Nomads

Chapter 3, Pt 1- Black is a Cold Colour

Black is a Cold Colour

Alsaqr woke up as he heard his fellow sailors screaming on the top of their lungs; apparently, they had finally found land. He stretched, yawned and rubbed his eyes. He went up to the deck from his cabin. The port of Kolachi stood peacefully in a distance, across the calm glimmering waves of the Arabian Sea as they reflected the setting sun’s orange hue brilliantly. The small mud, stone, and wooden houses slowly began to appear clearly in the orange glow, and they started to hear distant voices of commotion as their ship drew nearer to the port. They had been sailing for weeks if not months, seeing the port of Kolachi was overwhelming for them.

“Now, my fellow sailors and merchants, we have reached Hind!” their captain shouted.

Everyone screamed in joy as Alsaqr joined in with them. It was a proud moment for them, as storm had almost completely destroyed their ship while on the sea. They had somehow managed to keep the ship from sinking by throwing off extra horses from the ship, and mending the ship’s damage by using the clothes they had, and from the wood of the trunks they had. They had been in pain and guilt, of throwing the horses offboard, but somehow, they had managed to survive.

Alsaqr, as grateful he was, that he did not trade horses. But the sense of guilt of watching those poor things having to die for the sake of a few men had built up in him. But when they saw the shore, the guilt was gone somewhere. They were just happy to have lived.

Alsaqr climbed out of the ship and hopped onto the harbor after the ship was anchored. He walked skillfully, with a sway in his shoulders and his right hand on the handle of his sheathed sword, hanging by the right side of his wait belt. He might have denounced his early life, but he did know how to carry himself like a prince. It was how he had been brought up, he found it hard to change his way of carrying himself so suddenly.

As he stood on the harbor, looking at the beautiful port city, a sense of emptiness suddenly struck him. The city vaguely reminded him of Karawa, and of the evenings he had spent there with Mahha, the same orange glimmering sea, the same bustling harbor and market. He was suddenly sad that Mahha was gone, not because she had to go, but because they could not even get to part properly. He was reminded of the last day he had spent in Karawa, waiting for her. Even a sight of her could have had given him peace that day. He let out a deep breath and shook his head slightly. It was pointless for him to think of his past. He had let go of Mahha, but time again, such things reminded of her. He couldn’t help but feel restless.

It was high time for him to begin the main part of journey. He walked up to his fellow traders, among whom Qasim was there too. They decided to ask around for a local inn near the harbor market. After asking around, being vaguely able to understand the heavy accents in the Arabic of the local people, they found a small stone-built inn to stay. Alsaqr went up to his room, only to realize that he had been given a small, sea facing room with almost exactly the same view as the inn he had stayed in in Karawa. He lit a candle and placed it on the table as he sat down to write in his small journal.

He took a quill and ink. He started to write down the emptiness he had been feeling-

‘The world is a big place. You cannot just run. You cannot run across the horizon, away from what you have been, from what is harming your very soul. You will need to fly, to fly high and fast, as if the wind was racing with you. Blow against the wind, not with it. Blow against everything, like you are building your own small rebellion, and you will find your peace amidst the chaos. You will find that peace on the rendezvous where the winds from the vast seas meet the mighty mountains.’

He felt peaceful, and the void in him felt a bit filled, like someone had mud into a big gaping hole on the earth. He got up from the table and went downstairs at the small bar in the inn. He found Qasim and his other fellow sailors drinking and talking. He went up to them and sat with them.

“Good evening,” he said, as they turned their attention to him and greeted him, “I hope you are all enjoying yourselves here.” He smiled.

“Yes sir!” a merchant exclaimed.

“Well, everything you drink or eat, except any liquor, during your stay here, is on me.” Alsaqr said.

They looked at him in astonishment.

“But, why?” Qasim asked.

“This is probably my last time seeing you people. My father had given me some gold coins when I had set out for this journey.”

“But do you not need it?”, a merchant asked.

“No, I am going to be gone from tomorrow. Travelling alone”

“But you have a family back there. A whole kingdom in your name.” Qasim said, showing concern.

“No Qasim. Not anymore.” Alsaqr said as he got up from his stool.

“From today onwards!” Alsaqr announced as the bustling inn got silent and started to pay attention to him, “I, Alsaqr, the prince of Arabia, the son of emperor Omar, denounce my title as a prince, I denounce of all my rich possessions and swear to travel on foot until my very legs give in, until I take my last breath. I am a traveler and I will explore new lands.”

Everyone in the pub started cheering for him. He sat back down.

“Where exactly are you planning to go?” Qasim asked.

“To the mountains.” Alsaqr said with enthusiasm and excitement in him.

“Which mountains exactly?” asked a merchant.

“I do not know exactly.” Alsaqr said, “I just know that this part of Hind leads to the mountains.”

“What?!” another merchant exclaimed, “you are going to the mountains without a plan?!”

“Yes”, said Alsaqr feeling proud.

“I think maybe I will head North-West for the Hindukush.”

“The mountains are cold, my son.” An elderly voice suddenly interrupted their conversation.

“Who are you, O old man?” Alsaqr asked, looking at a skinny old man with a wrinkled face and skinny body. His grey beard had grown till his stomach and his lips and face had turned brown from tanning, he was bent on a stick, barely standing.

“I am from this village. I have been to the mountains.” He said shaking, “I have travelled all of them, from the Hindukush to Tien Shaan.”

“Tell me more.” Alsaqr said.

“Give me bhaang.” The old man said to the innkeeper as he sat down with them.

“The mountains, are bitter, cold, you can see the water freeze their and take the form of snow.” The man said.

“Snow?” Alsaqr asked. He had heard about water freezing and turning into a white solid when it got too cold.

“As white as you can imagine, the winds there can make your throat go sore, and your body go numb.” The old man continued.

“Yes, I am more than willing to face all that Alsaqr said in excitement.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then head north, go for Tibet. Through the Himalayas, the heart of the mountains. The mightiest of mountains stand there. They have been the land of waste to many beings, creatures and spirits alike.”

“Tibet it is then.” Alsaqr said with determination in his eyes. He got up from and dropped a bag of coins on the bar.

“There are a hundred gold coins in this, it is for all my merchant friends’ stay and food here. The old man’s bhaang is on me too. Use the rest of the coins to educate your children and run your family.” He said to the innkeeper.

He went upstairs to rest, with one thought in his head, the Himalayas.