Akbar's Crime

[ewayneself]

I was called by another name, then. I was fifteen--the age of Khlacahi--when I would undergo the ceremony that would make me a warrior in my tribe.

But I was also still a boy. Our tribe had camped for many days near a large oasis. With a spear, my sister and I fished at the water's edge and splashed one another with the cool water.

But we did not know how long we could stay at that place, for it was said that a great tribe gathered to the south, and that they would drive us from the oasis, unless we made war with them.

My sister worried for me, for that night I would observe my first battle. We could not suffer to leave the oasis. It had been a difficult year. Our livestock were dying and needed the respite from the desert's harsh conditions.

So the shiekh and the elders had decided. That very night, we would ride into battle against the great tribe. I would observe the battle. And when it was over, I would undergo the ceremony. I would be a warrior. I would be a man.

I did not know, when I left my sister Fatima at the water's edge, that I would never see her again.

I entered the tent of Sifika, my father, a respected elder in the tribe who could one day be shiekh. He honored me with his words and made me feel proud. And he made it clear that I was only to observe that night's battle. That I must not attempt to fight until I had been through the Khlacahi ceremony.

The time to leave came quickly. My father had many camels, for a man of our tribe, and I rode a small one. I was to stay back, along a ridge, while the men raided the other tribe's camp. So we rode, 40 warriors, late into the night.

We crested the ridge and looked down upon the camp. By the light of the large moon and the many stars that blazed in the desert sky and reflected off the sands, we could see their camp quite clearly. Three tents. A few camels. One or two men keeping watch.

I asked my father if the tribe's entire camp was below us, but he did not answer, for the command to charge had been sounded, and they all went riding down the ridge.

It could not be called a battle. The little encampment folded upon itself, offering little resistance.

From my ridge, I watched. The few men of the little camp fought ferociously, but were killed quickly. The sons were made to sit on their knees, then they were executed from behind. The women... I cannot speak of what happened to them, only that two very young women of age were spared their fate.

Everything happened quickly. I had little time to react. As the images of battle faded, I saw father walking toward me with one of the young women. He held her roughly by the face and brought her close to me. "Gaze upon this one!" he said. "Look how well I have done for you, my son! This one will be your wife!"

I rode in stunned silence back to the camp, while the others celebrated their victory over the "Great tribe". My father rode beside me, my future wife bound and gagged in front of him. Seeing my silence, he said to me: "Why do you not celebrate? We have won a great battle, this night!"

"It was a raid on a small, dying family."

My father smiled. "Perhaps now", he said. "But listen to the tales of the men, as they recount the battle. By the time we reach our tents, the tale will be that we fought a hundred men, this night!"

Seeing my confusion, he continued. "Learn this, my son. We would not truly face a great tribe, for we would be destroyed. We choose our battles carefully and we raid wherever we can, for camels and women and food. We raid the weaker and we run from the stronger. This is the way of our people. So it must be, if we are to live. But there is no need for our women and children to know these things. It is for warriors to know. And it is your first lesson as a warrior of our tribe."

It was not yet dawn when we reached our camp. The center of our tent circle was already prepared for Khlacahi ceremony. Soon, I would be a man.

I knelt in the center of the camp, while the old songs were sung. Soon, the men circled me, hooting like demons. My father cut my face with our family's aziir. Then they asked me the question: "You are of age and strong of body. You have been trained to fight and to ride. Do you swear brotherhood to your tribe and to its warriors and promise to fight beside them, following your Shiekh without question or hesitation?"

But I did hesitate. I know not why. It was a ceremonial question. The only possible answer was "yes". Was it the screams of the women, still ringing in my ears? Was it the desperation in the way their men fought? Was it the cruelty in the eyes of my father?

Perhaps it was the look in that young girl's eyes. The fear. The hatred. And something that reminded me of my own sister, Fatima.

I said no.

This was unheard of. The camp grew quiet, then erupted in shouts. My father approached me quickly and spoke in my ear, above the yelling.

"Why do you refuse? This is not done!"

"Father, what you have done this night, I could never do."

"Fool. Do you think the men in that camp would not do the same to us, if they could? This is our life. It is how we survive. There is no shame in it."

"Then why do you lie to your wives and your children?"

The slap came sudden and hard, but I did not fall. My father looked at me, in my eye, for the last time. He gestured to the yelling throng around us. "They will kill you."

I stood straight, fighting back tears from the stinging slap. "I would rather be dead than to live such a life."

"And what if we all were so pristine in our thinking, my son? Our tribe would be dead. Starved. Would you wish us all dead?"

"If this is our lot, perhaps we should be blotted out."

This was the greatest crime a man could commit. To betray his tribe. To refuse to protect your home and family is to wish death upon your people. My shame was overwhelming, but something in my heart would not let me recant my words.

My father's steely look betrayed no emotion. He paused only a moment, then he turned away from me and yelled: "Stone him!"

That is the last I remember of my peoples' camp. After that, there was only the sun, the thirst, and the pain.

[Misty]

thank you so much for posting this!

[Phineus]

Excellent writing.

[Iarwain]

This was a story in need of telling.

Thanks for sharing.

[Mizbiz]

Very very nice

[psycho_leo]

This is frigging awesome.

[Brokenbone]

Good stuff!