Robin Murarka Presents Akin - A Literary Masterpiece of Life! A Personal Favorite for 2025!

 "Do I exist? Not in your sleeping dreams, my boy. And fear not purging my memory from reality, for the truth is more pious a goal than delusion."

But this is god, Aydan . . . the ground bleeds this into plants, animals . . . even us . . ." "That sounds nice, Samaye . . . I would like to be in a world surrounded by these patterns, as they are in Tphetria . . ." "These are just stories to most, my brother. They are corrupt people . . . my people," Samaye explained. "I had to leave for my soul could not consume it. I could not understand it." "What do you mean?" Aydan asked. "The structures . . . they are created through god . . . through the groups. But it is my own family, my brethren that work as slaves. Not as family. There is a group, a powerful group . . . the Methias . . . they . . . were like us. But they adorn themselves in vanity . . . and they use god's knowledge for purposelessness. They attain their knowledge from strangers . . . strangers from far away. And they keep it hidden." He began to cry gently. "It hurts my heart, akin. That so many suffer for their greed. They keep the knowledge to themselves and the strangers hidden. And when I encounter the Methias in the street . . . they are like me . . . like you. Of flesh, with soulful eyes. The confusion in me is like a disease, akin." His crying deepened, and he began to lose his breath and heave as thoughts began to consume him. "I am . . . perplexed . . . akin . . . the man in the mask . . . the rest . . ." he struggled to say between gasps. Aydan suddenly became concerned and called to him. "Samaye . . . you must calm yourself. Count with me . . ." Samaye began to cry harder, the sobs turning into grunts as the intensity of his groaning became louder and harder. As he heard Samaye, a hollowness began to form in him. "It . . . it is . . . akin . . . it is . . . inconceivable . . . that my brother . . . my own akin of flesh . . . would harm me so," Samaye uttered in between gasps of breath mixed with tears and grunts. Aydan closed his eyes and pressed his palm against his door. "My akin . . . brother . . . mewah akin . . . oh god . . ." Samaye began to heave as if he was choking. Aydan's face grimaced, and he too began to cry. "You must breathe, Samaye . . . we are together, you and I." Samaye fell to the ground and curled up, holding his stomach. "My stomach pains . . . it hurts so tremendously. I . . . I . . . think of his smell . . . and it . . . it ills me, akin . . . "It ills me . . . that such a terrible feeling should . . . should . . . associate itself . . . to the thought of my own brother!!!" His gasping turned into a steady cry, weeping heavily as he began to drown. Aydan's own chest began to tighten, feeling helpless towards his companion. "Not everyone is our brother, Samaye . . ." Aydan responded after a moment. "Not everyone sees us as we wish to see them. Do you see?" Samaye clutched his hair in his hands and wept wholly. As Aydan listened to him, he began to contemplate that Samaye was not fooling himself into believing that the Fayem was his brother. It seemed he truly saw him as that. He cried with the deep seated pain that only betrayal could fuel, not delusion. "Why, Samaye . . ." Aydan asked. "Why do you think he loves you . . . that he wants to . . . that he could? He is not your brother . . . he is an animal." "Akin . . ." Samaye responded, crying deeply. "Do you believe he does not yearn to be loved freely and completely?" Aydan opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The gentleness of Samaye's rebuttal shattered any preparedness he had in his criticism of Samaye's perspective. The truth was, as he thought of the Fayem and all the cruelty in his nature, he could not argue that the Fayem yearned for love. As his mind contemplated it against his will, he found himself more and more convinced that this was indeed the case. And as he did, the fear and hatred became less fortified within him. It was a feeling he was not comfortable with, and although he tried to re-envision the atrocities of the past day to re-enforce his stance, Samaye's voice, like the hand of god, ushered all arbitrary thoughts away, leaving only unpleasant truths. "I . . . I don't understand, Samaye . . ." Samaye sat in the darkness, holding his head in his hands. He contemplated the physical pain within him along with the confusion of the abuse. He nodded to himself. "Akin . . . why did he manifest his hatred upon me when I have done nothing but love him?" Samaye's words shook Aydan's head, and he burst into tears, uncontrollably crying at the thought of the sheer vulgarity of such hatred that would facilitate the abuses that Samaye had suffered. "I don't understand, Samaye . . . I don't know . . ." He cried like a child, not knowing where the tears were coming from. "Why are his actions so hurtful to me, Samaye? Why do I expect more of him?" Aydan asked. He became furious and began to scream. "He is an animal! Not a man! Not a man to do such things to you! Not a man! Why are you hurt? He is not a man, he is a beast! A demon placed upon this world with nothing like us in his chest! He is a beast! Why do you cry? Why do you cry at a bastard animal acting as such?" "I know nothing, akin, except that he yearns for my love, just as I do his . . ." Samaye responded immediately. Aydan slammed his hand against his door repeatedly, trying to alienate himself from Samaye's words. He believed it to be true, but loathed his own certainty of it. Samaye lay down, curling up in his cell as tears ran down his cheek. He did not sob, for the thoughts came and went, but the confusion that remained hurt him with every emergence. "I don't understand, akin . . . why would he hurt me so?" Samaye asked as one such emergence arrived, causing his tears to flow faster, his body tensing up. And with every sob that Aydan heard, he understood them not to be fuel to the effect of hating the man, but attempting to understand his motivation and purpose, his capacity to hurt Samaye in such a manner while he was loved. It was the pain of confusion, almost mind-numbing confusion, brought about by his attempt to understand why one would reject the love, the real empathy, compassion and trust Samaye had so freely invested into him. Aydan was confused by his feelings, for he resided in a realm of fear and openly accepted that none were his friends or comrades. Yet, the way that Samaye was, was of a completely different nature. He was suffering immensely and the victim of his faith in someone like the Fayem, but there was something he carried within him . . . something familiar to Aydan that he both deeply respected and desired. There was a border, he saw. In the darkness, his senses numbed, he could almost visualize it. His world, entirely existing before this point, Aydan was alone, surrounded by teeth. Bethelhurst meant as well as he could but was never a companion of sorts, never Aydan's ally. And though he navigated the world around him successfully, the concept of an ally was unspeakably rich to him, as if seeing this border in the darkness opened up his thirst for love. It was as if he discovered a gaping hole in his stomach, and there was a vacuum there, and though he could not feel it before this moment, it had been there all along. Aydan slammed his hand against his door, once, forcefully. "Samaye." he called out. "Samaye!" he yelled. "Yes." Aydan calmed himself, choosing his words carefully. "Are you my brother?" Samaye began to weep uncontrollably, pressing himself against his wooden barrier, stretching the wound on his back. "Because I . . . am your brother," Aydan continued. Samaye placed his palm against his door, crying profusely. "And I am going to break this."

~~~

He had dreamed of voices that morning, but they were not all his creation, but from some other place, some unseen place, unlike him, reaching out to him. They called him brother, as did Samaye. He wept as he thought of his friend, his brother, his brethren. But just as the tears arrived, so too did they stop, as he dismissed reality in favor of fatigue and deep breathing as he fell into the world of sleep. Perhaps his friend would be there in the morning, and he was mistaken. His hands felt the sand beneath him with every temporary moment of consciousness, as if he hoped to find grass, or water, or something other than the crystalline pebbles against his fingers. He rubbed his hand in them angrily, losing all hope, unable to even wet his lips, afraid that if he opened his mouth, his tongue would shrivel up and die, taking him along with it. He lay down, finally, feeling weight upon his body, pushing away from it, nuzzling his head in the sand. With his nose now completely blocked, he opened his lips only minimally to take in air. He tried to filter out the loose sand that came in with every breath but could taste the rocks against his tongue and even tried to chew them in some delirious state, hoping to extract flavor and juices out of them. Perhaps no one had ever tried, he thought, and he would discover something miraculous that would empower him. He recalled something he had contemplated as a child. His eyes closed, he tried to whisper the concept, trying to resonate it within. "If . . . "If . . . I can sing . . . if I can sing . . . if I can sing the words . . . then I am not defeated." He lay there, hearing them, thinking them, feeling them. He repeated, louder. "If . . . I sing . . . if I can sing the words . . . I am not defeated." He took a deep breath in and felt the words, like blood, coarse through his system . . . and began to scream. "If I have the luxury of song, I am not defeated! Hear me! I am not defeated!" He took another desperate breath in and whispered to himself. "If I am song . . . I will never be defeated . . ." Then the wind in the desert was all that could be heard. The miniscule crackling of fragment after fragment, pieces of orange earth dancing in the wind, running a gauntlet up and down the dunes of the dry infinite sea. They filled his hair, his ears, and piled up on either side of him. As if attracted to the fleeting warmth in his body, the little creatures that touched him lay down with him, upon him, to be close to his spirit. His hand closed around the sand, holding it in his fist. He kept his eyes closed and began to sing. "The world closes around me . . . "But I am still here, I am still here." He stopped in between every line to pause and gather energy. "The lands swallow me whole. "I am still here . . . I am still here. "I am still here . . ." he whispered quietly, feeling the embrace of the dream world. "I will always be here." Still. Perfectly still. It was the stillness that awoke him. His ears perked, and some vessel of awareness ran down his ear, into his mind, and began to scream as loud as it could, and his awareness was piqued. "Hmmm . . . ?" Aydan weakly muttered in a half dazed state. Underneath the sand, something moved, and his hand limply emerged, sensing the wind. This piqued his awareness even more. Half buried now, Aydan shifted, feeling his entire body ache in agony. He moaned in pain, and in doing so tore the dry calluses on his lips, sending shearing impulses of torture through his entire body. He finally managed to prop himself upwards on one hand and sat up, his body muffled in small particles of sand. He remained still, trying to sense something, anything, but could not. It frightened him, more than he expected it to. Gently, he tried to open his eyes, brushing caked sand away from his face, carefully freeing his eyelashes. He peeked every now and then, and seeing and hearing nothing began to push his anxious mind to bridge the gap between unease and terror, forcing him to become frantic in his effort to discover what universe he had fallen into. As his eyes opened, he saw the red haze of an emerging dusk color in an unmistakable gradient along the sand in front of him. The sun, as if staring directly at him but gentle enough to receive a stare back, was right in front of him, flat against the horizon in perfect proportion to the world. Aydan stared, his body hunched, and was entranced. Something was happening to him, and he could not determine what it was. A rush of emotion is how he described it to himself, too fast to be interrupted. As if insanity and reality had collided to create an absolutely pivotal moment where the universe was bending in some strange manner to kiss him. He looked to the side and saw a leg in the sand, connected to something that was now buried by the world, and knew it belonged to his perished friend. He began to cry, for he found it to be the most beautiful and vulgar thing he had ever seen. Samaye was in darkness, gone forever with unrequited hope, yet this color upon his leg, upon the sand, and even upon Aydan, provided by the sun, kissed it all. Aydan raised his hand at the sun, trying to feel the thickness of his feeling, but felt nothing. He stared at the orange fire, and as it began to hide under the horizon, so too did he begin to feel alone and empty. It was as if the presence of the sun introduced noise to the environment, and though this was not the case, as it vanished, Aydan felt scared at the silence he found himself drenched in. He saw Samaye's leg once again, this time void of color or light, but simply lying there, unmoving, horrific in its suggestion of what lay connected to it. It was not an object but a sign of something more terrible, some beauty lost but not simply missing now and forever, but rather defiled and broken by the world. His dazed thoughts were disconnected, and though he contemplated how distraught he was, he simply did not have the capacity to dwell on it. The sun was gone, and whatever magnificent feeling had emerged when he awoke went with it, replaced by the real world, one he seemed to collide with in what seemed to be only unpleasant manners. "Samaye . . ." he whispered as tears filled his eyes. He leaned down backwards, resting his back against the ground as if lying in bed, preparing to die. He was filled with anguish at that moment, with nothing but thoughts of failure and betrayal and the woe of witnessing the loss of the soft creature that lay beside him. He had never experienced a hopelessness that had no exits and though, for a moment, he regretted leaving the cave, as he felt the cool sand under his palms, he became suddenly assured that though it ended as it did, it was eventuated in freedom.

~~~

What is it that makes one man accept, yet another man strives beyond that which he was borne into? Robin Murarka presents an epic fantasy world in which to explore that one question... But is there even an answer? For how can we know what we want until we are born and then come to a specific life following that of his father, while at the same time choosing to roam free, gaining strength from those walks out into the wilderness--the land surrounding him... Ayden was such a man. While his father and he were working in fields, Ayden day dreamed of far lands... And then, he had a dream! And, in that dream he learned that it was he who chose what was to be... and he had indeed chosen! Although not really understanding...

In a place with names that you will not recognize, you will find that, even in a different land, there are things that make men fear--they didn't know about Demons, perhaps... But never being sure because it was only feelings, thoughts, worries that had led to their living with those who would accept their life as the only reality...

Ayden had dreams--visions. But his father, fearing that others would hear of his son, would explain them away as just nightmares of a time in a different place than where they lived... But Ayden would watch what was happening in his village and question the actions of people who saw things differently, perhaps just from their own experiences, such as a deaf man who could not hear when a young girl asked him for water, she spoke louder and louder until it was noticeable that the wellman had not heard her and then that man was removed from his position to determine whether he was possessed or could be healed... and he was placed in a central pit in the village, where their god Vespa would decide his future... Ayden watched as he was in the pit, hoping that the man would look up and see some of his encouragement, his concern for the man... I saw a great parallel of this town and daily life before religions had been formed and, then, as to the early life of Jesus here on earth...

For there were also men of high rank and power... And they lived by the old rules and spoke of danger, their gods' wrath and people were afraid, often not knowing from day to day what would be happening. Soon, Ayden awoke, with a deep sharp smell that he could not place. Where was he? And as he listened and felt around, he realized he was in the dark, and discovered he was locked there. Getting just a small portion of food that was almost spoiled. What had occurred? All that he knew was that others were in the same location and that at certain times, he could hear screaming, or cries of pain nearby. And at night, he listened and could hear a man weeping in the next cage and Ayden called out to him, figuring that they wouldn't have nearby guards to hear... And soon, Ayden knew and would call to him: "Samaye . . . is that you, Samaye?" "It is pronounced Soo-ma-ya in Tphetria, Samaye responded...: And, so, two men were no longer alone and grew stronger in knowing that they had a friend, even a brother as they talked and learned of the other. 

"Hear . . . what, brother?" "My heart, Samaye . . . it aches with pain, not for my or your fate, but for the forgotten and pained dal my defa brought. I rejected it, and I am sure it hurts where it sits now. I see it wrapped in cloth, sitting alone, and my father stares at it, woe and sadness filling him for its unfulfilled purpose." Samaye smiled. "You are a very cruel man, Aydan, to have hurt such a sensitive dal." "Yes!" Aydan yelled. "Yes, that is correct. That is exactly what I am trying to say to you. Both you and I are bathed in horror, yet my mind focuses on his back and his hurt face and most importantly, his sensitive dal . . . what a strange, twisted state of being I am in, Samaye." "We often do not control what our hearts tell us, Akin . . . though we sense when we are being deceived . . . as you are right now. Yes?" "Most certainly," Aydan replied. "I am being deceived right now, my brother. And my birth giver is the deceiver. What roots he has implanted in my mind, to be able to cause me to suffer grief for him whilst I await the adoration of a cruel blade." He was silent then, unaware of whether his eyes were open or closed, nothing but darkness and Samaye's voice representing all there was in the universe. He became serious, suddenly, and closed his eyes, pensively thinking. He imagined Bethelhurst's face and the ghostly mask of the Fayem. He imagined the interior of the cave and reached up to feel his still sore head wound. As he touched it, he grimaced, and then began to cry silently. He did not open his eyes, however, and still imagined his father's face. The failure of his communication was beyond him; he began to accept that it would have failed no matter what he had said or done, and that all the intricate planning he had analyzed earlier that day was the result of his naive perspective of those he held close to him. "Akin?" Samaye called out. Aydan was silent for a moment, and then responded. "Yes, Samaye." "I am your brother, and I trust you," Samaye replied. Aydan began to cry further, as if Samaye's words pierced all that he had perceived his real Kunda to represent to him. He felt tragic as woe consumed him amidst feeling overwhelmed with pure grief at the unspeakable betrayal that Bethelhurst had committed. "You know, Samaye . . ." Aydan spoke in between calm but teary breaths, "it is not his refusal to acquiesce to my plan that hurts me. It is an old pain that has awoken in me, spurred by the graveness of this situation and how unflinchingly unheard I am by his heart." He continued. "Even in this place, whether it be naive or simplistic, there can be nothing wrong with the pleasure my heart seeks in sharing the taste of salts with you. That this is of priority to me, that you share in the uplifting feeling such a sensation may bestow upon you, from a hole in the middle of the earth . . ." He began to cry deeply. "That this that comes from my heart is made to be questioned or despised, criticized in any manner, is blasphemy. It is . . . a terrifying event . . . unholy. And this bastard father of mine, he oozes nothing but malice towards what my heart seeks to attain." Samaye placed his hands against his door and leaned his head against it, listening to Aydan. "There can be nothing wrong with pure intent, akin," he said. Aydan heard him, thought, then nodded. "There can be nothing wrong with pure intent." Aydan began to repeat it over and over. "There can be nothing wrong with pure intent. "There can be nothing wrong with pure intent." He began to speak louder, his tears stopping, his fists beginning to clench. "There can be nothing wrong with pure intent!" He hit his door with the side of his fist and paused. He took a deep breath in and began to scream. "There can be nothing wrong with my intent!!!" He banged the door hard and took a position at the rear of his hole, pressing his back against the wall opposite. He placed his feet square against the wooden barrier and took a deep breath in. "Do you hear me, Samaye?" He bent his knees back and struck down hard against it, causing the door to shake and echo through the cave. "Kick your door, Samaye! Kick it!" Samaye felt around his door and did not fully understand what Aydan meant until he heard another loud thud as Aydan's feet landed upon it again. He sat in the middle of his hole and kicked his door. It pushed him backwards, towards the wall behind him, which he then pressed his back against. He twisted his body as he felt his wound touch the rock, using his hands for leverage. "Kick it, Samaye!" Aydan slammed his feet against it, over and over, the soles of his feet becoming sore and pained. Samaye began to kick as well, taking longer with each kick but pressing as hard as he could. "You bastard liar," Aydan whispered. He imagined his father's face and thought about his claim to Aydan as a son. "Bastard!" he screamed as he kicked his door as hard as he could, hearing the wooden fibers tear from the inside. He could not feel his feet though he knew the abuses they were now suffering would cause him anguish for some time to come. "Kick your door, Samaye! We are free if you will it with me!" He began to kick his door quicker now, and still harder, gathering a motion in between breaths. Samaye maintained his speed and also began to hear his door buckle as he slammed his feet against it. "Kick!!!" Aydan's door began to stretch, and with every kick more and more fibers tore. He could feel it giving way to his pressure, enticing him to kick even harder. "Break, you son of a whore! Break!" Outside the cave, Maki slept, curled up on both his feet, like a bird. He rested his head on his hands, which rested on his shoulder as he stood, perched, his knees bent fully, perfectly balanced in a deep sleep. The loud thuds from within the cave were only murmurs outside; yet the alien sounds began to prick at his sleeping mind, and it started taking notice of them. Aydan touched the bottom of his feet and felt open wounds, torn from the door. He then heard a loud crack as Samaye's door gave in, breaking in half. Samaye screamed in agony, immediately. "What, Samaye? Have you broken through?" "Akin . . . my leg is caught on the rupture in the door. I cannot move, but it is open. It is open, brother. We are free . . ." Aydan naturally began to secrete tears as the urgency behind his kicks increased double fold. "I am coming, Samaye. I am coming!" He kicked and kicked, becoming angry and desperate as it seemed fiber after fiber tore but still did not collapse the door. Soon, however, a piece broke off, and he kicked around it, making the hole bigger and bigger, soon causing almost half the door to lay in tatters outside his cell. He immediately patted the floor cautiously and began to walk on all fours, navigating outside of his cell carefully. "Speak, brother! Speak so that I can find you!" "I am here, akin . . . come . . . here . . . my leg is caught in the door . . ." Aydan crawled quickly to Samaye's cell and touched his leg, for the first time feeling his warm flesh. It brought tears to his eyes, and he held onto his foot for an instant, then kissed it. "I am here, brother." Samaye began to weep as well, feeling the lucid warmth of Aydan's face against his skin. Aydan felt around Samaye's leg, examining the positioning of the door. He created a visual imprint of the positioning of the sharp fibers and tore away, piece by piece, anything surrounding Samaye's leg. "I am going to lift your leg now, and it will hurt." Samaye held his breath as Aydan took hold of his ankle and pulled it upwards, withdrawing sharp slivers from Samaye's leg. Samaye clenched his voice and grunted, trying to keep hold of the searing pain. Aydan slowly moved his leg to the side and placed it down. He moved into Samaye's cell and found his hand, taking hold of it, pausing for an instant. He caught his breath as he grasped tightly at Samaye. "Are you ready, brother?" he asked after a few moments. Samaye clenched his friend's fist in acknowledgment. Aydan wrapped his arm around the back of Samaye and began to prop him up, out of the cell, making Samaye lean on him. Just as they stood, they paused, suddenly. Aydan whispered into Samaye's ear. "Quiet, brother. Something has moved." They stood completely silent in the darkness and began to hear a slight shuffling in the cave with them. Aydan looked about, squinting, trying to catch a glimpse of something but could see nothing. Samaye was becoming faint for his exhaustion and loss of blood but held onto Aydan for support. Aydan leaned Samaye against the wall noiselessly and squeezed his hand, letting go. He spread his arms out in the darkness, stepping very quietly, trying to catch whatever it was that moved. Suddenly, something jumped out and grabbed him, biting his arm. Aydan began to slam his fist down on it over and over, trying to get it to release him. It pulled him to the ground and climbed on him, hitting his head. "Naga! Naga! Naga, naga!" the creature yelled. Aydan immediately recognized the voice of Maki and became furious. He reached back and punched Maki's face both fast and hard, causing him to fly back and hit his head against the rock in the center of the cave. Aydan scrambled on all fours, and like an animal ran to Maki and began hitting him. He took his head and slammed it against the rock repeatedly. "Die!!!" he screamed. He soon stopped, feeling the motionless body of Maki, dropping his head against the ground. Aydan sat there, his hands drenched in blood, and began to cry. "Akin . . . akin . . ." Aydan heard Samaye's voice, and as if awoken by it, wiped his face with his arm and stood up slowly, walking cautiously in the darkness towards his friend. He wrapped his hand around his back and kissed the side of his face, then suddenly hugged him. Samaye hugged him back, and they both limped out of the cave, following the feel of the wall.

~~~

And soon they were growing stronger, even though their bodies remained weak from hunger, for they had...togetherness... And Adken soon began to wonder whether they could escape. And they began to plot the possibility. And succeeded! But Samaye was hurt during their escape and even though they were able to get away, Samaye grew weaker and weaker and finally died. And Adken could not accept his death and stayed there with him until he had to finally bury his brother... And so Adken was to travel on alone. But Samaye had called his brother Akin as they had talked and Adken had accepted Akin as his new name...

Samaye's face was the last to fade, and Aydan paused, kissing his cheek, before covering him up entirely. As he placed sand over Samaye's eyes, he felt a hollowness within himself. It was as if up to that point, he had still believed that Samaye might have opened his eyes at any moment. But once his face was covered and no movement, no excitement or disruption ensued, though Aydan both expected and waited for it, he sat in silence, subtly disappointed. He remained beside the grave and closed his eyes. He took a sip of water and froze sternly in place. "I reject all that was and is. I am returning you to the earth, my friend. "I will carry you with me. "I reject all that was and is. I am re-born." He placed his hand on the sand, over Samaye's buried face. He began to cry. "I will carry you with me, brother." He sat for a few moments longer, then arose and looked at the horizon. He tore fragments of Samaye's tunic off, wrapping them around his feet. He wrapped the rest of Samaye's blood stained cloth over his head, covering his neck, and began a trek away from the rising sun. He took one final look at the lump in the sand and proceeded to move forward, a dismal mood coating his face. He carried the bladder strapped over his shoulder and walked in steady steps. He was used to treading the desert and naturally knew how to maximize his distance with the energy he had. He traveled away from the sun, hoping that he would stumble upon some alien township or village, one that had no knowledge of him or the Aizik. He would present himself as a traveler and hoped it would be well met. His hunger pains came and went, and he tried not to think about food. He was in a precarious mood, concentrating on his diminishing water supply and each step he took. He knew his energies would eventually end, and so every step was a direct investment to his survival, survival being the last thing his friend had silently urged him to pursue. Desert crossings were practiced exercises. One had to keep themselves occupied in thought, unfocused at the heat or pain, continuing to persist in order to succeed. Aydan found thoughts easily, as there was much to think about. He pondered Samaye's body and felt resolved knowing it was truly loved as it was left. It seemed placed, Samaye's death, for he was not one for this world. His simplicity of thought was superior to those around him, yet his perpetual confusion would have cursed him till the day he died. But even as he thought this, he pondered the life they could have led, exiting the desert together, living as brothers, finding loved ones and forever supporting one another in their endeavors. It was the laughter that hurt the deepest . . . all the laughter they would no longer share, and it made his heart sink. "Now is the perfect time to grieve," he thought. "All the grief in the world will fuel my steps and make the passing sands blink." "But grief . . ." he thought as he felt it surge through him like knives. "It cannot be simply quantified, though I wish it could." He paused for a moment, wondering if Samaye had just been sleeping, considering turning back. He turned around to assess the situation and saw nothing but a sea of yellow. He resumed walking. "Soo-ma-ya," he whispered. "How I would repeat it a thousand times if you would awaken, my friend."

~~~ 

As we learn more about Akin, we learn that he was a special man, hearing voices, questioning all that he was facing, knowing that he must continue on, not knowing where, but knowing he had to keep moving forward... With no water no food, they had moved further away from where they had been captured and held... Only one thing kept them, and then, just Akin, moving... There was no choice. Sitting down and sleeping was just...not...an...option...

Readers, this is an epic story, one that demands you spend time with it from the very beginning. The writing is extraordinary, moving from poetic fluency into cries of hate and fury as the characters come in and out of this lengthy heroic effort to find life at its very core of both sorrow and majesty! How can this occur, you ask? I don't know; I really don't. Yet the words haunt me. Knowing that somewhere in a desert of sand there is one body of a man who died searching for freedom, buried by an adopted brother who cried together to the very end...  While finding in another area that another man reaches out, opens his home and shelter to a stranger whose own life will be changed by that new openness and awareness of agape love for one another. To me, this story represents all that we who open our minds and hearts to love one another can become... We will learn to turn away from anger and hate and allow the words of caring, concern, empathy, sympathy, to control where our own future lies... and... become...brothers and sisters...May it come soon...

If you have been seeking guidance about turning away from the hate, the violence and fear of retribution that seems to permeate many of our people, you may find the strength you need to start questioning in this book... But, do read it with an open heart and mind, for that is the place where Adken started while he later became Akin... Thank you Robin Murarka for seeking me out and telling me about this book! It is one that will be remembered for many, many reasons! Added as a personal favorite for me! Do check it out!

The Sumati people celebrated the festival with far more zest than his village did. Even when he was a street dweller, the day of Jamali would bring everyone together as the rich commonly joked with the poor, and all interacted more or less as equals, even if only facetiously. Akin and Jarvis smiled at each other but talked very little as they left the house, traveling down the winding path to the maza. Already in the distance they could see and hear screaming and music as people hammered on drums and sang, throwing water upon each other. The main festivities always surrounded the temple, and every edge of it was filled with celebration. Large groups of people stood, holding each other, singing anthems in unison. Abruptly, it would be interrupted by someone throwing a huge vat of water on the singers who then sought playful revenge. The river was constantly used, from morning till nightfall, on the day of Jamali. After stored water was exhausted, people would travel to the river with their buckets and vats, in arms, refueling for more jovial mischief. When they arrived, the festival was in full swing. People, both men and women, were running about, drenched, laughing and screaming. The dashas were filled with patrons as prices were cheap to accommodate the festivities, and in the jovial spirit of the city, many traders gave away free beer and food. Children scurried about everywhere, laughing and playing. It was different here than anywhere else Akin had been. The lines between classes were shattered, and both men and women interacted with each other in what seemed a childlike furor of glee. The day was sacred to the citizens of Sumat, not so much anymore for the religious meaning, Akin thought, but because it provided them relief from the stringent restrictions of everyday life. Even he was filled with emotional joy as he watched people genuinely laugh and smile, though he felt uncomfortable at the sudden arbitrary change that he feared would eventually regress. The main feature of the festival was to begin soon, and people had already gathered all around the maza to watch the Manu priests. Akin and Jarvis joined in the fray and stood arm in arm with random strangers, joining in the singing, letting the contagious euphoria carry them along. As the people sang in imperfect unison, Akin was again surprised at how loud it was. Every time Jamali came to Sumat, Akin felt it was louder than anything he had ever witnessed before. Their voices resonated so thunderously, in fact, it felt as though the temple itself would collapse. People still ran about, playing with each other, and it was as if the singing gave them the peace of mind that the day would never end, that they could run about, drink and eat, with no worries of tomorrow. Still, it was evident that some people had segregated themselves from others, isolating their brethren in certain areas and not participating in the same gallantry. It was not entirely strange, as there were always those who chose to profit from or take advantage of others during the festival, but this time it was an uncomfortable stalemate directed at members of the other Kunda. Both Sumai and Mashaya middlemen remained controlled and collected in their respective camps, prepared to retaliate in the case of any breach. The rest of the people appeared unfazed, however, regardless of their loyalties, as it was highly taboo to initiate violence on the day of Jamali, and far more preferable to the average man to just ignore their concerns in favor of celebration. Even the leaders of each Kunda participated, albeit in a more subdued manner, while their immediate underlings stood watch. The Manu priests soon emerged in their blue robes, wrapped from head to toe, showing only their eyes, causing the entire maza to quickly silence. They were beautiful draperies: one long, dark-blue cloth that was wrapped over and over, covering their bodies entirely. They walked slowly and deliberately down the steps as the temple servants carried huge containers of bread and vegetables. Other servants proceeded with torches and burning herbs, leaving tantalizing aromas in their wake. The priests' robes were cleaned twice a day while they bathed and replaced in their entirety a few times a year. As a result, they always maintained the same color and thick appearance which matched every other priest. The Manu never left the temple except for religious processions, and it was as enticing for the people of Sumat to see these mysterious beings as it was to receive the bountiful offerings that the servants threw into the crowds. All that was visible of the priests were their eyes as they quietly stepped in perfect unison with each other. As they reached the end of the temple steps and touched the maza, some people began to scream and cry, many dropping to their knees in worship, kissing the ground beneath them. The temple itself had always stood in the center of the city, the central focus of it, and the priests were its masters. They were representatives of something powerful and mysterious to the common Sumati which made their presence something like a surreal, waking dream. That they only made one round of the temple corners made the madness even worse as people tried to absorb as much as they could in the brief moments they had. Akin and Jarvis mostly remained unaffected by the presence of the Manu. Although Jarvis watched with the same casual nature he always had, Akin had more disdain in his perspective as he watched people wail in despair when they neared the priests. He watched women and men cry, holding their hands together, begging for forgiveness and blessings. They kissed the ground upon where the priests had walked and smothered their faces in it, even to the point of bleeding. As the priests walked, many people attempted to follow them, pushing through the observing crowd to circulate at the same speed. The mania was intense as people nudged against one another, trying to get to the front and move in time with the procession. It was expected, and adults were able to mostly cope with it. Children, however, were often trampled upon, and Akin could hear screaming and crying from distant parts of the crowd as the more stimulated patrons maniacally shoved through like a force of nature. As the priests re-emerged in front of the steps, they faced away from the temple and stood in place. From the top of the stairs and within the temple emerged servants dragging along four men who had been severely beaten. Their feet dragged against the steps painting streaks of red along them as they bled out, and upon reaching the bottom of the stairs were thrown to the ground, in a pile, in front of the priests and the crowd. Suddenly, a thunderous voice emerged from atop the steps as did a number of other voices all around the maza. As Akin looked up, he saw an Iman Ir screaming at the crowd, his body flared. "People of Sumat!" he screamed. Akin could vaguely hear the other voices repeating similar phrases in different places. "You asked for justice, and justice is given! My Oam has bestowed a gift upon you, the culprits of murder!"

Lord, Will We Ever Turn Hate Into Love for our Neighbors???

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