NAWÂDIR[2]
We had arrived in a village of the mountains late one afternoon, and
were sauntering about the place, when some rude children shouted: 'Hi,
O my uncle, you have come in two!'
It was the common joke at sight of European trousers, which were rare
in those days. But Suleymân was much offended upon my account. He
turned about and read those children a tremendous lecture, rebuking
them severely for thus presuming to insult a stranger and a guest. His
condemnation was supported on such lofty principles as no man who
possessed a particle of religion or good feeling could withstand; and
his eloquence was so commanding yet persuasive that, when at length he
moved away, not children only but many also of the grown-up people
followed him.
The village was high up beneath the summit of a ridge, and from a
group of rocks within a stone's throw of it could be seen the sea, a
great blue wall extending north and south. We perched among those
rocks to watch the sunset. The village people settled within earshot,
some below and some above us. Presently an old man said:
'Thou speakest well, O sage! It is a sin for them to cry such things
behind a guest of quality. Their misbehaviour calls for strong
correction. But I truly think that no child who has heard your
Honour's sayings will ever be so impudent again.'
'Amân!'[3] cried one of the delinquents. 'Allah knows that our
intention was not very evil.'
I hastened to declare that the offence was nothing. But Suleymân would
not allow me to decry it.
'Your Honour is as yet too young,' he said severely, 'to understand
the mystic value of men's acts and words. A word may be well meant and
innocent, and yet the cause of much disaster, possessing in itself
some special virtue of malignity. You all know how the jânn[4] attend
on careless words; how if I call a goat, a dog, or cat by its generic
name without pointing to the very animal intended, a jinni will as
like as not attach himself to me, since many of the jânn are called by
names of animals. You all know also that to praise the beauty of a
child, without the offer of that child to Allah as a sacrifice, is
fatal; because there is unseen a jealous listener who hates and would
deform the progeny of Eve. Such facts as those are known to every
ignoramus, and their cause is plain. But there exists another and more
subtle danger in the careless use of words, particularly with regard
to personal remarks, like that of these same children when they cried
to our good master: 'Thou hast come in two,' directing the attention
to a living body. I have a rare thing in my memory which perhaps may
lead you to perceive my meaning darkly.
'A certain husbandman (fellâh) was troubled with a foolish wife.
Having to go out one day, he gave her full instructions what to do
about the place, and particularly bade her fix her mind upon their
cow, because he was afraid the cow might stray, as she had done
before, and cause ill-feeling with the neighbours. He never thought
that such a charge to such a person, tending to concentrate the
woman's mind upon a certain object, was disastrous. The man meant
well; the woman, too, meant well. She gave her whole mind to obey his
parting words. Having completed every task within the house, she sat
down under an olive tree which grew before the door, and fixed her
whole intelligence in all its force upon the black-and-white cow, the
only living thing in sight, which was browsing in the space allowed by
a short tether. So great did the responsibility appear to her that she
grew anxious, and by dint of earnest gazing at the cow came to believe
that there was something wrong with it. In truth the poor beast had
exhausted all the grass within its reach, and it had not entered her
ideas to move the picket.
'At length a neighbour passed that way. She begged him, of his
well-known kindness, to inspect the cow and tell her what the matter
really was. This neighbour was a wag, and knew the woman's species; he
also knew the cow as an annoyance, for ever dragging out its peg and
straying into planted fields. After long and serious examination he
declared: "The tail is hurting her and ought to be removed. See how
she swishes it from side to side. If the tail is not cut off
immediately, the cow will die one day."
'"Merciful Allah!" cried the woman. "Please remove it for me. I am all
alone, and helpless."
'The man lifted up an axe which he was carrying and cut off the cow's
tail near the rump. He gave it to the woman and she thanked him
heartily. He went his way, while she resumed her watch upon the cow.
And still she fancied that its health was not as usual.
'Another neighbour came along. She told him of her fears, and how the
Sheykh Mukarram, of his well-known kindness, had befriended her by
cutting off the damaged tail.
'"Of course," cried the newcomer, "that accounts for it! The animal is
now ill-balanced. It is always a mistake to take from one end without
removing something also from the other. If thou wouldst see that cow
in health again, the horns must go."
'"Oh, help me; I am all alone! Perform the operation for me," said the
woman.
'Her friend sawed off the horns and gave them to her. She exhausted
thanks. But still, when he was gone, the cow appeared no better. She
grew desperate.
'By then the news of her anxiety about the cow had spread through all
the village, and every able body came to help her or look on. They cut
the udder and the ears, and then the legs, and gave them to her, and
she thanked them all with tears of gratitude. At last there was no cow
at all to worry over. Seeing the diminished carcase lying motionless,
the woman smiled and murmured: "Praise to Allah, she is cured at last;
she is at rest! Now I am free to go into the house and get things
ready for my lord's return."
'Her lord returned at dusk. She told him: "I have been obedient. I
watched the cow and tended her for hours. She was extremely ill, but
all the neighbours helped to doctor her, performing many operations,
and we were able to relieve her of all pain, the praise to Allah! Here
are the various parts which they removed. They gave them to me, very
kindly, since the cow is ours."
'Without a word the man went out to view the remnant of the cow. When
he returned he seized the woman by the shoulders, and, gazing
straight into her eyes, said grimly: "Allah keep thee! I am going to
walk this world until I find one filthier than thou art. And if I fail
to find one filthier than thou art, I shall go on walking--I have
sworn it--to the end."'
Suleymân broke off there suddenly, to the surprise of all.
'I fail to see how that rare thing applies to my case,' I observed, as
soon as I felt sure that he had finished speaking.
'It does not apply to your case, but it does to others,' he replied on
brief reflection. 'It is dangerous to put ideas in people's heads or
rouse self-consciousness, for who can tell what demons lurk in
people's brains.... But wait and I will find a rare thing suited to
the present instance.'
'Say, O Sea of Wisdom, did he find one filthier than she was?'
'Of course he did.'
'Relate the sequel, I beseech thee.'
But Suleymân was searching in his memory for some event more clearly
illustrating the grave risks of chance suggestion. At length he gave
a sigh of satisfaction, and then spoke as follows:
'There was once a Turkish pasha of the greatest, a benevolent old man,
whom I have often seen. He had a long white beard, of which he was
extremely proud, until one day a man, who was a wag, came up to him
and said:
'"Excellency, we have been wondering: When you go to bed, do you put
your beard inside the coverings or out?"
'The Pasha thought a moment, but he could not tell, for it had never
come into his head to notice such a matter. He promised to inform his
questioner upon the morrow. But when he went to bed that night he
tried the beard beneath the bedclothes and above without success.
Neither way could he get comfort, nor could he, for the life of him,
remember how the beard was wont to go. He got no sleep on that night
or the next night either, for thinking on the problem thus presented
to his mind. On the third day, in a rage, he called a barber and had
the beard cut off. Accustomed as he was to such a mass of hair upon
his neck, for lack of it he caught a cold and died.
'That story fits the case before us to a nicety,' said Suleymân in
conclusion, with an air of triumph.
'What is the moral of it, deign to tell us, master!' the cry arose
from all sides in the growing twilight.
'I suppose,' I hazarded, 'that, having had attention called to the
peculiar clothing of my legs, I shall eventually have them amputated
or wear Turkish trousers?'
'I say not what will happen; God alone knows that. But the mere chance
that such catastrophes, as I have shown, may happen is enough to make
wise people shun that kind of speech.'
I cannot to this day distinguish how much of his long harangue was
jest and how much earnest. But the fellâhîn devoured it as pure
wisdom.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] Rare things.
[3] Equivalent to 'Pax.'
[4] Genii.