This is a story written by my friend Abhilash Talapatra
He had been running since yesterday. And, hot on his heels, the Devil followed.
His camel was tired, and so was he. Adrar, the oasis-town where was running to, was more than three hundred kilometers away from his hometown Ain Salah, and he had only covered a little over half that distance.
“There are not too many places where you can run from the Iblis and be safe,” said his father, when he saw him packing in a hurry. “He will find you. He will bring you back to Ain Salah and make you pay for your crimes.”
“Abu, I will not be caught by him,” he retorted with a sneer. “I would rather die than be a prisoner.”
“Then you will die soon,” said his father simply, and left the room. Three minutes later he had mounted his camel and run off into the north-western sand.
He made for Adrar with his loot, loot that was stolen from the Caliph himself. No one was supposed to discover him silently picking the place apart. That had been the brilliance of his plan – in and out in less than five minutes.
And, like all best laid plans which are actually stupid, his was bound to fail too. It was simply bad planning, but he blamed it on fate. For as he made his way to the window, intending to leave like a shadow, the Calipha strolled into the room. One look into his guilty eyes told her everything she needed to know, and just as she was about to scream for the guards, he threw a dagger which pierced her heart.
So now he was not just a thief, but a murderer too, the Calipha’s murderer. There was to be no mercy for this. He would be pulled apart limb from limb by four horses as the entire population of Ain Salah watched.
He knew the Caliph would send the Devil after him. Arish, the bodyguard to the Caliph’s son, and the most able of his men. Arish was the Devil incarnate, and his nickname, Iblis, was well deserved. He feared no one but Allah and his Caliph, and was as ruthless as he was fearless, known to have beheaded close to twenty men alone in an attempt to save a well of water once. That bravery and ruthlessness had served the Caliph well, and there was not a man in the kingdom that was not afraid of him, perhaps including the Caliph.
So he ran.
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It was now the evening of the second day of his escape, and he was exhausted. He had not made good time; it did not help that his camel was carrying thrice his body weight, with everything that he had stolen from the Caliph laden across the saddle. He had fed his camel well a day before running, but the camel was old, and he was unsure of what would happen if he did not complete the journey by nightfall tomorrow.
A cool breeze was blowing across his face as he lay down in the sand. He wanted to rest for a bit before continuing, and this seemed like the perfect time; any later than this, and the wind could chill his bones, and he would rather be on his way by then.
He did not know how much time had passed when he felt something wet against his cheeks. He assured himself he was dreaming, and turned on his side, but the feeling wouldn’t go away. He opened an eye, irritated, and swiped whatever it was away from his cheek. The next instant he screamed at the top of his lungs as he saw his hand covered in blood. He turned around, still dizzy, and saw his camel lying in the sand with its throat slit open. He raised his eyes and saw a hooded man standing with a knife in his hand.
The Devil had caught up with him.
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Timkoten is a small oasis town almost midway between Adrar and Ain Salah, and it was here that the Iblis was having a breakfast of dates and camel’s milk. With him, tied with rope, was the murderer of his Calipha, who had walked all night behind his camel.
The Shammar tribe of Bedouins who sold the Iblis the milk and dates for breakfast were whispering among themselves. Hushed tones reached his ear, and he concentrated hard.
“But then what happened? Did they never return?” asked one.
“No. The sand swallowed them, and they were gone,” said another.
The Iblis was intrigued. He walked to the oldest of the Shammar, and asked him what it was all about.
“The Devil is in the sands this month,” he simply said.
The Iblis smiled as he retorted, “Aye, and that is I. They call me the Iblis.”
The old man sat up as he said, “I have heard of you, young man. But it is not you I speak of. I speak of the one who preys on the souls of those who dare walk across the sands of Akabli.”
“Why, what happened there?” asked the Iblis.
“A caravan was en route to Ain Salah from the south yesterday. They halted here for refreshments, and then were on their way,” said the old man.
The Iblis nodded. “I remember them. They carried their wares with them to trade at the marketplace at Ain Salah. I saw them last morning as I was hot on the trail of this criminal,” he said, pointing to the murderer, who by now looked exhausted and ready to fall dead any time.
“Yes,” said the old man. “A few of our men went with them, to reach the oasis that lies at a little distance from here for water, as we had all but run out. But… They never came back.”
“That is easy,” the Iblis said. “They have only been gone for a day, right? They shall return anytime now!”
“No, my son,” said the old man. “We are the Shammar, people of the desert. We sense things. Those men will never return.” He looked out towards the east. “And you, son, do not return through these sands. There is something evil out there.”
“Do not return?” exclaimed the Iblis. “I am to return to Ain Salah by nightfall today. If I do not take these sands, I will be hopelessly delayed, and my master will not be too happy about that!”
“Son, I implore you,” said the old man with a tremor in his voice. “Take the sands to the north. Do not go east. If you go north, you will reach Ain Salah tomorrow. But if you go east… You shall travel, but never reach.”
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The Iblis did not believe in superstition. In spite of the nature of his work, he was an educated man, even though mercenaries rarely require or believe in too much education, except that which helps them directly in their job as killers.
He was sure that the Shammar men had been delayed for some reason, and were not dead. The old man would welcome them back soon with open arms, maybe as soon soon as tomorrow, he thought with a wry smile.
He looked back and saw the murderer walk with a weary expression on his face. He had long given up trying to keep his eyes open, and was walking like a dead man would, had the dead man been strung along the wrong end of a camel. The two soldiers who came with him were chatting away between themselves. The Iblis did not mind that; he was of the opinion that higher the morale among soldiers, better they are in battle. Such chatter was considered normal in the regiment he led.
The oasis which appeared out of nowhere an hour later looked like a mirage, but it wasn’t. As they rode closer, they could feel a cooler breeze than before blowing across their faces. The Iblis could not recall an oasis at this particular place, but admittedly he had not travelled this far west too often; he was mostly occupied out east, against the warring degenerate tribes who would come all too often to steal water from his Caliph’s wells.
He wanted to reach Ain Salah as soon as he could, but something about the trees held his attention. His eyes felt heavy, and the rein of his camel fell limp across the beast’s shoulder. The sun was high in the noon sky, yet he felt as exhausted as after a hard day of bloodshed.
“Yussuf, go fetch some water for me,” he said, plonking his head in the sand-pillow he made for himself under a tree. “Hameed, keep watch over the murderer.” So saying, he closed his eyes.
He did not understand when he fell asleep, but when he awoke, he could not find Yussuf or Hameed anywhere. Hand on the hilt of his sword, he hurried to his feet, only to find that there was no one around.
A cry for help from a few yards away led him to behind the trees, where he saw the murderer down in the sand with fear on his face. Madness oozed from his eyes, and he suddenly screamed.
The Iblis put the blade of his sword against the murderer’s throat. The touch of steel brought the murderer back to his senses as he screamed, “GHUL!”
The Iblis punched him so hard that his face spurted blood. He was not superstitious. The murderer’s mention of a Ghul around did not bother him; he was not scared of demons who could shapeshift into hyenas to prey upon desert travelers, and then take their shapes to move on to their next target. As far as he was concerned, they did not exist. And even if they did… Well… His blade was strong and sharp, and blessed by the Imam of Ain Salah.
A glance around told him that neither Yussuf nor Hameed’s bodies were anywhere in the vicinity, and although their disappearance was a great mystery to him, he was more concerned with moving away from this strange place and back to Ain Salah. What was stranger was that he could not find his soldiers’ camels anywhere either. Only his own.
He tied the murderer’s rope to his own waist to ensure he couldn’t run away, and walked to the water to quench his thirst. And saw the carcasses of two camels and two soldiers lying in the bloody water.
In anger he turned to his prisoner, punching him off balance so hard that two of his teeth were knocked off.
“You will answer for this too, animal,” he said with anger in his eyes.
He knew it would take him close to five hours to reach Ain Salah, which is why he was surprised to see the silhouette of the town manifest itself hardly an hour into the ride. He tried to gauge his route, wondering if he had unknowingly taken a shortcut over a sand dune which led him home quickly. But no matter how far back he looked at the desert behind him, he simply could not understand how he reached Ain Salah this fast.
There was fear in the murderer’s eyes as he looked at the outline of the town, knowing that it was probably his last day in the land of the living. The law said he would be pulled apart limb from limb by four horses. Not a fate he was keen to face.
So, like the gambler’s last throw of the dice, he sprang upon his captor. But he was no match for the strong and powerful Iblis, and could not overpower him. He fell to the sand after a brief tussle, where he lost two more teeth.
The Iblis towered over him, sword in hand, and the murderer understood that he had but one way out. Only one way to avoid the pain of feeling his arms and legs detach from his body one by one.
He got up, smiled, closed his eyes, and walked right into the Iblis’s sword.
The Iblis was distraught at not being able to bring the murderer back to his Caliph alive.
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He rode on with the murderer’s dead body spread across his saddle. The town did not look too far away now.
He rode on. For hours.
By evening, it was clear to him that no matter how close he tried to ride to the town, it always looked exactly that far away. The superstition that he never believed was now turning into fear. He even tried going back the way he came, yet the desert seemed never ending, and the town was always almost right behind him. Two mornings later, he killed his camel and ate it’s meat to keep himself from starving.
The Iblis died of thirst and hunger three days later. He was still almost as close to the city when he lost consciousness as he was five days ago.
A hyena appeared over a sand dune and feasted on the two bodies for three days.
