Desert Winds 2

 

Arabian Tales

 

A Mighty Prince Consoled

 

Muhammad stood in the entrance of his ornate tent; He was a Prince, a Lord, master of all he surveyed.

 

He was proud without knowing pride.

He was cruel without knowing cruelty

He was kind without knowing kindness.

He was hospitable without knowing hospitality.

He gave without knowing giving.

He was perverse without knowing perverseness.

He craved without knowing desire. 

He thought himself a simple man. 

He was an Arab.

 

And yet he was troubled! It was early morn and he had dressed carefully. He wore his finest robe, dark blue with gold edging held together with a gold sash. He had on his finest leather belt which held a curved scimitar with a jewel encrusted handle. On his feet were curved slippers made from the finest goat skin, and on his head was the black turban of his tribe with a silver star set in the centre.

 

He had washed carefully, his slaves had risen early to prepare the water and the scented oils for his ablutions. His beard, now showing strands of grey that gave credence to his wisdom and authority, had been specially groomed by his favourite concubine, and now gleamed in the early sunlight. He had not eaten, he had commanded his wife to prepare a feast for the evening, for the whole family and to expect guests, until then he would fast.

 

He knew not on what he awaited!

 

He watched the sun rise above the desert wastes, the dark shadows turning to gold as the suns rays illuminated the sand, driving out the cold and giving warmth before the searing heat of the day. Goat herders scuttled by him with averted eyes as they made their way to the herds that now needed their attention. They wondered at the sight of their master standing in all his finery so early in the morning, not out chivvying them, and cursing them for being so lazy, and yet his imperious inactivity spurred them on as never before.

 

The suns rays had now reached his tent, and he felt them warming his body, and suddenly he was illuminated against the darkness of the tent, and for a moment he shone as a saint might shine in the presence of the Lord, and yet he was not touched, not in his heart that is. He had expected more, and in exasperation he turned angrily away and was about to re-enter his tent when he heard a voice. He hesitated, but it was nought but the sighing of a desert wind.

 

Sheba, the youngest of his concubines, had been watching from the confines of her quarters, and felt that her master was sorely troubled, what could it be? She had attended him in the night, and although clothed in the finest silk and anointed with the finest oils she had not roused his desire. It was an honour to be called to the Lord’s bed chamber, and she had held herself proud, preening in front of the other girls.

 

She was still a virgin and she had trembled with excitement at the thought of the yet unknown pleasures that were to be hers as she did her masters bidding. And yet although she danced a sensuous dance as taught to her by her mother he had not invited her to his bed, he had been content to bid her remove her veil and caress her body with his eyes. Sinuous as she was with pert breasts as yet untouched by motherhood, and slim waist running down to rounded hips, and a bottom, so beloved of the Arab race, crowned by dark curly hairs that covered her maidenhood, he had not been tempted.

 

He had watched with hooded eyes, but as a father might, rather than her master ready to rake her with his uncontrolled desire, moving her, as she devoutly thought, to orgasmic heaven. So much for the flights of fancy for a young girl. Unbeknown to her he had earlier given his lust to his wife, where he felt at home and was not required to perform as a young stallion, and she had loved him, but he did not know love. He was an Arab and knew only possession. But there were times when he required consoling, and, he although he would never admit to it, counselling! And so she did, but being wise in the ways of the Arab world she enticed him with a tale that would appeal to his vanity and yet direct his foot steps in the path of the Lord.

 

And this is the tale she told.

 

One day Allah was strolling in his favourite rose garden with his handmaidens by his side. The sun shone gently, and a balmy breeze wafted the scent of the roses through the gentle air. In the distance a youth played a lilting tune on a lute, whose murmuring tone intertwined with the scent of the roses, to bring delight to the senses. Allah was well pleased, all was well in his world.

 

He held the hand of the handmaiden, and felt her fingers intertwine with his, he turned towards her and gazed into her limpid brown eyes. Deep down through pools of entrancing mystic pleasure he saw into her heart and felt touched by the simplicity of her soul. And then, a thought came to him, would this heart and soul enchant the humans who were so troublesome.

 

He stood back and looked at her perfect form. She was an amalgam of all the perfections in the universe. Hair of spun gold piled high upon her head, cheeks of the finest form, honeydew with roses, a nose so turned as if to give a hint of cheekiness, and lips so rounded that even he was tempted to plant a kiss upon them. A neck so slender down to shoulders so sweetly formed that they themselves enticed a long caress, sweeping down to breasts so full and yet so firm, a mortal would be engulfed by sexual affirmation. And on down to hips that would send a tremor through the loins of any man, no matter what his age, and so to legs so perfect they engulfed the senses. An angel, no less.

 

As he considered his plan there was a distraction. A messenger scurried through the garden and handed a note to one of Allah’s viziers. The messenger lifted his eyes to peek at the handmaiden by Allah’s side, and was struck dumb by her beauty. Allah saw his plan fall into place, and beckoned the messenger over, 'I have a task for you,’ the messenger cowed before the mighty one. ‘You will accompany this maiden on an earthly journey. It will be your task to guide and protect her from all mortal sin until she finds her true love.’

 

The messenger looked at first astonished at this, and then stood with pride. “Bu ......... ‚’ attempted to speak, but found he could not.

'You will be called Dumdum,’ commanded Allah, with a wry grin on his face.

‘And you,’ turning to the maiden, ‘will be,’ he stopped, her beauty would be too much for mortal man, he waved his hand, ’you will be called Haga.’

 

And in that instant she turned from eternal beauty to an old hag with hanging cheeks, a toothless grin, and sagging breasts.

 

’Be gone, the pair of you,’ ordered Allah!

 

And so Dumdum and Haga wandered the earth together. They travelled far over mountains and vales, and where they stopped they were ridiculed, and scorned. Dumdum had obtained a broken down donkey for his mistress to ease the burden of her journey, and he walked alongside the donkey, pulling and pushing over the passes of their travels so as never to burden the young princess, that he knew was inside the old hag. His heart was heavy because he loved her, but he knew she would never be his to possess!

 

And so they came upon the desert lands, They were not prepared for the sight of endless dunes, vast sand banks, and blistering heat that beat down upon the endless reaches of the desert. This could not be the promised land so often spoken about by Allah, and yet this is where their journeying had brought them.

 

Dumdum pushed and pulled the donkey onto the desert sand where it was reluctant to tread but its hooves sank into the sand and it would not move, Haga saw that it was no good and that she would have to get of and push as well. And so thy struggled on not knowing where they were going, or what direction they should take, but trusted in the will of Allah.

 

Night fell, and although exhausted they knew they must continue as their supplies where running low. Dumdum fell to his knees exhausted, and as Haga looked about she heard a voice, the sighing of the desert wind, it seemed to say,

”Don't despair, follow the star, follow the star, don’t despair.’

 

It sighed again and slid away into the vastness of the desert wilderness. Haga looked up, and through eyes blurred by the sand and she saw a bright star, and felt comfort in her heart, Allah had not deserted her. She prodded Dumdum awakened they both made their way to the point of the star, and there they met their destiny.

 

As the dawn broke across the desert, a blue darkness fused with orange sending fingers of red up into the sky, the star started to fade, but as it did so a wondrous sight opened up before their parched gaze, a tented city resting by the side of a lake, surrounded by palm trees beginning to sway in the morning breeze. As they staggered on revitalised by the revelation before them they were seen by a goat herder who ran back to the encampment shouting for help.

 

A prince rode by on an Arab horse, bridled in black leather with silver studs. The imperious figure was cloaked in a flowing white garb that swirled around him as he rode. He looked down, with some disdain, upon the sorry spectacle al of an old lady on a donkey and a dumb servant leading the way.

‘The servant quarters are yonder. Eat and be on your way.’

 

With that he turned and rode to the camp, dismounted and ordered his horse to be fed and watered on pain of twenty lashes.

 

‘Welcome son, be seated and refresh yourself, what brings you to my humble abode?’

 

His father, the King, rose and embraced his son, his imperious frame clothed only in a simple woollen cloak, but on the third finger of his right hand there glinted the mighty ring of his office.

‘Peace be with you, I have come to share hospitality and your wisdom,’ replied the Prince, 'And to save your day being soiled from by the sight of beggars.’

 

The King was puzzled by this.

‘There are no beggars in this camp. What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘

 

'Two came at dawn, across the wilderness. I ordered them off the camp!’ the Prince replied.

 

The King frowned at this. ‘Across the wilderness?’ he mused. 

'Bring them to me. I must see these two intrepid travellers.’

 

And so before the king stood an old hag and her dumb companion, unwashed and burnt by the desert sun, clothed in rags.

 

'Rest awhile and refresh yourself old mother.’ he said to Haga, ‘and your servant also. Tell me how you came to my humble encampment’

 

‘Allah directed us, we bring peace in his name,’ replied Haga.

 

‘But how?’ pressed the king.

‘We followed the star!’

The King trembled at this revelation.

‘What star, there is no star?’

‘There was one above your city last night, as bright as the diamond on your hand.’

 

The King rose up, he had heard stories from ancient times of a saviour coming to redeem their sins, but this was ridiculous.

 

‘Are you Allah’s emissary. What is your proof?’ 

‘I have no proof, what is mine is yours, and what is yours is mine,’ asserted Haga.’ 

‘But you have nothing to give me,’ said the Kung

‘Only Allah’s blessing,’ replied Haga.

 

The King pondered this for some time, and a tenderness entered his heart.

‘Old lady all I have is yours. Come share my fare,’ he said with true Arab hospitality in his heart.’

Haga hesitated.

‘What is it old mother?’

‘I beg a favour.’

‘Anything.’

‘The ring!.

 

There was silence in the tent at the shear audacity of such a request.

 

The king stood in silence for what seemed an eternity, and then, slowly, with great deliberation he removed the ring from his finger and gave it to Haga. She slipped it on and as she did a great transformation took place, and there before the King stood a handmaiden of the Lord.

 

The king was transfixed by her beauty and fell to his knees grasping the hem of her dress in his hands, crying out,

‘Praise be to Allah, you have blessed me with a Queen. I shall be your servant and be your emissary in peace for ever more.’

 

And so her tale was told. Muhammad thought mightily on the parable and swore to goodness in the sight of Allah for ever more. Amen!