Nomads

Chapter 1, Pt 1- Mahha

1754- Somewhere in the Arabian Sea...

"Every evening, I sit by the sea on this shore, and my mind leaps from one thought to another. Everyone has to go on a voyage someday. Some go for small voyages, some look for adventures; some go for so long voyages..." Mahha paused as she looked at the sea, dyed orange by the setting sun.

"That they never return." Al Saqr said and a soft smile spread across his face as he realized of the deep connection that had built between him and Mahha.

The beautiful, spring sun setting behind the waves and the cool breeze blowing had now become an everyday experience for Al Saqr, and he had taken a liking to sitting with Mahha, every evening, on the shore and talking about the meanings of life until the dusk set in.

Al Saqr had arrived at Karawa with a group of merchants six days ago. The fishing village seated along the coast with wooden huts, boats and ships of all sorts had enchanted him instantly. This was the first time he had travelled so far down south across the ocean.

The ocean didn't charm him in the first week. Young of mind, desperate to see new things, there was disappointment in his heart when all he saw was a stretch of the vast blue ocean and the burning sun above. But as they sailed more and as he grew acquainted to the ocean, the random new sea creatures that he saw and some of the storms they had to make past together, his love for the ocean grew.

First day in Karawa, he was tired of the company of his fellow merchants and sailors. But the winds of the new place were whispering to him to explore. He set out to the streets to sell his goods as soon as they had rented rooms in an inn. His goods sold fast, they always did. "Well, you see I am a trader of... strange objects." Was his reply to anyone who enquired about his class of trade. He never forgot to take a confused pause and the word 'strange' as if he were searching for a suitable word to describe it.

In the evening, when he had nothing left to sell, nor the energy to negotiate, he decided to retreat to doing what he loved doing the most, exploring the place.

"The best way to know a new city, especially if you are visiting it for a short term, is to walk. Walking on the streets, shopping in the local market, interacting with the locals, and eating the food that street vendors sold" He had written in the small journal that he always kept in his leather bag. Thinking that he still had a few days to explore the town, he decided to take a walk along the shore. He dusted his yellow, silk robe with his hands, undid his turban and put it in the leather bag he always hanged near his waist. His medium grown, slightly curly hair swayed in the cool breeze. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as his mind cleared itself of the moments of the day and locked them away in a chest that people call memories.

It was time for him to observe and appreciate beauty. The beauty of the sea, the beauty of the setting sun, the beauty of the cool wind, and the beauty of the silhouettes of the birds flying across the vast sea; the beauty of the moment.

He walked along the shore, as orange waves of the sunset lightly crashed. He walked past the small wooden harbor docks, past the fishermen arriving back home; some came alone, some with their sons and brothers, some with their daughters. He walked past children, wives and mothers waiting eagerly for the fishers to come. He walked past his own ship that stood magnificently, along with a few ships of the same size from distant lands, lined together.

He walked along the empty beach, inhaling and exhaling breaths of peace, thinking about nothing but the artwork of nature that it had painted around him.

And as he walked further, his eyes fell on her. A young woman, sitting on the beach, with her legs stretched out long, towards the waves as they lightly touched her feet every time they made it to the shore. Her long, black, hair dancing in the wind. Her deep blue eyes staring emotionlessly at the horizon. Her beautiful, deeply tanned, brown skin wrapped in dirty, old robes.