Taj and the Great Camel Trek Read online

  Padar rode up beside me and laid his hand on my shoulder. I knew he was relieved but Emmeline’s father pulled her from Mustara’s reins with a groan and cradled her as if she was a baby.

  Emmeline’s voice was a dusty croak. ‘Mustara brought us home, Father.’

  That evening two visitors came to our hut. It was Mr Giles and his second-in-command, Mr Tietkins. Padar boiled sweet milky tea over the fire and gave it to the men in tin mugs. Mr Giles spoke about the expedition to Perth, how they would have to go to Port Augusta first to pick up supplies that Mr Elder had provided. Their objective was to find a watered way to Perth, but overall to stay alive. That meant Padar would need to keep the camels alive. Mr Giles asked Padar a question about the camels and then he turned his attention to me. I was sitting on my mattress, listening and wishing.

  Mr Giles’ eyes were piercing, even in the light of the lantern. ‘Young man, how far did you go into the desert today?’

  I glanced at Padar; was I in trouble? But he lifted his chin at me. ‘A long way. We travelled for a few hours.’

  Mr Giles glanced at Mr Tietkins. ‘And how did you survive the storm without tents and tarpaulins?’

  ‘We hid behind Mustara.’

  ‘Mustara is your camel?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Miss Emmeline tells me this young camel negotiated the desert and delivered you home.’

  I nodded uncertainly. Some of Mr Giles’ words were strange but he seemed kindly.

  With another glance at his companion, Mr Giles cleared his throat. ‘In the light of this information I would like to offer you a place on the expedition. You and your camel, Mustara.’

  I sat up straighter. I must have heard wrong. ‘Pardon?’ I glanced at Padar. His face was carefully blank, so he knew about this.

  Mr Giles smiled at me. ‘Come now. I have already spoken to your father and wouldn’t you like to be with him? I’m sure he needs the help. We are taking twenty-two camels. It is a lot of work for one man to load them, retrieve them in the mornings, treat them for illness, not to mention mending those infernal saddles. What do you say?’

  ‘Thank you, sir. But why? You didn’t choose Mustara this morning.’

  Mr Giles rose from his stool. ‘This morning we didn’t know your camel could find the home paddock after a dust storm so far into the desert. We need camels who can find the base camp after a storm.’ Mr Giles looked back at me as he shook Padar’s hand. ‘Besides, he will grow on the way to Perth and you will be good company for Tommy.’

  When they’d gone I sat stupefied. It was Padar who spoke. ‘Mustara, he is a good camel – you both have earned this fairly.’ Then he went to the tin trunk he kept by his bed. He took a key from his shalwar pocket and glanced at me. ‘There is something I need to give you now you are coming with me.’

  I watched the key in his fingers. As far as I knew there were only clothes and money kept in Padar’s trunk. The lid swung back with the squeak I’d always heard as a child whenever Padar opened the trunk in the evening. On top were my mother’s dresses. His hands slid over them and hesitated. I saw the glistening in his eyes and I averted mine so I wouldn’t see his pain. Why couldn’t we talk about it? It was as if my mother was a curtain hung between Padar and me and neither of us had the power to pull it aside.

  Padar wiped his eyes before he slipped one hand down one side and withdrew an oilskin. He laid it on the bed and unrolled it. I crept close to see, and lying before me was a knife. No ordinary knife, but an ancient one, curved like a miniature scimitar with a scabbard. Designs were painted on the handle and scabbard in bright colours and gold. I looked up at him. I knew a knife like this was given as a sign of manhood and authority; surely he wasn’t giving this to me? His eyes were calm now, and thoughtful as they regarded me; what control he had. ‘I have kept this for you. It was given to me by my father, his father gave it to him. Now it is yours.’ He lifted it and handed it to me as though we were part of a ritual. I took it just as carefully. It was too beautiful to say so. Padar always said it was best not to attract the evil eye by remarking on someone’s beauty. No doubt that would work for knives as well.

  I pulled the knife from the scabbard and tested the sharpness of the point with my finger. ‘Sharp,’ I said unnecessarily as a pinprick of blood appeared. I began folding it up again in the oilskin, but Padar put out a hand to stop me.

  ‘It needs to have you wear it, beta.’ In his other hand was a long piece of cloth. ‘Your mother, she made this for when you were old enough to wear the knife.’ His eyes filled again and I knelt there in shock. I couldn’t even ask when, when did she do such a thing? ‘Come.’ He lifted me by the shoulders and wrapped the cloth around my waist. When I looked at him again his tears had dried and he had a crooked smile on his face. ‘You put the knife like this,’ and he tucked the knife into the waist cloth. ‘It will become part of you, and in the desert you may need it.’

  ‘You don’t mind, Padar? That I come with you? You had said I couldn’t.’

  ‘It is for preparing you I said these things.’ Then he lifted off his turban without unwrapping it. ‘It is true I do not think an expedition is for boys and half-grown camels, but Mr Gile, he has spoken.’

  I almost smiled at Padar’s ‘Mr Gile’; he often couldn’t pronounce the endings of English words. ‘You don’t sound happy for me.’

  Padar sighed. ‘Too many difficult things can happen on an expedition. Once, when I was driving camels in the north-west of India, we reached a caravanserai and bandits were hiding there, twenty of them. They took everything the camels carried, and those men who argued, they were killed.’ He shook his head.

  ‘Will there be bandits in the desert on the way to Perth?’

  Padar’s eyes searched my face. ‘I am not knowing. No one has been where Mr Gile want to go. No one except desert peoples. Who knows what dangers we will face.’ His gaze shifted to the knife at my waist.

  I wasn’t so worried about dangers then; I was more concerned by Mr Giles’ final words and wondered if they’d prove true: that I’d be company for Tommy, but would he be good company for me?

  ‘Taj! Where are you?’ The morning sky was washed with grey and my father had little patience with boys who were late to work.

  ‘I have to find Mustara, Padar.’

  ‘We have twenty-two camels to load and all you can think of is your own camel? Mustara can join the string at the end.’ He grumbled to Roshni, the lead gelding, while he checked his nose peg. ‘A camel that young on an exploring expedition. Mr Gile, he ask for trouble.’

  He turned to me as I joined him, a rope in my hand. ‘Last night I said your camel is a good one, but I am telling you now, if he cannot keep up with the string on the way to Port Augusta, both of you will be returning home.’

  ‘But Mustara saved Emmeline and me in the dust storm, and he almost won the race.’ That ‘almost’ still annoyed me.

  ‘That may be so, but the wide, open desert is very different to our desert here at Beltana. Be remembering this – the first sign of lagging and home you both will go.’

  Mr Giles said I could come so I didn’t argue any more with my father. I knew it was the stress of getting the camels ready that made him harsh and I nodded at him for it is good to respect your elders. We began the difficult task of loading the camels. We connected the fifteen baggage camels by their nose-pegs to the tail of the camel in front with a doubled piece of twine. That is why the line of camels is called a string. Padar used only wooden nose-pegs because a brass one would become hot and burn a camel’s nose.

  Emmeline had asked me once if it was cruel to have nose pegs. ‘The string will break easily if they bolt,’ I had told her. ‘And besides, camels don’t like a bit in their mouth as horses have. How else would we drive them?’

  Padar and I led the camels into a circle with Roshni first for he was a good leader, and Pada
r ordered them to sit. ‘Hooshta!’ Padar always said ‘hoosh’ or ‘hooshta’ with a long ‘sss’ so it was soothing to the camels. It always fascinated me to watch them sink to the ground together, folding up their long legs as if they were a flock of birds dancing, the front legs first and then the back. But it was their eyes that I liked the most. Mustara’s eyelashes were so long I was sure he winked at me.

  I walked the riding camels over and we laid the wooden saddles on them. Padar can make these saddles and we would repair them on the expedition.

  ‘Hoy, Saleh! You are busy already I see.’ Mr Giles emerged from the house. I was glad that the other explorers came out with him to help us load the camels. A man stood on each side of the beast to lift the load on, and they balanced it with their knees against the camel’s side. The tall Jess Young jumped out of the way when Malik the youngest bull roared at him. He didn’t look like a brave soldier then. I didn’t laugh but some of the Nunga boys who had come to watch did. So did Tommy.

  When we were nearly finished loading I whistled for Mustara and I found why he hadn’t come before. Emmeline was there, barefoot and hatless, talking to him, and scratching between his eyes. ‘You will be good, won’t you?’ She was looking at me when she spoke, but I hoped she meant Mustara.

  ‘Padar said we will have to come home if Mustara can’t keep up with the string.’

  I saw the hope and pride fight on Emmeline’s face before she finally said, ‘Of course he will keep up.’ She was a good friend; she knew how much I wanted to go.

  ‘Thank you.’ I almost hugged her as if she truly were my sister, but of course she wasn’t and Padar had strict rules about who I could hug. Emmeline was on his list of those I couldn’t, and once she turned thirteen I wouldn’t be able to take her on any more rides into the desert. She walked with me back to the string. Mr Giles was ordering all the men to mount. It was time to leave, for once camels have been loaded they can’t bear to stand still. I chose to be brave like Emmeline and I smiled at her as I mounted.

  I could hear her laughing as we rode down the hill from the homestead, yet I knew she didn’t want me to leave. It was just after dawn. I settled into Mustara’s rhythm and watched the pink sky draining across the ranges. When would I see my home again?

  Since the camels couldn’t stand long with their loads on we kept marching the first day until it was time to eat dinner. I ate some damper during the day while I was riding on Mustara. Padar and I managed to stop at noon to say our prayers. Mr Giles said we could but Jess Young was frowning as Padar and I dismounted and laid out our prayer rugs. I followed Padar’s example and ignored Jess Young’s dark look.

  We weren’t long but the string set off again before we were finished. Padar put his hands on my shoulders as the string walked past us. ‘Do not worry if we are not permitted to stop or if there is no water, and only sand to wash in,’ he said. ‘For we can say our prayers in our hearts and Allah will understand.’ I nodded. These were the special rules for travellers; we were allowed to travel on Jumah, our holy day, too. Yet I was sad at the way Padar had to make Roshni gallop to reach his place at the beginning of the string. I took my place at the end behind Tommy. He turned and grinned at me but I wasn’t sure what his grin meant.

  I thought my backside couldn’t ache any more by the time Mr Giles gave the order to camp for the night. He called it ‘encamp’. I’d never ridden all day but I was determined not to complain. Padar grinned at me as I dismounted and my legs spread two different ways. I nearly fell and Tommy laughed. I gritted my teeth and tried to stand tall. How was I going to do this for months on end?

  ‘It will be getting better,’ Padar said. Then he winked at me.

  We unloaded Zaitoon, the kitchen camel, first. She had to carry an important load and I whispered in her ear as she knelt, ‘You’ve done a good job today, little olive.’ That’s what Zaitoon means: olive. She was fond of the sound of her name; she put back her ears and nibbled at my arm. Peter Nicholls was the cook. His smile was friendly as he and Tommy unpacked the kitchen equipment to make a meal, but Tommy’s silly grin annoyed me. I knew he was making fun of me.

  Everyone helped to set up the camp while Peter Nicholls prepared the flour and water for damper. Mr Giles told me where to put the wood for the fire and where to put our bedrolls. He strode up and down supervising the activity.

  The explorers didn’t bring many personal things, just a bag containing clothes, a gun, a bed roll and a blanket. They all seemed to have a book, and Mr Giles had more than one. He also had another leather bag and boxes. He called it all ‘equipment’. In the bag were trinkets – mirrors, necklaces and pocket knives – ‘gifts for the natives’ he said. He must have chosen well, for Tommy was fascinated by the things in that leather bag.

  In my pack saddle were two shalwar qameezes, sets of clothes, extra cloth for a turban, a prayer mat, a blanket, a small tabla that the Beltana blacksmith called a hand drum, and one of the blue ribbons Emmeline tore off her hat after the dust storm.

  I helped Jess Young by carrying his bag. I discovered he had just arrived from England; he had been an officer in the English navy in India. Jess was a friend of Mr Elder who owned Beltana Station but he had never seen our desert before and he spoke in a strange way.

  Jess Young saw my interest in his bag and showed me what was inside. ‘Two flannel shirts, my good young man,’ he said, ‘two pairs of socks, two pairs of boots, and blankets. Oh, and two pairs of leather inexpressibles.’ He didn’t show me those. ‘Now is that not dandy?’ He also had a red handkerchief that matched his hair, and a concertina. I hoped he would play it one night. The blacksmith at Beltana played one and sang songs as well. I wished to know what inexpressibles were, but I dared not ask.

  The second-in-command who came to our hut with Mr Giles was also an officer. Mr Tietkens had kind eyes and talked much of the time with Mr Giles. They seemed old friends but they didn’t say much to me.

  After we had eaten, the men with books took them out and wrote in them, leaning close to the fire. Mr Giles had a candle stuck onto a box to see by.

  Alec Ross sat beside me. I watched him sharpening his pencil with his knife. He caught me staring. ‘So Taj, you are our youngest camel driver.’ His eyes were smiling and it gave me courage to speak to him.

  ‘I wish I could write what happened to me each day,’ I said. Perhaps it wouldn’t matter so much that you had no place where you truly belonged if you were forever on the pages in a book.

  ‘Do you want to know what I am writing?’

  I nodded.

  ‘See, first I write the date. Today is Thursday the sixth day of May, 1875.’ I knew that was only the English date. Padar said that the month was Rabiulakhir and the year was 1292 in the old country. ‘We made a good distance today on Camel Road because the camels are not fully loaded. Thirty miles.’ He wrote that down. Padar had taught me to recognise numbers and how to use them. ‘A camel driver must be knowing the English numbers,’ he’d said, ‘or he will not have a successful business.’

  Alec continued, ‘Then I have to write the temperature, where we are and what plants I saw.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘That’s what explorers do. I want to be an explorer, so I have to learn all I can from Mr Giles and Mr Tietkens.’ Then he said, ‘What do you want to write? You can write it here.’ He turned to the other end of his book where the special place for the pencil was. I grinned, for Padar always opens the back of a book first. He said in Afghanistan where he was born all the books open that way. Now, the only book that Padar opens is the Koran. I don’t think he reads it for it’s written in Arabic, but he can read Persian words.

  Alec held out the pencil to me. I checked his face to make sure, then I wrote Taj in Persian on his cream-lined page.

  ‘What does it say?’ Alec asked.

  ‘My name.’

  ‘Write some more.’ Alec eyes shone at me.
‘I’ve never seen this before.’

  I let the pencil drop onto the book. It took him a moment to realise I knew no more. ‘Never mind, I can write something for you if you like.’

  I was embarrassed and shook my head. I glanced across the campfire and saw Tommy watching me. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking but what did I care? I stood up too quickly and my sore muscles complained.

  ‘Good night,’ I said politely to Alec with my hand over my heart in the way Padar had taught me.

  My first night camping on Camel Road was colder than I had imagined. And it was only May. There would be many months of cold desert nights. I could see the stars but I missed the warmth of our tin hut, the noises of Beltana Station at night: Emmeline’s mother calling her to come inside, a dog howling, the joking and laughing that went on in the blacksmith’s hut. At least I could hear Mustara’s grunts and a growl from a camel that remained near the camp. I edged my blanket closer to Padar and grinned when I heard his snore.

  In the morning I was so stiff I could hardly move but I began the routine that would be part of my days for the next seven months. First I washed, put on my white prayer cap that used to be Padar’s, prayed, wrapped my turban around my head, then helped Padar to find the camels. It took over an hour to round them up. ‘That wasn’t so long,’ I said to Padar as we joined them by their nose ropes.

  Padar studied my face for a moment. ‘We will be longer finding them in the desert. There will be less feed and the camels will stray further.’ I didn’t take much notice of his warning, but I found out soon enough.

  Padar had put bells on all the camels. ‘These are called zungwalla,’ he said when Alec asked. Mustara had one too. Padar could tell how far away the camels were by the sound of the bells. I wanted to learn to do that. Mr Giles liked long hobbles used on the camels so that they could find their own feed. It was good for the camels but not so good for me finding them early in the morning. At least Mustara didn’t stray far, and came when I whistled.