Upanyas

By Omar Hussein Siraj

This is a story of a Saudi young man who chose to travel to India, that he has read much about, with its enriching mythology, that told extraordinary stories of gods and heroes which convey significant spiritual messages to human. Besides his wish to take from a far distance, an important decision to radically change his career direction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Singapore
• Release date: Jun 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9781543758351

Omar Hussein Siraj

Omar Hussein Siraj is a Saudi novelist that represents a distinctive creative direction in the field of the contemporary Arab novel. In addition to preserving the technical conditions of the narration, he tries to explore other fields, uses and presents them in a suggestive narrative form that matches the rhythm of the modern novels. What it offers makes the reader feel a new meaning to life, or makes reading another taste, and more related to the endless world of creativity.

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Copyright © 2020 by Omar Hussein Siraj.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

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CHAPTER

1

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W hen traveling, someone feels as if he is somewhere between what went and what will come without indulging in either. This feeling prevailed me the moment I stepped on the second—out of five—terminal of King Khalid International Airport, which is located about twenty kilometers from the capital Riyadh.

My name is Wael Al-Barjas and I live on Al-Washem Street in Al-Muraba neighborhood in a residential building designated for singles. Yet I am on my way to India with no specific destination, except for the starting point, which is Mumbai.

I’ve been working for nearly ten years in the first industrial city in the Al-Malaz district near the center of Riyadh opposed to customs, the dry port, and King Khalid International Airport, where I am now in a plastic products factory as a storekeeper.

I progressed from one position to another from the limited jobs of warehouse management, then I was promoted to the position of storekeeper. This is when I started supervising some workers who were mostly Indians. My duties are limited to implementing plans, organizing things related to the plastic raw materials’ store, reporting to the store manager with the necessary requirements, and organizing entry and exit of inventory in accordance with the approved procedures. My authorities and responsibilities are limited to what is assigned to me without having the authority to make decisions except few.

At the age of twenty-two, I obtained a bachelor’s degree in accounting from the University of Riyadh, and I was my own English tutor and I was able to learn how to read and write. Acceptably, it was consistent with the business needs.

I never liked my work, neither did I like at a previous stage of my life my studies of financial accounting. I was always dreaming of cinema and of being an actor in movies. My idol in the field is the American actor Matt Damon, to whom I resemble, as Professor Wahid Seri, the Egyptian teacher of mathematics at Baraem High School, told me.

Indeed, I looked like him. But there were some differences. My hair was different. It was curly. My eyes were wider. I was probably taller than him. Also, my skin was brown. The rest is exactly the same as him. This is what the wall mirror in my bedroom told me, which I face front for too long each day standing to try to imitate scenes from the characters of Matt Damon in his films that I keep on video recordings in my own library. However, I never succeeded to imitate Matt Damon’s performance and abilities because I didn’t join any specialized institute of cinema, which only exists in some neighboring countries, despite my insistence that didn’t happen because my parents rejected the idea of joining any of these schools when I expressed my desire.

This is along with me being a shy person, a clear character that made my colleagues, whether at school, university, or in the plastic products factory, call me fanciful.

Their reason to call me with that title is that I’m driven by my emotions when dealing with matters and situations. Also, it was maybe because I love those around me to deal with kindness with everyone and assess things according to my emotions.

Actually, I always tend to stay alone by myself. I have no friends, but I always welcome those who expect that our relationship won’t exceed smattering. I have no relatives to communicate with. I sank into my solitude after my parents passed away.

I don’t know any other reason for my travel other than my desire to separate my imagination away from my daily life and to make an important fateful decision to radically change my career direction. I am still in my early thirties and have enough time to change my path.

My imagination was everything that others’ minds couldn’t understand. They thought of it as an obsession, a dream, a spectrum that appeared for a while and suddenly disappeared, rather an illusion that made it like an unrecognizable mirage. They see it as something I wanted and never got. That’s what makes them pity me and talk about me when I’m not around. They consider me mad and helpless. However, they are completely wrong. My imagination is a passion for life. I value it more than knowledge because knowledge can be learned by anyone, but imagination is a divine gift that enables its owner to reach the truth.

In fact, I was not lethargic about thinking of changing the course of my life. But securing a living was a critical impediment that urged the feeling of the necessity of that change. I need to think seriously and answer questions that have puzzled me. I can almost assure you that my life will stop there if I overlook the urge to answer them!

* * *

The journey from Riyadh to Mumbai wasn’t tiring. It took about four hours. I spent some of them sleeping and mostly listening to what the Indian guy in the next seat was telling me. He was one of those Indians working in the office of the cultural attachés at the Indian Embassy in Riyadh. He seemed to be cultured and fond of Indian mythology.

He told me, Indian myth is a traditional tale that narrates supernatural events or talks about the realizations of gods and heroes. It expresses the beliefs of the Indian people, in its primitive epochs, and represents its perception of phenomena of nature and occultations.

In early times, some Indian myths were based on real people or real events, most of which reflected the trends and idols of the group that created them. Myths hold qualities that Indian society considers impressive.

I listened to him. That was because listening invokes my fertile imagination which was my gadget of knowledge. Every person who came into my life brings with them their world. It was strange and more complex than I had hoped or imagined.

For me, the skill of listening is basic and should be self-taught. It’s a skill through which I understand impressive life lessons, which helps me to be distinguished.

My dreams embody my truth. That transparency I’m characterized by allows me to see what others can’t see. Simply my imagination gives me the essence of my belonging, spirituality, which leads me to transparency.

My decision to travel to India was influenced by the tales and memories told by my Indian colleagues about their country. India is considered, according to what my seat-neighbor on the plane, the seventh-largest country in terms of geographical territory, the second in terms of population, and it is the most populous democratic republic in the world. It is bordered by the Indian Ocean to the south, the Arabian Sea to the west, Bangladesh, Myanmar, the Bay of Bengal to the east, and the Republic of China, Nepal, and Bhutan to the north.

India is the cradle of the Hindus valley civilization, the historical trade route, and many empires. It was known for its commercial and cultural fortunes for a long period of its long history. Four major religions have emerged on Indian soil, Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, and Sikhism while Zoroastrianism, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam arrived in the first millennium. These religions and cultures shaped the rich diversity of the region.

India has the seventh-largest economy in the world and the third-largest purchasing power. It has become one of the fastest-growing economies in the world, and it is classified among the newly industrialized countries. Despite this, the country is still facing challenges like poverty, corruption, malnutrition, and the inefficiency of public healthcare systems. On the military side, India is a regional military power, and it is also classified as a country possessing nuclear weapons.

The Indian army is classified as the third-largest army in the world while it ranks sixth in military spending between countries. Because of its massive population, India has a multi-religious, multi-lingual, and multi-ethnic society.

* * *

The plane was landing slowly at Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj International Airport Mumbai. The view from the plane’s window was green unlike the yellow desert from which I came.

On my way to the hotel, it was raining heavily over the surrounding hills till we reached the entrance gate. In front of the hotel’s reception, nothing caught my attention but a skinny tall man whose long hair reached the level of his shoulders.

He smiled at me and said, Welcome to India, Mr. Wael!

Did we get to know each other before?

He smiled. His front teeth appeared long just like him. He answered, Indians just like you people of the Arabian Peninsula always welcome their guests! I heard your name from the receptionist when he was talking with you.

He remained silent for a while then took up his handbag and said, Maybe even a decade older, we seem to be intellectually close. My name is Upanyas. You can call me Apa. My room number is 1313. Have a good day. Apa turned