Interpreter of Winds

by Fairoz Ahmad

  The King, grateful of his saviour, said, “Your breath is as sweet as your deeds. We thank you, Zephyros, for saving Us. And We shall wait for the visit of the four winds. What has happened to the ship carrying the King of Ithaca?”

  “O Wise King, the men of Odysseus the Cunning had ripped apart the skin bag, thinking that it contains gold, for men are by nature foolish and greedy. The ship is now shipwrecked in the Land of the Giants, and many men have perished. Their troubles, however, have yet to begin.”

  And so the King and Zephyros parted ways. The king lived on through the ages, in many guises and in many places, never once growing old. In ancient Egypt, he was forewarned by the Hebrew wind, Ruwach, of an impending plague of locusts in the land of the Pharaoh. And soon after, he chronicled Moses’ journey to the Promised Land, where he witnessed Ruwach part the Red Sea upon Moses’ command. But it was only when he was at Mount Sinai that he realised Ruwach the Hebrew wind and Eurus the east wind were one and the same wind.

  At the turn of the 17th century, he became a Professor of Literature in Cambridge, out-arguing and out-debating his peers, but sometimes kept certain knowledge to himself. For who would have believed him had he said Shakespeare had stolen these words in Henry IV from him?

  The southern wind

  Doth play the trumpet to his purposes

  And by his hollow whistling in the leaves

  Foretells a tempest and a blustering day

  And when his students correctly dissected that The North Wind and the Sun from Aesop’s Fables had their origins in Sophocles’ tryst with a boy, nobody knew that he was the boy who stole Sophocles’ cloak after their tryst. When the 18th century arrived, he started to age, for he had lived for far too long. His hair began graying at the temples and he developed ailments each time the wind blew.

  And so one day, Zephyros visited him again. “Good evening, O Wise King. It is promised that I would meet you again towards the end of your journey. I trust you have led a rich and varied life.”

  “We have. But why does Our journey end with you?” asked the King with a slight cough.

  “I was once vengeful and fierce, like my brothers. This was before I met Flora, the goddess of spring. She mellowed me and hopefully had made me wiser. I am the winter of your old age,” Zephyros answered.

  “We love you. We met Chaucer when he was imprisoned during the Hundred Years War. Intent on comforting him, We told him that nothing was as sweet as the breath of Zephyros, for We still thank you for saving Our life two thousand years ago. But all writers steal and Chaucer likewise, stole my words for his Tales.”

  “Thank you, Wise King, for the kind words. It is, however, time, to return to your Palace of Glass.”

  “But We have no desire to return, for We love life too much and We insist that We continue Our journey.” But Zephyros ignored the pleas of the King and guided him back to his Palace of Glass.

  And upon his return, the King was confronted once again by the seven jars. “O, Wise King. I have waited two thousand years for your return. And now, please release me as you have promised”, the violet jar commanded.

  “We have decided to not honor Our promise. You shall remain as fragments under Our Palace of Glass, where you shall be under Our Mercy. And We command that you follow Our orders.”

  But the Palace of Glass was suddenly shrouded in darkness and the roof broke into a thousand pieces. Soon, the Angel Izrail descended and stood on the King’s long vacant throne. “O King of the Palace of Glass. You have trapped Muaqibbat, the Protecter. It had been most unwise of you, O King, to renounce your promise to him. You learnt about wisdom, but not faith. You learnt about the power of God, but not of His mercy. You learnt of illness, but not pain. You learnt about old age, but not of death.”

  And Izrail, the Angel of Death, boomed, “And thus, like the people of Ad, We sent upon them a Sarsâr wind in days of calamity that We might give them a taste of disgracing torment in this present worldly life. But surely the torment of the Hereafter will be more disgracing, and they will never be helped. And how the people of Ad suffered, so shall you.”

  And so the Angel Muaqibbat ascended to the Heavens once again, and the Hall of a Thousand Mirrors and the Palace of Glass were obliterated from the face of the Earth, leaving only the unbreakable glass throne and its dead King behind, to serve as a lesson to all.

  10

  At the end of the tale, the Wind bellowed with laughter, rousing the surrounding dunes. “That is indeed a good tribute, Dog. A good tribute indeed. I have met Zephyros before, although he is not as warm as you made him out to be. Nonetheless, as promised, I shall provide you with some assistance. Your first gift is this tiny bottle of foul-smelling grease. The second gift is a pair of socks. I trust you will find them beneficial.”

  “But what do I do with these? They look useless to me,” I cried hopelessly as the items fastened themselves around my neck.

  “There will be moments in your life when these gifts will serve purposes far greater than what you give them credit for. Here, have a final cup of tea,” the Wind offered again.

  I went quickly to the cup so that I could get on with my journey. But as I licked the tea, I felt a sensation I had never felt before. “This tastes different that the first two cups. Neither bitter nor sweet. Neither hot nor cold. It tastes… it tastes light.”

  “As light as the breath of a newborn child. And as light as the breath of a dying man. It is, in essence, as light as heaven’s breath,” the Wind smiled.

  11

  When I returned, I saw the camel sleeping under the shade. I stretched my legs and gave a soft bark, upon which he woke up. “How did it go, dog? Was the Wind able to help you?” the camel asked with a drawl.

  “It was a failure. We have wasted our time by trying to see him. I think he was mocking the significance of my cause. He also said that we made a mistake. That we walked in circles twice,” I said, trying to sound as gentle as possible.

  “While you were away, I reflected on our journey and came to the same conclusion. There was a point in our journey where I became confused, dog. I could not remember the shape of the dunes. I am sorry,” he drawled again, this time in a rather absent-minded manner.

  “You sounded tired. Are you ill?”

  “My bones are aching, dog.” he said, staring past the emptiness behind me. “Let us return home. It has been a long journey for me, and I am tired. And it seems that we have travelled all this way for nothing.”

  We trudged back home, although I noticed that his pace was slower than before. It was just before the sun set that I saw two great black crows swooping down the sky. To my horror, they landed on the camel’s back and began pecking on its hump.

  “Lie down, Ghati. Lie down!” I shouted. I jumped up his back and shooed the crows away. It was then that I noticed a sore on his hump. “There is a sore that has turned green on your back. They were pecking on that. Where did you get the injury?”

  “I injured myself on the day my master was killed. After his death, I shrugged off my saddle to show that I am now free. The sharp end of the saddle pierced my back, dog. I did not know the sore had not healed,” he said, his eyes wet with tears from the pain. “Now I understand why I have grown tired lately. I have heard of such sores. How it infects from the inside. I cannot shake the crows off the next time they arrive. They will come in bigger numbers.”

  “Let’s keep walking, camel. We will seek help,” I said, trying to assure him.

  “My legs are aching. I don’t think I can walk any longer,” he said, still staring at the darkness.

  It was then that I realised I could help him. “If you allow me, Ghati, I would like to climb on your back once more. And could you help remove the cap of the bottle hung around my neck?”

  “You may climb up. But for what purpose?” he asked after he uncorked the bottle with his teeth.

  I did not reply. I climbed up his back gently, clutched the end of the bottle with my jaw and overturned the conten
ts carefully so that they did not touch the sore. “The grease will prevent the crows from having a firm footing on your hump. And the smell will deter them from approaching,” I told him after I came down.

  “Thank you for the remedy. At the very least, I will not have to suffer further indignities. It is better that you leave me to rest here while you make your way home. Just follow the dune on the horizon, for that is precisely where we came from at the start of our journey.”

  “I would like to stay with you for a little longer, if you do not mind,” I insisted.

  “It is best that you make haste and return to your master. You will not be able to survive on your own in the desert.”

  “In that case, allow me to thank you for your friendship by offering a gift.”

  “What gift would be appropriate for a camel like me?” he asked weakly.

  “The gift of stories. For that is the only gift I can provide.”

  “Then it is a gift I would consider appropriate for this time and place,” he replied.

  “Very well. This is a story about friendship. And it is dedicated to you, my friend, for helping me in my task. Let me tell you the tale.”

  12

  The Camel, the Sphinx and the Angry Arab

  You must have already heard of the famous Persian fable about the camel and the caravan. This fable concerns itself with what happens after the caravan left, although we have to begin from the start, or start from the beginning, to understand how the camel got itself into this predicament.

  One cold night, as an Arab sat in his tent, a camel gently thrust his nose under the flap and looked in. “Master,” he said, “let me put my nose in your tent. It’s cold and stormy out here.”

  “By all means,” said the Arab, “and welcome,” as he turned over and went to sleep.

  A little later the Arab awoke to find that the camel had not only put his nose in the tent but his head and neck also. The camel, who had been turning his head from side to side, said, “I will take but little more room if I place my forelegs within the tent. It is difficult standing out here.”

  “Yes, you may put your forelegs within,” said the Arab, moving a little to make room, for the tent was small.

  Much later, the Arab was woken up a second time when he heard the camel pleading, “May I not stand wholly inside? I keep the tent open by standing as I do.”

  “Yes, yes,” said the Arab. “Come wholly inside. Perhaps it will be better for both of us.” So the camel crowded in. The Arab with difficulty in the crowded quarters again went to sleep. When he woke up the next morning, he was outside in the cold and the camel had the tent to himself.

  This is the fable as we know it. Open any children’s book in Persia and you will find this story. It is true. Believe me. We can detect the Persian-ness of the tale, since it casts the Arab in an unflattering light. Our fable begins the next morning, when the Angry Arab confronted the camel:

  “O camel. Last night, you sought to protect your nose from the cold. I agreed. Then you sought to protect your forelegs from the storm. I agreed. And later, you sought to stand wholly inside. Stupidly, I agreed. And now, realising my mistake, I shall now whip you for making a fool out of me,” said the Angry Arab, in excessively threatening tones.

  Before the Angry Arab had the chance, however, the camel bolted from the caravan. Now, before I continue with the story, it is important to clarify that this is no ordinary camel, for everyone knows that the Arabic language has sixteen words to describe camels. This is the Ghati kind.

  However, at that time, the Ghati camel was a delicate camel. It was useless. It could sprint at short bursts but tire subsequently. The Ghati realised that the only way to escape from the Angry Arab was to enter the desert. But the entrance to the desert was guarded by the Sphinx, which sought to impede travelers by asking them to solve riddles.

  Thus, upon reaching the desert, the camel was accosted by the Sphinx, who predictably bellowed, “O, camel. You may proceed only if you solve my riddle, failing which I shall devour you.”

  “Dear Sphinx, please tell me your riddle, then,” the camel implored.

  “What has four legs in the morning, two in the afternoon and three in the evening?” the Sphinx asked, with a stony face.

  “The answer is Man. Dear Sphinx, this riddle is so well known that it can now be found in every book in every decent marketplace. Children mock each other with this riddle now.”

  “O Camel, this makes sense. This explains why I have not devoured anyone for a long while. Had I known this riddle had been publicly traded on the marketplace, I would have asked my second riddle.”

  “Then ask me the second riddle, Sphinx, so that we can bring dignity to the process,” said the camel.

  “Very well then, if you insist. There are two sisters: one gives birth to the other and she, in turn, gives birth to the first. Name the sisters.”

  Without missing a beat, the camel answered, “The first sister is day and the second sister is night. Dear Sphinx, this is also commonly known. I have seen lovesick young men using the riddle in their poetry so as to impress the girls with the play of words.”

  The Sphinx looked dejected and after a lengthy rumination, said, “Dear camel, I did not know that this riddle, too, had been publicly exposed.”

  “Do you have any further riddles, then?” the camel enquired.

  The Sphinx said no (as it could not shake its head) and continued, “This is as far as my story goes, since the story only equipped me with two riddles and nothing more.”

  “If I may, Sphinx, I could offer you a new riddle. For your consideration, of course.” And upon receiving the blessing of the Sphinx, the camel whispered: “I have a nose yet I cannot sniff. I heat up summer but I am not the sun. I never lead but always guide. What am I?”

  The Sphinx pondered long and hard and gave seventeen different answers, all of which were incorrect. “I give up! What is the answer to this riddle?” The Sphinx asked in exasperation.

  “Sirius. The Greeks call it the Dog Star—the brightest star in the sky. It is the star nearest to the sun during summer,” the camel told him.

  The Sphinx cried for joy and would have jumped in elation had it not been firmly cast in stone. “As a reward, camel, please tell me what you wish for,” the Sphinx requested.

  “I wish for stronger legs, dear Sphinx, so that it could bring me to vast distances in the desert without tiring.”

  And thus, this was how the Ghati came to have strong legs that brought it across great distances in the desert. But this was not the end of the story. An hour later, the Angry Arab arrived and instructed the Sphinx, “Let me in. I was told the camel which I had been chasing all morning passed by here.”

  “You may enter if you could solve my riddle. Or else you will be devoured.”

  “Do not bother to recite me your riddle. The answer is Man. Now let me pass,” the Angry Arab said presumptuously.

  “No, that is not the answer. Let me recite you the riddle,” the Sphinx repeated.

  “As I have said earlier, you do not need to bother as everyone knows the answers to your riddles. If it is not Man, then you must be referring to the second riddle. The answer is day and night. Now let me pass.”

  “That is not the answer. O Angry Arab, let me tell you the riddle.” And as the Sphinx recited the new riddle to him, the Angry Arab began to realise his mistake. Unable to answer the new riddle, the Sphinx eventually devoured him.

  13

  At the end of the story, Ghati smiled at me weakly and said, “It is a good tribute indeed to my kind. And before you leave me, I thought I would give you a small gift in return for your companionship.”

  “What could you give to a dog like me?” I asked.

  “A name,” he replied.

  “But I already have a name.”

  “You have not used it since he fell asleep. This is a name to mark our journey.”

  “Then that is a gift I would consider appropriate for this time and place,�
�� I said as he whispered a word in my ear.

  And that was the last I saw of him.

  14

  I returned to my master’s house to find a thin, scraggly, old man sleeping in a faded yellowish mattress that had long lost its thickness. Nothing flickered when I switched on the lights. During my absence, the house had been ransacked and someone, perhaps the thieves, had nailed the windows with boards, to give an illusion that the house was abandoned. Light could only enter from the mouth of the door, which creaked unsteadily when touched. I could not find the parrot.

  I stared at the strange man who was still sleeping soundly, his white beard now reaching his knees. I gave him a lick and caught the whiff of a once familiar smell. When the nights became cold, I drew in the blanket to keep him warm and slept beside him to shield him from the cold, thinking that it helped. It was then that I realised the blanket was too short and left his feet exposed.

  Sometimes, when I could not sleep, I sat by the mouth of the door, amidst the darkness, and reflected on my strange journey. I wondered about my friend and the stories we told in the desert. I wondered when my master would wake so that I could tell him my name. I wondered about the cave of the seven sleepers and whether I had confused faith with loyalty or loyalty with faith. And once, under the dying light, I saw several spiderlings which had just hatched inching up the table. I watched them climb up the table in unison. Waiting. Waiting for the breath of heaven to lift them up in a gossamer of light.

  The Smell of Jasmine after the Rain

  Kang muji kang pinuji – Who prays is who is praised

  Kang nembah kang sinembah – Who worships is who is worshipped

  1

  It is said that each time the wind blows, the bones of old men rattle in pain. And it must be true, for amidst all the rattling noises, no one heard anything amiss.