“Alright! Let’s have a discussion!”
“Not before we ask the boy! Hey, Issa!”
They talked to Issa, and walked back towards the shack. And they talked as they went along.
“Let me ask you one question, Muhammad. Why did you choose to live in that small shack? Don’t you belong to this village?”
“I am from the village. My family live over there.”
“So why do you live in a shack?”
Muhammad laughed, then said:
“Tell me, Hassan, when you go to sleep, and you fall asleep, and start dreaming, do you know where you are sleeping? Suppose you were sleeping in a nice bed in a nice room in that nice house over there, and then someone came and moved your bed, without awakening you, and placed in gently in my shack, would you then feel any difference, before you woke?”
“Well, I don’t think I would,” said Hassan with a little smile. “But the problem is that you don’t have a nice bed in your shack, do you?”
Muhammad laughed again, and gripped Hassan’s arm, and said:
“Let’s stop awhile! Look here: imagine yourself in love with a young woman living in that house over there; imagine that the only time you could see your beloved is just after dawn, but still you can’t meet her or talk to her or even wave to her from a place as far as this; what would you do?”
“I would most probably come before dawn and sit somewhere around here and wait for her to show up.”
“Would you then bring with you a nice bed or armchair and ensconce yourself comfortably while you’re waiting?”
“Oh, no!” Hassan laughed.
“Suppose you had to do that -I mean, to come and sit down here, and wait- everyday, every week, every month- would you complain about that?”
“I might complain, but I would just have to grin and bear it.”
“For the sake of whom would you bear all that suffering?”
“For my beloved’s sake, of course!”
“So what if I chose to live in a mean shack and sleep on a rugged floor and bear my suffering patiently for the sake of He Who made me?”
Hassan kept quiet for a moment, then burst out:
“But why should you suffer while you can be better off?”
“I was longing to see my family again,” Muhammad sighed. “And, like you, I came back here in the hope of getting married with a woman from the village. I didn’t want to marry a woman unknown to my family, because I didn’t want to displease my mother. But on my return, my family were unhappy, because I had no money on me. I asked them to help me marry a young woman from the village, but they refused on the grounds that I had no money.”
Hassan looked curiously at Muhammad, then said:
“Then, why did you stay here? Why didn’t you go to another place where you could marry? I know that many men have got married even though they had no money?”
Muhammad sighed, then looked back at Hassan, and said with a sad smile:
“I wish I could!”
“What’s stopping you?”
“Muhammad sighed once again, and said:
“Love!”
“Are you in love?”
“Yes.”
Hassan gaped, and then fell silent.
It was getting increasingly hot as the morning wore on, but Muhammad and Hassan went on walking and talking until they reached the place where Hassan had left his mule on Saturday. The mule was tied up to a shrub. As Hassan squatted down to untie it, he said, pointing to the dry pebbles to his right:
“You know what? Three years ago, I remember, I was coming by here and I found the wadi swollen by rain, and I had to wait a solid month on the other bank before I could cross over to this side and continue on my way back home.”
“Yes, that happens sometimes,” said looking about.
“So you may have to move soon!” said Hassan, rising to his feet.
“It depends. Anyway, this is just the beginning of Autumn. The sun is still painful on the body, you see. In the afternoon it will be even hotter, and, by the way, you’ll have to be patient with the boy.”
“I’ll try! Now, let’s move!”
They went back to the shack, and there they stayed, talking about everything and nothing, until they heard the muezzin’s call. Then Muhammad took his mule and waved to Hassan to walk at his side up to the mosque.
The Imam met them on the northern side of the mosque.
“Will you do me a favour, Sheïkh?” said Muhammad to the Imam.
“I’ll do it provided you give me another chicken! By the way, the chicken you gave me last time was good!”
“You’ll have what you want, Sheïkh, but not now,” replied Muhammad with a smile.
“I was just joking,” said the Imam. “What’s the problem?”
“Well, you know my shack. I can’t entertain guests in it. Would you please give Hassan a home for tonight?”
“Gladly!” said the Imam.
“Thank you, Sheïkh!” said Hassan. “But I will either spend the night in your shack, Muhammad, or go.”
“Alright!” said Muhammad. “But you know when I come back from Tushki!”
“Don’t worry!” said theImam. “Hassan will dine with me and then go and wait for you in the shack. Now, let’s pray!”
And they moved into the mosque.
After the prayers, Muhammad went along with Hassan to the pasture where Issa was waiting in the shade of a tree. Hassan stayed there with the boy, and Muhammad mounted his mule and rode on. He stopped at Dami’s door. Dami came out and said she had no problem with Hassan staying with her son for that afternoon. Then she handed Muhammad a bunch of grapes and wished him good day.
Muhammad thanked her and moved off. He cast his eyes up to thank God as he put the first grape in his mouth. And then his heart jumped when he saw Yetto’s father standing in the doorway of his home. And as Muhammad rode past that home, Yetto’s father hailed him. Muhammad turned pink as Yetto’s father stood in front of him.
“Why do you always come this way, Muhammad?” Yetto’s father asked in a grave tone.
“That’s because I have something to do in Tushki,” Muhammad replied in a shaky voice. “And I sometimes come to Dami’s; and, as you know, this is the shortest way to Tushki.”
“Alright!” said Yetto’s father with a sly smile. “I feared you took this path for another reason. I’ll see what happens next! Have a nice day!”
Muhammad tapped the mule and slipped the remainder of the grapes into his jellaba’s hood, and laid his hand on his heart.
“What’s the matter with you?” said the Tushki man as Muhammad alighted from the mule. “Why is your face so dark? Are you ill?”
“A little bet, yes,” Muhammad panted.
And in the course of the lesson, Muhammad hesitated and floundered and sighed and gasped for breath. And he left as soon as the lesson was over.
“You have always dined with us,” said the Tushki man. “What happened to you today?”
“Thanks! I’ll dine at home,” Muhammad replied, mounting the mule.
The sky was dark- no moon, no stars.
But there was light in the shack. Muhammad looked in and saw Hassan lying face downwards, sound asleep. A small lantern lay a little way from his feet. Muhammad turned round and looked down, thinking. Then he sat down just beside the door. Soon he dozed off. But only for a short while. His eyes opened and fell on a very dark space between the reeds. He kept gazing vacantly into space. Then he heard a light noise. Hassan rose and came up to the door. He looked down at Muhammad and said in a somnolent voice:
“You look sad tonight!”
Muhammad sighed, and said:
“Did you dine with the Imam?”
“Yes, I did,” said Hassan as he took a step forward and sat beside Muhammad.
Muhammad sighed and held his head in his hands and sighed again.
“What’s the matter?” said Hassan with a worried frown.
Muhammad sighed once more, and said:
“The Tushki man invited me to dinner and I said I would dine at home.”
“Are you sad because you didn’t dine or because you lied to the Tushki man?”
“I dined on grapes on my way back.”
“So you are sad because of the lie.”
“That’s absolutely it! I have become a liar!”
“You lied because you couldn’t stay in Tushki.”
“That’s right.”
“You couldn’t stay there because you wanted to come back as early as possible.”
“No. I came early because I couldn’t eat. Even the grapes I couldn’t finish them off.”
Hassan laughed, and said:
“I’m sorry I can’t help laughing, but what happened?”
This is what happened: the young woman’s father warned me against taking any path close to their home.”
“Now, I see! You are sad because of love, then!”
“Yes, I am sad, but I am happy.”
“What! Sad and happy? Explain!”
“I am sad because I can’t get what I want. I am happy because I can cope with my sadness.”
“Excuse me, but you’re talking like a philosopher. Would you please clarify that in my mind?”
Muhammad himself laughed now, then said:
“Well, it’s quite simple. I am sad because I can’t marry the woman I love. But despite my sadness I can laugh, I can walk, I can talk, and I can think. And when I think, I feel ashamed of myself, because I would then realize that I am thinking of someone who hasn’t given me anything. I think of the girl night and day, but she doesn’t give me anything. What about God, Who gave me life, Who gave me eyesight, Who gave me speech, Who gave me all the means to learn and think, etc, etc? The truth is that I am now thinking more of the girl than of God! Isn’t this reason enough for me to be ashamed of myself? And when I realize this and try as best I can to think of God -again- I just can’t do it. I would only find myself torn between the girl and God. I can’t help it. I wish I could forget all about the girl and think of God only, but I can’t. Every single day now I am becoming more and more aware of my contradictions. Every single day now I am learning more and more about myself. I’m becoming more and more aware of the world around me. Now, I not only see the world or hear it- I feel it. Now, I am more sensitive to beauty. Now, more than ever before, I would love to see the bright moon in the heart of a starry sky: I would love to see and hear birds twittering over my head; I would love to see water flowing in a river, with the green trees swaying gently in the wind on the banks; I would love to see trees in full blossom; I would love to see kids playing merrily on the ground around their homes; I would love to see late-roosting birds fluttering away to their nests.
“And again, I realize that those things are just what God wants me to pay attention to. You’ve read the Koran, haven’t you, and you know that God speaks about the earth and the skies, about the rivers and the seas, about palm-trees and grapes and olives and figs and birds and beasts, and all sorts of thing. God wants us to think of those things. He wants us to think about them as a means to remind ourselves of Him. And so I find myself thinking once again of Him, although for a short while. Now, I think of God in a different way- say, in a better way. Still, I’m ashamed of myself. I know that my thoughts should go to God first. But what can I do? I am torn between God and my love.”
“You didn’t answer my question, though,” said Hassan in a tremulous voice.” How can you be sad and happy at the same time?”
“It seems you haven’t got my meaning,” Muhammad replied with a smile. “Let me put it this way. What’s my problem? My problem is that I can’t marry the one I love. Is that correct? I then ask myself: why? Well, when I think about it over and over again, I say to myself, ‘You can’t marry her because you don’t deserve her!’ But then I ask: ‘But she, does she deserve me?’” Muhammad laughed as he went on, “I know why I don’t deserve her; it’s because I think of her more than of God. And that’s what I shouldn’t be doing as a good Muslim. It’s God Who gave me everything. The girl hasn’t given me anything at all. And immediately, I start saying within myself:
‘Khalaqany, razaqany, âllammany, hadany.’
((God) made me; (God) provided me with the means of subsistence; (God) taught me; (God) showed me the right path.)
And as I say this again and again, my sighs cease, my heartbeat abates, and my whole body relaxes. And then I feel happy. I move from sadness to happiness. Is that now clear?”
Hassan, who was listening closely, lost in silent wonder, now let out a laugh and said:
“Yours is a really funny story!”
"Where shall we bury them?" said one voice.
"We'll settle that later in the day," said Muhammad, moving away towards his fustat.
* * *
And there in the fustat, Muhammad locked himself in and wept his eyes out. But then there a tumult outside. So he wiped his eyes and walked out to see what was happening.
"We must send them back on foot!" one voice was saying.
"We must take their women and children away from them!" said another voice.
"What's the matter?" said Muhammad.
"We're talking about the prisoners, sir," said one Azlu man.
"What about the prisoners?" said Muhammad.
"We want to send them back on foot," said the first speaker. "They came to invade us. They came to take our houses and women and children and lands and all our belongings away from us. Now it's our right to take their horses and women and children and all their belongings away from them!"
"Where's Hassan?" said Muhammad.
"He's gone over to the women's camp, teacher!" said one student.
"So wait until he comes back!" said Muhammad.
And soon came Hassan, and with him Yetto.
"What are you doing here?" said Muhammad, looking askance at Yetto.
"I am a messenger," she said.
"Who sent you?" said Muhammad in surprise.
"The women!"
"What do they want?"
"They want you to take pity on the prisoners."
"If I take pity on them and let them go now, then they'll invade us again and they'll take you away from me!"
"Who told you I am yours?"
"They'll take you away from your family, then!"
"I wasn't sure I'd escape in the first place."
"Those are dangerous people!"
"Maybe. But they're poor people also. They fled starvation. Their lands were ravaged by locusts."
"So should we be starving in their place?"
"God helped you prevail over them, so now have mercy on them!"
"If you want me to have mercy on them, so stay here close to me!"
"I am a woman; I stay with the women."
"So why did you come? Go then!"
"Not before you have mercy on the prisoners!"
"Prisoners! Prisoners! Oh! What have you got to do with the prisoners? Do you love them?"
"I love peace."
Muhammad smiled.
"You love peace," he said. "And I love you. So I'll have mercy on them!"
"And what about us?" said one Azlu man. "What about our good men who died? What about our crops? What about our animals? What about our lands? What about our houses?"
"Answer him, Yetto!" said Muhammad, looking tenderly at her.
"My answer is this: take their money and their weapons and horses and leave the donkeys and the mules to their women and children. And give that money and the weapons and the horses to those who lost their loved ones, be they from Azlu or from anywhere else! That's my answer!"
Muhammad then turned to the men and said:
"What do you say to that, men?"
"I for one accept her ruling!" said one Azlu man.
Then suddenly all the students started chanting:
"God bless Yetto! God bless Yetto!"
And they raised their voices until nothing else could be heard. Even Hassan, who moved about with his arm in a sling, shouted himself hoarse. Only Yetto was standing aloof and listening in silence. Muhammad was all smiles.
* * *
An hour later, Muhammad summoned the lieutenants to his presence.
"The war is over," he said gravely, "but a lot of problems remain. To be honest with you, I can't face these problems. Yetto is driving me mad. I'm getting wild about her. I just can't concentrate on anything. I don't want to look silly in front of people. So please help me!"
"What should we do?" said Ismaïl with a frown.
"Well, there's the problem of the prisoners. There's the problem of the dead. There's the problem of the volunteers. There's the problem of the people of this land. There's the problem of the refugees. You see, there are a lot of problems."
"Don't worry, teacher!" said Ismaïl reassuringly. "We can handle all this."
"That's good of you!" said Muhammad. "And really I'm counting on both of you: you and Hassan. I want Hassan to deal with the problems on the south bank, and I want you, Ismaïl, to handle the situation on this side of the wadi. Mussa and H'mad will assist Hassan, and M'hamed and Addad will assist you, Ismaïl. Now, please, the first thing I expect you to do is to prepare the dead for burial."
"Alright, teacher!" said the lieutenants in unison.
"Now let's go out to pray!"
* * *
The dead were buried. The prisoners and their women and children were sent back home. The volunteers dispersed. The people of Azlu returned to their villages. And the whole village plunged into mourning.
And Muhammad started numbering the days and nights till the village came out of mourning.
And as he was waiting, an awful lot of people crowded round him one day.
"What's the matter?" he said, rolling his eyes.
"We want you to be our Sultan!" the crowd said.
"What!"
"Yes! We want you to rule over us!"
Astounded, Muhammad turned to Hassan, and said:
"Heard that? It fell to my lot to be acclaimed King! Oh, what a funny day!"
Then, he turned to the crowd, and said:
"O Men!
"I don't think I could fulfill your hopes. I can't be king or sultan. Your King is the one in the Capital. All I can do for you is plead with His Majesty to appoint two students of mine as governors of both banks of Igri. I would be glad to see my student Hassan Tikiwin running the affairs of the people of this side of Igri. I would be equally glad to see my student Ismaïl governing the affairs of the other bank. This is all I could do for you, gentlemen!"
"But we want to reward you for saving us from Ait Mimoon!" said one voice.
"That's very kind of you!" said Muhammad. "There's another way you
Could reward me. I want to marry, but I don't have a house. Could you build a
house for me, here in Azlu?"
"Oh, yes!" said the crowd.
"And I want a school," said Muhammad with a merry smile. "Could you build me a school?"
"Oh yes!" said the crowd.
"Then that would make me glad!" said Muhammad happily. "You can go now! May God bless you!"
* * *
The next day dozens of men set to work on Muhammad's house. Twenty-three days later, the house was the envy of everyone. And the students were happy with their new school and mosque.
But for Muhammad, the happy day had not yet come. The village was still in mourning.
06-07-2006 07:00 PM
