R.B.R. BARRETO
Towards Paradise, all souls are equal.
After leaving Aisha to her thoughts, Hamad went to find Kadir once again contemplating the frescoes of the Mountain of Káf and the Simorgh bird. The young man, with an improvised crayon, tried to reproduce the drawing behind the map he had received from the foreigners. Hamad realized that he was no longer the least bit concerned about the young woman's situation. He was scribbled fiercely on the paper, eager to ensure that the main details of the painting were recorded. At least enough to jog his memory for the rest of the trip. But, the young prince was far from being a good drawer. That's why he seemed so irritated.
— Drawing should be an act of contemplation. Not a task that robs you of peace of mind – commented Hamad noticing the frustration written on the young man's face.
— You say that because you might know how to draw better than me – replied the young man – I'm here trying the impossible and also taking the opportunity to clear my mind a little or I'll end up suffocating with this new situation – I don't know what to do yet – and with an irritated gesture he pointed in the direction of the room where the guilty young woman was.
— You get angry very easily, little Sheikh. You're not even halfway through your youth yet. There are much bigger things to get angry about. Let me see what I can do with your drawing.
With a curious look, Kadir handed the crayon and the paper to the Tuareg. Hamad examined the tip, adjusted it with the pocketknife and, surprisingly quickly, traced the sketch of the painting in front of him, reproducing both the bird and the mountain.
— There you go, young prince, now all you have to do is adjust it...
Kadir looked at the drawing in admiration and exclaimed:
— Hamad, you are truly fabulous! I never imagined you had this gift. The desert warriors really amaze.
Hamad was going to say that he never thought it was a gift and that he had learned to draw in the sand and on the rocks since childhood. But he was interrupted by the sound of camels and horses outside, followed by a gallop that was moving away. He stood up, straightening his senses and exclaimed exalted:
— By Allah, sir! I believe it is Aisha. The poor girl has gone mad. She won't last a day in this heat.
They left out in time to see Aisha to run away between the floating dunes riding Taiff. Without thinking much, the Tuareg mounted his horse even without the saddle, and immediately set off in pursuit her. Kadir followed him in a rush, leaving all his things behind.
Aisha was run away as if all the Jhins of the desert were chasing her. She seemed to have gone mad, galloping toward the uneven and inhospitable dunes, oblivious to the storm that was gathering on the horizon. The terrain was unstable, dotted with slopes, canyons and quicksand. The wind that came in the opposite direction raised dust and blurred the vision, leaving riders and mounts unaware of what was ahead. Hamad's horse, accustomed to the hardships of the desert, instinctively jumped over obstacles, followed by Kadir's mount, which was right behind. It was a magnificent sight, that young warrior, galloping fiercely with his blue cloak flapping in the wind. The Tuareg knew that at that pace and conditions he would catch up with the young woman at any moment. However, he prayed that no setbacks arising from the storm would cross their paths. He shouted to Kadir:
— Look, sir. She's following those rocky elevations to the left. She's being smart and avoiding the storm...
But, while he was still adjusting his horse to the new direction, he saw the young woman's mount rear up in the distance, kick as if it were neighing and disappear from his sight in a few seconds.
The tuareg stopped for a moment, scanning the horizon with an apprehensive look to see if he could see any more sign of the Aisha and the horse. However, he saw nothing but the hazy and uncertain horizon. Kadir also approached, scanning the horizon uselessly. He was completely lost in the face of those stormy escape. "Why didn't I bring my grandfather's binoculars?" he thought to himself.
— Where did she go? - he asked the tuareg
— I don't know. I think they fell after that dune – and he galloped off towards the place where he imagined he had seen the scene unfold, being immediately followed by the prince.
The storm had moved away and left the horizon clearer, but they could still see no sign of either the young woman or the horse. After a few minutes of futile searching, the tuareg stopped once more and began to scream at the loudest possible voice.
— Aishaaa!!!
Almost at the same moment, Kadir had the same impulse and began to shout:
— Randúuuu!!
Only the echo responded reproducing the voices of both of them. This made Kadir realize that his companion Randú did not exist. A certain sadness invaded him, forcing him to realize how much he had become attached to pilgrim man's company. He was a dedicated and courageous soul and, whatever the case, he missed him. Then a genuine concern took hold of your soul. Whether it was Randú or Aisha, he wanted to be sure that everything was okay.
—What could have happened? Where could she be? — he asked, feeling anguish flood him.
—The desert leaves no trace, sir. There is no way of knowing which way she and the horse went — Hamad replied in a dejected tone as he searched the vastness around him — but we were so close! I am sure I saw them fall. The old bay horse reared and fell... I am sure. They must be around here, maybe further ahead.
— Then let's find them – said Kadir, urging the horse forward, followed by Hamad, who was slowly scanning the horizon with his forehead wrinkled with concern.
They passed the dune that had marked their last sighting of the fugitive woman. They entered a vast plain with veins of salt, indicating that they were in an area below sea level where the pressure was stronger and the heat unbearable. The salt crystals reflected the sun's rays forming a luminous mist that confused the eyes and senses.
— Be careful, sir – said Hamad – This terrain is very unstable. This brightness prevents us from seeing ahead and there are pockets of quicksand everywhere, look.
Following the Tuareg's instructions, Kadir noticed a faint movement in the sand in some areas. In a certain area, he could see a huge whirlpool of large diameter that seemed recently formed and still in motion. It looked like a motor turning , pulling the sand towards its center. The young man stopped suddenly, realizing the danger and at the same time horrified.
—For God's sake, Hamad, could the poor girl…? — He didn't have the courage to finish his thought.
Hamad, for his part, had already been filled with this fear since he had seen from afar,the young woman and her horse fall. He knew that the region was inhospitable. Bedouins, gypsies and other desert people avoided it. Ancient tribes called it the "Abode of the Jhins" and claimed that they attacked caravans and groups, taking men, animals and their belongings to their home in the underworld through the ditches and ducts covered in quicksand. Not even the Queen of Sheba, in the time of King Sulayman or Solomon, escaped this fate. It is said that she and her entire kingdom disappeared into the sands, taking with them a true treasure, including the gifts she had received from the king, among which was the Ark of the Covenant itself. According to the people of the desert, she was the last guardian of this sacred artifact. The Tuareg knew all these legends and from everything he had experienced in the desert they didin't put then in doubt. The ancient tribes also claimed that the underworld is very extensive, cutting across the four corners of the desert and continuing beyond the sea and the mountains.
"Inch Allah!" he exclaimed. "Inch Allah! May the poor little girl find a safe and comfortable place when the sands deposit her in the underworld."
Hearing this, the little sheikh felt a certain despair.
What are you saying, Hamad? Do you think it is useless to continue the search? Do you think the poor girl really fell into a pit of quicksand? Oh, great Allah!... what a horrible death!
Desolation and sadness were etched on Kadir's face. He remembered himself buried in the sand in complete despair. On that occasion he had been saved by his companion with a superhuman effort and he had never thanked him for it. He had never admitted that being snatched from the portals of death at the last second had brought great relief to his soul. To die without deserving Paradise is a great dishonor for men of faith. It is a sign that his life was worth nothing. That he was not worthy of considering himself a follower of the prophet. Now he was able to understand that he owed him more than his life and that everything else was irrelevant. When a fellow traveler extends his hand to him, what does his sex, his social position or even his religious faith matter? In the direction of Paradise, all souls are equal. He dismounted from his horse, took a few steps towards the east and then fell to his knees. The gesture of tearing his clothes and rubbing his face with the earth from the ground, as is customary among the people of the desert, took on a tragic dimension far beyond the ordinary for young Kadir. It was his soul that cried out in repentance and contrition. With his face to the ground, covered in tears and mud, he cried out for Allah's mercy as he had never done before.
Hamad heard his companion's crying like a distant cry. With the eyes and senses of an eagle, he searched everything around him for signs. He felt a deep sadness for the loss of the young gypsy woman for reasons he had no time to evaluate. He also felt worried, but he could not afford to despair. Every second that passed was essential; it could mean life or death. The vast expanse formed a sort of valley between the dunes. Exploring that territory, whether on foot or on horseback, was pure madness. He knew that he would find nothing but skeletons and the remains of luggage left along the paths. But he wanted to look anyway. He would not forgive himself if he did not try until the end. Thus, while Kadir covered his face with the desert sand, trying to express the pain and conflict that was in his soul, the brave tuareg rode through the most inhospitable part of that region, heading towards the salt mirrors that, according to legend, were the dried tears of the Jhins, shed during the period in which they were slaves of King Sulayman.
The regions of moved sand could be recognized by a gentle concavity in the shape of a spiral that headed towards a center. Hamad moved from the concavity that attracted the most attention and that when he arrived still seemed to be moving. He carefully stopped, tied the end of a rope to the horse and held the other end firmly, lay down on the sand and began to move slowly, like a reptile, until he reached a point as close as possible to the center. He began to feel the sand moving over his body as if it wanted to swallow him. He retreated to a safer position and, with the help of his sword, turned the sand in front of him, trying to find some clue or sign. But there was nothing. He had to give up and return to Kadir side.
Later, they rode back to the Mosque, following the movement of the setting sun. The beauty of the moment contrasted with the sadness that was in their souls. Silence is a kind of ode to any pain. The two lived the depths of this silence, mulling over reasons and guilt, each in their own way.
On the way, they passed a troupe of dervishes or crazy desert pilgrims who danced and sang. The sound of their flutes and instruments sounded like screams of lamentation that broke the magic of the silence in which they had taken shelter. One of the dervishes broke away from the group and approached Kadir's horse which got scared and almost threw him to the ground. He was spin around fiercely, faster than the whirlwinds of the monsoons, and it was as if he were possessed by a spirit of the sands. His eyes were shooting sparks of fire and his mouth was foaming in a spasm of madness. Kadir was overcome with fear while the pilgrim shouted in a strange language, always spinning and gesturing incomprehensibly. The Jhins have no face, but they can take on the face of whatever they want, and that is what is frightening. That is what makes them so fearsome. What was he trying to say? What horrible news would bring him of the angels that these spirits spy on furtively? He would not want to know, he closed his eyes and moved his horse forward, followed by Hamad who simply watched the scene without interceding. The crazy "dancer" of the desert also advanced without any explanatory gesture and follow his path along with the group, always spinning and disappearing in the dust that they themselves raised behind them.
A short time later, extremely exhausted, they were back at the ruins. The caravan of foreigners who they had been said goodbye to less than three days earlier had also just arrived . Kadir did not want to talk to anyone. With his face muddy from the mixture of tears and sand. he went to squat in one of the darkest corners of the mosque, moving away from everyone and remaining silent. It was up to Hamad to help the new pilgrims, helping where possible and explaining what had happened.