“I will not! …. I cannot!” The words burst from my lips as I confronted my parents. They shook me with their vehemence. I had never argued with my parents before. My legs trembled, but I stood my ground.
“But, Amina, why not? Bilal is of very good family, though much older than you. The doctor’s son is a good match. He’ll take good care of you.” Mother wheedled, trying to appease me.
“Huh!” I snorted. “They all say that - until they bed you. Then it’s “do this, come here, fetch that.” I won’t be at any man’s beck and call.”
My father’s face turned purple. “Enough of such talk! You are lucky that we found someone prepared to take you on at your age.”
.
It was true. At twenty-five, I was well past the age at which most girls are married here in Kyrgyzstan. All my school friends were not only wives, but mothers, some of them with several children. I saw them occasionally downtown, looking worn out and much older than their years. I didn’t want to end up like them.
More than that, though, the thought of spending the rest of my life in the city, hemmed in by buildings and traffic, oppressed me. My work at the local stables was the only relief. Once inside the courtyard, away from the hurly burley of city life, I could relax. I loved my work with the prize stallions, grooming and exercising them in the nearby paddocks. I had started as a nervous school-leaver, mucking out the stables, but was now a respected member of the team. I was always the one to work extra hours, preferring to do that than play at social niceties. If I married, that would be taken from me. I would be expected to tend the house and obey my husband. I shuddered.
My father’s angry voice jolted me back to the present.
“No more arguments! You’ll marry Bilal whether you want to or not.”
I stared at him in horror. This couldn’t be happening to me. Not now. Not in this age.
I burst into tears and fled the room. My father’s voice followed me. “It’s a shame they’ve outlawed bride abductions. You could have been carried off our hands a longtime back.”
I stumbled outside and drew some deep breaths. My father never made idle threats. What could I do? I looked upwards, seeking guidance. The stars shone brightly in the frosty sky and the moon was striking the peaks of the distant hills framing the Torugart Pass. It was wild countryside, marking the border between Krygyzstan and China. I knew that in days of old, travellers passed through that wilderness as they travelled the Old Silk Road, carrying precious goods to trade, exchanging ideas and cultures as they went. As I watched, a shooting star arced across the night sky, racing towards them, appearing to fall on their rocky terrain. I felt a surge of excitement. That’s it! That’s where I’ll go. Out into the wilderness! Far away from the city lights, the noise and smell of traffic - and the threat of marriage.
I lay awake most of the night, making plans. I had a little money saved up, hidden behind a loose brick in the outbuilding in the yard. I don’t know why I had been building up secret funds. Maybe I was saving it for just such an occasion as this. That would buy me a bus ticket to somewhere far away and still leave me with enough for food and lodgings.
The following morning, I dressed quickly, layering some extra clothes under my working ones. Breakfast was a silent, morose meal. I was aware of mother shooting anxious, sidelong glances at me but, in the presence of my father, she did not dare say anything. I felt a lump in my throat as I realised this would be the last time I saw her. Yet, I had little choice.
Finishing my simple meal, I swiftly took my leave and headed for the tranquillity of the stables. But today my heart was breaking. I nestled against each trusting steed, murmuring my farewells, before heading to the office and announcing that I had been called away on urgent family business. I felt a little guilty that I was not telling them the full story, but it was as close to the truth as I could manage. Steeling myself, I walked out through the courtyard doors for the last time and headed to the bus station.
A dilapidate old bus stood in the dusty yard, its engine running, ready of departure. Its destination plate was marked simply “Naryn” I mounted the rickety steps.
“Where to?” The bus driver demanded.
I offered most of my savings. “As far as this money will take me.”
He eyed me suspiciously.
“You in trouble with the police?”
“No! No!” I thought swiftly. “My old grandmother is dying. She lives in Naryn but this money is all I have. I’ll have to hitch a ride for the last bit of the journey.” The lie troubled me but what else could I do? I had to get away.
There was a long, agonising pause as he thought about it. I saw a policeman walk past the vehicle by and felt sweat break out on my brow. What if the driver calls him over?
I had visions of being marched back home to have my story checked out. It would be the end of my dreams - and the beginning of a nightmare.
“Okay. But I don’t want any trouble from you.”
I sagged with relief and swiftly slumped down in a seat amongst all the other passengers, as far from any windows as I could manage. I didn’t want to be spotted by anyone who knew me.
The bus lurched forward, the beginning of a long, uncomfortable ride. Passengers came and went as we bumped our way out of the town and into the countryside. The scenery changed from suburban streets to grassy plains but, always ahead of us, lay the Tarogurt hills: my destination. The hours passed; dusk fell. We drew into a small village, comprised of simple huts and nomadic yurts. The bus stopped with a jerk. The driver turned and called out.
“Hey you!” The one with the dying grandmother.” Heads turned in my direction and I cringed with embarrassment. “This is as far as I can take you.”
I climbed stiffly out of my seat and tumbled out into a narrow lane.
What now? Where do I go? I need shelter for the night.
I glanced around. The street was deserted. I wandered along it, anxiety gnawing at my belly. A door suddenly opened, and a wizened old lady emerged. She seemed as startled as I was by the encounter. She peered closely at me.
“You look too young to be out on your own. Do you need any help?”
The sudden kindness triggered a flood of tears; all the pent-up emotions of the last twenty-four hours breaking out. Through my sobs, I gulped out a few words.
“I’ve just arrived. …I don’t know anyone …. I’ve nowhere to stay the night …I’m cold and frightened.”
She made a clicking sound with her tongue and, without a word, led me into her home. Inside it was simple but homely. A fire blazed brightly in the grate; the welcoming warmth cheering me up. The old lady gently encouraged me to sit on the brightly coloured rug and then placed a mug of hot maksym* in my hands. I accepted her hospitality gratefully. Only when we were both settled did she start to speak. She looked hard at me, taking in my appearance and demeanour. Her eyes shone kindly in her lined face and her voice was cracked with age, but gentle.
“My name is Nazira. Once, I was young like you, headstrong and eager to see the world, I, too, left home.” I started at that. How does she know me so well? She smiled at my response before continuing. “I wanted more than my small town offered. I found out that I was not so clever on my own. I needed friends. I needed roots. I needed love.” There was a slight pause as she threw a log on the fire. She gazed at the sparks whirling around before continuing. “I found all that here, in this lowly village, surrounded by yak farmers, wild horses, and wilderness.” She smiled as she looked me fully in the face. “Perhaps you will find your heart’s desire here, too.”
I gulped. My head in a whirl. I felt bewitched by her words. Is it possible? Have I truly found where my heart belongs? However, a day of much emotion and the long journey started to make their effects felt. My eyes grew heavy, my head started to droop. Her voice faded into the distance. The next moment, I felt myself being gently laid down and a soft, warm covering draped over me. Sleep fully claimed me.
The next morning, I woke to find a ray of sunlight dancing across the floor. I was confused. This is not my room. Why cannot I hear mother and father bustling about? Am I late for work?
“Good morning.” A cracked voice greeted me. I sat up abruptly, as memory returned.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take advantage of your hospitality. You must let me pay you.’ I struggled to reach the money hidden in the inner pocket of my jacket. Nazira reached out and stayed my hand. “There is no need! My reward will come when I meet my maker.” She laughed. “And that may not be too far away at my age!” She laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. “But suppose you tell me about you - your circumstances and what brings you here to this place.”
I thought for a moment. What if she turns me over to the authorities? A woman alone, with no male relative to speak for her. No job and no prospects. Can I trust her? But she has been so kind to me. I looked up into her eyes. What I saw there reassured me.
“My name is Amina. My parents want me to marry the middle-aged son of the local doctor. A good match, they say. But I cannot bear the thought of that.” Nazira nodded. She was a good listener and I soon found myself unburdening all my troubles, speaking of my dislike of crowds, of noise - and my love of animals. When I had finished talking, she simply smiled, nodded and murmured. “I was right. You will find your heart’s desire here.”
“But what am I to do? I have little money left; I cannot live on your kindness forever. I need a job!”
“Come with me shortly. But first we must eat - and you need to refresh yourself.”
I looked down at myself and ruefully agreed. My host led me out to a small washroom in the yard. A tiny mirror hung above a cracked basin. I gasped at my reflection. My face was smeared with smuts from the journey and my short black hair stuck out crazily. If I passed someone looking like this in the street, I would cross over to the other side. …. Maybe I won’t be so judgmental in future.
“I will leave you for a few minutes. When you’re ready, come back inside. I’ll be preparing breakfast.” That sounded very good to me.
A little while later, clean and refreshed, with the extra layers of clothing removed, I re-entered the hut. Nazira looked up and nodded approvingly. “That’s much better.” Soon I was happily munching my way through a plate of curd, bread and honey. Once we had finished and cleared up together, I was amazed by Nazira’s next words.
“Right. Let’s go and get you that job then.”
“Whaat! How? Where?”
“Come on, I’ll tell you as we go.”
She picked up a wooden cane and leant heavily on it as we went through her door out into the street.
As we walked down the street together, I was aware of heads turning, sidelong glances and whispered conversations. I felt uneasy, but my new-found friend told me not to worry.
“Not a lot happens here. Any stranger is source for speculation and gossip.”
“But - about this job?”
“There is an ancient caravanserai nearby. It’s where the merchants on the Old Silk Road used to rest overnight. It’s been deserted for a long time now, but occasionally intrepid travellers call in to see the site or stay the night in one of the two nomadic yurts on site.’
“It sounds fascinating, but what’s that to do with me?”
“They need a new caretaker. The last one could no longer stand the harsh winters and left for his daughter’s home in Bishtek. Since then, there has been little care of the site. The authorities are getting desperate.”
She halted in front of a building slightly grander than the others, rapping loudly with the tip of her cane before pushing the door open. With some apprehension, I followed her into what was clearly a government office. A short, stocky man sat behind an antiquated desk and looked up with a frown at this intrusion.
“Now, come on, young Rustam! Don’t you scowl at me. I remember when I used to have to chastise you in my class for bad behaviour.”
The official squirmed in his chair.
“Oh, my apologies madam Nazira, I was just caught up in my paperwork. It’s hard work being in charge of this district.”
He then turned to me. “And you are?”
“I am Amina, from the west. I have come to live here.” Before I could say anymore, my elderly friend launched into a carefully worded speech. Using a mixture of flattery and entreaty, she praised my abilities, my integrity, my love of both history and the countryside and my energy. I listened and wondered. How does she know? What a spin she’s putting on my life. Do I really want this work?
When she paused for breath, Rustam stood up and slowly came and stood in front of me, looking me up and down. It was an appraising stare and I fidgeted nervously.
“Do you really want this job? It’s lonely work, hard work sometimes, for little pay - though you do get your own yurt to live in on site.”
I swallowed hard. It does sound interesting, but can I really live like that? But what choice do I have? My reply, though, came out loud and firm.
“Yes, I do. I like to be on my own and I’m not afraid of hard work.”
“Good. You can start tomorrow. I will pick you up in my official car first thing in the morning and take you there.”
He turned away and resumed his seat behind the desk. He nodded graciously at Nazira. “Good day to you, ma’am.”
Clearly the interview was over.
The rest of that day passed in a blur as, with my new friend’s help, I gathered together suitable provisions: warm clothing, food, household essentials. By the time I had finished, my meagre savings were all gone. I would have to rely on my weekly pay packet from now on.
That evening, Nazira told me a little more about the caravanserai. “It is indeed a very ancient site, maybe even 1,000 years old. It must have been a very busy and important place. Now it’s just another deserted site on the tourist trail. There are people who say that it’s built over the palace of one of our ancient kings, but there is little evidence of it. Still, folk, especially those around here, do like a good story.”
I smiled. I thought it would be good to stay in this neighbourhood with people like her around to help me.
The next morning, I was up early and soon standing at the front door with my meagre bundle of provisions at my feet. There was a loud spluttering sound, and an ancient army jeep came bumping its way towards me. Rustam sat behind the wheel, looking every part the government official. I turned towards Nazira who gave me a reassuring nod, I gave her a swift hug before facing my driver. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I will always be here, not so very far from you.”
I climbed aboard, with my belongings clutched to my chest, and then we were off in a swirl of dust. The road petered out into a rutted track. I held on tightly to avoid being thrown out. I looked around with interest. The long grass, waving in the sharp breeze, stretched along the valley floor as far as the eye could see. Whilst, always in front of us, the massive bulk of the Torugart hills reared high into the sky, snow already gleaming on their peaks. We rounded a bend and the caravanserai lay in front of us.
Its round stone towers, weathered by centuries of harsh climate, framed sturdy walls designed to keep the worst of the elements at bay and its occupants safe from intruders.
Rustam pulled the jeep to a halt in front of large iron gates. “Here you are then. Your new residence.” He jumped out and, in one move, lifted my meagre bundle of belongings out of the car and onto the ground. He pointed. “That yurt there is for you. The other one is for the comfort of travellers - not that you will see many of them. You will find a well for water in the courtyard and a pile of wood for the stove nearby.”
He must have seen the anxiety creeping over my face. Now it was a reality, I wasn’t sure I could cope.
“Not changing your mind already, are you?”
“No, no. I am just wondering exactly what my duties will be.”
“Simple. You keep the sand at bay from the buildings, lock up at night to prevent vandalism, and offer hospitality to any travellers. Okay?”
“Sure. I’ll be fine.” This said with more confidence than I was feeling.
“Great!” At that, he jumped back in the jeep and roared off into the distance.
I picked up my belongings and headed for the yurt he had indicated. It needed a good clean and some home comforts, but otherwise it looked sound. Now I was all alone, I felt excitement mounting. I’ve done it! Broken away from my past and now I’m the only one responsible for myself. I decided to explore the complex. There was not a lot to see. The outer walls surrounding a high hall. Here, I thought, is where merchants, from east and west, would rest for the night, maybe trade some goods, and share stories of their travels. The camels, I supposed, would be tethered just outside the entrance. Did someone use to stand guard over them to prevent them being rustled? I wondered about these men, from many different countries, who they were and where their homes had lain.
I wandered outside. Silence, beautiful silence, surrounded me. The sky was crystal clear, the only movement that of a Brahmin kite circling above. Then I heard it; a sound I recognised. The drumming of horses’ hooves. Sweeping into view came a herd of stallions, manes flying, magnificent creatures. A little way behind them, came two men mounted on their own steeds. Clearly, they were local herdsmen. Short and stocky, with felt hats on their heads, they rode as if they and the animal beneath them were one. When they saw me, they pulled their horses to halt.
“Who are you. What are you doing here? Are you lost?”
I laughed.
“No. Far from it. I think I may have just come home.”
They looked puzzled by this. The older one shrugged his shoulders and, digging his heels into the horse’s flanks, rode off. The younger one, however, slid off his mount and came to stand in front of me. He searched my face looking, no doubt, to check my sanity.
“Seriously. Are you alright?”
“Yes. I am the new caretaker here. I have already fallen in love with it all.”
He relaxed and smiled warmly. His voice was rich and welcoming, his eyes warm and kind. He looked about thirty, but in this climate, he could have been almost any age.
“My name is Omar,” he said.
“And mine is Amina” I gently stroked the horse’s neck. “Your horse is very beautiful. I used to work with stallions like these.”
“Well Amina. I pass this way very often. I can stop here on my way past to check on you. Maybe talk some more.”
“I would like that very much.” I answered with great feeling.
He smiled. ‘Goodbye - for now.” He leapt lightly onto his horse’s back. Then with a cheery wave, he was gone. I stood watching him disappear into the distance. I hope it won’t be long before he calls by again. I really like him - brief though our meeting was.
I strolled back to my yurt. I paused at the entrance and took a long, contemplative look at the caravanserai. I blinked. Was that a line of camels tethered there? Did a murmur of voices, in many different languages, float out from the great hall? I looked into the wide, open spaces and felt the magic of the Old Silk Road working on me. I remembered Nazira’s words to me at our first meeting.
“Perhaps you will find your heart’s desire here, too.”
Something deep inside me told me she was right.
maksym*. A sour drink made from barley, wheat, millet and corn
Bio.
Margaret Blake has been writing for many years, but it is only in retirement that she has focused on creative writing. Her stories and poems have been published in anthologies in the UK, India, and online. She is a co-administrator of the Facebook writing group, ‘Aspiring Writers’ Society,’ and is also on the editorial team of their e-zine; being a regular contributor to both. She is active in her local community, and also enjoys working in her garden and walking in her beloved Welsh hills.