Beyond the Sand Dune

by Asen Djinah

  Omar remained silent. He needed time to think. All of this was making his head spin. But Kateb did not relent.

  ‘Caliph Omar, I am an idealist like you. But there are times when one has to cast aside one’s nature and be pragmatic for the good of the many. Such a time has come. Do you remember that woman who was accused of adultery?’ he asked.

  Caliph Omar nodded.

  ‘In my eyes, it was a clear-cut case. All the scholars present at the time are aware that I recommended that she be found guilty. To change my mind now would mean losing face and the respect of my scholars. However, to show that I can put my pride aside for the sake of our survival, I am ready to declare the woman innocent. Likewise, you should be realistic about the situation and agree to publish our Prophet’s sayings. A threat such as the one we are facing demands that we make tough decisions, even if it means we have to lose face,’ Kateb stressed.

  ‘Ulama Kateb, are you trying to bargain with me? Agreeing to let the woman go free if I consent to the publication of the Prophet’s sayings?’ Omar snapped.

  Kateb did not reply, but opened his mouth widely as if shocked and offended by Omar’s insinuation. For the first time Omar saw his pink, toothless gums.

  ‘That is clever on Kateb’s part,’ thought Jaffar, ‘to use the case of the accused woman as a bargaining chip. With Omar’s profound sense of justice, it will be another element in addition to the military one that will help to sway his decision.’

  Both Kateb and Jaffar looked up at Omar to see his reaction. But the caliph had already decided that he needed time to think and would not let Kateb push him towards a rash decision.

  ‘Chief Ulama Kateb, Grand Vizier Jaffar, thank you for the meeting. I will think about what we have discussed and will let you know my decision soon,’ Omar said in a dry voice, to cut the meeting short.

  ‘One last thing, Your Excellency,’ Jaffar intervened, ‘Tomorrow, I will be leaving to meet the Samanid prime minister. I have already sent word to him through the military channel.’

  ‘Can’t you send Commander-in-Chief Khalid instead? You need to rest since you have been working too hard,’ Caliph Omar said with genuine concern.

  ‘If we are going to pull our army from the eastern border, we need assurance at the highest level that they will not attack us once we are engaged on the northern front. It is a matter of great urgency. It is not a military issue but a diplomatic one. I must go in person, Your Excellency,’ Jaffar explained.

  Chapter 2

  Jaffar was uncomfortably hot and in pain. It had not even been one full day since the convoy left Qadday, yet he was already sore from being in the saddle since dawn. The grand vizier was not used to travelling across the desert, having spent most of his life sitting at a desk. He could not bear to think that he would have to endure such conditions for the next two weeks. More than his uncomfortable position, the heat was bothering him greatly.

  ‘This scorching sun is stalking me... exactly at the same place every time I look at it,’ he thought cynically.

  As he squinted at the sky he felt as though the sun was singling him out, pouring all its heat down upon him. He could feel the sweat oozing from every pore of his body. He wanted to take off his clothes and ride in his undergarments to cool down.

  ‘No, don’t do that, Grand Vizier. You will sweat so profusely that very quickly you will become dehydrated. In fact, I advise to wrap yourself with your blanket and even cover your face,’ the guide warned him.

  ‘Inside your blanket you will lose much less water as the sweat will evaporate more slowly. Also the air trapped in between the layers of your garments will stop the heat of the sun from reaching you and will actually make you feel less hot,’ the guide elaborated.

  Although difficult to believe, Jaffar had heard about travellers covering themselves from head to toe to protect against the unforgiving heat of the desert.

  ‘Give it a couple of days, Grand Vizier. You will soon get used to it,’ the guide said encouragingly.

  The convoy had been on the move since sunrise and had only taken a short break for the midday prayer. The group consisted of fifteen armed guards which Caliph Omar had insisted upon, a guide, a cook and a dozen camels carrying water and provisions. It was upon Jaffar’s insistence that they carried as much provisions as possible, to avoid any detours to replenish their supplies.

  To avoid thinking of the gruelling days ahead and to detach himself from the overwhelming surroundings, Jaffar turned his mind to his achievements of the past few weeks.

  ‘At least I have completed all military arrangements ahead of my journey,’ he thought, feeling pleased with himself.

  Jaffar had held several meetings with Commander-in-Chief Khalid about the different types of weapons and the quantity required, assuming that they would be able to raise a 40,000-strong army. Subsequently he had met with Abdul-Alim, who had the procurement contract for military equipment and together they had worked out a schedule for supplying the different armaments. He was also glad that as Omar’s father-in-law, Abdul-Alim had not seen fit to make any fuss over the delayed payment plan he had proposed.

  ‘Anyway, he did not have much choice,’ thought Jaffar, feeling satisfied with the arrangement.

  Khalid had wanted to significantly increase his cavalry from the current 6,000 horses to 15,000.

  ‘The cavalry units will be at the core of my strategy,’ Commander Khalid had said, ‘This must be given the highest priority, since we need the horsemen to train in the various manoeuvres and learn to work together as one unit.’

  ‘In a country where there are predominantly camels, it will be a difficult task to find an extra 9,000 suitable horses, but I will try my hardest,’ Jaffar had argued.

  Jaffar had arranged with his purchasing agents for the horses to be taken directly to the training fields in the north, as soon as they were acquired.

  At first, the grand vizier had felt overwhelmed by the task of building up the army in such a short time, feeling the crushing weight of this responsibility resting upon his shoulders alone. Nevertheless, being the adept organiser that he was, Jaffar had dealt with one task at a time before moving onto the next.

  ‘I am glad that Caliph Omar has not been difficult and has backed my suggestions about replenishing the treasury coffers without delay,’ he thought.

  So far, everything had gone according to plan. The one thing still out of his hands was the publication of the Prophet’s sayings and Jaffar felt he had been as emphatic as he could to make the caliph understand the urgency of the situation. Now it was up to Caliph Omar to do the right thing.

  ‘May God Almighty guide him to make the right decision,’ Jaffar prayed, trying to remain positive.

  But he had still one final task to complete – the arrangement of a truce with the Samanid army on the eastern border. This was of utmost importance, as the empire’s army did not have the manpower and resources to fight on two fronts at the same time.

  ‘To convince the Samanid prime minister to agree to a ceasefire will not be an easy task. I need to find a way to make him see that it is within his interests to cooperate, but how?’ Jaffar pondered.

  Because of the diplomacy involved, Jaffar had come to the conclusion that he was the only man for the job, despite his reluctance to make the journey.

  ‘Any agreement has to be made at the highest level in order for the treaty to be reliable and lasting,’ he had long decided.

  Even with so much resting on his shoulders, Jaffar did not mind the least bit being in the background as a mere administrator unlike Caliph Omar the politician, who would receive the credit for any success.

  By the third day of the journey, Jaffar felt more comfortable. He was getting used to the heat and the monotony. His backside was no longer sore, since he had found that riding with both legs on one side of the saddle offered some comfort. The sun was close to the horizon and there were still a few hours of light left. With long shadows forming on the ground, the convoy passed do
wn a dry wadi – riverbed to benefit from the shade provided by its high banks. Suddenly, Jaffar imagined he heard a voice calling out from afar. He was about to dismiss it when he saw the other riders also turn their heads in the direction of the sound.

  ‘Someone is calling,’ Jaffar said to the guard closest to him.

  Against the glare of the sky, he finally made out a man, shouting and waving at them from the top of the sloping bank. The riders stopped and waited for the man to scramble down. As he got closer they saw he was dressed in a ragged shirt, grey with age and dirt, although it must have been white at some point. His face was emaciated and withered, his eyes like two bright beads in his hungry-looking face.

  ‘How can we help you, venerable old man?’ the chief guard asked him.

  The old man was panting and the riders had to wait until he caught his breath. His shrivelled skin and gaunt face made him looked even older than his years.

  ‘Sayyidi, I need your help, please. My two sons and wife are suffering from zuhar – dysentery after drinking contaminated water. We only have a herd of goats, but no camels. Please help us, Sayyidi,’ the man pleaded, half crying.

  ‘We are going to lose the remaining hours of light going to the assistance of this family,’ Jaffar sighed inwardly.

  Resigned, he turned to the chief guard and nodded. Although the implicit law of the desert gave him no choice but to help someone in need, Jaffar the man would never refuse help to anyone. As a young boy he was taken in by Kateb, a stranger who took him under his wing and helped him to turn his life around. Since then he had been forever grateful and would never miss an opportunity to help others, especially the poorest in society.

  The riders dismounted and cautiously led their camels up the steep, sandy slope, following the old man. When they reached the top, Jaffar’s heart sank when he saw the pitiful state of the camp. There were goat droppings everywhere, yet the rudimentary goat pen made of dried branches was empty, with no animals in sight.

  ‘My wife and sons are over there,’ the old man said, pointing out to the right of the camp.

  A woman and two young boys in their late teens were lying motionless on a dirty, shredded sheet inside a shallow cave. The two boys were wearing only loin cloths and one of them had soiled himself. The stench coming from the cave was so overpowering that Jaffar felt nauseous. The other patients had relieved themselves near the cave’s entrance, adding to the horrid smell.

  ‘Here, give them some water,’ Jaffar said as he handed his waterskin to the old man.

  Jaffar could not bear to imagine the daily life of this poor family. He had not seen such poverty since he was a child. The old man grabbed the waterskin and rushed to his wife’s side. Propping her up, he gently poured water through her parched lips.

  ‘Drink slowly, habiba – my beloved,’ he said gently to his weakened wife.

  He then went to his sons’ side and one by one, made them drink the precious water.

  ‘Take the camels out to graze and bring back some warm, fresh dung as soon as one of them defecates,’ Jaffar directed the guards.

  Watching the poor man making his wife and sons drink Jaffar felt distraught. Whilst the poorest in towns were looked after and received help from the state, these nomads – who belonged to no tribe and lived in remote areas of the desert – were beyond reach of any social aid.

  ‘If we win the battle against the Byzantines and the empire is still standing, I will make it a priority to set up a system that provides assistance to these people,’ Jaffar vowed to himself.

  Now he finally understood why Caliph Omar was adamant about not suspending social funds to raise finance for the army. When the old man turned towards Jaffar to return his waterskin, the grand vizier gestured to him to keep it.

  ‘Sayyidi, I also need help to gather my goats. Since last night I have not rounded them up and now they are scattered all over the plain. I don’t know if any had been taken by the desert foxes or fallen down the slope into the wadi,’ the man said in a defeated voice.

  A disheartened Jaffar asked the rest of his guards to go and look for the goats.

  Soon, two guards came running back to the camp, holding handfuls of steaming camel dung. They went directly to the cave and gave them to the three patients who quickly gulped them down. The old man watched them swallowing the warm dung with relief on his face and gratitude in his eyes.

  ‘Eat, habiba; eat, my sons. Eat as much as you can. You will get better soon,’ he encouraged them.

  For centuries, nomads had eaten warm camel dung at the first sign of diarrhoea and recovered from the disease overnight, yet no one knew why it worked. Only fresh, warm dung was known to provide relief and cure, but not cold droppings.

  Jaffar was amazed at this simple remedy for such a fatal disease. He would have been even more surprised to learn that ten centuries into the future, the Germanic army would be passing through the desert during their military campaign in Africa and thousands of their soldiers would be dying from the disease each week. Noticing that the bedouins gobbled down warm camel excrement at the first sign of the disease, their science scholars would ultimately learn to separate the active component, later to be known as Bacillus Subtilis, to produce a remedy in the form of pills.

  ‘Don’t worry, venerable old man, they will be better by tomorrow. Just to be sure, we will get them more fresh dung from a different camel. They should not eat anything else nor drink milk. Give them water only. How did they become sick in the first place?’ Jaffar asked.

  ‘The water from the nearby well is brackish and contaminated with animal corpses. We need to move to another waterhole as soon as my wife and sons recover and are strong enough to walk,’ the old man explained.

  Grabbing Jaffar’s hand and kissing it, he added, ‘Thank you, Sayyidi, for your help. I have been praying for someone to pass by. God has answered my prayers and sent an angel instead.’

  When it was time to set up camp for the night, the guide decided that they should go back down the slope to the dry wadi, as it would shelter them from the biting Al Shamal wind. Jaffar was relieved at the suggestion for he could no longer bear the stench from the old man’s camp. He asked the guide to leave a bag of flour, some dried meat, dates and water for the old man’s family as well as a couple of blankets.

  ‘But Sayyidi, we will not have enough provisions to last us till the next town,’ the guide protested.

  ‘We will reduce our rations then,’ Jaffar said curtly.

  He then added, ‘Give them one of our camels so that they can leave this area as soon as possible and reach the next water-well.’

  The guards looked at each other, but no one dared to voice their opposition to the grand vizier’s order. When the guide informed the old man that they were leaving him with some provisions and a camel, the old man ran to Jaffar and sank to his knees, touching his forehead onto his sandals.

  ‘You are indeed an angel sent by God to help us. Thank you Sayyidi, you are our saviour,’ he cried, his tears leaving streaks on his dusty and wrinkled face.

  Down in the wadi, the guards set up a small tent for Jaffar. The rest of them would simply sleep in the open, rolled in their blankets. While the guards tended to the camels, the guide went to gather firewood and soon there was a steaming pot of stew cooking over a fire as the cook made bread for the famished group. Squatting around the fire, wrapped in their blankets to keep warm from the biting wind, the men gossiped and laughed while waiting for the food to be ready. Jaffar had retired to his tent, from where he could hear the men laughing as they shared stories. As on previous nights, Jaffar felt envious of their simple life. He could not remember the last time he had laughed or had been able to relax. He wondered what his life would have been, had Kateb not helped to make him the man he was.

  ‘I would probably have been living a simple life, like the guards,’ he thought to himself.

  Shortly the cook brought over a bowl of stew with a piece of flatbread and Jaffar enjoyed this simple food
like never before. After eating, as he went out to clean his bowl with sand, the cook called out to him.

  ‘Grand Vizier, we are making tea. Do you want a cup?’ he asked.

  Impulsively, Jaffar decided to go and sit briefly with the men around the fire to drink his tea. As he sat down, he immediately noticed that his presence caused the others to refrain from talking. Complete silence replaced the laughter and rowdy conversation.

  ‘My presence must be intimidating. It is not every day they have the grand vizier sitting around their campfire,’ he thought.

  He finished his hot tea as quickly as he could and returned to his tent. Exhausted from the long day of travelling, Jaffar decided to retire early and rest his aching muscles to be ready for another gruelling day. He smiled as he took out the strand of Devorah’s hair which he had found in his travelling bag two nights ago.

  On his first night in the desert, Jaffar had opened his bag looking for his night shirt, when he first saw the lock of hair. The sight of the neatly tied strand had shocked him and after his initial surprise, he had broken into a smile.

  ‘Oh my love,’ he murmured fondly, as if talking to his wife, ‘you still take me for that little boy who could not sleep without holding onto your hair. I am the grand vizier now and don’t need such things, silly girl.’

  Ever since he’d known her, Jaffar had come to realise how selfless Devorah was, especially towards him. At times he found her devotion overwhelming and suffocating. Although Jaffar felt guilty for not being able to reciprocate with the same dedication, Devorah did not seem to mind. The thought of Devorah cutting off her hair – sacrificing her looks to make sure her husband had a good night's rest – was typical of her.

  ‘My dear Devorah, you should not have done this. I don’t need it,’ Jaffar sighed as he realised how hard it must have been for her to cut off her hair.