by Asen Djinah
‘However, if you would like to pass on a message to her, I will gladly send one of my men,’ he added with compassion.
Although Hayder was utterly disappointed at not being able to see Amel and comfort her before the hearing, he realised that it would be pointless to argue; the men were after all only doing their jobs.
‘Please tell her that I will be at the court hearing and that I believe her.’
The men glanced at each other again and exchanged a look.
‘Yes, sayyidi, she will get the message as soon as the ulamas have concluded their interview.’
‘Shukran,’ said Hayder as he walked away, his shoulders drooping even lower than when he came in.
He returned to his room, a defeated shadow of the man he was. Until now he had been holding on to the hope that it was all a mistake, but having spoken to the officials the reality hit him hard.
‘If only there was something I could do. Tomorrow after the court hearing it will be too late,’ he thought in desperation.
Chapter 9
Standing in the foyer of the Hall of Justice, Amel felt utterly terrified. At the sight of the massive doors and what lay beyond, she felt a sudden weakness in her legs. If it were not for the two women jailers each supporting her under one arm, for which she was in some strange way grateful, she would have collapsed on the floor. Images of people gathered in the hall, waiting for her to make an entrance, raced through her mind. She tried desperately not to think about what lay behind those huge doors and started to pray silently, wishing for the marble floor to open and swallow her so that she could escape the shame she had brought upon her husband.
‘Oh God, help me please. I have done nothing wrong,’ she prayed in utter despair.
The two armed guards in front of the door stared straight ahead unblinking past Amel and her jailers as if they were invisible. All three women were dressed in plain dark abayas in almost the same shade of black. The thickset hands of the jailers, each holding one of the prisoner’s arms, were all that was visible. Their faces were hidden under black niqabs, with narrow slits for the eyes. The similarity between prisoner and jailers ended there. Although the loose fitting abaya was supposed to conceal the body shape and guard the modesty of women, Amel’s tall and slim body was nonetheless apparent, especially in contrast to the short and stocky jailers. Her narrow hips contrasted with their much wider girths and were accentuated by her height, with the jailers’ heads reaching only up to her shoulders. There she stood, waiting for the door to open and for her fate to be decided, a devastated figure, shoulders stooped, head bent, staring at the floor with her lips moving in silent prayer.
‘Oh God Almighty, do not forsake your humble and devoted servant,’ she kept repeating.
The Hall of Justice was a large room adjacent to the main hall of the Grand Mosque. On festive days, it was used as an extension to the main prayer room to accommodate the additional devotees who preferred the Grand Mosque to their local mosque. On these special days, everyone liked to parade in their best clothes at the Grand Mosque. A thick carpet would usually be rolled out for the disciples to pray, but not on this particular day. The hall served as a criminal court once a week to handle the more serious cases which local mosques did not the authority to deal with. During these court sessions, the hall would be filled with curious individuals, mostly men, from all walks of life. They would sit cross-legged on the bare marble floor on both sides of the hall, facing the stage and leaving a walkway in the middle, which led from the massive doors to the raised podium at the front.
‘I heard that one of the accused on trial today is a woman,’ one of the men said to those around him.
‘Yes, I heard the same thing. I wonder what crime she has committed,’ another replied.
Had gambling been permitted, there would probably have been large bets taking placed across the room as to what offence the woman was accused of.
The majority of the spectators consisted of the poorest members of society. They would sit on the floor dressed in their dusty rags while the more affluent ones would stand at the sides by the wall, dressed in their smart long thawb reaching to the floor. The more elaborate the embroidery on their thawbs, the closer they would stand to the podium. Their heads would be covered by the traditional keffiyeh – headdress in plain white cotton or chequered pattern, held in place by the agal, a double circlet of black woollen rope. Whenever a rich merchant arrived late, the others would move aside obligingly to let him get as close to the podium as his social status dictated, as reflected by his elaborate attire. It was an accepted practice.
From the moment an offender entered the room and walked towards the podium, he or she would be met with jeers and insults from the destitute men sitting on the floor.
‘How many lashes do you think he will get? I say he will get fifty,’ the men would try to guess the sentence.
In their minds, the accused was already guilty and they were only here to relish the details of the case and watch the sentencing being carried out in the courtyard afterwards. It was a spectacle for the common people, just like the gladiators in the Colosseum of Rome.
‘Unfortunately I have to leave immediately after the court session,’ one of the men said with great disappointment to those around him. ‘I will not be able to see the sentence being carried out.’
Although the audience consisted almost entirely of men, there was a small area at the back by the doors, shielded by a curtain, which was reserved for women. Most of the time only a few would attend; mainly the female relatives of the accused. However on this particular day the area was completely packed, the news of a female defendant having spread like wildfire in the town. Just like the men, the women also came to sneer and rejoice at the punishment of the offender. Oddly enough, these women seemed to take even more pleasure that the accused was of their own gender.
The podium, covered with a thick, rich rug, occupied the full width of the hall except for a door on the right-hand side. There was a mimbar – a raised seat with several cushions in the centre of the stage. On this particular day, a dozen or so ulamas – scholars of jurisprudence and religious traditions – were sitting on the rug on both sides of the mimbar. Some were sitting cross-legged whilst others rested their back against the wall with their legs stretched out. Most were middle-aged men with varying shades of grey in their unkempt beards. Like many scholars, they did not wear any agal and their keffiyehs were simply wrapped around their heads like a turban as if to show their disdain of earthly and vain customs. Many were imams of important mosques whilst others were renowned teachers of well-known madrasahs. On several occasions in the past, their role as arbiters and guardians of religious traditions had prevented many caliphs from dictating legal consequences. They had such high influence that even the caliph would think twice before disagreeing with them.
Their leader was a thin old man with a full white beard, whose wrinkled face was accentuated by a complete lack of teeth. Like his scholars, he was dressed in a simple all-white thawb and turban. Despite his modest appearance, he was a man of great wisdom, held in reverence by the other ulamas. His reputation extended far across many towns and his teachings formed the basis of the curriculum in the madrasahs. His name was Kateb. In the hierarchy, he was the third most powerful man after the caliph and his grand vizier, although in practice he often wielded more power than the caliph himself – he could force through policies and influence decisions, backed by his faithful group of ulamas. Yet from his humble and simple appearance, one would never have guessed so. He enjoyed lingering in the background, unsuspectingly pulling the strings. Kateb had developed a tic of moving his lips over his naked gums as if he was constantly chewing, which added to his appearance of a harmless old man. He was often underestimated, much to the detriment of the other party.
For each of the court cases to be heard on the day, Kateb would carefully choose two of his ulamas, one to act as a prosecutor and the other as a guardian to defend the interests of the offen
der. The rest of the ulamas would play an indifferent role in that particular case, waiting for their own case to come up. These judicial hearings were usually presided by Grand Vizier Jaffar, sitting on the mimbar and acting as the Qadi – judge, except for the occasional attendance of Caliph Omar who would then take matters in hand himself. The caliph did not particularly enjoy dealing with complicated matters of the vast empire and would rather delegate the running of the affairs to Grand Vizier Jaffar and his many aides. He preferred to handle local matters closer to his heart, which was one of the many reasons he was popular with the masses. Hence every now and then, he would personally direct these judicial meetings much to the delight of the spectators, who relished catching a rare glimpse of their busy caliph. They appreciated and rejoiced that despite his demanding schedule, their beloved caliph would find time to appear in person. They regarded him as one of their own.
After what seemed an eternity to Amel, the heavy doors finally started to swing open. She felt a wave of panic engulfing her and as if to mock her and prolong her misery, the heavy doors moved slowly and took a long time to open fully. Only then did the two guards step aside and for the first time acknowledged the presence of the three women by beckoning them to enter the Hall of Justice.
‘You can go in now,’ one of them said sternly.
Amel’s legs refused to respond as the jailers pressed her forward. With their hands still under her armpits, the two strong women supported her body and dragged her with her bare feet gliding along the cool marble floor. Once again, despite her nausea and panic, Amel felt strangely grateful. As soon as the crowd saw the accused woman, they became animated at this rare sight at the Hall of Justice. The noise level went up as they jeered and argued among themselves, trying to guess what crime she had committed.
‘I told you, didn’t I? There is a woman among the accused,’ one of the men said loudly above the noise level, showing off that he had inside information.
Amel could not bear to look at the heckling men who had turned around to catch a glimpse of her as soon as the door had opened. Even though she kept her eyes on the floor, she could sense the long dreadful walk that lay ahead, leading to the podium. Neither did she attempt to look for her husband, whom she assumed would be standing somewhere along the side. Her terror was so intense that her defence mechanism took over and her mind drifted away to thoughts of Hayder, cutting her off from the reality around her.
‘I wonder what he is wearing today,’ she wondered.
‘He will most likely be wearing his white silk thawb with the silver embroidery around the collar and front opening, along with his matching keffiyeh,’ she thought, answering her own question.
She thought how Hayder was always mindful of his clothes, but not out of vanity. As a merchant, he found that his immaculate dress code and polite manners opened doors to establish trust with important traders, allowing him to negotiate the best deals.
‘My Hayder is anything but vain,’ she almost said aloud.
She was so proud of how tall and handsome he was and how blessed she was to have him as a husband. She wondered who had been looking after him, preparing his food and taking out his clothes. Suddenly the panic took hold of her again, as the dishonour that she had brought upon him sneaked back into her mind. By then she had reached the podium and slowly, under her niqab, she raised her eyes. The bored expressions and uninterested looks of the ulamas somehow reassured her and gave her a glimmer of hope.
Chapter 10
The door by the side of the podium opened and to everyone’s surprise and delight, Caliph Omar himself entered the room, escorted by a group of six guards with Grand Vizier Jaffar following behind. At this unexpected sight, the spectators spontaneously sprang to their feet.
‘Habibi, habibi, habibi,’ they began to chant repeatedly in unison.
They were addressing the caliph by the nickname given to him by his third and youngest wife Alima. Once on a hunting party, when they had stopped for refreshments, Caliph Omar had confided to his companions how his young wife called him habibi – sweetheart – whenever she was upset with him. They all had a laugh and shared their own conjugal stories and nicknames they had been called by their wives. Later, one of the companions inadvertently shared this with his stern wife while admonishing her for her lack of affection and warmth towards him. The incensed wife told her sister and anyone who would listen of the ingratitude of her husband, who dared comparing her to the caliph’s young wife. In turn, her sister told the funny anecdote to her circle of friends and over a period of time the whole town came to learn about the nickname. In private, everyone started referring to the caliph as habibi out of affection. When Caliph Omar found out about it, instead of being angry he laughed.
‘I hope that no one finds out the other names I have been called,’ he commented good-naturedly.
Anyone else in authority would have been furious and would have tried to find out who among his companions had leaked this information. But not Caliph Omar. He was known for his easy-going, loving and caring temperament. He truly was the sweetheart of the people.
Caliph Omar climbed onto the podium and walked to the mimbar. He then turned around, and with his usual contagious smile, paused to survey the crowd in the hall. He truly enjoyed these moments with his people.
‘Habibi, habibi, habibi,’ the crowd went on relentlessly.
He was a tall and eminent man in his early fifties with a chiselled face and high cheekbones. Even when not smiling, there was a twinkle in his kind, pale eyes. His light grey beard and bushy eyebrows contrasted with his fair complexion and ivory silk keffiyeh. He wore an elegant navy blue bisht – cloak, with golden embroidery on the lapels and cuffs, over his ivory silk thawb. As he stood on the podium smiling to the crowd, Omar looked indeed the distinguished head of state. When he finally raised his right hand, the spectators immediately fell silent and with another wave of his hand, they quickly returned to their sitting positions. Grand Vizier Jaffar, who was behind him, also sat on the rug by the side of the mimbar. The guards had already taken position in front of the podium. The caliph saluted the crowd by bowing his head and touching his heart, lips and then his forehead in quick succession with the fingers of his right hand. Almost in unison, everyone in the room returned his greetings with the same gesture. The Qadi then took his place on the elevated seat.
‘Habibi, habibi, habibi,’ the crowd started off again as soon as the caliph was seated.
When Amel first saw the caliph entering the room, a surge of adrenaline rushed through her body and she felt slightly light-headed.
‘God has answered my prayers,’ she thought with relief. ‘Caliph Omar is a just and fair man and he would surely exonerate me of all charges.’
‘Habibi, habibi, habibi,’ she silently joined the crowd.
Her nightmare would soon be over.
‘Habibi, habibi, habibi.’
Unknown to her, standing to the right of the podium, Hayder shared the same thoughts and optimism when he too saw the caliph enter the room.
Caliph Omar turned to his left and then to his right, acknowledging the scholars either side of him and on cue, the prosecuting ulama jumped to his feet to deliver his opening statement.
‘Salam Alaikum – Peace be upon you,’ he greeted the crowd.
His name was Safwan and for someone holding such a high position of prosecutor, he was fairly young, being in his late thirties. Since being appointed, he had not lost any of his previous cases and was determined to keep his record unblemished, particularly in this important and rare case of adultery. He was even more resolute to win as he was pitted against his rival Nuffay, the defending ulama. For a long time, it was Nuffay who had been Kateb’s favourite until he fell from grace. Since Nuffay’s downfall, Safwan’s status had taken a sharp upturn and through his hard work and dedication he had replaced Nuffay as Kateb’s protégé. The other ulamas looked at him with envy and Safwan was determined to keep his newly-gained status. In his thorough prepa
ration, he had been over and over every minute detail of the case and rehearsed his speech several times the previous evening. On that particular morning, he had woken up early, applied oil to his hair and put on freshly cleaned clothes for this important case.
‘Your Excellency,’ Safwan cleared his throat.
‘Your Excellency, I respectfully open the trial of Amel bint Abdul-Basir, wife of Hayder bin Jalal Al-Din. The accused is charged with the crime of adultery.’
There was a discernible gasp from the audience and some of the women started ululating from behind the curtain to express their disdain to the crime. There had not been a case of adultery for a very long time and a wave of excitement went through the crowd. Safwan patiently waited until there was complete silence again.
‘The crime was witnessed by Fadel,’ the prosecuting ulama added, pointing to a man in the front row.
‘Although we have only one witness instead of the four required, this requisite is overridden by the fact that the accused herself has confessed that jamaa – copulation had taken place,’ Safwan continued.
He paused for a brief moment to let this important information sink in.
‘Yes, the accused has confirmed that there was jamaa. The man involved was a traveller and has not been seen since. Despite her own admission, the accused will deny the charge, but I will prove during the course of this trial that this is a definite case of adultery.’
Safwan made a dramatic pose with his left hand on his hip and moving the index finger of his right hand up and down at the audience.
‘I will prove that this is a definite case of adultery,’ he repeated.
