She was surprised to see a mighty candle in the next room through the peephole. The holder was fashioned in gold and was larger than a human body. It bore a porcelain candle with a spreading flame of thin polished gold. Once again Winifred turned to their moulvi guide.
‘It is a resting place for Hazarut Esau, the prophet the Christians call Jesus Christ, when he should come to earth again. When he walked the Jordan sands he had no resting place. We have given him one.’
Winifred was overwhelmed by the kindness of a people who would build a resting place for a prophet other than their own.
The other two rooms had dirt floors and enclosed the dwelling of Mohammed and his daughter, Fatima. It was a humble dwelling, in stark contrast to the ornate decorations of the other rooms, containing only some cooking pots and two ancient string charpoys on which they had slept.
The room Karum Bux rented in Medina had the most luxurious carpet Winifred had ever seen. Around the walls were long, bolster-like cushions of embroidered red satin. There was no other furniture. Keeping the room spotless became the bane of her life. She had to restrain Pansy who wanted to run around and jump on the cushions. Cooking had to be done in a large saucepan placed on a charcoal brazier which stood on the carpet. She yearned to put down a few sheets of newspaper to protect the carpet as she would have done in Australia. She compromised by using of one of her husband’s shirts to roll out the dough for the chapattis.
There was a narrow, barred window through which she and Pansy could see right to the mosque door. Here the pilgrims took off their outdoor shoes, bathed their feet, then donned the slippers with curled-up toes which were provided. At night Karum Bux would take them to the mosque to see the hundreds of chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Some were like bunches of fruit and flowers, others in the shape of serpents with lights for eyes, or mosques with windows that lit up. It was the most beautiful sight Winifred had ever seen and she never tired of it. And Pansy would reach up her arms and squeal with delight.
* * *
The Al Bakia cemetery lay immediately to the west of the city. With its rusty iron gate it was in stark contrast to the opulence of the Great Mosque. Here there were further rituals to be observed, including entering on the right foot while Karum Bux recited the special prayers.
Winifred could see nothing special about the place and asked him why they had to visit it.
‘On the Day of Judgement twenty thousand souls will rise up, the first being Mohammed. Allah be praised.’
To Winifred it all looked sad and depressing. There were no flowers or ornaments, and pariah dogs roamed around scratching at the unmarked graves.
At the village of Old Medina they found another cemetery which was well cared for. Here were the graves of Abraham, his wife Sarah, and their relations and servants. In the town there were no books, except the Koran in Arabic, no pictures, no newspapers. History was handed down by word of mouth. All they knew of the outside world was the tales told them by pilgrims.
A few days later the camels were mustered for the journey back to Mecca. As they were preparing to leave, a woman whom Winifred had not met before came to see her, frantic because her husband was ill. Winifred knew nothing of medicine except Epsom salts, castor oil and Aspro tablets. She was reluctant to go with the woman, who became distraught when Winifred demurred. She knelt, touching the hem of Winifred’s chador, pleading with her to come and see the sick man. Winifred allowed herself to be led to where he lay, barely conscious, with a harsh rasping breath. All Winifred could offer were two Aspro tablets which the wife forced into his mouth.
Winifred thought that the man might have pneumonia and suggested the woman call a doctor and remain in Medina until her husband had recovered. But the woman was determined to press on, to give her husband a chance to take part in the closing ceremony so that he could become a hadji. And so the camel train set off with the dying man.
Two days later they had stopped at an oasis to water the camels and rest briefly, when the woman came searching for Winifred. Once again Winifred followed to where the husband had been tied in a sitting position to the stick that held up the howdah. He was so close to death that his wife was unable to force the two Aspro tablets Winifred gave her into his mouth.
The order came to remount and Winifred hurried back to where Karum Bux was waiting anxiously. With tears in her eyes she told him the man was dying. He tried to console her, saying, ‘It is considered a great blessing after a good life to sleep the last sleep in the Holy Land.’
Winifred was in a black mood that night. The trip had taken its toll. Hundreds of elderly pilgrims had died. She wondered what further trials lay ahead and whether she would have to watch Pansy die, and whether she and Karum Bux would die also. Then what would become of her two sons in Karachi? The thought that she had been selfish to insist on making the pilgrimage filled her with remorse and she felt weighed down with despair.
Later, there was a terrible cry from the front of the camel train. She knew instinctively that the sick man had died. Karum Bux tried to get the camel drivers to stop the train so they could say a prayer for the departing soul, but the drivers refused. Instead of stopping at the next water, they kept the train moving till late the next afternoon. For the first time the pilgrims could not dismount for morning prayers. When they finally stopped, the body of the man had stiffened around the pole.
The men dug a deep rounded mound in the sand, while the moulvi washed the body and swathed it in new calico. Because of rigor mortis the body had to be buried in a sitting position.
Not until the burial was over did anyone attempt to prepare a meal. But the drivers were still in a resentful, vengeful mood and the food was hardly on the fire before the pilgrims were ordered to remount. They had entered into a long stretch of desert and as Winifred looked back she saw the people from the oasis lift out the body and remove the new calico, before dumping the naked corpse on the sand.
Winifred spoke to the moulvi about it at the next stop, asking why the law didn’t prevent such happenings. He replied, ‘There is little law here as you know it. At least his bones will be picked clean by the birds, and polished by the sand until they become part of the desert, part of the Holy Land. No one could wish for anything more.’
The hardest part of the trip still lay ahead of them. The average speed of a loaded camel varied between five to fifteen miles an hour because of the sand. The journey back to Mecca became long and tedious. There were no regular days of travel. It depended on the distance between water. On Juma the camels rested. Food became scarce. To assuage the pangs of hunger Winifred took up smoking, making sure there was a piece of bread and a handful of dates for Pansy.
* * *
Towards the end of the trip Ibn Saud’s caravan caught up with them. It brought a change in the attitude of the camel drivers who, under scrutiny from the king, became more careful in the treatment of those in their care.
It cheered the pilgrims to see the green standard proclaiming, ‘There is no God but Allah’ fluttering on the lead camel. Behind was an escort mounted on camels, each leading a mare by the halter. The king rode behind, his undergarments covered by a white hooded cloak which floated out behind, his white headpiece held in place by a plaited black circle. A white camel without a rider was part of the entourage. Behind were the bodyguards, riding camels, each with a bandoleer slung across his shoulder and a rifle on the saddle.
When they stopped for evening prayers Ibn Saud’s servants erected tents made of grey woven cloth. Winifred walked across with Pansy to where attendants were caring for the animals, grooming the mares and feeding small balls of paste to the camels. Mother and daughter stopped beside the white camel. ‘I have never seen a white camel before,’ said Winifred to one of the attendants.
‘This is a special camel,’ she was told. ‘It is descended from the camel Fatima rode when she went with her father, Mohammed, into battle. It will be paraded at the final ceremony of the Hadj at Mount Arafat.’
&n
bsp; She was about to walk away when a man came out of the tent and bowed to her. ‘Bebe Zatoon, the king is giving an audience. He would like to meet you.’
Startled, Winifred could only stare at him. She looked around for Karum Bux, but he had gone to talk to the men in one of the other camel trains. Holding Pansy by the hand she stepped through the flap the attendant was holding for her. Inside, the tent was crowded. Winifred sat on the ground on a rug that was spread for her and Pansy, and red silk bolsters were brought so that they could recline. The attendant pointed to a handsome man wearing a black fez and dressed in a long white shirt and black silk overrobe. ‘The king is busy at the moment. He will speak to you later.’
There was a small stove in one part of the tent and a servant was preparing coffee. First he put the water on to boil. Winifred and Pansy watched as he picked up four handfuls of coffee from a container on the floor and put them on the stove to warm without burning them. Then he ground them in a mortar to a coarse, reddish coloured grit. He put the ground coffee in the pot and began to stir the mixture with a stick. The second it began to boil he took it from the fire and added some spices. It had been a long, slow process and Pansy was restless, but there was nothing Winifred could do but wait.
The coffee was served in small brown cups without handles and Winifred took one when the tray was passed, sipping the muddy liquid and giving Pansy a taste. The coffee tray was passed three times and Winifred noticed that it was served in a different order each time. Then the king rose to his feet and everyone else did the same. She and Pansy followed suit. He walked towards them and Winifred saw how tall he was. He stopped in front of her. ‘Bebe Zatoon, I have heard of you. Welcome to Arabia. You are enjoying your visit to my country?’
Before she could answer he had turned away and she found herself and Pansy being escorted out of the tent.
Karum Bux was scowling when he saw her. She hurried to his side. ‘I have searched for you everywhere. Where have you been?’
‘With the king.’
‘Why was I not informed?’
‘You were not here.’
She tossed some chapattis in a pan and prepared a meal of curried vegetables with lentils. Karum Bux ate it in silence and then wandered off, leaving her and Pansy to settle down for the night alone. She thought he must be angry with her for going into the king’s tent without asking his permission. But there was little she could have done. It would have been ungracious to have refused.
Three days later they rode into Mecca behind the king’s entourage.
Winifred had imagined that the most important parts of the pilgrimage were behind them. They had visited the mosques at Mecca and Medina, performed the prescribed rites and made long, arduous journeys by camel. But it was not so. Now they were at the Great Mosque for one last visit and she stood listening to a sermon which she could not understand. She was to learn from Karum Bux that the mullah was telling the faithful about the closing ceremonies. ‘They always take place on the ninth day of Dhu’l Hijja, the last month of the Moslem year. A pilgrim could atone for missing other parts of the hadj, but to miss the “stand” at Arafat is to miss the pilgrimage.’
There was a slightly fanatical light in his eyes which she had never seen before. ‘We will be walking in the footsteps of the Prophet, peace be upon him, when he made his farewell pilgrimage. Though he died soon after, he died knowing that he had obeyed the Messenger of the Lord. Islam had triumphed.’
Winifred gazed back at him, thinking that it was almost as if he would be happy to die once he had completed the pilgrimage. She wondered how long they would have to stand at Arafat, thinking of Pansy as much as herself, but did not like to ask. They would just have to endure it as best they could. Karum Bux took her by the arm. She was standing close and he had lifted Pansy onto his shoulders because of the mass of people jammed together listening to the sermon.
‘The mullah has said that on the day of the “standing” God descends to Arafat, which is the part of the heavens closest to earth. He points out the people of the earth to those in heaven to show them how we have come from all corners of the earth, tired and weary, burnt from the sun, to ask for His mercy.’
The journey to Arafat, which lay about twenty-eight miles east of Mecca, was too far for the family to make on foot so Karum Bux set about hiring a camel and driver, planning to travel with several other families. It was not easy, with so many others wanting the same thing. The camel drivers saw it as their last chance to extort money from the pilgrims. The group had bargained hard and paid for their camels in advance, arranging to meet at a certain place to begin their journey. When they arrived the drivers were waiting, but they demanded more money before they would bring the camels.
While the men argued, Winifred walked away with Pansy. It was then that she heard the soft snorting of a camel and found the camels they had hired already saddled. She went back and whispered the news to Karum Bux who, with some of the men, went to bring in the camels. The party started off with the camels being led by the men, while the drivers walked behind, angry at being thwarted but knowing they had no choice but to follow. If they did not they would lose their camels in the great crowd.
They travelled through the night and just before dawn came to the narrow pass that led to the valley of Arafat, an open area which stretched for miles on either side. Above was the granite outcrop known as the Hill of Mercy, where the Prophet had preached nearly fourteen hundred years before. Overshadowing it were the lofty Hodeheyl Mountains.
It was a sight Winifred was to remember all her life — thousands upon thousands of pilgrims clad in white filled the valley like some exotic crop stretching as far as the eye could see, all waiting to be recognised by the Lord. She was to become part of it. And then the thought came to her that once they had descended into the valley they would be sucked into the moving throng and be unable to escape. She looked down at Karum Bux, who had dismounted from the camel and was holding Pansy by the hand. ‘I have never seen so many people in one place before,’ she said. Her voice trembled, though she tried to hide it.
‘It will be like this on the Day of Judgement, when the whole world stands before God.’
‘What if we are separated?’ she asked. ‘How will I find you again?’
‘Allah will protect us,’ he said and he helped her dismount.
In the valley they handed the camel back to the owner and were allotted a position on the plains among the Indian pilgrims. She began to feel easier when she saw cleared spaces like an enormous camping ground, with water vendors moving between the rows. Karum Bux drove four sticks into the soft sand. ‘According to tradition,’ he explained, ‘because we come before Allah as a family.’ He made a roof and a wall of blankets to simulate a home and spread their prayer rugs on the ground.
Inside their shelter Winifred began to relax. They had a tin of water, which Karum had bought, and she lay down beside Pansy and slept. At twelve she was woken by the sound of prayers which swelled up like waves breaking on the shore. The ‘standing’ had begun. Karum Bux joined in, reciting prayers, waiting for the sound of the cannon at four o’clock that signalled that the pilgrimage was over.
Winifred looked around. To the rear of them was the Persian encampment with flags flying and cannons pointing towards the Hill of Mercy. On the opposite side, facing the Persians, was the Turkish camp which also had guns. Beside them was the entourage of King Ibn Saud. In the middle was the mass of Indian pilgrims.
As the day wore on, the heat increased, and Winifred found herself becoming tense. It was a day of fasting and she was almost faint with hunger. She had given Pansy a piece of bread and a handful of dates, but had eaten nothing herself.
The guns on either side of them made her uneasy. ‘Why do they need guns when we have all come before God?’
‘Maybe the Turks and Persians feel it necessary,’ Karum Bux shrugged. ‘They do not trust Ibn Saud. Two years ago he wiped out the town of Taif, just a few miles away. The guns are to protec
t themselves.’
As the afternoon progressed, Winifred found herself obsessed with food, speculating on what she would cook when she got back to Australia. Her first thought was of strong tea with cow’s milk, hot scones with butter, a beefsteak pie with gravy running over and peas and potatoes. In a lull between prayers she asked Karum Bux if he was hungry and he snapped at her, ‘Be quiet, woman.’
She wanted to ask him if it made Allah happy to know that his people below were hungry, but thought better of it. Instead, she tried to turn her mind back to the pilgrimage, thinking of the thousands of people who had sacrificed so much to make the hazardous journey. She knew it was their faith that carried them along. Feeling guilty, she prayed to God to forgive her if her observance had not been all that could be desired and to protect her family from danger. She was certain her prayer was heard because of what followed.
It was early afternoon when a cannon sounded. Karum Bux looked at the sun. ‘I do not think it is time.’ The cannon was answered by one from the other side and the shot landed in the plain. Panic broke out among the pilgrims caught in the crossfire. Trapped in the vast crowd Winifred could only stare in horror. A camel lurched past with its entrails hanging out. Around them lay people wounded and dying. The air was filled with the smell of gunpowder and the screams and groans of the dead and dying. Still the Persians and the Turks kept on firing at each other. The noise woke Pansy who had been asleep. She screamed each time she heard the sound of the cannon, until Winifred cradled her in her arms, blocking her ears, saying, ‘Hush, hush. It’s only a bad storm. You can hear the thunder.’
Terrified, Winifred and her husband huddled together, sheltering Pansy until nightfall when the firing stopped. Under the cover of darkness Karum Bux folded the blankets and led his wife and daughter across the vast plain where, in the dim light, they could see bodies. Some were dead, others lay wounded. They could do nothing except protect themselves, though their cries haunted Winifred.
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