Beyond the Sand Dune Read online

  Beyond the sand dune

  A Novel of Peace

  Asen Djinah

  Disclaimer

  Although the book contains some historical facts, it is a work of fiction. As such, names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Asen Djinah

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher/writer except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  www.asendjinah.com

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  twitter.com/asendjinah

  CONTENTS

  The Court Case

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  The Story of Omar

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  The Story of Amel

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  The Story of Hayder

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  The Story of Jaffar

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue - The Story of Karim

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  This book is dedicated to the men, women and children who, irrespective of their nationalities or religions, have needlessly lost their lives in terrorist attacks across the world. May they always be remembered. We retain a special thought for the surviving parents, spouses, children and others who have had to make sense of the pointless loss of their loved ones.

  I wish to express my gratitude to my family for their encouragement, support and advice. Without them, the book would not have been what it is.

  Asen Djinah

  Do seek true knowledge

  And if you make that pledge

  Do not listen to their folly

  Even though they may dress it as holy

  For to the truth you will attune

  If you look beyond the sand dune

  A. D.

  The Court Case

  Chapter 1

  The house, like the other houses in that row, had a small courtyard enclosed by high mud walls facing east. The courtyard door opened out on a track and with it, the open desert. The very first time Amel saw the house – two years ago – on the edge of town facing the desert she immediately fell in love with it. Having been brought up as a nomad, she had always loved open spaces; the pure air blowing over the sand dunes gently onto her face, the sun bringing hues of yellow and orange to the vastness of the sand as it rose and set, the twinkling stars in the clear sky at night. All were nostalgic links to her childhood and to her tribe. When she married Hayder she had been apprehensive about her new life in town, but as soon as she saw the house, Amel knew straightaway that she would be fine.

  ‘Hayder knows how I feel and that is why he has chosen this house facing the desert,’ she had thought at the time, grateful for her husband’s understanding.

  She instantly knew that she would be able to adjust to her new life and all her fears had melted away. In any other house in the middle of the town, amidst the narrow, stuffy alleyways, she would have felt claustrophobic.

  ‘Business has been doing very well. We can afford to move into a larger house,’ Hayder had been saying lately.

  Amel played along with his suggestion, although deep down, they both knew that they would be unhappy in any other part of town. Maybe they could move into a bigger house in the future, but only if it faced the open desert.

  It was almost dawn and still dark when Amel, dressed in her abaya – cloak, and niqab, crossed the track into the desert, taking her breakfast with her.

  ‘Finally at long last, Hayder will be back tomorrow,’ she thought with excitement at the prospect of seeing her husband after this long absence.

  Hayder had only been away for three weeks on one of his trade journeys but Amel had missed him terribly, hating to be separated from her soulmate. The waiting, and the listlessness that accompanied it, had seemed like an eternity.

  The sky was lightening on the horizon as Amel sat down, cross-legged on the bare sand. Putting down the bowl of camel milk in front of her, she unwrapped the piece of flatbread and some dates from her napkin. She gazed at the horizon and waited for the sun to rise while she soaked her bread in the milk and ate. As the sun slowly crept up and peeked over the horizon, she closed her eyes and saw herself as a toddler in her mother’s lap, watching the same sun. It was one of the most beautiful sights, one that she had cherished since her earliest years, from the days of living in the desert.

  ‘Ummi, I am here with you now,’ Amel said half-aloud, as though her mother was by her side.

  As far back as she could remember, no matter how busy her mother might be, she would never miss her morning routine and the two of them would have their breakfast watching the sun rise. After she passed away, Amel had vowed to continue the same practice. It was her way of keeping the memory of her mother alive.

  ‘Ummi, I miss you and our quiet time together,’ she spoke aloud again.

  She wondered whether her mother was still watching over her after all these years, as she had promised. The first rays of sunlight finally reached her face and she felt the warmth, just like she used to feel it as a child. As the sun slowly became whole over the horizon, Amel finished the last of her milk and reluctantly stood up.

  ‘I have a busy day ahead with much to do in preparation for Hayder’s return,’ she thought.

  Indoors, out of sight from strangers, Amel removed her niqab and headscarf. Her long, straight black hair fell loosely over her shoulders, accentuating her fair complexion. Her angular face, with its well-defined lines and distinct cheekbones, gave her a striking and attractive look. When she smiled, the dimples in her cheeks made her even more charming.

  ‘You were kissed by an angel when you were a baby,’ her mother used to say to explain her dimples.

  As Amel wandered around the ho
use, she started to sing. Full of happiness, her silky and melodious voice filled the small house as she twirled and danced while tidying up. Whenever allied tribes used to gather in the desert during festival times, Amel was always asked to sing. Everyone wanted to hear her uplifting and entrancing voice. She would sing romantic songs about love and broken hearts which would make her audience melancholic and teary-eyed. As Amel spun around the room, her long hair got into her face and she burst out laughing as she removed the strands from her mouth. Her pouty lips made her look younger than she actually was.

  ‘What can I cook for Hayder’s return?’ she wondered as she carried the sleeping rug outside into the courtyard to beat off the dust.

  As soon as she had cleaned the house, which took all morning, Amel changed back into her black abaya and niqab and left to go to the souk. Despite the long walk into the centre of town, she had decided to buy fresh goat meat to make Hayder’s favourite dish. Walking briskly with a spring in her step, she reached the souk just as the butcher was closing his stall. The market had been open since dawn and by midday the sellers were getting ready to close before the afternoon heat forced customers indoors. Only food stalls would open again after the qailulah – the afternoon nap – until late into the night.

  ‘You’re lucky that I’m a little late closing my stall today as I still have some stock left,’ the butcher told Amel.

  The young woman paid for the meat she needed and hurried back home. By the time she reached the house it was late afternoon and she was hot and tired. She poured herself some soured milk, ate a couple of dates and lay down on the rug for her usual afternoon nap. Instinctively, as she had been doing for the past few weeks every time before she slept, her hand went under her clothes and caressed her naked stomach. Amel was amazed that it was still flat, considering she was almost three months gone.

  ‘I have never been so happy, thank you God,’ she thought as she dozed off.

  Amel must have been exhausted by her chores and her trip to the souk, for when she woke up it was already dark. She picked up a splint out of a bunch and placed it into the small fire pot until it burst into flame. After lighting the oil lamps, she stepped out into the small courtyard to do her ablutions for the evening prayer. It was only when she saw the empty goatskin that Amel realised she hadn’t been to the water-well that afternoon. She hesitated, as it was not proper for a woman to go out unaccompanied after dark.

  ‘The well will be deserted at this time and is only a few hundred yards away. It won’t take long,’ she thought nervously as she tried to convince herself to make the short trip.

  She quickly changed back into her abaya and niqab and picked up the smaller of the goatskins. She anxiously made her way past the row of houses towards a copse of date palms. Very quickly she reached the first trees on the edge of the grove. There was no one in sight and Amel felt relieved.

  ‘There was no need for me to be nervous. No one will be here at this time,’ she tried to reassure herself.

  The water-well was actually a spring, right in the middle of the copse. A knee-high circular wall of stones and mud had been erected around the spring to contain the water with three small channels allowing the overflow to run through the trees. Animals were not allowed to drink from this well, so a second outer wall of stones had been erected with a small wooden gate for access. There was a separate well, a short distance away in the desert which provided water for livestock. In the mornings and late afternoons, the space between the two walls would be crammed with women and girls bending over to fill their containers. It was a time for laughter and exchange of news as well as the usual gossip.

  ‘Thank God the moon is out,’ Amel thought as she made her way through the trees with ease.

  Upon reaching the well, Amel crouched down to fill her goatskin. She was careful not to stir the bottom of the spring, but rather held the mouth of the goatskin close to the surface. When the container was full, she secured the opening and put the heavy water bag on her right shoulder before standing up. She took a couple of seconds to steady her feet on the soft sand before starting to make her way back.

  Amel had almost reached the edge of the copse, relieved to leave the well behind her when suddenly a gruff voice rose out of nowhere.

  ‘Anisa – young lady, would you care to pour some water for a weary traveller?’

  Amel jumped out of her skin and her heart started to pound. Paralysed with fear, unable to move, her mouth was dry as she gasped for breath. Instinctively she cast a glance in the direction of the voice. Peering into the darkness, she could just make out the figure of a man in the shadow of a tree a few yards away. Despite her mounting panic, she forced herself to overcome the tightening in her chest and replied as calmly as she could.

  ‘Brother, you can drink your fill at the spring and at the same time replenish your water gourd,’ she said.

  The sound of her own voice sounded unfamiliar to her. By then, the stranger had covered the few yards separating them and was almost upon her. She thought of dropping her heavy load and of running back to the row of houses for help.

  ‘It will taste sweeter coming from you, Anisa,’ the man replied huskily as he grabbed her by the throat with his enormous hands.

  Too late to run, Amel dropped her goatskin and pushed her aggressor in the chest with both hands in an attempt to break his grip.

  ‘Brother, I am a married woman. By God’s mercy, please don’t touch me,’ she pleaded with a trembling voice.

  But the man’s grasp was of steel and however hard she tried to wriggle free, Amel could not escape the vice. Her attacker forced her down until she sank to her knees. As Amel opened her mouth to cry for help, the man tightened his hands on her throat sharply, choking off the scream and leaving her gasping for breath. It all happened in a matter of seconds. Amel stopped struggling to catch her breath, and as her aggressor’s hands relaxed slightly, she tried once more.

  ‘Brother, please I am with child. By God’s mercy, let me be,’ she cried.

  By now the man was breathing heavily, almost panting. He bent forward and whispered menacingly in her ear.

  ‘Be quiet if you don’t want you or your baby to be hurt. Understand?’

  His voice had become huskier and at the same time edgy.

  ‘Understand?’ he repeated, shaking her head violently.

  Terrified to death Amel nodded as the man pushed her flat on the ground, using the weight of his body to pin her down. His left forearm went across her throat immobilising her while at the same time making it difficult for her to breathe or cry for help. With his right hand he pulled up Amel’s abaya and dress.

  Amel felt so desperately helpless. There was no one in this deserted place to help. Resigned, she let herself go and lay down motionless and impassive, letting the man defile her honour, praying to God that this nightmare be over quickly. No matter what, she was desperate for her unborn baby to be unharmed. Amel began to pray and concentrated on the words in an attempt to detach herself from the sordid reality. She was shaken back into the nightmare as her aggressor pulled her undergarments down. Clenching her teeth, she shuddered as he violated her body. She turned her head sideways to release the pressure of his forearm on her throat so she could breathe. With his mouth directly over her ear, his obscene grunts sounded like thunder. The overpowering smell of sweat and tobacco made her feel nauseous. Amel forced herself to think of the beautiful sunrise that morning. It had been such a promising start.

  ‘Ummi, keep my baby safe,’ she silently prayed.

  The man thrust his right hand under her clothes to try and reach for her breasts and Amel felt his elbow digging into her stomach and pressing against her baby. Instinctively, she arched her body off the ground, allowing her clothes to slide further up and releasing the pressure of his elbow. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see the full moon between the palm trees, illuminating their two bodies. Her shame deepened even further... she felt as though the whole world was watching. Losing sense of t
ime, she had no idea how long she had been lying there while her aggressor ravaged her modesty. She knew her ordeal was over when the man made a loud grunt and scrambled to his feet. He disappeared into the shadows as quickly and silently as he had appeared.

  Slowly Amel picked herself up and got to her feet, her whole body trembling. It was only then that tears finally came running down her face, now that the nightmare was over. She adjusted her clothes, and instinctively dusted the sand off her legs. Sobbing silently, she picked up her water bag and shakily made her way home.

  Chapter 2

  Fadel was a drifter. He moved from town to town, finding the occasional job. But he mostly took advantage of people’s generosity and begged for food instead of seeking work.

  ‘Min fadlik ya sayyidi – Please Sir,’ were his favourite words while he would hold out his right hand to beg.

  The part of his face that was visible amidst his matted hair and beard was heavily weathered and leather-like, making him look much older than he actually was. His threadbare clothes, once white, had turned grey with time and grime. He was constantly scratching himself and every time he did so, he grinned, revealing his few remaining rotten teeth. It was as if the two actions could not take place independently of each other, for whenever Fadel grinned, he simply had to scratch himself. He led a simple life with only two main undertakings: eat his bellyful and smoke hashish.

  It had started when he first tasted the drug as a nine-year-old, having stolen some from his elder cousin. As a toddler, Fadel had always been a dreamer, lost in his own world. His mother used to tell the children fascinating stories about jinns – genies who could grant wishes – and princesses who fell in love with a shepherd or married a fisherman’s son. Whilst his brothers and sisters would go back to playing and horsing around afterwards, Fadel would harass his mother for more.

  ‘Ummi, please tell me another story,’ he pleaded.