come from the mountains, where there are thick forests. I walked on this unending, flat, and barren ground for … how many days, I have no idea.”
“Listen now. We have a council here. Every stranger has to be presented before it. Until the next decision, I am going to be your escort.”
“The man helped him to get up. He staggered a little and then steadied himself. The man was still holding him by the arm.
The council consisted of three men. They were all as ordinary looking as his escort. They were sitting in a semicircle on the ground. He was told to sit facing them. With some difficulty and assistance of his escort, he managed to sit cross- legged. For the first time, he realized that his whole body was very stiff.
“What is your name?”
“Zeb.”
“Where are you from?”
“From the mountains, where there are thick forests, and I was one of the many guards.”
“That must be far away. Why, then, are you here?”
Zeb looked at his boots and, with a wry smile, met the staring eyes.
“Because of these boots.”
The council members looked at each other in astonishment.
“Did you steal these?” He was asked.
“No. I was my making my rounds barefooted. The sharp stones and rocky surface were causing a lot of pain and inconvenience. One day the owner of the hills… which were made by nature, on which trees grew on their own … came on a visit. I asked for his shoes, which he graciously gave, and in the next breath ordered me to leave his property, or he would have me lynched.”
Zeb could not control his tears.
“The area that you walked through is haunted. Nobody comes back alive from here. Three people tried to cross it but never returned. Even their skeletons were not found.”
“They lost their way and met their fate. There are no land marks for keeping direction. So losing one’s way is a probability.”
“Why didn’t you lose your way and die somewhere?”
Zeb gave a cynical laugh and lovingly patted his boots. He then narrated his ordeal on the plateau.
……….
“We are fugitives,” the landlord told Zeb after the council had acquitted him. The landlord had been appointed so by the council. They were sitting outside of his house. “We are the third generation. My father never told me the reason, but it’s a secret that we are guarding. I have a fair idea why the ancestors selected this place as a safe refuge.”
Zeb thought over his statement and discerned why this place was selected. It was just because of the plateau that he had traversed a few days ago.
“You must have noticed that we are a few families living here. We do not allow outsiders to reside here.” He laughed.” There have no outsiders so far except you. You were given permission to live here after a lot of deliberation. “Now Zeb understood why there had never been any outsiders? They were never allowed to exist, and that is the reason for their being fugitives.
“How do you survive?”
“Each of us has a different skill to survive on. Like I make wooden items required for household use.” Zeb thought about the crude furniture items in the house.
“Someone weaves cloth and another one stitches it. So we continue living on our own.”
“Where do you get food items from? I don’t see any crops around. I have not seen cotton plants in my life, but I see nothing being grown.”
“Remember we are descendants of fugitives. It’s almost been a century that we have been living here. We know how to manage and survive.”
A shiver ran through Zeb’s spine. The owner of the forest land had threatened him with lynching.; these people could be even more cruel.
The landlord left him alone and went away. They had been sitting in his work area, which was cluttered with crude handmade tools and pieces of wood. The landlord left him alone and went away. His mind was weighing different options when the landlord came back.
“The council wants to see you.”
It was a burden for Zeb to get up. He felt himself to be a living dead. They could kill him if they chose to. In the jungle land, lynching could be a threat because law existed to make it a crime. Here there was no law… council was the law… so murder would go unnoticed.
He went and sat cross- legged before the council. He now had the feeling that he should not have run away from his land. Maybe the master had just threatened to have him lynched.
The atmosphere did not have the familiar aura of last time. It was somber and tense. Zeb wanted to run away, but he could not. They had taken his shoes from him. It was better to die than to run away without his boots. They had been his partners during his audacious journey.
“Whosoever comes here does not go. Either he stays, or in other condition, he also stays… he’s killed. The shoemaker skins him, and the skin is used for the shoes we wear.”
There was long silence. For Zeb, it embodied a call to death. He was left with no options. He would not be murdered. He had run away from his land to live and he will live.
“Do you want to stay?”
The question was a scary threat. All the options at his disposal wanted him to stay, otherwise he would have to face a crude death.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Everything rests with you. Do you know the rules?”
Zeb looked blankly at the council members. His eyes showed defiance, but his voice was a reflection of submission.
“No, not much. I know only what little I have been told.”
“Here, every young man and woman must be married. You will be given a good- looking and sturdy woman as your wife.’
Zeb had never considered this aspect. He was shocked. He sat with his head bowed. His options were very limited: either he died, or he married. Marriage was the only solution available. He looked up, his face set with a determination.
“I am ready for the marriage.”
What followed was very melodramatic. A large green sheet was spread over his head. He had his eyes closed. He felt someone sitting next to him. He was hesitant to open his eyes, fearing who might be sitting next to him. He felt some shuffling.
Someone ordered him to extend his arm, which he did, and the person sitting to him was also told to do so.
“Now your blood will be mixed , and then you will be husband and wife.”
There was a sharp but brief pain in his left index finger, and he felt the person next to him squirm.
The sheet was removed. The woman took his hand and kicked the drop of blood. He looked at her. She was sturdy and good looking in an unusual way. She smiled at him, and the smile gave her manly features a delicate softness. He instantly fell in love with her.
“Here, women don’t have a name. They are called by their husbands’ names. She’s Zeb.” The senior councilor said.” Now we have to decide your profession. We have a carpenter, shoemaker, grave digger, and a provider. What would you like to become?”
He was stuck for life. He could not chicken out now. He had been given a wife whom he had liked instantaneously. His immediate aim was to survive; the rest he could work out later. He looked at her. He could feel intensity in her eyes. Was it to support his decision or was she backing out?
He decided to let them know what he would like to do. He was afraid they might smell a rat. He looked at her. She was looking expectantly at him. The had a disinterested look because they were doing their duty and wanted to get over it.
“I would like to grow trees.”
Everyone appeared shocked.
“How, where and …?”
The senior councilor stuttered and could not complete his sentence. She was also as shocked as everyone else.
Zeb unclenched his fists. This was like an effort to shake off his tension.
“How can you plant trees when they are not needed, and moreover, we don’t have any space?”
“Trees are always needed. I will cuttings from the trees in thousands and plant them on the plateau. “
“But it’s haunted. Evil will fall on us because you are trespassing on it.”
“There’s no evil or devil. I travelled for days to reach here. Trees will bring prosperity here.”
“You did not meet any devil, or you killed all of them?” His wife said in a shocked innocence. Zeb looked at his hands as if they still had blood stains on them, and then at her with a look filled with the innocence of love.
“If devil kills me, I will sacrifice myself for you in a bid to make you prosperous.”
There was shuffling of feet and whispering, and then a deathly silence, which is always there before a decision. The chief councilor took a deep breath.
“OK. What would you need?”
“We have two wells of sweet water here. I will need one for me exclusively. Something sharp to cut branches, a couple of trowels and spades.”
The chief councilor looked at the carpenter and the provider. They raised their hands.
“I will make beds for the cuttings to be planted. I will start with approximately one hundred cuttings. I will wait till I get the tools.” He made beds with a trowel and a spade. His wife would be sitting on the edge of the bed. She always had a pitcher full of water, because she knew that he had always been without water for no idea how many days, only that it left him perpetually thirsty.
The bed was ready… level and ready for planting. He cast an analytical look at the bed and brought the bundle of cuttings that he had wrapped in a wet cloth.
He planted them in five rows and sprinkled water with a makeshift wooden sprinkler. They would the see the cuttings after every hour, and one day three cuttings had sprouted.
The Zebs looked at each other triumphantly, and they felt themselves to be on the top of
world.
In a couple of days, all the hundred cuttings were to be transferred. They dug small holes at a distance of ten feet from each other. Zeb knew that the mother trees were wider, but he wanted an umbrella of branches on the plateau.
They had the next nursery of a thousand cuttings planted. They would be spending their time between the nursery and the plateau. One day, all the hundred cuttings were full of tiny, delicate leaves.
His wise was sobbing with happiness, and Zeb embraced her tightly and kisses her passionately.
It was their first kiss.
Now we will make a shack here and raise our family.”
Now his wife embraced and kissed him shyly.
Zeb looked at his bare feet.