by The Tale of Princess Fatima, Warrior Woman- The Arabic Epic of Dhat al-Himma (retail) (epub)
Al-Rabab answered, “Didn’t you know that I was pregnant with Al-Harith’s child? You pushed me so hard that I’ve gone into labor.” He dragged her to the river to wash, then moved away to think. Al-Rabab sat by the river crying, shaking from the contractions, wishing she could die instead of enduring the pains of labor. A little while later, Al-Rabab gave birth to a boy, like a piece of the moon. She cut the umbilical cord, wrapped him in a piece of her sash and her scarf, and put the silver amulet on him. Then she took him into her lap, and as he began nursing, his eyes opened. Looking down at him, she whispered, “Where is your father? If only he could gaze on you. . . . But this must be God’s will for us. . . .”
The servant, overtaken by frustration after so nearly attaining his desire, blamed Al-Rabab for the timing of the birth. Despite her protestations that the timing was out of her hands, he struck her with a sword, and she slumped to the ground, dead. The servant took what money she had and left her on the sand before escaping to a mountainous area. Al-Rabab lay on her side, the infant in her lap, still latched to her breast.
A man named Darim ruled the valley where Al-Rabab lay. His wife had recently given birth to a son who did not survive. In order to distract him from his grief, he took his people’s advice and went out hunting with some of his kinsmen. When a herd of wild animals saw the approaching hunting party, they dispersed and fled. In the chase, Darim was led by fate to the place where he discovered a baby still suckling from the fallen corpse of his mother. Despite the heat, the baby was healthy, and beautiful “like the moon.” God had sent a cloud of jundaba locusts to shade him.5 Darim turned to one of his companions, saying, “Cousin, look at this murdered girl, the baby at her side, and the cloud of locusts giving him shade. See how the mother is nursing him even though she is dead. Tell me at once: What do you make of this?”
The man, who was Darim’s adviser and right hand, deduced a story from the scene: “Sir, such mysteries only God can know fully. If only I had known of her, I could have saved her from this. However, I’ll tell you what I imagine happened. This girl was born to a noble family. A ruler asked to marry her, but a servant caught her eye, and she ended up losing her virginity. When her family learned of the relationship, they brought her to this place and killed her when she gave birth. They left the baby at her side and left her as she lays now. That’s what occurs to me.”
“How dare you insult her! If she had fornicated, she wouldn’t be nursing him while dead, and God would not have sent the swarm to shade him.” Turning to the corpse, he mused in verse,
I wonder who killed you,
Who felled you with his sword?
Were you an innocent victim,
Or were you by fate served?
You are clearly a noblewoman
And I think virtuous, because of the milk poured . . .
May the little one have a bright future,
Blessed by the Lord.
“I’m sure you’re right, Sir. Your son just passed away, and this boy is clearly precious. You should take care of him.”
Darim sent a messenger, calling for women skilled in preparing a corpse for burial and for men to dig a grave. He oversaw the funeral, praying over her, and removed his outer garments in order to descend into the grave to lay the body carefully in the ground before covering it with dirt. Then he returned home, the baby in his arms.
His wife, Husna, met him at the door, inquiring about why he had needed a corpse washer and what he had found during the hunt. He told her what had happened from start to finish, saying, “I went hunting for a wild animal, but instead I bring you a wonder. . . . It’s a boy!” He handed her the baby, and the amulet that he had worn. “Take this amulet, and put it over his head. I feel as if this is the baby we lost. Let’s raise him, and may he bring us blessings.” Husna put the amulet over the baby’s head and kept the child.
An old woman accused the baby of illegitimate birth. So Husna asked her husband about the child’s parentage when he returned from a meeting and expressed her concern for their reputation. Darim replied, “Cousin, don’t worry about that. People say all kinds of crazy things. This child’s mother was the daughter of a great amir. If she had been dishonorable, then the Compassionate would not have indicated her innocence by allowing her dead body to continue nursing her infant. Nor would there have been a swarm of locusts shading the babe. Look, I’ll give you ten gold dinars every month, and you feed the baby and take care of him. The Compassionate won’t disappoint us if we are patient and do what is right.”
“All right, what shall we name him?” Husna asked.
“Jundaba, because I found jundaba locusts at his head.”
Husna took Jundaba in her lap and nursed him until he was full, and she and Darim came to love their new son.
JUNDABA’S CHILDHOOD AND FIRST ADVENTURE1
At seven, Jundaba attended Quranic school. As he grew up, he rode horses and learned the arts of combat. Through regularly challenging local champions and learning from them, Jundaba gradually developed into a capable rider and a ferocious warrior.
One day, as Darim was riding with his companions, he stumbled upon the land of a woman named Al-Shamta. Not knowing that she was a fierce warrior in her own right, he began to drive her livestock away, as was the custom among rivals. After all, he was accompanied by one hundred warriors. Then he heard a horn blown to alert Al-Shamta of a threat. Al-Shamta mounted her horse and rode to attack him and his companions. She felled many of them before making for him as quickly as water bursting out of the narrowness of a pipe. Realizing his mistake, he attempted to fight her, but she blocked his blows and overcame him, knocking him off his horse. She jumped down from her mount and tied him with his own turban, before slapping his horse on the rump, sending it away. His remaining servants fled from her and returned to his camp, calling out the terrible news of Darim’s capture. One of Darim’s servants returned with his master’s horse, confirming the news.
By this time, Darim and Husna had ten strapping sons in addition to Jundaba, who was away herding animals in the mountains. The sons were knowledgeable about warfare and combat, so the people of Darim’s camp appealed to them to rescue their father. They set out on horseback to avenge him, fully armored and carrying spears. When they arrived within sight of Al-Shamta’s fortress, and she realized that they were Darim’s sons, Al-Shamta rose to meet them like a hungry lioness. She put on her battle dress and went out like a mother protecting her cub. Carrying her spear and moving like a tiger, she entered the square outside and stood in its center. She addressed the young men: “Sons of Lord Darim, I have come out to you, so finish me off here in this square or be exterminated.”
The eldest, like a great lion, approached her and spoke in rhyme,
Al-Shamta, I am here to ransom my father.
If you bring him out, I’ll be no bother.
She replied in kind,
You’ve sealed your fate. I am Al-Shamta, whom even lions fear.
For you, it is now too late.
She attacked him, baring her teeth. Then she parried, evading him, and said, “May God give me victory over you all!”
Hearing the plural in her words, the eldest son assumed that his brothers had joined behind him to help him attack her. She distracted him, and while he was caught off guard, she grabbed the end of his turban and used the cloth to tie him up. When his brothers saw this, they all wanted to attack her, but forty warriors had joined her in an instant. They could not possibly win a battle at these odds, so the second eldest took his turn in single combat with Al-Shamta. Their exchange did not last long before she had bested him, and then she set to beating each of his brothers in turn.
When the news traveled to their mother, she screamed and cried inconsolably. She challenged the people of Darim’s camp to arise and fight Al-Shamta. But no one took the challenge, and she went about mourning and fearing for her son
s and their father.
Then Jundaba returned with the herds that he had been shepherding. During the months of his absence, he had grown into a strong man. When he saw the desperation of the only mother he had ever known, and heard the news from her, and that no one would go to right this wrong, he was very disturbed. He swore that he alone would rescue his brothers and Darim with his spear and his strength, “and if I fail to protect my father and brothers, then I am not of Darim’s family. Pray for me, that God will help me and bring me home safely.”
Then Jundaba mounted a tall, lean palomino. He carried a sharp sword and a dark spear and rode to Al-Shamta’s fortress. When she saw him, she saw courage shining from his eyes. She mounted a horse as fierce as a wolf. Approaching him at a gentle pace, she called out, “Who are you, who seeks his own demise? If you are lost, we will guide you. If you are a guest, we will host you.”
Jundaba replied, “Do not consider me as one who merely happened upon your land. I am a huntsman come to tear this valley apart, and I aim to kill you.”
She replied, “Too bad for you. I can see that you are very young, and so I will make this easy for you. I am Al-Shamta. You know what happened to your father, Darim, my hostage. His children are all mine as well, and you will soon join them!”
Jundaba’s face darkened. “Al-Shamta, I am like no warrior you have ever fought before. You have overpowered people for too long. By my hand alone, your entire fortress will fall, and Darim and his sons will go free. You have been a thorn in everyone’s sides for too long!”
Al-Shamta attacked him with a thrust of her sword and found him solid and unfazed. He blocked her moves, and the day lengthened, the heat increasing until the earth shone with heat waves. When Jundaba saw Al-Shamta’s fighting force of forty seasoned Black warriors gathering behind her, he switched his tactics to offense. He attacked, forcing her to the limits of her abilities, and finally ran her through with his sword. Seeing their leader dead on the ground, the warriors charged at Jundaba as one whole.
Jundaba faced them like thirsty ground receiving the first drops of rain. He met them with firmness, yelling, “Don’t tempt me! Are you insane? Al-Shamta’s end is in your favor! I wish you no harm. You are fierce like brave lions, and yet you’ve been working for a hag who never deserved you. If your loyalty lies in payment, then know that I won’t take one ʿuqal.”
At that, the warriors looked at one another and said, “He’s right.” Speaking for all of them, one said, “Do as you like. We’ll support you.”
Jundaba replied, “You are all honorable members of the people of Ham, son of Noah. I wish you no harm. As tokens of my good wishes, I leave this fort to you, and all the wealth that it contains, to be evenly divided among you. All I want is the peaceful release of my father and brothers.”
The warriors were impressed by his graciousness, as well as his martial skills. They accompanied him to the citadel. Jundaba entered the place where his foster father was imprisoned and released him and his sons from their shackles. He led them out of the fortress and mounted them on tall horses. Together they returned home, accompanied by some herds and valuables that they had been given.
News of the rescue preceded them; all the people of their band came out to meet the party and to honor Jundaba. The story of his rescue made him famous, and he became an instructor for young people who sought him out in order to learn from the best.
THE ROMANCE OF LAYLA AND SAHSAH1
After many adventures, Jundaba lost a battle in a botched attack, wounding both his body and his reputation within the Bani Kilab clan. One day he called for his brother ʿAttaf, walking forward to greet him with the aid of a staff. ʿAttaf was handsome, wealthy, and successful. With numerous herds and a large band of followers, he represented a much more stable future for the clan.
“Brother, leadership requires resources,” began Jundaba, “and I have lost mine. I don’t even like to ride anymore, since the loss of Muzna, my favorite horse. My time has passed, but I am responsible for others. I think it would be best if you took my place as amir of the Bani Kilab.”
Then he called together his tribe, and his warriors agreed to follow ʿAttaf. The new leader distributed horses, camels, silver, and gold, and the people celebrated the dawning era of prosperity.
Jundaba retired from public life, living a little apart. He wore rough clothing and suffered from bouts of illness. His friends deserted him. One night after his prayers, Jundaba laid down to sleep and had a vision.
“Jundaba,” said the night visitor, “take heart. God has ordained that you will enter paradise. Moreover, you will have a son who will take your place, uniting the tribes and leading the people. Rejoice and worry not about your losses.”
Jundaba passed away a short time later and was shrouded and buried. He was mourned by all his people, from the children to the elders. A few days later, his wife discovered that she was pregnant. As she was living in poverty, she thought, I must go see amir ʿAttaf.
She found him sitting in council, surrounded by people, so instead she went to visit his wife. She wept as she spoke, “My Lady, God has protected you from poverty, and yet you and your husband still lead justly. You have seen and heard of our losses. I come to you in my time of need. When their men die, we women are humbled; hearts are hardened against us.”
ʿAttaf’s wife inclined her head. “Amira,” she said, “our treasury is yours. It’s true: I’ve never been poor. But the only reason I didn’t offer you support earlier is that I didn’t want to break your heart by making you feel like a charity case. Whatever fortune we have now is in part from you and your people. Please, live with us. What we have is yours.” She gave Jundaba’s widow some of her own garments and designated a central place for the widow within her pavilion.
Jundaba’s widow stayed with ʿAttaf’s wife, eating and drinking with her, for a full week, and nothing was withheld from her. Then ʿAttaf returned from his council, and his wife told him of Jundaba’s widow. ʿAttaf’s eyes grew misty, and he murmured, “Treat others as you want to be remembered.”
* * *
—
It so happened that the two women were both pregnant, and they began labor on the same day. One on each end of the pavilion, they were both attended by the midwives. The widow gave birth first, to a son as stunning as the full moon. Then ʿAttaf’s wife gave birth to a girl like the rising moon. She was named Layla, “Night,” and the boy was named Sahsah, “Bright.” They thrived like two shining stars and were raised together.
When they turned fifteen, they were both outstanding among their peers. Layla had black eyes and a long, graceful neck, and her smile was like a light in the darkness. Sahsah had a noble bearing and a gift for eloquence. Bravery shone from his eyes, and he moved with grace.
Layla would join her companions to pick flowers in the meadow, and Sahsah would go out to be in nature. One day, as Layla gathered blooms into her arms like a peacock’s tail, Sahsah was taken by the lovely sight of her and the beautiful surroundings. His heart was wounded by the coquetry of her eyes. It overflowed, its contents pouring from his tongue in the form of poetry.
When Layla heard him, she was embarrassed and said, “Sahsah, you disgrace me with your poetry.”
He replied, “My Lady, I neither meant you nor named you.”
Worried nonetheless, she returned home to confide in her mother. Her mother said, “He must have meant someone else. After all, he is merely an orphan living under your father’s protection.”
One of the maids heard these words and spoke of the incident to some of her girl cousins. Somehow the news reached Layla’s father. Furious that his daughter’s charms might be exposed and even made popular and unforgettable through poetry, ʿAttaf summoned his wife.
“Cousin,” he concluded, “this Sahsah has reached manhood, and Layla has reached womanhood. They are accustomed to each other’s company since childhood, but the time has c
ome for them to part ways. Otherwise we could lose face among the clans.” His wife agreed and went immediately to confront Sahsah.
“Peace be upon you,” Sahsah greeted Layla’s mother on her approach.
She returned his greeting, “Waʿalaykum salam. Son, you have reached manhood, as everyone can tell. It is time for you to move on before you bring shame on us all. I say this not because I don’t like you, but because I am concerned what people might say about us.”
Sahsah’s head and shoulders dropped, as if pulled down by reins. As he turned, tears flowed down his cheeks. He walked home, composing gloomy love poetry in his head.
When he complained to his mother that Layla’s parents had cut off their support and forebade him from seeing Layla, she replied, “Son, this is what comes of that tongue of yours. If you had not spouted off poetry about Layla, we would be living comfortably all our lives. You put your uncle and his family in danger of gossip. You endangered Layla’s prospects for marriage. Anyone envying or resenting them is sure to benefit from your behavior. You are merely an orphan and should not abuse the favor of those who helped raise you. Now you leave your moping and mooning around, and get to work. You and I will have to rely on our own strength now.”
“No!” Sahsah broke into verse:
I am alight with passion—
For Layla, lonely
Blame me if you want,
It means naught to me.
