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The Pitiful Pathan

I have wanted to write this story for a long time. I somehow never got down to it. Today, for some strange reason, I felt compelled to pen it down. It concerns a chance meeting with a Pathan (a tribesman from the north-western mountainous area of Pakistan) called Saber Khan. A chance meeting which took place in the wilderness, on a dirt track deep inside Oman and left a lasting memory.

I would love to meet Saber Khan again but I fear he won’t be there. With the recent amnesty, Saber Khan may have gone home to Pakistan.

It all began one day when my daughter, son-in-law and I decided to visit Hatta and the Hatta Heritage Village. (Hatta’s history dates back 2000 to 3000 years.)

A little before Hatta are two huge sand dunes that are every popular for dune driving (Western expats have affectionately named the larger dune “George” and the smaller one “Bertha”.)

We had a tremendous fun filled afternoon dune driving on “George”. We then went on to the Hatta Heritage Village. After a quick tour of the village, I offered to show them a “wadi” (mountainous track) and they readily accepted.

There is a place called “Hatta Pools” where rain water collects and which is a favorite spot for picnickers. Hatta Pools is about 30 to 40 kilometers from the village of Hatta. The road is a dirt track that is pretty rough in places but can be negotiated in a saloon car. The going is very slow, though, and one can rarely exceed 30 Kmph.

The scenery is wild and untamed. There are no trees. There are hills all around and in the distance one can see the Hajar Mountains. The rocks are chocolate brown in color and extremely soft. If you pick up a rock you will find it consists of several layers. The layers can be peeled away and be easily broken into two. If you offered the broken piece to someone, she wouldn’t be able to visually tell the difference between the rock and chocolate!

When the signal on your mobile phone goes to zero, you know that you have crossed the porous border and are in Oman.

I wanted to be deep in the wadi during sunset as it is spectacular with the hills taking on a red hue due to the setting sun.

At sunset, we parked the car off the track. Since we had been driving for some time, we decided to get out of the car and stretch our legs. We had some biscuits with us and were munching them and admiring the scenery.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, we saw a Pathan walking towards us. We were slightly apprehensive and I kept an eye on him. After all, this was a very remote and secluded place.

He appeared to be walking towards Hatta, a good 10 kilometers away. Though he gave us a wide berth, I could see him looking at us form the corner of his eyes.

“Assalaam alaykum” I wished him (Greetings! Peace Be Upon You!”). “Wa’alaykum salaam” was his amiable response and he changed course and came towards us.

Though Pakistanis speaks Urdu and India speaks Hindi, the two languages are very similar and an Indian can easily converse with a Pakistani. “What are you doing here”? he asked us in Urdu, the national language of Pakistan. We told him (in Hindi, the national language of India)  that we were admiring the sunset and that we had come from Dubai.

“What are you doing here?” I asked in turn. “I live here” he replied. “Just behind that hill. Would you care to come see my farm and have a cup of tea with me”?

We looked at each other silently, not sure whether to accept his offer or not. He could be a psychopathic killer for all we knew. He had, after all, appeared magically in the middle of nowhere.

Let’s do it, I decided, and accepted his invitation. We all got into the car.

His farm was about a kilometer away. It was in the middle of nowhere and consisted of a small building with a very large garden area.

I noticed, as we entered, that the huge metal gate was locked. We had to enter and exit through a small opening cut out in the gate.

In front of the building there was an elevated platform. One had to climb three or four steps to get on to the platform. It was about ten feet long by about six feet wide. “You sit here on the platform while I make you tea” he cheerfully told us and vanished inside the building.

Ten minutes later he joined us with steaming hot tea in a large thermos with several cups dangling from his fingers. The tea was good!

His name was Saber Khan, he told us. He worked for the owner of the farm.

“How long have you been here”? we asked him. “Oh, for many, many years! I have lost track of time” he replied. He went onto tell us his sad tale.

Saber Khan had been recruited in Pakistan through an agent and had come to the UAE full of hope. He used to get his salary on time initially and used to send most of it home to his family. To remit his salary home he walked the ten kilometers to Hatta and back once a month.

Then gradually the salary payment had become more and more erratic and stopped altogether after a while. The visits of the owner to the farm also became scarce. The last straw was when some workers came and took away the generator that used to provide him electricity for his daily needs.

One day, many months later the owner happened to drop in to the farm. “Where is my salary”? Saber Khan demanded of him. The farm owner tried to shout at him and in a fit of rage Saber Khan beat him up. “I shall return with the Police” the farm owner screamed and left. Sure enough, in about an hour’s time, the man returned with the Police. They demanded he explain why he had assaulted the man, the owner of the farm owner, a UAE national.

Saber Khan told them about how he had been ill treated, how his salary had not been paid, how the generator had been taken away forcing him to live without electric power. The police listened patiently and finally decided that he could stay on at the farm.

“Do not threaten him again” they told the farm owner. “Let him live here in peace and let him grow whatever food that he can and eat what he can consume. Let the balance vegetables and fruit remain on the trees till this matter between you two is sorted out”.

To Saber Khan they said “we are sorry that this has happened to you but we cannot do anything as this is a civil matter. To get back your money, you will have to file a complaint in court”. And they left.

So Saber Khan lived a lonely life all alone in the middle of a rocky nowhere. He had no radio, no tape recorder, no TV, no contact with the outside world. “I do not want them” he told us. ‘That will remind me of love and of family and they will bring back painful memories. I am better off without them. Come, let me show you the vegetable garden ”

We went around the farm. We could see fruit and vegetables rotting on the floor, where they had fallen. He took only what he could eat and lived on it. The rest rotted where it fell.

“Let me give you some tomatoes as a gift” said Saber Khan and packed a large bag with tomatoes. They were very large and red and ripe and delicious looking.

“Where were you going”? I asked him. “Let us drop you there”.

“I was going to Hatta. I will gratefully accept your offer” he said and so we drove to Hatta talking about this and that.

At Hatta we dropped near a supermarket. “Will you come in and have a cold drink” he asked. “No thank you” we politely declined. We knew he had no money and to accept his offer would embarrass him.

The time to leave had come. My son in law and I embraced him Islamic style – with a hug. There were tears in his eyes. And in ours too.

“We will come and see you again. We promise” said my daughter.

It was a promise that was meant to be broken.

We thought of him often. We made many plans to go and see him but it never happened.

Then one fine day my daughter and son-in-law left permanently for Canada.

“I will go and meet him” I keep telling myself. But I have so far not gotten around to it.

A few months ago the government declared an amnesty. Anyone who was illegally overstaying his visa could go back home. The Pakistan Association also announced a free air ticket would be given to those in dire need.

Maybe Saber Khan took advantage of that amnesty and is now happily with his family. But I do not know that for sure. I plan to go back to his farm, if I can find it.

My heart will sing for joy if I find it empty.

Prakash's note: several years later, I went back to check on how  Saber Khan was doing. I found him, with great difficulty, as the terrain had changed and I had to hunt for a long time to find his farm. That's a story that I will write soon. Look out for it.

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