Caravan -Part -1

 Caravan

Alejandra's hands trembled. She pulled out a scrapped polyethylene cruet and held it by the mouth. Francisco snatched it and threw it on the sand. 

"Don't drink that...I beg of you." He shrieked.

She looked at him. Anxiety and suffering shown clearly in his slanted eyes.

She closed hers. Drops of fluid fell onto the hot sand on which she lay lifeless. Her body burned with the heat of the sand, her eyes with the acrid tears and her throat with the intense thirst. She hadn't had pure drinking water for days. Only infected fluids that made her sick. 

She thought of her village and her home, and the good days she'd spent. In the darkness of her closed eyes, she pictured the splendid beauty of the Lake Atitlan and the turquoise waterfalls tucked away in the densely forested mountains of Alta Verapaz that offered clean water. Two years ago, she had travelled the land on horse backs with her father and family! They had forged for grueling hours and had found the most beautiful water spot. Her father had held her like a baby in the cradle of his hands and dropped her into the fresh waters. She'd laughed and screamed in excitement and all others had held their stomachs. 

That was the only trip they had made in years. They never had the means and the finances to do so. Most of the time, she'd work in fields or play with her friends. But her favorite was Zoe, the land lord's daughter.

Unlike Alejandra, Zoe went to the nearby school. She’d read her stories of imaginary characters doing imaginary deeds and make her wonder. At times, she would talk at length about the wild horse races at her native place, the abundance of food during the festivals, and the variety of firecrackers. Occasionally, she would invite Alejandra on her terrace and serve her mouth watering dishes.

Just a year ago on Dia de todos los Santos, Zoe had taken her to Santiago. Alec had helped her make a giant kite on a circular frame made of bamboo and paper. She had adorned it with a nice patch work of colorful leftover cloths and embroidery. When the festival began, the cornflower blue sky got filled with flamboyant giant kites embodying the millennia old tradition. 

She saw them going far beyond her vision but some spun round and round like a UFO landing on the earth. 

"These kites convey our messages to the ancestors" her grandfather had said on her return. "Years ago, this was done by Pakal the great. An astronaut with many space odysseys on his well designed space craft. "

Alejandra would look at him with astonishment and he would say "I'll take you to the famous city of Palenque and show you the sarcophagus."

"Why don't we make space craft’s?" Alejandra asked inquisitively. "They can reach speedily."

"We can't." Grandfather replied. 

"Why not?"

"Because they require money and technology."

"Does that mean our ancestors were better than us?"

Grandfather laughed.

"So who has the means to make a space craft?" Alejandra asked.

"America has it."

“Is it? I'll go to America and become learned and, and ......I"

"No my dear. You are still a little girl of seven. And America is a big country."

"I'll go with papuchi and we'll earn lots of dinero."

Alejandra had seen her father doing temporary jobs for the past three years. The cattle ranch her grandfather once owned had been replaced by palm plantations leaving only a tiny strip of field to grow corn and other staple. The family had survived from subsistence agriculture, from which they made about $90 every six months. They would sell the part of the corn harvest left over after feeding the family. 

A handful of the Guatemalan palm oil and banana companies that had sprung up in the fertile valley sometimes provided health services. But the region was mostly neglected even by the government. Nobody in the neighborhood had a strong concrete house. They all lived in small huts with only bare necessities available. 

This had caused major migrations into the US. Over the past three months, an overwhelming majority of Q'eqchi' families had quietly fled to join the US bound exodus of Guatemalans. 

And so had Alejandra. Tugging her little suitcase with a few clothes, a plate, a torch and a quilt, she set out on foot with her father. With dreams of owning a beautiful house someday, she had left behind the tiny wooden house with the straw roof, the dirt floors, a few bed sheets and a fire pit her mother used for cooking, Her brothers were barefoot, their feet caked with mud; their clothes in tatters. But Alejandra had worn the first pair of shoes her grandfather had gifted her when they celebrated her seventh birthday. 

As she walked with her father, miles and miles through the Mexican desert, she found only red sand and dirt. The terrain was dotted with colonies of cactus plants and spiky leaves. The nights were below freezing and the temperature shot during the day. They had exhausted the little food they had bought and the odyssey only offered tiny water spots of muddy water. Francisco bore the hunger and the thirst, but after a point Alejandra couldn’t. All she wanted was to reach the US. She didn’t bother if it was clean water or polluted one as long as it quenched her thirst. 

But made her weak day by day. Francisco would frequently carry her on his back for couple of miles and they would both get drenched in sweat. 

To be Continued ........