Taj and the Great Camel Trek

by Rosanne Hawke

  After we loaded the camels with the equipment Mr Giles rode Reechy up and down the string making sure we were ready to leave. I watched her legs lift gracefully as she trotted past. He seemed taken with her; that very morning I saw him murmuring in her ear.

  It was a relief to find that Mustara kept up with the string and Padar never mentioned his warning again. Tommy rode Salmah. Even though Tommy had ridden her in the race he was still frightened of her, I could tell: he took a long time to mount. This morning the old cow turned her head and spat at him.

  He screwed up his face and made a nasty sound as though she smelt. ‘I don’t notice the smell of camels,’ I told Tommy. He didn’t answer – he was too busy trying to make Salmah rise.

  Jess Young heard what I said. ‘That’s because you smell like one, Camellia.’

  ‘My name is not Camellia.’ I struggled not to show my feelings.

  ‘Don’t worry, Taj,’ Alec said, ‘camellias are sweet-smelling flowers.’ He was laughing so perhaps it wasn’t so bad.

  Padar rode Roshni at the head of the baggage string. Even though Roshni was a gelding he thought he was the jemidar, the boss of all the camels, but really Padar was.

  That day all the aches and pains of the day before intensified. I hoped I’d soon get used to riding all day. I watched the other men. They all seemed to walk normally without pain after they dismounted. Alec didn’t seem to be sore at all. After we unloaded that evening, Padar told me to let the camels sit awhile and chew their cud. ‘They will not stray so far in the night if they are settled at first.’ I stored away all Padar’s advice.

  A strange thing happened later on. At the campfire Mr Giles was watching Tommy and he said, ‘Tommy and Taj will be good company for each other. They are the youngest on the expedition.’ I don’t know who he was telling, for he didn’t look at my face as he spoke. At times I was pleased Mr Giles showed me little attention for his eyes were like blue daggers that made me want to look away, yet once when I saw him laughing with Tommy I wished for that too. Mr Tietkens grunted as though he agreed with Mr Giles, but I couldn’t agree, for I didn’t think Tommy cared for me. He grinned a lot but he had never spoken a word to me.

  I said this to Alec just before we went to our blankets. It looked as if Alec would laugh but when he glanced at my face he smiled gently. ‘You’re imagining it, Taj. Tommy doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.’

  Perhaps Alec was right but that night Tommy knew there was a centipede on my blanket and he didn’t warn me. He must have seen it; he was standing near the fire when I came back from the scrub to unroll my blanket. Fortunately, I saw it myself or I could have been bitten. The bite from a centipede can make a grown man cry. It’s almost as bad as a scorpion’s sting. The look on Tommy’s face was the strangest thing. Emmeline would have shouted and shoved me, but Tommy just stared at me with a sideways grin on his face. Why did he not say? Did he want me to get bitten?

  The next day was the Christians’ holy day just as Friday is for Padar and me. Padar and I said our prayers together at sunrise apart from the camp but Jess Young saw us leaving with our prayer rugs. ‘Don’t fly away on that carpet now, Saleh. Are you sure God can’t hear you unless you do those exercises?’

  ‘Take no notice.’ This was Padar’s advice about any teasing we received. Padar was more worried about Mr Giles. ‘Mr Gile is not a religious man. Not once has he come down from his camel to pray. Nor does he ask God which way is best to travel. Always he is looking at his compass.’

  After prayers I watched Mr Giles packing his box. He kept a few instruments out to use while he was riding. He hummed and smiled to himself. Alec came to help me load the camels and I asked him about Mr Giles. ‘Christians pray in their hearts at any time, even when they don’t have to ride camels,’ Alec said. He also said he was seventeen years old and had just celebrated his birthday. ‘On the first of April actually. My sisters held a party before I came away to join Mr Giles. They made pastries and a cake.’

  ‘You have sisters?’ I thought of Emmeline and wondered what it would be like to have a sister who lived in the hut with Padar and me, who cooked pastries and cakes. Even my mother never made pastries, although Padar had taught her how to cook mutton and rice in the Afghan way.

  ‘Yes.’ For an instant a shadow passed over Alec’s face, then it cleared. ‘Sarah is twenty-two, soon to be married. Rebecca is twenty-one, and Henrietta is twenty. We call her Hennie.’ Alec glanced at my face. Did he see the longing that I felt? ‘I have a brother too – John. He’ll be sixteen this year.’ Then he said more quietly, ‘I miss him the most.’ All this talk of ages and I didn’t even know my own. Emmeline had thought that strange.

  ‘When’s your birth date, Taj?’ Alec’s face was close to mine as we loaded a water cask.

  I felt caught out as if I’d been doing something haram, forbidden. I was forced to answer, ‘I don’t know.’

  Alec almost dropped his end of the cask. ‘What? Don’t know your birth date?’

  I shrugged, and tried not to show I cared. ‘Padar never makes much of such things.’ In a sudden effort to explain I added, ‘I know I was born within two years of him coming to this colony with the camels.’

  Alec knew about that. ‘Only three cameleers came with those camels that Mr Landells brought out from India. So Saleh, your father, was one of them?’

  I nodded. ‘There was a man called John King too.’

  ‘Yes,’ Alec said. ‘The only survivor of Mr Burke and Mr Wills’ trip to the north. Your father is an Indian?’

  We steadied the cask and grunted as we lifted it onto Malik’s back. Malik turned his head towards Alec and bellowed, but Alec was used to him now and knew his roar didn’t mean a bite. ‘Padar was born a Pushtun in Afghanistan but he lived most of his life in a town called Peshawar. Many Afghans lived there as well as Indians. The English called it India, but what are borders to an Afghan, especially an English border?’

  Alec watched me tie the ropes around the cask as he kept it steady. I looked up to find he had a strange look on his face. With all this talk of Padar, I didn’t want him to ask about my mother, but his next comment was about India. ‘Did your father fight in the Afghan War?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  Alec said quietly, ‘I suppose he fought against the English.’

  My hands stilled. I hesitated to answer but Alec guessed by my silence. ‘Don’t tell that to Jess Young. He might not like to know.’

  I knew what Alec meant and replied carefully, ‘India is a long way off and this is Padar’s home now.’

  Alec was smiling again as we moved to the pile of kitchen utensils by Zaitoon, talking about birthdays. ‘So, you were born here like me and must be nearly thirteen. I will pick a birth date and you will have a birthday too.’

  It was good that he was concerned about my birth date but talk of John King made me wonder about other things. Padar wasn’t on that expedition to the north with Mr Burke and Mr Wills but he knew they died – the camels too – all except John King. Padar said John King didn’t understand enough about camels to keep them alive and if they had taken a true camel driver the story may have ended differently. What would it be like if all your camels died and there was no way out of the desert? I hoped I never found out.

  Port Augusta was incredible to see. There was salt water, so much bigger than a waterhole, boats, and shops where people sold furniture and food. People lived in wooden houses or tents and got water from the hills in pipes. I was fascinated by those pipes, snaking down the hills, filled with precious water.

  We couldn’t let the camels walk on the roads where people lived so we camped at Camel Flat away from the town. Mr Giles and Mr Tietkens slept in a boarding house, but returned each morning to check the equipment. Padar and I stayed to look after the camels; the other men and Tommy camped with us.

  Mr Giles told us that the loads would need to b
e rearranged for the long trip. ‘There will be repairs to do,’ Padar added when Mr Giles had gone. So I knew we would stay in Port Augusta until the work was done.

  Mr Elder had provided large pairs of leather bags to be slung over the backs of the camels to hang on each side to hold the explorers’ equipment. They were at a shop called Tassie’s Store and I helped Padar take a small string of camels to collect them. Zaitoon was pleased to lead and she nibbled my ear as I led her to the front.

  We were fortunate to meet Dost Razool there. He was a friend of Padar’s from Peshawar, a man true to his name, for ‘dost’ means friend.

  ‘A salaam alaikum.’ Padar and I hugged him.

  ‘Wa laikum asalaam, I will help you with your work,’ Dost Razool said. That meant I had time to look at the water in the afternoon. Tommy came with me. He had been to Port Augusta before, and he said his first sentence to me. I decided then that water had a powerful effect on people, for he said, ‘White fellas call this fella harbour.’ There were boats floating, tied up at posts. I understood why Padar called the spinifex bushes in the desert ‘boats’. When the wind blew in Port Augusta the boats bobbed in the water like bushes on a sand dune.

  ‘The boats are so big,’ I said.

  Tommy shook his head. ‘Later, bigfella wool ship come, him big as the harbour.’ He stretched his arms wide.

  I couldn’t imagine that.

  ‘He come from other side of the world.’ Tommy made it sound like a magical place. Only my father and the English had seen the other side of the world. Padar had told me stories when I was young about exploring in the old country – there were two-headed sea dragons and giant serpents and magic caves. I was thoughtful for a while wondering about the desert. Snakes I knew about already but Mr Giles had not mentioned giant serpents. It was different in South Australia, I was sure, and hoped it held true for Western Australia as well.

  That night at the campfire there was just Padar, Tommy and me. We had already eaten and I watched Padar take out his pipe. There was so much I needed to ask him but as usual I never knew how to start or how it would end up. When my mother left it was like something in him left too. He used to tell me stories; maybe that was a way to start. ‘Tell us a story, Padar. One I haven’t heard.’

  Padar’s eyes were surprised but kind as they regarded me. ‘What sort of story, beta?’

  ‘Are there truly dangerous beasts in the old country?’

  Padar thought for a moment. ‘I’ve heard tell of a simurgh.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A giant bird.’

  Tommy crossed his legs and stared at Padar with his elbows on his knees.

  ‘Tell us,’ I said.

  Padar checked my face and smiled. He seemed glad that I wanted to listen. ‘Very well, there was one and there was none. Except for God there was no one.’ I grinned; this was always the way Padar had begun stories. ‘Once there lived a giant bird called the simurgh. It nested on the emerald mountain of Qaf.’

  ‘Where’s Qaf?’ I asked.

  ‘It is at the edge of the world, a magical place. The simurgh should have been happy with her life but every year when her eggs hatched a giant black snake came to devour her young.’

  I shuddered and Tommy made a noise like a hiss.

  ‘The simurgh flew to the Holy Prophet, Peace Be Upon Him, and said, “I have an enemy who devours my little ones. Have mercy and save them.”

  ‘The Holy Prophet addressed Hazrat Ali who was seated beside him. “Go slay the serpent.”

  ‘So the simurgh carried Hazrat Ali to the mountain of Qaf. They reached the serpent’s den and Hazrat Ali drew his sword. But the cobra saw him before he could swing his sword and swallowed him in one gulp.’

  ‘No,’ I cried, but Padar continued unperturbed.

  ‘Hazrat Ali was trapped but he gave a loud cry. “Allahu Akbar, God is Great.” He ripped open the belly of the snake with his sword and leapt out. Then he cut off the snake’s head.

  ‘“Now,” he said to the simurgh, “Live in peace.”

  ‘There are many stories about the simurgh,’ Padar said, reaching for his tobacco. ‘It was not always Hazrat Ali who killed the serpent either.’ Then Padar said to Tommy, ‘You like this story?’

  Tommy shook his head and moved further away as if frightened Padar would tell another one.

  I fervently hoped there were no giant snakes in the desert.

  It was Tommy who told me about the goat race. ‘You win you get cup – Port Augatta Cup.’

  ‘I can ride a camel,’ I said. ‘Surely I could ride a goat.’

  Tommy wasn’t so sure. ‘Goats hard fellas to ride, worse than camels.’

  ‘When is it?’

  ‘Saturday.’

  Saturday was only three days away, and Padar and I had to practise loading the camels that day. Perhaps I would have time to ride a goat as well, but Tommy didn’t seem to want to show me the goats at Tassie’s Store. ‘I can be a jockey for them,’ I said.

  In the end Tommy gave in. Mr Thomas Gibson at the store knew him. ‘Good day to you, Tommy, me boy.’ He had a voice you could hear across a desert. ‘What can I be doing for you?’ He was friendlier than other white men I’d met.

  Tommy didn’t open his mouth so I did. ‘I would like to ride one of your goats in the race on Saturday.’

  Mr Gibson looked at me with his eyes half shut. ‘Is it riding a goat you think you can do, boy?’

  ‘I ride a camel every day,’ I said, still believing a goat would be easier.

  ‘You’ve raced camels, then?’

  ‘At Beltana.’

  ‘For sure you can try, I suppose. Take him outside, Tommy, and see if he can stay on old Bill. If he does, he can ride Blue on Saturday.’

  Tommy grinned and took me to the goats.

  ‘Which one?’

  Tommy pointed to a grey one with a black patch on its back.

  I had a thin rope in the pocket of my shalwar. I made a loop as if I was catching a camel. I singled out the goat as the others scrabbled in the yard, and let him stand in the corner. Then I slid the slip knot over the goat’s head before he could back away. He was skittish and I suspected this was the liveliest one but I couldn’t back down with Tommy grinning at me. I didn’t hesitate; I jumped on.

  The suddenness of it made the goat buck. He threw his head down and shook his back legs. I shook as well. I couldn’t say I was riding him for all I did was cling to him with my legs and hands. My bones clattered, my teeth chattered and finally he threw me right over his head.

  My turban unravelled in the dust. I spat grit from my mouth and knew without a doubt that I couldn’t ride a goat. Tommy laughed out loud and slapped his thigh. ‘You funny fella.’

  My heart snapped. I leapt to my feet and lunged at him. ‘You knew! You did it on purpose.’ I swung my fist at his face but he ducked.

  He was still grinning when he said, ‘You hear boss Gibson. Ride Bill.’

  I stopped still, panting. ‘You could have warned me.’

  All Tommy said was, ‘You last longer than other fellas. You ride Blue Saturday.’

  I limped out of the goat pen. ‘That is a bad-tempered goat,’ I said.

  Tommy shut the gate behind us. ‘We ride there,’ and he indicated a road with his head.

  ‘You’ll ride too?’

  Tommy grinned. ‘I ride every time.’

  I stared at his grin, and fought the urge to make it disappear. Why did he annoy me so much? Now I wanted to ride in the race to gain some self-respect but I also wanted to please Mr Gibson. I liked his words; the musical rhythm of them made me think of my mother.

  That night at the campfire Alec had another pencil. ‘This is for you, Taj.’ He had a book too. ‘Since you can’t go to school because you want to explore, would you like me to teach you to write?’

&
nbsp; I thought for a moment. Emmeline could already write words. When you both can do it you can tell each other stories when you’re not there to hear them. ‘Yes, I would like that.’

  Alec looked pleased. ‘Good.’ On top of the first page he had written some marks. ‘I want you to copy these. This is the English alphabet. First you learn their names and sounds and then you’ll be able to put them together to make words.’

  I pulled out my knife and sharpened the pencil.

  ‘That’s a handsome knife,’ Alec said.

  I smiled at him. ‘Padar gave it to me. It came from Afghanistan.’ Then I put my attention to the paper. There were ten numbers that I copied first. I recognised those. Then I started on the twenty-six letters. Padar saw me writing them.

  He stood and watched awhile as he puffed at his pipe. ‘There are so many,’ I said, wondering if he minded me learning English words. I looked up and saw his gaze shift to Alec. His face softened and I knew it would be all right.

  ‘There are more in Persian,’ was all he said before he walked to his place by the campfire.

  It was Alec this time who asked Padar for a story. ‘Tell us a story from Afghanistan, Saleh.’ Padar’s eyes became bright in the firelight when Alec sat beside him and, after he had knocked the ash from his pipe, he began. ‘There was one and there was none. Except for God there was no one. A poor man, he was travelling through the jungle when he saw a lion groaning with pain. The man, he was frightened but he sat near the lion. “Brother, what is the matter?”

  ‘The lion replied, “Two days ago I hurt my paw.”

  ‘The man lifted the lion’s paw and saw a thorn. “I can remove this.”

  ‘The lion nodded and the man pulled. The lion roared so loudly the whole jungle shuddered. The man half rose to run, but the lion reassured him. “Brother, that hurt, but you have been good to me. Now follow me.” He led the man through a field where labourers worked. They dropped their spades in fright. “Bring one,” the lion said. Then he took the man to the foot of a mountain.