RBR BARRETO
Many certainties are dissolved in the sands and mists of the desert, but answers are found where they are not expected.
— They say that Káf is the mother of all mountains,—said Júlio Meirinho as they examined the corroded frescoes in the room that served as their dining room. — And that they are all connected by underground branches and veins.
— It is true,— confirmed Hamad. —When Allah wants to shake the foundations of the world in any region of the planet, he orders one of these mountains to move and thus great earthquakes occur. My people say that there are regions beyond the limits of Káf that only Allah knows, as well as the creatures that live there.
Kadir and the geographer listened in silence to these stories while also examining the paintings. Several parts were damaged, but it was still possible to appreciate the richness of colors and details.
— Look at this green point that stands out here on one of its peaks – Ladslav pointed out – what could it be?
— They say it is a large emerald – replied Meirinho – So large and powerful that its rays dye all the seas and lakes in the world this color, as well as the celestial vault.
Kadir looked curiously at the Portuguese man and asked:
— How do you know so much about Káf, sir? Being a foreigner, you seem to know more than any of us here.
— I doubt it – replied the other man, letting out a loud laugh and looking sideways at the tuareg – I doubt that anyone has more knowledge about the legends of their land than the guardians of the desert. But perhaps my friend here has taken a vow of silence?
It was the Tuareg's turn to laugh in his own way.
— I have not taken a vow of silence – he said, shaking his head – I have a rule not to throw words to the wind. The legends about Simorgh, Káf and Paradise are only of interest to saints. I am not a saint. I am an ordinary mortal, concerned about my people, my tribe. However, I say what I know when asked. And what I know is what I have heard and seen throughout my life.
— Ahhh!! – I am not a saint either, nor do I have any pretensions of being one – continued the Portuguese man in good humor – but I do study these legends. I have been researching in various corners of the world. The legend of Káf is fabulous, capable of enchanting anyone. It is not for nothing that it is called the "mountain of contentment". Besides, in my own land there are stories about it. We have mountains and hills with underground connections. The Serra de Sintra, in the region where I was born, has been sung in verse since the Templars. There are also legends there about an intraterrestrial world and its fantastic people, the "jinas".
— I know there are stories about tunnels and caves beneath the earth. – the Russian observed – It is very likely that some of these tunnels are connected by geological devices that we do not yet understand. I have also heard of these "jinas". Could this be a description of beings that resemble the jhins here in the desert?
— At least there is a semantic similarity – continued Meirinho – But the "jinas", as far as I know, include other beings besides the legend of the genies of "Arabian Nights". In Western mysticism, they include human beings who have evolved to the point of knowing how to use their superior abilities and provoke miracles or phenomena that transcend our understanding. They also include angels and even beings that live in infraterrestrial or supraterrestrial dimensions, have super powers and only reveal themselves in special situations.
— These stories of an intraterrestrial world are very old, – continued the geographer. – but no physical evidence has been found to prove them.
Having said this, he moved a little closer to the corroded frescoes on the wall and then continued:
— Look at this, although corroded, there are markings in this painting that suggest tunnels, entrances, possibly passages to the interior of the mountain. As a mystic, I am able to admit the existence of an immense world below us, with connections and influence throughout the planet. Inhabited by fantastic, evolved or angelic beings who guide humanity in times of darkness. As a geographer, I can point out countless arguments that make this theory go down the drain.
— Well then! — said the Portuguese man — if these beings want to remain invisible or hidden, it is obvious that they would not leave clues that could be easily found by our science. In addition to not having technology, our science also has no interest in uncovering any of this.
Kadir followed the conversation without saying anything. He believed in angels, in Simorgh, in the mountain of Káf and also in the jhins. But the way the foreigners referred to these things that were sacred to him left him confused and a little astonished, not knowing how to behave. Should he continue listening and satisfying his own curiosity or should he stop such blasphemies?
While they were talking, some women from the Caravan came in offering bread and coffee. They, like the rest of the troops hired to accompany the foreigners, had preferred to set up their tents around the crevice that led into the ruins. Every caravaner knew the legends surrounding those parts and felt safer outside, among the familiar sands. They made fires on the ground and improvised stone ovens to bake bread, cook soup and other foods. They brought that part of the desert to life with singing, dancing and laughter.
When they saw the women coming in with the meal, the men stopped their conversation and thanked them for their kindness with smiles and bows. Then they sat down to enjoy the delicious coffee, the aroma of which was always welcome. Kadir, however, remained standing next to the paintings, his eyes fixed on the image of the Simorgh. A longing for solitude and silence returned to his soul. He thought about how sometimes silence is impossible, even in the middle of the desert. Right now, various noises were distracting his thoughts. From inside the hall he could hear the conversation of his companions, who were commenting on the taste of the coffee, the deliciousness of the bread and the unparalleled beauty of the local women. From outside came the lively singing of the caravaneers' dance, which must have lasted, from what he knew, until sunrise. He missed the dunes that surrounded his tribe's camp, now so far away. He knew them by heart and could stay there for hours without feeling lost or at risk. Here It was not the same. He felt confused, scared and depressed. The misfortune of young Aisha had left a bitter taste in his personal adventure. He had lost his optimism and his faith was being blown away like sand in the wind. He turned his attention back to the drawing of the bird. His soul was once again asking for some sign. In his entire journey, he had never felt so far from Paradise as he did now.
The Portuguese man returned to the subject of the "jinas" under Hamad's attentive and penetrating gaze.
—I'm not a linguist, but you can see that "jhins" and "jinas" have the same phonetic root, don't you think?— the Portuguese man commented. —What are the jhins to you, my friend?— he asked the tuareg.
—We don't talk much about them,— the other man replied dryly. —They are beings banished by Allah who disobeyed his orders. Some of the more ferocious ones were imprisoned and became slaves by King Solomon. Most of them hate humanity. So we shouldn't expect anything good from the jhins.
— Do you think a "jhin" could help the poor girl, Aisha? Isn't that her name? If she happened to enter one of those mysterious passages? – asked Bailiff.
The Tuareg looked at him firmly and said with conviction:
— Not a jhin, but the Simorgh certainly could.
Hearing this, Kadir turned to his companions with a growing interest in the subject.
— Do you really think that's possible, Hamad? – he asked with hopeful eyes.
— Hmmmm – replied Ladslav – I wouldn't expect such a miracle.
— On the other hand – murmured the prince, head down – she had no faith. She deceived us. In the eyes of Allah she committed a great sin. The bird of Paradise did not can help her.
— I think you're exaggerating, prince! Who among us has not sinned? And would God deny forgiveness just because of the lack of faith?
Kadir didn't answer. His fear of blaspheming against Allah was so great that he preferred silence.
— Well, — Ladslav said after a while, —if you'll excuse me, I'll go and try to get some sleep. Tomorrow we'll resume our journey.
—That's right,— Júlio Meirinho added, —let's take the opportunity to rest.—And you?— he asked, addressing Kadir and Hamad.
—Hmm? Us?— Kadir said, as if he were coming back from a dream. — We'll leave tomorrow too. There's nothing more to do here.—He sighed in discouragement and continued,—I'll head in the direction you said you saw Balam. I need to find him.
He stood up, turned around a little, looking at the frescoes in front of him, and spoke softly, almost to himself:
—I don't know what else to do if I don't find him…
—Then that's fine,— Meirinho said, also standing up, —tomorrow we'll go together. We'll go that way too.
Everyone left except for Hamad. The Tuareg remained silent, considering whether he should go with the prince or not. Initially, he had been very angry with his attitude towards young Aisha, considering him selfish and arrogant. But now, seeing him weighed down by guilt and regret, he felt sorry for him. He was a lost young man who only found strength in his own faith. He was certainly hoping to find Balam so that he could give him answers and restore to his soul the light that was missing. As for himself, was divided between hope and fear. His life as a wanderer in the desert had already taught him many lessons. He had found victory when everything was lost, just as he had felt hard losses when he thought everything was fine. In the sands and mists of the desert, many certainties dissolve, but answers can be found where one does not expect them. Deep down, he believed that he would find Aisha once again. It was a story that was still being told. Maybe Balam really could help. Then He decided to give fate and the little sheikh one more chance. He would continue with them the next day.