Long ago there was a young merchant named Kirzai whose business called for him to travel to the village of Tchigan, some hundred miles away. Ordinarily, he would have taken the long route that followed the edge of the mountains, protecting him from the sun. But on this occasion, Kirzai was under the pressure of time. He needed to get to Tchigan as soon as possible to complete a certain business deal. So, he decided to strike out across the Syr Darya desert.
Now the Syr Darya desert was known for its intense and merciless heat. Very few took the dangerous passage. Nevertheless, Kirzai watered his camel, filled his gourds and set off on his journey.
Several hours after he left, the desert wind began to rise. The winds swirled. The sand shifted underfoot. Landmarks became obscured. Suddenly, a hundred yards ahead of him, Kirzai saw a gigantic whirlwind. Never had he seen anything like it. It cast a strange purple light all around it. Even the color of the sand was changed. He hesitated, not knowing whether to continue or make a lengthy detour. But he was in a great hurry, so he lowered his head, hunched his shoulders, and pressed forward into the strange storm. To his surprise, the moment he entered the storm, it became much calmer. The wind no longer cut against his face.
But suddenly Kirzai stopped again. Ahead of him, he saw a man stretched out on the ground next to a crouching camel. Kirzai dismounted and approached the man.
The stranger’s head was wrapped in a scarf but Kirzai could see that he was old. The old man opened his eyes, looked intently at Kirzai and then said in hoarse whisper, “Is it. . .you?”
Kirzai laughed and said, “Has my fame spread to the desert of Syr Darya? But you old man, who are you?”
The man said nothing. Kirzai continued, “In any case, you are not well. Where are you going?”
The old man sighed, “To Givah…but I have no more water.”
Kirzai reflected. If he shared his water with the old man, he would not have enough to complete his own journey. He would be forced to turn back. “But a man can not be left to die without a backward glance!” Kirzai thought.
So he helped the old man drink some water, filled one of the man’s gourds and helped him to mount his camel. “Go straight ahead” Kirzai said, pointing with his finger. “You’ll reach Givah within two hours.”
The old man made a sign of acknowledgement with his hands and looked for a long moment at Kirzai. Then he uttered these strange words:
“One day the desert will repay you.”
Some thirty years later, while he was in the market place of Tchigan, Kirzai learned his oldest son had become gravely ill in Givah. Kirzai was under the pressure of time. He needed to get to his son. He determined to try the fastest way: through the Syr Darya desert. He watered his camel, filled his gourds, and set off.
Along the way, he spurred his camel on, not even slowing down while drinking, and that is when the accident happened. He dropped his gourd of water and before he could retrieve it, he watched the water disappear into the sand. Kirzai cursed out loud. With only one full gourd, it was impossible to cross. Yet, for his son, he pressed onward… “I must get to him…I will get to him.”
But the Syr Darya is merciless, and cares not why a person braves its danger or how noble their cause. Kirzai’s skin burned. His throat was parched. He knew he had made a grave mistake. His last gourd was empty and a sandstorm was rising. The winds swirled. The once stable ground started to shift underfoot. Landmarks became obscured. He wrapped his head in his scarf and let his camel carry him where it could. He did not even see the gigantic whirlwind which arose before him, giving off a soft purple light. His camel was startled and crouched, throwing Kirzai to the ground. “This is the end,” he thought.
Suddenly, he was filled with joy to see a man mounted on a camel approaching him. But the closer the man came, the more Kirzai’s joy turned to stupefication. This man who approached – it seemed Kirzai knew him! He recognized his youthful face, his clothes, even the camel that he rode. Kirzai was certain: the young man who came to help him was himself.
“Is it. . .you?” said Kirzai in hoarse whisper,
The young man looked at him and laughed. “What? Don’t tell me you know who I am! Has my fame spread to the desert of Syr Darya? But you old man, who are you?”
Kirzai was speechless. The young man went on, “In any case, you are not well. Where are you going?” “To Givah,” replied Kirzai, “but I have no more water.”
Kirzai saw that the young man was trying to decide what to do—to give help or to continue on his own journey. But Kirzai knew what the decision would be – he smiled as the young man offered him a drink of water, filled his empty gourd, and helped him onto his camel. “Go straight ahead that way and you’ll be in Givah within two hours.”
The old Kirzai looked for a long moment at the young man he had once been. He wished to speak to the young man of many things, but he could only find these words: “One day the desert will repay you.”
Kirzai grew to be a wise man, so the story goes. When he would tell his strange tale, everyone who heard it believed it was true. Ever since that time, the desert of Syr Darya has been known by the name, Samovstrecha, which means: the desert where one meets oneself.
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