A STEP IN LIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

Wind blew on Ahmed’s face as he gazed at his farm. He took a puff of his favourite kamaran cigarrete and slowly let smoke erupt from his lungs. He loved that taste in his mouth.  The sky was clear and showed no signs of rain on that day. It was the beginning of the rainny season, Ahmed’s best time of the year. The smell of soil after rain and the smell of leaves  reminded him of his years as a kid, playing in the rain with his friends. He strolled around his  farm with his hands locked on his back  glancing at the dry lemon , papaya and date trees. 

Years back, the farm was green and fertile. He remembered picking lemon from the trees for his mother and all close neighbors. Dates would ripen in the summer and they would harvest cartons of the different types that were growing. His father  got most of his income from selling dates and other vegetables he grew. They also had sheep to to add up their income. They rarely bought any necessities from the market; they had a wonderful, fullfilling life and people knew them as one of the richest families in the village.

That’s the thing Ahmed hated about his village, everyone knew everyone. Everyone talked about everyone. A saying his mother used to say, “ You can’t even firt freely in this place, everyone will know about it.”

Now the farm was dry and no body seemed to know why. Some said it was an evil eye from jealous neighbors but Ahmed knew better. He knew it was the pride of his father and his cruelty, a punishment from God.  He took the last puff of his cigarette and trashed the remaining one on the ground putting it off with his old, brown sandles.

Ahmed Yahya was a well built strong man. He was tall, a little tanned and had long, brown hair falling on his shoulders. He couldn’t remember a time when his hair was short. He wore a white robe and a black jacket, his casual clothes. He had never worn trousers in his entire thirty five years. When he was young, he asked his father to buy him just one pair of trousers but his father refused accusing him of going astray.

“Trousers!!!! What do you want from such clothes?! They are not our traditional clothes, they are for Westeners. You are becoming spoilt and will soon go astray,” his father told him.

When he demanded for the second time, he was severly beaten that he had bruises on his back for a couple of weeks.  He straightened his baige scarf on his shoulders and looked down on his dirty white robe. He usually wore the same robe for three or four days and blamed the village for being too dusty.  He always had his dagger neatly stuck on his decorated belt tied around his waist; this was the pride of a real man in the village.

He had one younger brother, Salman but didn’t have any sisters. Salman was their father’s favourite. Ahmed never understood why. He did everything for his father yet got blamed all the time and Salman got the attention and credit. Maybe the shinny star theory was true after all. They said everyone had their own star; the more yours shines, the more you are liked by people. Maybe his star just didn’t shine as much as Salman’s.

When Salman ran off with a group of other boys from their village to another country, Ahmed felt a little happier. Salman was fifteen at the time. He had told Ahmed he would run off but he didn’t believe it.  One day they woke up to find him gone. No one ever heard from him again. Their mother became sick thinking of all the worst possible things that could have happened to her son. She died two years after that.  Ahmed was eighteen back then.

Their father, Yahya, became bitter; he became cruel to everyone especially Ahmed condemning him of driving Salman away. His cruelty cost him his life. He had never been liked by most villagers from the beginning, he was too proud and arrogant. He never cared about anyone but himself and his wealth. He often deceived people of their money when they bought goods from him. He had the power of having a great tribal name so no one dared stood up to him until one day, some malicious villagers burnt down his farm during the night.

Everyone came from their houses to see great Yahya’s farm burn down. They whispered silent curses amongst themselves. Their happy whispers were  heard by Yahya who couldn’t stand to watch the horrific scene. He couldn’t stand the shame of having his pride skinned off him. He ran into the fire like a mad man trying to put it away. Villagers tried to hold him back but he was too strong and persistant. His burnt dead body was pulled out of the farm in the morning. 

Ahmed walked past people who narrated God’s grand punishment on Yahya.  He went to live with his father’s cousin who got him married a couple of months later. He never wanted to marry but was forced to. He didn’t love his wife, Aziza, from the beginning of their marriage but atleast he got someone to cook, clean and wash for him; better than living alone in his father’s house.

The farm dried out; didn’t show any kind of recovery in the seventeen years of rain, fertilizers and all the care Ahmed tried to give it. Now all he depended on for his income were the sheep since their were no odd jobs in the village which matched the level of his great tribal name. He couldn’t work as a blacksmith or a barber; nor could he work in other people’s farms. His name only gave him one option; to be his own master.  He had inherited his father’s pride and he knew it but didn’t care much to change himself.  He wasn’t a risk taker to travel outside the village either.

Ahmed was not a religious man, had never been and never wanted to be. For him, everything was cause and effect and nothing was destined to be. He thought of heading back home before sun set. He hated his life, cursed his father for his misery.  He always thought his life was unfair and he didn’t deserve it.  It was all his fathers fault. He cursed him whenever he felt depressed. Deep down, he was secretly relieved that his father died but never showed nor mentioned it.