Del's-World ~

Desert Wind 5

An Arabian Tale

Allah has made everything for a purpose

Even the wicked for the day of trouble

Muhammad stood humiliated and in that humiliation a great anger enraged him, and he cursed Allah — all was lost but it was not the losing, he had known fear but was not afraid, he was proud but did not know pride, he was majestic but did not know majesty, and in all that he was an Arab, and he had been challenged — and made a fool!

Be not a righteous fool or ye will be blind to the right path

No Arab can be made to feel a fool without invoking bewilderment and then righteous anger which requires atonement. All this was in Muhammad, but he did not seek revenge, only what was rightfully his, and unknown to him, since he was an Arab, it was his self esteem that he desired above all. He had thought it was following in the way of Allah, but he had been betrayed and now he must go his own way, and at that he felt a bitterness in his heart and iron in his soul. And in that moment he rejected the name Muhammad and became Ali-ak-Bere, the bringer of death.

**********

Light music, blended with the scent of roses, ﬁlled the crystal air of the garden of the gods. Allah walked there daily and enjoyed the peace and repose that they provided. It was a place for thoughtful contemplation, and to enjoy, through the senses, what mortals would call the arts. All the wisdom of the world was encompassed here, distilled into the simplicity of a maiden’s heart. Allah rejoiced in the perfection of his paradise, and yet!

And yet, there was a cloud, metaphorically speaking, hanging over the normal tranquillity of the garden. Allah was troubled. Beside him Sheba walked, her pleasure complete in serving her Lord, enjoying the role of a goddess; a spectral being, a human form in the spirit world. Allah knew this could not last, he had promised she would be a queen, and to her simple soul she was, but, ah, it could not last.

He searched for a solution to what was an imbalance in the his spiritual garden. But there was more. He had set in motion a plan to catch the devil, or at least a devil in disguise, and the man he had chosen was Muhammad, but was this task too great for a mere human? They have the attributes for such a venture, but they had a degree of stubbornness that could lead them into unwarranted danger, and that he could not allow. And so it occurred to him, reluctantly, that the answer might lay with Sheba.

He looked into her eyes, this trusting peasant girl, and searched her soul. It was without blemish, but was its purity up to the task he had for her, had she resolve in adversity? He sighed, with some anguish, at what he must do to stiffen her spirit so that he could send her as a guide to Muhammad; and so he returned her to the Hagomen’s camel train and their desolate band of prisoners!

************

Ali-ak-Biere, the late Muhammad, pulled himself up to his full height, and feeling a new surge of strength in his muscles, realised he must become a warrior again, and after years of being a sedentary Lord this would not be easy. However, be that as it may, there was resolve in his heart, and he would soon put himself to the test; where were his girls, he would avenge them ﬁrst? How to ﬁnd them, and to get to them was his ﬁrst difficulty, if only he had a horse he could at least make a start.

He looked round his camp, it seemed deserted, and then he made a surprising discovery! There in the roped off stable quarters was a young stallion, the like of which he had never seen before! The stallion eyed Ali-a-Beire with a disdainful look, rolled back his lips and stamped his forelegs as if to say, get me out of here, set me free! Ali-ak-Beire pondered this apparition, for that is how he could only think of him, he knew of no new foal being born, indeed he did not own a mare, let alone one in foal. Was this a gift, a sign, to set him on his journey, his quest for retribution, was this the will of Allah?

He spit at the thought. He spoke as if to the horse; you shall be my bearer and my companion in our search for my soul. He stopped, the word was father to the thought, was that his fate, he looked up into the fathomless blue of the desert sky and shook his ﬁsts in exasperation. As he did a gust of wind swept down from the high dunes, swirled grains of sand about his feet that fed off into the desert to the south. As it did so it picked up a silken scarf of one of his lost chicks and swirled it away on the desert air, it sped off until obscured by the blazing sun. Ali-ak-Beire prepared himself as well as he could for his journey from what was available and set off, following the scarf!

***********

Time is a human invention, because in our perception of things there is birth and death, and the events can be separated by the time the earth swings round the sun so we perceive time as progressing. In fact it is all of one, think of things in parallel and you can just cross from one to the other, so when Sheba returned to band of prisoners it was if she had never left them, although on the lunar scale two months had come and gone. The Hagomen muttered amongst themselves at this strange event, one minute gone and the next reappeared, and yet their beards seemed longer and the girls thinner, what magic was this, they were beginning regret their action of taking the ‘Brides of Allah”!

Ali-ak-Beire followed the scarf. It was a long time since he had travelled the camel trails used by merchants bringing perfume and silks from the east, and he found he had forgotten the skills necessary to stay alive, let alone negotiate his way across the desert wastes. And yet he must if he was to recover what was rightfully his. But where to turn, the old desert trails were not trails at all, the merchants camel trains hugged the coast, moving from one oasis to another guided by the known star bearings, but he had to go south with no bearings except for a silly scarf !

The days were parched the nights freezing cold, he knew enough to travel morning and night, and rest during the heat of the day. But this could not go on, he had little enough water, and his horse was suffering, he could no longer ride him for fear of him collapsing. They made a sad pair who might have been taken for mad, but that turned out to be a stroke of luck.

He saw them coming a long way of, a cloud of sand was rising up into the sky to mark their progress. He sheltered from the sun by an outcrop rock and so was not immediately visible, and so he waited his time. As he did so a plan started to form in his mind, somehow he must take from them (whoever they were) what ever they had in the way of supplies. But how? And that’s when a devious scheme occurred to him, to distract them he must act the fool. Oh how the mighty Muhammad had fallen!

As they became more visible his heart sank, they were Taureg, ﬁerce tribesmen who were without mercy and killed for pleasure. They rode black stallions with silver bridles, they sat high in their Arabian saddles fearless in their arrogance, their faces covered in black sharuks against the desert sand, their turbans streaming out behind them. They pulled up to a halt as they saw a madman dancing out in front of them. Muhammad new he had little chance against these fearless warriors, but the die was cast and all was in the hand of Allah.

He swung and danced in front of them as if they were not there, he bowed and scraped, not to them but to an imaginary being. He ﬂung his hands into the air and ﬂuttered them as if calling up a spirit. He cackled and laughed in as a demented way as much he knew how; he certainly looked the part of a madman, his face was burnt, his lips swollen and covered with heat scabs, his clothes, once so imperial were now torn and covered with desert sand. And then he had a ﬂash of inspiration, what Taureg’s feared most was a soothsayer, a demon, a bad omen. They would tolerate a fool, kill a madman so as to put him out of his misery, but a disciple of the Dark Angel was another matter.

Muhammad frantically searched his memory for a suitable passage from the Koran; and so he started to sing in a broken and demented voice;

Allah curse they hand and eye for ye see no more

sand and sky.

Your soul be cursed and your heart shall burn

For the evil you have nursed.

From thy mothers womb that in misery

forbears the pain when ye were born.

Mohammed stepped up close and using and old horseman’s trick spooked the ﬁrst rider’s horse. It rose up and bucked, throwing the tribesman to the ground, stunned for a moment. Mohammed dare not let the moment pass. In the saddle stock before him was the jewelled handle of a scimitar. In a ﬂash it was in his hand and he swung it against the other rider slicing his thigh to the bone.

A great yell of pain rent the desert sky and the remaining rider turned and as if coming out of a trance recognised the deception and spurred his horse toward Mohammed who swung up into the saddle to meet the oncoming charge. Scimitars swung in the air, the desert sun ﬂashing off their blades as they clashed together. Mohammed felt no pain as deadly blade cut across his forearm, he knew the danger of the weapon known as the silent death, so sharp it could take your head off and you would see your headless body before death took your soul.

And so it was to the remaining Tauruk, his severed head seemed to hang in the air and the dark eyes took on a look of surprised horror as he saw his headless body swaying in the saddle. Muhammad had felt an unknown power to his arm as he had made the fateful swing that had decapitated his assailant, and in that moment he felt the blood lust in his veins, and rose up in his saddle and proclaimed to the desert,

‘I am Ali-ak-Beire’.

And with that he turned the stallion south to follow the trail of the silken scarf.

*********

Allah heard the cry and felt a surge of power opposing his own and pondered greatly on the demon he had let loose and how he was to control it for his own purpose.

********

There was no trail, there was the sun during the day and the stars at night. A trail in the sky might be marked in the night sky but during the day, no! Ali-ak-Biere lay under the stars and pondered his next move, it was onwards, there was no doubt of that, onwards to the south. He ground his teeth and clenched his ﬁsts in frustration and anger, damnation to Allah! But, how to make his way without his blessing? He would not bend his will to ask for guidance. He looked for a solution, it came to him slowly, it crept into the outer reaches of his mind.

There was a strange feeling in his body. He looked down, a tremor in his hand! A gust of wind seemed to coil around him. A soul adrift is a lost soul, and in the devout it must ﬁnd a home. The wind whispered in his ear, ‘I’m yours to command if you will offer your soul!’ I have no soul, I have no soul, he looked up at the stars and shouted in a whisper ’I have no soul.” ‘Then it is a small thing,’ whispered the wind.

There is a moment when men must hold to what is true or all is lost, and yet in disordered anger it is easy to persuade oneself that the trade is without cost! He considered it and thought as he was once a mighty king he could take back what was his. ‘So be it!’ ’Ah ........‚’ the wind sighed, ’Follow the blade of the scimitar,’ it offered, ‘Hold it to the arc of the sun. Now sleep well.”

Ali-ak-Beire rose, refreshed, as the sun rose in the eastern sky, and remembered the dream of the night before, for that was how he thought of it. Mounting up on his white steed with his saddle bags full from the booty from the Taureg’s he moved off with sun on his left-directly south.

The day wore on and the sun seemed to move overhead, in the desert the arc is high and difﬁcult to judge. He knew the danger, he was moving off course. He was alone, and with no one to guide him he realised he could soon be at the mercy of the desert, a lost soul! That brought him up short; his soul in exchange for the scimitar!

He drew it from it’s scabbard and peered along it’s blade; there was a nick, a strange shaped arrow in the centre of the bowed edge, I wonder he thought? He held the blade up to the arc of the sun, it's jewelled handle in the right han he felt it pull round to the right as if he had no control over it, and the strange tshaped arrow twinkled in the reflected sun. And so he headed south over across the open desert unbeknown to him along the old slave route of the Hogger

*******

Allah watched and waited, it would soon be soon!

*******

Hoggar, the centre of the Sahara desert, a land of parched hills cut into spikes and towers through which the wind sighs and howls. The source of the song of the desert and the songs of Solomon, and the home of the Taureg. Slave traders from the deep south brought their human cargo from the jungles of the Ivory Coast. Their main trade was sweet maidens, as black as ravens, skin softer than silk; milk from their breasts is as nectar from the Gods.

Their beauty enslaved the minds of men, they were beyond beauty, they were what heavenly dreams were made of. Their breath was of myrrh, there teeth as pearls, eyes like doves, their breasts apples of sweet desire; when taken as slaves their masters became enslaved. Their value was beyond price; to preserve their worth they came as princesses for the Arab Kings. Muhammad’s harem was heading there, as he followed their desert way. And so the Song’s of Solomon were born on the ﬂutes of the Arab traders.

********

Sheba trailed the silken scarf in the sand. It left a mark as if a snake had wormed its way across the desert. Indeed a snake was at work and they were in mortal danger, not from man, as she might have thought, but from the seductive voice of Beelzebub himself! Slowly two cords of a string were coming together, at ﬁrst to entwine in sweet embrace, and then to ensnare in the Devil’s clasp to do his bidding. And so Muhammad and Sheba were drawing together as mere mortals in a deadly game between the forces of good and evil.

*******

Ali-ak-Beire followed the sign of the scimitar, its power increasing as he drew nearer the Hoggar. As he made his way along the hidden trail a faint smell came to his nostrils, he new it well; Hagomen! He reigned in his steed and dismounted, and there in the sand before was the trail of the silken scarf. His heart soared, Sheba was near, and that meant so were the rest of his beauties. His angered soared, time for retribution, he mounted again and swung forward in a loop across the desert sands, and there they were, encamped by a waddie.

A few palms straggled around a dark rift of water. Revenge was his, with scimitar swirling above his head he charged at a full gallop. Crying out curses to Allah he swung the mighty weapon and three heads whirled away into the sand, the stumps of their bodies spouting blood, but they were waiting for him, as he turned a rope was pulled tight between the palms and his horse was brought down to its knees throwing him over its head. He rolled in a swirl of dust and came upright ready to decapitate those who dare oppose him, but to late he realised he was ensnared in a net and in seconds he was trussed up like a chicken.

Dark turbaned faces glared at him, stinking breath assailed his nostrils, as ﬂashing knives cut his ﬂesh before a blow to the back of his head knocked him unconscious! Water was thrown over his face, and he was brutally assaulted with a riﬂe butt to rise up. He managed to get to his feet, but before he could get his balance he was pulled over, attached to horse by a long rope, falling, and running as best he could, he was dragged to the Hoggar.

*******

Allah watched in despair, how these humans let him down, he had created them with great abilities, a mirror of his own, and yet they squandered it on the alter of their own egos. They seemed intent on killing one another. He sighed, oh well, they were only tools in the greater contest. In for their incongruousness he sent a sand storm to show his displeasure. The Devil smiled in that knowing way, ah, the game was afoot.

*******

The Hagomen group rode into the Hogger with their captured harem, dragging a bedraggled and bloody body behind them. There was anger in their eyes, and a desire for revenge in their hearts which they relished as they thought of the pain they would bring to their captive to avenge their comrades. Theirs was a primitive encampment below one of the high outcrops that made up the Hogger.

The girls of the harem were herded into what was no more than a stockade, with tattered sheets for a covering. Muhammad, for that is what we must now call him, was encased in cage, bound to a stake, under the burning sun. He awaited his fate in stoic Arabic fashion — this was no more than he expected at the hands of the Hagomen. It was the way of life, and to be welcomed as test of his manhood before going to his maker. He railed at the thought as it came to him. He remembered his dream and the power of the scimitar, maybe, just maybe a power beyond understanding would come to his aid.

The arrival of the harem girls caused in a stir with the local tribes. The Hoggar is sparsely populated, mainly with the Tauregs, marked out by their blue robes, and black people from lower Africa. The Tauregs are a mystical people, in tune with the desert and completely at home in this remote and harsh area in the middle of the Sahara desert.

They are used to dark Arab and black Negro skins, and to see the softer browns of the Mediterranean, doe eyes and more rounded bodies was something of a surprise. These were, of course, specially selected harem girls and hence very beautiful, and so very desirable as slaves and bed mates. It was expected that an Arab prince would come and buy them, little did they know that the wretch they saw in the cage was indeed an Arab king, and their late owner!

The Hagomen raiding party were preparing them for them to be auctioned off in the slave market. This had taken some time because messages had to sent out to surrounding regions about the forthcoming sale. Slowly over the days they were given more freedom to move about and so doing saw the prisoner in the cage. Muhammad had now shrunk within himself, no longer the proud leader of his people, now bowed and bent, his hair had grown long, his clothes were in tatters and he was covered in blood from the knife cuts that just sliced through the outer skin but no deeper designed to cause the maximum pain but not to kill.

The Hagomen intended to keep him alive for many weeks to see if he could endure their torture without going mad! The Harem girls took pity on him, and when they could gave him a drink of water. In doing this Sheba came to recognise who he was. She heard her name muttered from cracked and parched lips, who could know that, she wondered? Then one day this animal, for that was what he had become, stretched out his neck and she saw the burn marks round his throat from when he was being garrotted!

The arrival of the girls caused concern in another quarter, this time it was Tuareg women, and some black women slaves, who saw their position being challenged. The slave master relationship was a complex thing in this culture, but since they were completely dependant on their masters it was important to keep them happy, and this meant beauty and servile attendance, and in this the Harem girls were a competition. They could not be allowed to live, and so a plan was hatched. And so events moved to their climax.

The day of the sale was planned to coincide with the arrival of a mysterious prince from the east, and since the girls would all be in the open then that was also the day planned for mass murder. Muhammad had been mysteriously regaining his strength, not to his majestic best, but a recovery none the less. This recovery was due to the ministrations of Sheba, she had been able to pass him small titbits to eat and a drop of water to drink. In truth he looked more like a monstrous scarecrow than a man. Also he stank from his body functions; many gave him a wide birth.

The day of the sale dawned with low black thunderous clouds to the east presaging the coming of a mighty storm. Many on that day saw it as an omen, and made extra prayers to Allah. He listened and looking down from his pleasure garden and realised what was about to happen and what the threat was and made his plans. He saw the threat and accepted that there would have to be a great sacrifice. A king for a queen perhaps!

The mighty prince arrived; tall, dark, fiendishly handsome, ﬂashing eyes with a strange hint of red in them. He was dressed in a manner beyond imagination. A Turban of red and gold, a cloak of silver and gold that sparkled in a mysterious way. A frilled shirt of ﬁnest silk and a wine red waistcoat covered in pearls. Upon his ﬁngers he had rings of the ﬁnest diamonds emeralds and rubies.

He had upon his feet the strangest of slippers that did not seem designed for human feet. He had with him an entourage of strange little elf like people with sharpened teeth, who many swore later could ﬂy. He sat on a throne on a high platform and commanded that the harem slave girls should be paraded before him. Events now took place that were beyond the comprehension of mere men, and whilst not recorded passed into the folklore of Hogger people.

The girls were lead out, one after the other, dressed in ﬁnest silks to enrapture the eye. The Hagomen paraded on either side, also in their ﬁnest gowns. The town’s people of the Hoggar thronged round, many just to see the spectacle, and the dusky maidens they had heard so much about, rumoured to be beyond beauty, and to meet all men’s desires. This caused a certain amount of confusion and it was not seen that Sheba was missing.

She had stopped by the dismal figure of Muhammad to bid a last good bye, when in a creaking voice whispered for her to get the scimitar. She did not understand the import of his request, but the pleading and deﬁant look in his eyes persuaded her to risk going back to look for it. He whispered again “call and it will answer’ then, drawing himself upright he uttered the words that changed their lives for ever -

’For the Love of Allah.”

The girls were paraded along a walkway above the crowd, there were gasps of astonishment as their beauty and perfectly formed sexuality was revealed as their silks were draw aside. They stood proud as any girls of a king’s harem would, little did the crowd know these were also the ‘Bride’s of Allah! ’ Rich merchants licked their lips in anticipation of the sexual delights on offer, and poor men simply dreamed on. Amongst the crowd there was some bitterness as wives saw their stupid husbands so mesmerised by such beauty.

” Poor fools they have lost their heads’ they muttered.

In such a mood were easily persuaded to rebel by the black girls who had infiltrated the crowd.

The chanting started slowly and there was a surge towards the walkway, and it looked as if it would be brought down when the Prince of Darkness demanded,

’Where is Sheba?’

His voice rang out above the crowd, its force brought them to silence.

’Where is Sheba?

‘She is here but she will never be yours’

The voice rang out along the walkway and all heads turned and there was a figure of strange menace. Clothes in rags, skin stripped from his body hanging in shreds about his emaciated form, and in his hand a gleaming Scimitar.

‘She is the bride of Allah.’

At these words the crowd sighed. The women immediately dropped to their knees in supplication. The men stood in silent defiance not realising what was going on, still entranced in their conceited desires. Who could deny them?

The black clouds out in the desert boiled up even higher, there was the feel of impending rain, and the storm that had been building up all day erupted across the desert. Flashes of lightning lit the mountains, and the desert echoed with the growl of thunder. At whose bidding, Allah or the Prince of Darkness, no one could be sure.

The mighty Prince saw who it was and recognising him smiled his devilish smile and laughed out loud, his voice matching the thunder getting ever nearer.

‘You challenge me, I own you.’ his voice a sneering question.

‘In the name of Allah I demand Sheba.’ the strange figure demanded.

“You, you, demand Sheba?’ this time an incredulous question.

‘And how do you mean to do that?” the voice demanded again in a challenge.

'A fight to the death'

The crowd fell back as the Prince of Darkness changed in form. The sparkling clothes melted away and were transformed into a cloak of black. The dark face became longer, the nose extended and the ears become more demon like and he stood now revealed for what he was, the Master of Hell!

A monstrous form, for that was what Muhammad had become, advanced upon the evil one, scimitar held in a position to strike, moved with fearsome speed along the walk way, and swung the lethal weapon. The Devil parried the blow with a laugh, ﬂame seeming to come from his mouth, but he had not counted on the power that he had given the sword. It cut deep into his hand and he let out a bellow of pain. The clouds seem to descend as a deep boiling cauldron, lightening flashed from cloud to cloud.

Suddenly it was if a thunder bolt hit the Scimitar, a streak of lightning, a flash of power as if Allah was now taking a hand in proceeding, and it lit up with the power of a thousand candles as Muhammad struck into the heart of the devil. A sulphurous odour filled the air, people choked in its clasp, and before their very eyes they witnessed the end of the beginning. As the scimitar plunged in it was as if the very heavens unleashed their power. The Devil writhed in anguish, then reaching out it seemed to embrace Muhammed, pulling him into his very being. Then in a cloud of steaming fire they seemed to melt away before the very eyes of the crowd who had been mesmerised by the sight!

Suddenly there was a shaft of sunlight, and to their amazement Sheba appeared and, bathed in the light, took on another from, as if she had wings, and then ascended in a shimmering shaft of light up into the clouds. The rain gusted in drenching the crowds as they had never witnessed it before. Many prayers were given to Allah that night as they were all stunned by the results. Sheba had been saved but the same could not be said for the other girls. They were saved from murder, but would became vassals of rich merchants. They were Arabs after all and could not resist a bargain, or as many thought a gift from Allah!

Give unto Allah what his is, even that which you hold dear

Hold not it back least the thunder of the heavens should strike your ear

The lightning of the skies may strike you even to death

It is my will and forgiveness that will prevail over all

Even to the hearts ensnared by the Devil

No sacrifice is to great even unto supping in the Devils hell

This is the word of Allah.

Allah strolled through his scented rose gardens. Everything had worked to his satisfaction. He had denied the devil, and sacrificed a worthy rebel, and ensured the Sheba’s position in his household. He was well pleased with his days work!

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