R.B.R. Barreto
And all she saw below her were images, as treacherous and unintelligible as the arts of the jhins.
Many hours had passed since the young Aisha had been snatched from the edge of the deep abyss inside the cave where she had fallen. Her consciousness could not understand what was happening, such was the speed with which the facts presented themselves. Her head was spinning and the strong whistling of the wind made her deaf to any other noise that might remain around her. In addition to not being able to see or hear properly, the speed with which she felt herself being dragged ended up robbing her of the rest of her senses. She did not know exactly where she was. She felt beneath her body a warm, soft and welcoming surface, as if she were lying on a silk quilt, perfumed and fluttering , that pulsated, giving her a sensation of life and well-being. Sometimes she thought she was falling and, at other times, that she was heading towards the stars. Everything was strange and full of unknown sensations. However, she felt no fear. Sometimes she thought she was dreaming because she could see images she couldn't understand. In her entire life, she had never seen anything other than the sands, oases, ruins and tents of her tribe and those she had visited. She had no idea what cities, palaces, towers, bridges, walls and gates were like. Even less so forests with a huge profusion of trees and animals. She also didn't know the sea, with its islands, huge waves, jumping fish, dolphins and whales. All of this seemed like a film and she made a huge effort to try to translate what she glimpsed from the height of this incomprehensible flight.
"Did I die?" she thought.
But the pains in her body, caused by the fall into the quicksand pit, made her realize that she was still very much alive, although confused and numb. "Do the pains of the body accompany the soul when it leaves?" her mind insisted on asking. In truth, she also knew nothing about death and what happened after it. She had heard Kadir and Balam talking about the seven heavens.
— "Did Muhammad really fly to the seventh heaven on his winged horse?" Kadir had asked his master.
— "Yes, on the Burak, you mean! The Burak is a messenger, a fantastic animal with the body of a horse, the wings of a peacock and the face of a woman. It belongs to no one. But it took our beloved prophet, under the orders of Allah – may He be praised – on a night flight to Jerusalem, to fulfill the Miraj. The Miraj, yes, is the flight of the Prophet of Allah to the seven heavens."
Aisha remembered Balam saying that, unlike ordinary human beings, Muhammad did not need to die to ascend to the heavens. Both he and the prophet Enoch were taken there, while they were alive, because they had a mission to fulfill. They stayed there for the time necessary to receive guidance directly from God. Muhammad's mission, according to him, was to reveal to the world the precepts of worship of the One God.
These memories made the young woman conclude that she was not dead. She was tired, in pain and dreaming, but alive. And all she saw below her were images, as treacherous and unintelligible as the arts of the jhins. She could still hear voices that insisted on calling her from afar.
– "Cailin!! Cailin!
She then gave in to her own weakness and her consciousness faded away, enveloping her in a deep sleep.
A long time later, Aisha woke up. She was still a little dazed, but she felt less pain and less impact on her resting body. She noticed that she was lying on a rocky plateau under a camel skin cloak, inside a cave. The sun was shining almost half a meter from the cave entrance, making her realize that the morning was already half over. The humming of a deep, feminine voice, in a contralto tone, came from outside so clearly that it made her stand up , moved by curiosity.
As she approached the cave exit, the song became clearer. A few steps away, she saw the woman who was humming. She was sitting on a rock and wrote in the ground with a stick. She seemed to be middle-aged and was dressed like a wandering gypsy woman in the desert, with flowing clothes and an excess of fabric that hung over her shoulders. Her head was completely covered by a cloak of the same color as her clothes, which ended wrapped around her neck. But her face was uncovered, revealing thin features, a prominent chin, and a sharply aquiline nose, like an eagle, and with feet were bare and covered in dust.
Noticing the young woman's approach, the woman stood up and walked towards her. She was quite tall, and with each movement, her clothes fluttered even more and the excess fabric on her shoulders rose behind her, like wings. She was such a strange and imposing figure that Aisha was surprised and almost retreated into the cave. However, she stood firm. She had already experienced too many strange things to run away in fear. The woman continued as if she had not noticed the impression she had caused and said:
— I'm glad you're awake, my young Cailin! Do you feel better?
The young woman remained in the same place. She was too tired to think, but she couldn't understand why the woman called her by that name that came to her from the past? That even she herself had forgotten long ago?
— Madam, — she said, — my name is Aisha. I don't know why you call me by that name. Who told you that's my name?
—Well, you yourself, — the woman replied in a nonchalant tone. —"You talked a lot while you were sleeping.
The young woman hesitated for a moment, confused and still dazed. She looked back into the cave and asked:
—How did I get here?
— Leave it for late, my girl, — the woman replied, beckoning her with a gesture. — Come and eat something. You're very weak. Would you like me to call you Aisha? No problem. Come, Aisha! Come and eat, — she concluded, laughing.
— And what's your name, ma'am? — the young woman asked.
The woman smiled enigmatically and said:
—I don't know why we need a name to be known. Why isn't it enough to be who we are?
Aisha looked at her in surprise. She then smiled and continued:
— Zahira!! Call me Zahira. It's a name like any other.
Although she didn't understand, Aisha continued:
—So, Mrs. Zahira! Can you tell me how I got here?
—You really don't know? Don't you have any memories?
— No, I don't – said the young woman with an anguished expression – everything I remember seems like a dream.
— Then leave your dreams in their place – interrupted the woman – and come eat, because that's the most important thing now.
She approached the young woman and gently took her by the arm, leading her to the rock where she had been sitting.
— I hope you don't mind – continued the woman apologetically – I don't have much to offer. But these reed roots mixed with flour will warm your stomach. They're raw… it's true, and don't have much flavor either! But they will give you strength. You need strength, my girl.
Aisha looked at the mixture that the woman was offering her on top of a rock and made a huge effort to try to eat it. In fact, the mixture had no taste at all and, at first, it made her a little nauseous.
— Try again – insisted the woman – don't give up. I'll get you some water to help you.
It was then that Aisha realized that they were on the shores of a large lake, surrounded by reeds, palm trees and covered by several species of aquatic plants.
— By Allah! – she exclaimed.
The woman approached the lake and came back with the water in a jar she had improvised from a piece of dried palm tree trunk.
—As I said, — she explained, —I carry almost nothing with me. I have no utensils. So ! Be a good girl and drink it right here. And try to eat.
Aisha obeyed, increasingly surprised. Water helps her swallowed the food and then she really began to feel better. After a while she asked again.
—Mrs. Zahira, where am I? What place is this?
—In the great desert, — the woman replied, laughing, "where else could I be?
—I don't know, — the confused young woman continued, trying to organize her thoughts. — Last night I thought I saw so many strange things that I even believed I had died. It seemed like I was flying on the wings of a big bird. But it could also be the angel of death dragging me to the other side.
—If you don't remember where you came from, — the woman said, —it will be difficult to know where you are. Do you know where you came from?
The young woman shook her head, still confused:
— I know I were with my master and his friends, in a buried mosque... – shespoke slowly, as if he were talking to himself. — My lord Kadir, Hamad the Tuareg and I were in a mosque that looked very old and buried in the sand... I think it was very far from here. And then... then I ran away.
— You ran away? – said the woman, feigning surprise. "Why did you run away?"
She lowered her head and spoke sadly in a low tone.
— Because I deceived my lord...
Then, in an almost automatic tone, she narrated all her misfortune of escape, fear, fall and loneliness in the cave until the moment when, without knowing how or by whom, she was rescued from the edge of an immense abyss. From then on, everything was confusing. Aisha ended her compelling narrative and withdrew into herself, lowering her eyes to the ground. The woman noticed the deep sadness that was in her soul and intervened with a gentle gesture.
— Now, my girl, do not let yourself be overcome by sadness. Today you may feel tired, discouraged and sad. But tomorrow, when the day dawns again, you will see that you are stronger. And you will become stronger each day that you face fear and pain.
Aisha felt a tear roll down her face and wrapped herself more tightly in the folds of her clothes.
— You did not deceive the young prince. He was the one who did not know how to see the truth before his own eyes. – continued the woman – Think about the Tuareg warrior, for example, for how long did you manage to deceive him?
Aisha forced her memory and remembered that from the beginning, since they first saw each other, the Tuareg had looked at her suspiciously. She now thought that perhaps it was no coincidence that he had discovered her so early.
Shaking her head, full of doubts and resentments, she replied:
—Hamad is a wild warrior, arrogant and suspicious. He doesn't trust anyone. My master Kadir is different. He trusts everyone, he doesn't see evil. He wants to be a saint and thinks everyone is the same as him... he is very disappointed in me.
—Come on, girl! I assure you that your prince is not a saint. Saints look for the good in others, but they don't let themselves be fooled by anyone, by any of the human weaknesses. That is the difference between saints and fools.
The young woman looked her indignantly
— I assure you that he is not a fool – she insisted
— Calm down, my girl. Your young prince is not a fool either. A little naive, but not a fool. He must have learned a good lesson after that. But tell me more about the other one, the warrior. Why do you think he distrusted you?
Trying to describe Hamad, Aisha realized that she had been unfair in accusing him of arrogance. Despite all the distrust he had in fact shown since the first time they met, he had always been kind, even when he discovered her secret. He had left her free to decide whether to reveal the truth or not. He had not pressured her and had even protected her many times.
— Hamad – she repeated with a lost look as if she were seeing him in front of her – is a brave warrior, for sure. He also looks like a prince and is very brave. I owe him my life!
She thought a little more and continued:
— At first everything seemed normal. He treated me like a common servant. Until he asked my name – she paused for a moment also analyzing the facts – I don't know why. When I told him the name I was using under male disguise – Randú – he became very curious. He said it wasn't a common name. And he hasn't stopped watching me since then.
— Hmm... – the woman grumbled in a low voice – Again this story of "names". I don't think it was the "name", little one. I think he really recognized you, your essence. I think he discovered your secret, sooner than you think.
Aisha felt a slight shiver that she tried not to pay attention to or to know why.
— He insisted on saying that I was not a slave.
— He is right... the women of your lineage descend from Makena, queen of the jhins and men, beloved of Sulayman, the great sage. You were never a slave. You are free like your sisters of the desert.
The girl replied sadly:
— I am sorry, Mrs. Zahira! But what you say is just beautiful words. I know nothing about lineage. What I am in truth is a runaway slave, a horse thief. A grain of sand that wanted to chase the sun.
Then, pulling her clothes up a little, she showed the brand stamped on her shoulder.
—Look, madam. This is the truth. I bear the mark of my masters, just like the horse I stole. No matter how much I run away and hide, this is the truth. I am as much a slave now as I was when I was born.
—Ahh, girl... what an illusion!! No one is born a slave. Human beings are the ones who do that. Human beings who do not know Allah and his infinite mercy. They are the true slaves of the illusions they create.
Seeing that her words made no sense to the young gypsy, the woman shook her head and continued:
—This story of yours will not end until you recognize yourself and the ties that bind you to the past. Ties that were strong enough to bring you here. Don't you understand? The wise tuareg recognized them, in a way.
Aisha continued to look at the other woman with a frown, showing the enormous effort she was making to understand what was being said to her. The woman then concluded impatiently:
—Do you know what I think? You and Hamad need to spend some time on the Mountain of Recognition, just like what happened to Father Adam and Mother Eve when they left Paradise. They were lost here for a while, separated and forgotten about each other. They even forgot their own names. They wandered for 200 years until they met at Jabel Arafat – the Mountain of Recognition.
—And what do you ladyship think I should remember?— Aisha asked in a tone that was both challenging and disbelieving.
The woman looked at her complacently and with a half smile on her lips, but said nothing more. Then she straightened up and said:
—Come eat some more, girl. There is plenty of water around here. You can bathe and drink as much as you want.
It was true. The lake of clear waters was quite inviting for a bath and also to quench her thirst. Aisha washed her feet, face and hands at the edge of the lake, where she remained for a while, contemplating her own face in the mirror of the water. For the first time, questions about her own origins crossed her mind. Who was she? Where did she come from? Who were her parents? These answers were hidden in the mists of the past where her memory could not reach. For a long time she had lived with the certainty that she was nobody. A slave whose destiny was to serve her masters. But, even believing this, she had had the courage to seek a different destiny. And now, this new destiny demanded answers. There was a puzzle in front of her. Other characters entered her story that was no longer limited to Kadir. Hamad, Balam, even the two foreigners and now this mysterious woman named Zahira, seemed to bring her news of this distant past that insisted on resurfacing. The feeling she had for Kadir had been a kind of driving force. It had given him the initial impetus to change his life path, which was based on the tribe's routine and daily tasks. Now she realized that this impulse was already within her and was just waiting for an opportunity to awaken. Thus, little by little, but quite clearly, Kadir was losing the leading role in his story.
These thoughts made her lose track of time. The sun was already a third of the way across the horizon when the woman approached her once more and said:
— My girl! I will have to leave you soon. I cannot stay after sunset. I have other matters to attend to.
The young woman looked at her with an anguished expression, still immersed in the doubts that haunted her.
— And you can't take me with you?? How am I going to stay here alone without knowing where to go?
— Your feet wouldn't reach where I'm going – she said dryly and without giving many details – But don't worry! Soon you will have help and you will know what to do.
— Help?? – the young woman replied, looking around – You yourself said there is nothing around here.
— There is nothing that ordinary eyes can see – the woman replied – but you have important friends. You will not be abandoned. Rest! Eat! Regain your strength. When luck comes, be prepared and move forward.
Aisha made a gesture of discouragement.
—I have no friends! — she said, shaking her head.
The woman simply smiled and shook her head.
—Can I give you one piece of advice? Don't lose faith. The children of Allah, may He be praised, are courageous people. They don't let themselves be discouraged. Be a courageous person. Get up, eat, breathe… and wait. Good luck will find you.
Aisha spent some time considering what the woman had told her about good luck.
—Until now,— she said, —I have never encountered anything good that I could call luck.
—Really?— Zahira replied, looking irritated.—Maybe your judgment is a little dull and you can't recognize the good things that life offers in every moment. Even in difficult times, good things happen. But if you insist on this for now, I have no more advice to give you. Except that you should eat." Respect the life that Allah, the Great, has preserved for you and feed yourself.
And with an imperative gesture, she pointed to the stone where she had been sitting before:
— Go, enjoy! The mixture I left you will last for more than a day.
Aisha obeyed almost automatically and went to the side of the stone. With an almost irritated gesture, she took the mixture of roots and leaves that the woman had presented to her the first time. Its taste was not pleasant, as was its texture. The young woman ate slowly until she almost felt like she was choking. Then she picked up the palm bark jar and went to the lake to drink water. She was on her second sip when she heard behind her a somewhat rude cry, like that of an injured bird, and then a melodious sound accompanied by a cool breeze. She turned to see what was happening, but a ray of the setting sun hurt her eyes, making her momentarily blind. Aisha rubbed her eyes and, when she could see again, she looked around and saw nothing. Then she looked for Zahira and couldn't find her either. She got up quickly and started searching around, calling the woman by name:
— Mrs. Zahira, madam? Where are you?
She went around, entered the cave, climbed the highest dunes to look ahead, but saw no one. The woman had disappeared as smoke.
— "Could it be a jhin?" she thought as she looked around with an expression of fear. "Could it be that I've been talking to a jhin all this time?"
This thought made her spine lock up and her body start to tremble. She decided to go back to the rock where she had been eating to rest and organize her thoughts. When she sat down, she noticed an enormous bird feather lying on the ground on one side of the rock. Aisha picked it up carefully and examined it in amazement. The feather was much larger than anyone could have imagined. It was mother-of-pearl in color and gave off colorful glows every time it was moved or the light of the setting sun fell on it. It gave off a soft, pleasant odor that made the young woman remember the previous night, when she dreamed she was being carried through by the airs. She raised the feather to her nose to confirm the smell when she noticed something written on it, a name, in silver characters, only perceptible when the feather was turned at a certain angle. Aisha examined the inscription with great curiosity, but she did not know how to read and so could not understand what was written. However, something very strong took hold of her being.
An emotion that she could not explain. She threw herself on her knees to the ground and raised the feather with both hands at the height of her head and towards the last rays of sunlight. The feather shone and the inscription shone as if it wanted to tell her something. Some of the countless pieces of the enormous puzzle that was forming before her were beginning to fit together. With her voice choked with emotion, the girl stammered:
— The Simorgh!!!
The whole time she had been with Kadir, Hamad and the foreigners, she had heard them talking about the fantastic Simorgh bird that lived on the outskirts of Paradise, beyond the Mountain of Káf. But she could not quite understand what they were saying and felt that it was none of her business. Paradise was not for her and the fabulous bird, if it existed, would never pay her any attention. These dreams belonged to the little Sheikh, Kadir, on his journey towards sainthood. At the same time, Zahira's warnings came to mind, shortly before she disappeared. Perhaps she was so numb that she did not know how to recognize the good things that were happening to her. In a flash she remembered when she had been taken in by Kadir, almost dead in the desert, saved by Hamad during the sandstorm and snatched away by the air, just as she was about to fall into the abyss. Now her consciousness was clearing and she could be sure that she had flown all night on the wings of the bird and that this bird was indeed the Simorgh. A feeling of enormous gratitude enveloped her! How could she not have understood? How could she have been so ungrateful as to say such harsh words to Mrs. Zahira, who had fed, sheltered and protected her during her recovery?
She almost automatically reproduced the gesture she had seen Kadir to do during his prayers to Allah. Still on her knees, she bowed, stretched her arms out in front of her body and placed her forehead on the ground in a complete attitude of recognition and gratitude. The prayer she had heard so many times now came to her lips almost automatically. It didn't matter that in most cultures she had lived in, women did not pray and slaves even less so. What mattered was the recognition that came from the depths of her soul.
—"Allah is great!! There is no other God but Allah!"
The expression of these feelings made her feel a little calmer. She stood up with a lighter soul and went to sit on the stone. She picked up the same twig that the woman had been using to scribble on the ground earlier and began to scribble as well. She tried to reproduce the bird, without much success, and then tried to draw Kadir's face. But the young sheikh's features became increasingly blurred and distant. She could not even remember his eyes or the shape of his face. On the contrary, another face and another look appeared more forcefully and clearly. Aisha was startled when she recognized the Tuareg's features. The depth of that look seemed to hypnotize her soul. She got up quickly, erasing the marks she had made with her feet. The sun was already setting and night was beginning to take over. She washed herself quickly, performed a brief hygiene ritual and forced herself to eat a little more of the mixture the woman had left for her. Although it tasted bad and was difficult to taste, she felt that it brought her incalculable well-being. A short time later she went back into the cave where sleep quickly overcame her. Only this time it was a light, restful sleep. She fell asleep clutching the bird's feather on the same stone slab where she had woken up in the morning. The next day she woke up early to the sound of a flute and the faint scent of incense.
She stood up surprised and, at the same time hopeful, imagining that Mrs. Zahira had returned, despite everything. She arranged her hair and clothes around her, picked up the feather that was now her greatest treasure and went outside the cave. When she reached the outside, she stopped suddenly, surprised by what she had just found. Instead of Zahira, an old man was sitting on the stone, playing a flute and tapping his foot on the ground as if he were in the rhythm of an invisible dance. When he saw her leave, he stopped playing and stood up, smiling.
— Ahh... finally!!
With wide eyes, Aisha stared at the old man without understanding anything and her speech came out as if it came from deep within, from a place beyond comprehension.
— Master?? My Lord Balam??
— Salam Aleikum, my girl!!