On the road, the long queue of hundreds of destitute Rohingya families from Aung Syke reached the horizon. The caravan attracted the attention of the curious bystanders from the neighboring villages. These Burmese folks made fun of the caravan. They pestered the Rohingyas with questions like what their destination was or why they had left behind their homes. Many of them commented that peace would return to the state of Rakhain after this. On the second day of this exodus, the caravan reached the southern border of Maung Dao. Over their heads, the sun had been glaring mercilessly; scattered clouds hovered in the sky, but it seemed like they wouldn’t produce any rain.
Karim was at the head of the caravan along with his wife and parents, walking steadily, but at a slow pace. The procession was moving towards the northern part of Maung Dao. By this time the road running from Aung Syke to Maung Dao had deviated quite a few miles, away from the River Mayu. To protect themselves from the scorching sun, many of the elderly men, women and children had their umbrellas spread over their heads. As the day rolled on, the intensity of the sun kept increasing. By looking at their appearances, it seemed like they were dying for a drop of water. However, none were seen quenching their thirst with the water they carried. Prior to their journey they were told to abstain from drinking water unless it was really needed. The purpose was to prevent them from asking others for it.
They were in a strip of land where none could hardly see any trees on either side of the road. Karim planned to rest under one lone tree for a while. The road was not yet paved. It had a brick layer awaiting a coat of asphalt. After a mile or so, the road arched into a half circle. Karim’s heart suddenly sank when he noticed a crowd under a tree, at the other end of the arch. He kept wondering who they were, and more importantly, why they were there. If they were Rohingyas of the Maung Dao region, there shouldn’t be any problem. But when the caravan moved ahead, their Burmese features became clearly visible. A steady stream of sweat ran down his entire body. It felt like he could use a gust of cool breeze to calm him down. From the crowd, four people approached the caravan. It seemed like they wanted to say something. In Burmese language, one of them said to Karim, “Where do you intend to go with so many people?”
Karim was still moving when he said, “We’ve come from Aung Syke, our destination is Teknaf.”
The bald-headed skinny man alongside the first Burmese man contemptuously said to Karim, “Is there anyone waiting for you with brides or bride-grooms for your women folks?”
Karim refused to be dragged into a brawl, so he kept moving without saying anything. Then the rest of the men standing underneath the tree blocked the road in front of the caravan. Karim was not in a shape to find out how many men were there blocking their way. He said to them, “We don’t want troubles, let us move ahead.”
One of the Burmese youth made fun, and said, “Since you people are travelling abroad, let me see your passports and necessary documents.”
Another one said, “Forget about passport, check whether they have permission to come to Maung Dao.”
Karim said to the first Burmese man, “You people know all too well that we don’t have any documents like passport or national ID, and that’s why we have decided to take shelter in refugee camps in another country, leaving behind our ancestral lands. But remember, the way you people are making fun of our miseries, Pharaoh did the same with Moses and his people, and it didn’t end well for Pharaoh and his men.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The Burmese youth next to him said, “Who the hell is Pharaoh?”
Karim would not say anything to this Burmese youth. He simply smiled at him. The first Burmese man said, “Most probably he is one of their spiritual leaders.”
Karim couldn’t resist saying, “Pharaoh, Nimrod, Abu Jehel, Hitler, Mussolini, Stalin, they are all your mentors. We don’t emulate these tyrants as our role models.”
The first Burmese man interrupted Karim. He shouted, “Enough! Now let us check what you people have been planning to smuggle out of this country. Hand over to us all your gold jewelry, Kyat, everything you have. What will you do with these in a refugee camp?”
Hamid, who had been standing behind Karim,replied, “What we will do with these is none of your business. Your ancestors didn’t earn these. These are our personal properties earned by our hard work.”
The Burmese crowd shouted with a single voice, “Smuggling gold and Kyat won’t be tolerated. If you try it, you’ll face trouble.”
In the meantime, the mile long caravan came to a standstill. One by one, every able bodied Rohingya man came forward to stand by Karim. One of them cried out, “You robbed us of everything, no more!”
Rahim requested the Rohingya men to calm down before he said to the Burmese crowd, “My friends, unnecessarily why do you want to create troubles? You can all see that temper is running high because of unusual circumstances. You guys can do whatever you want in this country, but first let us just leave this country peacefully.”
It looked like a middle-aged man among the Burmese crowd was convinced by this call. In a harsh tone, he told the Burmese crowd to disperse. He said to Rahim, “Resume your journey. I’ll handle the crowd over here.” Then he faced the Burmese crowd, raised his arms and circled them like a wheel before saying, “What’s your business under the scorching sun? Go, take shelter under a tree.”
Suddenly they heard a middle-aged Rohingya and two elderly Rohingyas shouting at them from the rear of the caravan. Everyone turned their attention, and by the time they came before Karim, all of them were panting heavily. The middle-aged man took a deep breath and said, “In the name of a search, the para-military forces have picked up five girls who belong to our families. Two of these girls are minors.”
The young men of those three families were with Karim at the time. They pleaded with Karim to go with them to the camp of the paramilitary forces for rescuing the girls. One of the elderly men who had come said to Karim, “Son, their mother won’t survive if something happens to my granddaughters. Had her husband been alive, the poor woman could have survived. Unfortunately, she had lost her husband as well. I beg you, for the sake of humanity, rescue those orphans, and bring them to their mother.”
There was no way to refuse this elderly man. For being too long, no one was aware what was going on at the rear of the caravan. The males of those families had come to the front to see what was happening at the front. Karim wanted to call Su, but hesitation held him back because before embarking on their arduous journey, he didn’t inform her. In the end, he tried to call, but couldn’t reach her. Most probably the entire Maung Dao region was without mobile network, at the time of their exodus. Finally, he agreed to go with five of the Rohingya youths to rescue the girls. Hamid was given the mantle of the caravan. They were to wait for them for an hour or so. If they failed to return within an hour, the caravan was to resume its journey without them.
While walking towards the rear of the caravan along the flank of it, one of the Rohingya youths accompanying Karim asked, “Do you think we will be able to return alive?”
“That I do not know.”
“What if they kill us?”
“I won’t regret dying for a good cause. Besides, I don’t think our lives in the refugee camp will be very pleasant.”
“Still, we’ll be alive.”
“That’s true. But I think it’s better to die fighting like a lion than living like a rat.”
None of the Rohingyas noticed that out of nowhere, a huge black cloud had already covered the whole sky above them. The fresh westerly breeze cooled down the hot weather, but not the inferno that had ben raging inside each Rohingya.