THE SECRET OF ANOTHER DESERT
KARGARETELI IA
The secret of another desert is an adventure novel about the clichéd East, its diversity, beauty and secrets. In the beginning, the scene of the story is laid in Georgia and then it shifts to Egypt, the cradle of the ancient civilization, Sahara Desert. Yusuf, the protagonist of the novel is one of Bedouins, the chief of Abu Azran tribe. The young man falls in love with Tamta, a girl from Georgia. Tamta is an author, a tourist who travels in Egypt to gather ideas for her new novel. Yusuf falls in love with her at first sight. He abducts her and takes to Sahara. Unaware of the challenges he’ll have to face, this Bedouin believes that each step we make is directed by invisible forces and the arrival of the white beauty in the desert is a sky-sign. Is there any fate at all? Does everyone forge his own path? Can love be followed by death? The secret of another desert is a beautiful Georgian-Oriental love story which also refers to age-old problems the children of the Orient and the people from the Oc-cident often have to be up against.
Cover of the original novel was designed by a world-known Georgian artist Keti Matabeli.
EXTRACT
The sun was scorching hot the gold-filled sand of the steaming land. Bedouins were driving cattle across the boundless whiteness of the desert, wiping their sweaty foreheads with coarse linen kerchiefs. It was infernally hot. Chalk rocks, works of sand-bearing winds, could easily be seen. The shadows of the oases they’d passed through had completely disappeared from the silver sand. The thirsty cattle gaping and breathing the burning air…
“Master”, said a man wearing red robes and a grey keffiyeh, “we have to rest. The cattle are going to die of thirst”.
Yusuf Rashid glanced at the cattle lying on the sand and the goats barely moving on the loose soil of the desert. He felt pity for them.
“You’re right, Barsadan. Let’s have a rest. We’ve travelled a path longer than I’d ever think of”.
“Why the rush, Master?”
“I don’t know, Barsadan. I feel like I’ve returned to life all of a sudden. Something’s pushing me forward, as if to be trapped by the destiny itself. Let’s put up a tent and rest here before the day breaks. Give the poor cattle some water”.
The bewitching rays of the moon, peeping from the other side of the realm of clouds, spread blue over the white sand. Bedouins made a fire not far away from the cattle. Abu, a swarthy man, sat down, embraced a stringed instrument and recited a poem of the Abbasian epoch:
“Don’t imitate Bedouins
In their amusements
Or in their lifestyle:
Their days are scanty.
Let those drink milk,
Who’ve never been in clover”. (See PDF)
In case of using the information, please, indicate the source.
EXTRACT
The sun was scorching hot the gold-filled sand of the steaming land. Bedouins were driving cattle across the boundless whiteness of the desert, wiping their sweaty foreheads with coarse linen kerchiefs. It was infernally hot. Chalk rocks, works of sand-bearing winds, could easily be seen. The shadows of the oases they’d passed through had completely disappeared from the silver sand. The thirsty cattle gaping and breathing the burning air…
“Master”, said a man wearing red robes and a grey keffiyeh, “we have to rest. The cattle are going to die of thirst”.
Yusuf Rashid glanced at the cattle lying on the sand and the goats barely moving on the loose soil of the desert. He felt pity for them.
“You’re right, Barsadan. Let’s have a rest. We’ve travelled a path longer than I’d ever think of”.
“Why the rush, Master?”
“I don’t know, Barsadan. I feel like I’ve returned to life all of a sudden. Something’s pushing me forward, as if to be trapped by the destiny itself. Let’s put up a tent and rest here before the day breaks. Give the poor cattle some water”.
The bewitching rays of the moon, peeping from the other side of the realm of clouds, spread blue over the white sand. Bedouins made a fire not far away from the cattle. Abu, a swarthy man, sat down, embraced a stringed instrument and recited a poem of the Abbasian epoch:
“Don’t imitate Bedouins
In their amusements
Or in their lifestyle:
Their days are scanty.
Let those drink milk,
Who’ve never been in clover”. (See PDF)
In case of using the information, please, indicate the source.