The Holy Sail

by Abdulaziz Al-Mahmoud

  Albuquerque was the only person speaking in this strange conversation. Miguel did not smile and his face remained blank, like a skilled actor.

  ‘The caliph sent us west to fight the infidels. We are on our way to India to trade and bring back spices. He is very fond of them, as you know.’

  The sultan shook his head in surprise. ‘I didn’t know the caliph was so fond of spices. We would have sent him everything we had. We trade in them.’

  Albuquerque suddenly asked, ‘How long would it take to get to India from here?’

  Taken aback by the question, the sultan turned to his companions. All sailors knew that travel times varied depending on the seasons, the winds, the size of the sails and the weight of the ship, but an appropriate answer had to be given to the caliph’s soldiers. ‘The travel time depends on many things that sailors are familiar with, Your Excellency.’

  Albuquerque found this to be an opportunity to obtain a guide who would be familiar with these seas. ‘We need a guide to help us get there. Is there someone you can send with us?’

  ‘Of course, we are all in the service of the caliph and his soldiers. You will get what you want after the Friday prayers and lunch. We will now leave and expect you to honour us with your presence tomorrow.’

  The sultan raised his hand and saluted them. ‘Peace, mercy and blessings of God be upon you.’

  None of the Portuguese returned his greeting. The sultan blinked several times in shock. Then he waved his hand and climbed back down to the boat, departing to his island. The sultan gave orders to his subjects not to inconvenience the guests and to give them whatever supplies they asked for.

  Night descended on the dreamy island of Musa bin Bek. Fires were lit on the shore and the nearby ships. On the beach, the locals celebrated the arrival of the caliph’s ships late into the night. They could not stop looking at them in awe, and were particularly curious about the ominous-looking gun ports whose function they did not understand. They were puzzled as to why the sailors had not come down to visit their town yet.

  As the townspeople quieted down, the only noise that could be heard were the voices of people cheerfully talking about the formidable caliph of the Muslims, who had not forgotten his subjects even here, in the far south of Africa. They saw the arrival of the caliph’s fleet as the beginning of a long-lasting relationship between Musa bin Bek and Cairo, the city they had heard so much about in legends and stories. Women even dressed their children in their best clothes, hoping the commander would take them with him to study in Al-Azhar and return them one day as accomplished scholars. That night, many women dreamed of seeing their sons wearing the iconic Al-Azhar turban.

  Not far from the town, three boys decided to take advantage of the arrival of the caliph’s ships to join their crew. They were not content with life on their small, remote island, where they could not aspire to become anything other than farmers or fishermen. The idea that they could become soldiers of the caliph tickled their fancy and revived in them a spirit of adventure.

  Their small boat moved quietly in the dead of night, making its way from the shore to the Portuguese armada. They did not want the sultan or their parents to know about what they were doing. They rowed the boat so slowly and quietly that the boat was almost moving on its own. Before they got to the nearest ship, they stopped rowing and let the boat glide over the water using its momentum. As soon as the boat reached the ship, one of the boys jumped onto a rope hanging from above and climbed up. Once near the deck, he peeked over its edge and saw the sailors kneeling on the deck floor, before a priest holding a large metal cross. The priest was reading them the evening prayer.

  The boy climbed back down to the boat very gently, where his friends were waiting. He silently signalled to them to return, and they rowed back to shore.

  By the following morning, everyone in the island-town had learned the foreign men’s real identity. The news reached the sultan, who ordered his people not to cooperate with the Portuguese and to wait until he clarified matters with them and convinced them to leave without causing any trouble.

  On the same morning, Albuquerque’s sailors noticed the shore had suddenly been evacuated. Even the market looked abandoned as though something had happened. Albuquerque did not understand what was going on, and ordered some of his men to land on the island and capture anyone they could find to interrogate them.

  Several boats were released from the ships. They rowed to the far side of the port to avoid attention. Albuquerque’s men walked through the woods in the direction of the town, meaning to flank it and surprise their victims.

  With the sun halfway up in the sky, people were resting in their homes or in the shade. The Portuguese attacked and managed to capture five men, four women and four children of different ages, and took them back to their ships.

  The sultan tried to negotiate with them. They demanded supplies of food and water before they released the prisoners, and the sultan complied. In the evening, the Portuguese allowed the women, children and elderly they had taken to go, sending them to the island in boats, but kept four men. When the sultan’s delegate asked the commander to release all the prisoners as agreed, Albuquerque asked the sultan to assign him a guide to show him the route to India. The sultan told him that this would be difficult because sailors were now afraid to go with him. Albuquerque gave him until the morning to comply, and told him to listen to the ‘music’ that night.

  The sultan did not understand what Albuquerque meant. After the evening prayer that Albuquerque attended, the manacled prisoners were brought to the ship’s deck. Albuquerque ordered his men to tie one of the prisoners to the barrel of a cannon trained on the city. The others were tied in a crucifixion posture. One of the sailors started pouring boiling lard on their abdomens and genitals.

  As the victims screamed in horrible pain, the sailors drank, sang and danced. The torture lasted all night. The following morning, people gathered on the shore to find out what was happening. When Albuquerque noticed the multitude of spectators, he ordered his men to fire the cannon that had one of the prisoners tied to its barrel. When the smoke cleared, people saw the victim’s arms and legs hanging between the remnants of the ropes used to restrain him, but could not quite understand how the rest of his body had vanished.

  Before dawn on the following day, a small boat navigated the short distance between the shore and the Portuguese flagship. A man climbed aboard and introduced himself to Albuquerque. ‘I am Malima Kanakwa. The sultan asked me to guide you on the way to India.’

  ‘I have no interest in your name or what people call you. Your only job here is to show us the way to India.’

  The prisoners were taken down to the bottom of the ship. Albuquerque ordered his ships to fire at the town, and within minutes the dreamy island was turned into a pile of ashes, rubble and body parts. Cannon fire continued until Albuquerque was sure the town had been razed to the ground. He then gave his orders for the ships to head east.

  The few people who survived started emerging from the rubble and the dust. Wailing shrieks were heard throughout the devastated town, echoing over the sound made by the indefatigable waves.

  – 20 –

  Calicut, India

  The procession marched towards the Zamorin’s palace. Hussein saw how crowded the city was. He was able to make out Arabic amid a mixture of languages being spoken at the market, and lifted the curtain on his palanquin* slightly to be able to talk to Qasimul Haq.

  ‘Do many people here speak Arabic?’

  ‘We have many Arab merchants in the city. Some of us speak Arabic fluently, being the lingua franca of trade. You will hear it as long as you are in the market, and you may also hear it in the Zamorin’s palace. The king’s guards are mostly from Hadramout, from Aden to be precise; we call them the Hadramis. Many speak Arabic at the palace too, so you won’t feel too far from home.’

  Hussein was amazed by the variety of bright colours in people’s clothing, accessories and homes, and by the bl
ends of both familiar and exotic spices on offer in the markets. Everything here was colourful, even people’s hair, beards and turbans. He spotted a man spitting a red fluid out of his mouth. A few yards later, he saw a number of men doing the same thing. He wondered whether this was due to some kind of medical condition.

  When Hussein pulled the curtain of his palanquin again, Qasimul Haq gave him a big smile. ‘I know what you’re going to ask me. I saw what you saw. You want to know why people spit a lot here, isn’t that right?’

  ‘Yes! What’s going on?’

  Qasimul Haq leaned back, and with the demeanour of someone repeating something he had explained many times before, said, ‘People here like to chew on tanboul, which is made from the leaves of betel plants mixed with some flavourings and colouring. Once their mouths are filled with that red liquid from the chewing, they spit it out. In your country, this may be an unacceptable practice, but it’s quite normal here. Even brides and grooms do it on their wedding night!’

  Hussein was still puzzled by the habit. ‘Why do they chew it if they’re going to spit it afterwards? Why not just swallow it?’

  But Qasimul Haq was not close enough to hear him. The two palanquins had moved away from each other because of the crowd.

  Hussein searched for the Hindu king’s adviser. He felt that there were many things he had to learn and become familiar with. He was shocked when he saw a cow eating food from a shop without anyone stopping it, and another lying down on the road blocking traffic without anyone disturbing the animal. He did not want to ask questions again, and just pointed at the cows when he saw that Qasimul Haq’s palanquin had drawn closer to him again, with the man now in sight.

  Qasimul Haq was smiling as ever. ‘It’s a sacred cow. The Hindus revere them, and do not disturb them. Even we Muslims try to show respect for this animal and avoid offending the Hindus.’ Qasimul Haq continued, ‘Many people outside India think Hindus worship cows, but I have never seen them do it. They revere them because they see them as the source of livelihood for the peasants and poor people, and treat the animals like they were members of the family that must be respected. I tried to read some Hindu books, and found that they call on people not to consume meat in order to have happiness in this life, but with time, it became a taboo.’

  The Indian adviser looked again at the cows scattered in the market. ‘Whatever cows produce is sacred to the Hindus, from their milk to their urine and dung. In fact, the red paint on the forehead is made from cow dung.’ Qasimul Haq pointed at Hussein’s forehead, reminding him of the mark that had been painted on it when he came to shore.

  Hussein touched the dye on his forehead and then smelled his fingers.

  Qasimul Haq watched Hussein while shaking with laughter. ‘We don’t use it on the Zamorin’s guests. Don’t worry!’

  The convoy arrived at the palace. A group of soldiers carrying small sharp axes was guarding the outer gate. Some were carrying strange metal batons that Hussein had never seen before.

  The convoy reached the stairs leading to the palace entrance. The escorts stopped and the two palanquins were lowered to the ground. Qasimul Haq and Hussein descended. The party then walked in corridors clad in white marble, interspersed with tall columns inscribed with gold-leaf ornaments of Hindu gods. The sunlight coming through the large windows was bouncing off small water ponds, which in turn reflected the light back to the ceiling, making the entire palace shine with bright white.

  The delegation was now at a large golden door. Guards wearing armour and carrying swords stood outside. When they spotted Qasimul Haq, they opened the gate while greeting him in unison. ‘Peace and God’s mercy and blessings be upon you.’

  The king’s counsellor returned the greeting. He spoke in Arabic to one of the guards before he addressed Hussein. ‘This officer is Hadrami. He is the commander of the Zamorin’s guard. He also likes to chew betel leaves!’

  The Hadrami laughed and opened his mouth, which was filled with the red paste, to show the counsellor, before he let the two men in.

  The Zamorin sat on a gilded and silk-padded divan. He leaned on his right side, with his legs resting on the bed. The Hindu king wore a golden serpent-shaped bracelet that wrapped around his forearm. The serpent had a large green gemstone in its mouth. The Zamorin wore similar bracelets around his ankles and a bejewelled diadem around his head that was equally if not more spectacular.

  He wore a white gilded silk izar from the waist down, and was bare-chested save for a white pearl necklace. The Zamorin was also chewing betel leaves. A tall, muscular guard carrying a broadsword and a gilded shield stood behind the king, looking alert and ready to carry out any order his master gave him at a moment’s notice.

  Hussein was awed by this strange sight. He decided to watch Qasimul Haq and then imitate what he did, telling himself that since Qasimul Haq was Muslim, he would not do anything that would anger God.

  The counsellor drew close to the Zamorin, bowed in front of him, and then sat quietly on his knees. Hussein followed suit. The Zamorin gave them a cordial smile, then turned and spat a red paste into a pot decorated with emeralds and rubies that a servant was holding.

  ‘Greetings, my friends from Egypt.’

  Qasimul Haq translated the pasha’s response. ‘The honour is all ours, Your Majesty. You have received us well and showed us great hospitality. The sultan of Egypt wishes to extend a hand of friendship to you and offers his assistance to fight the Portuguese, who have started seizing parts of your territory.’

  The Zamorin spat again in the pot. ‘They have not seized any territories of ours, not yet at least. Several of their ships came here. The Portuguese made deals with some Indian kings to establish trading posts in their ports. They came as traders. Although their ships carried cannons, they did not use them against the Indians.’

  The Hindu king paused, before he said, ‘I have heard about the Maryam, and how they sank it with the pilgrims on board. However, I believe this was an isolated incident that will not happen again. Some Indian kings told me that the ship refused to stop for inspection, and that its passengers took up arms to fight.’

  Hussein realised that focusing on the Maryam was not going to lead anywhere. The Zamorin was setting Hussein’s word against that of the Portuguese, who now had common interests with some kings in India. The Mamluk admiral decided it would be more worthwhile to address the Portuguese threat in broader terms.

  ‘Your Majesty, I have been sent by Sultan al-Ghawri, the sultan of Egypt and Syria, to fight the Portuguese. They have disrupted navigation between India and Arab lands. Our merchants can no longer buy spices from your ports. If things continue as they are, we all stand to lose.’

  The Zamorin replied, ‘We welcome all those who come to our country to buy spices. The Portuguese have forged alliances with some Indian kings along this coast. I cannot interfere in the decisions of other kings. If they find that their alliance with the Portuguese is in their interests, then there is nothing I can do. The Portuguese purchase spices in large quantities and ship them back to their country. So it seems to me the only party that loses because of this is you.’

  Hussein noticed that the Zamorin was speaking more like a merchant than a king and statesman, and decided to emphasise the extent of the threat to everyone.

  ‘Your Majesty, we have been acquainted with the Portuguese’s thinking and their methods for a long time. They first come as merchants, to gather information about a nation and its weaknesses. They establish outposts that they claim are for trading, but soon send ships full of soldiers and armaments to occupy and hold those places.’

  The Zamorin spat again, and everyone heard the spittle land in the pot. ‘You are describing your own experience with them but not ours. We welcome all those who come to our lands to trade. We cannot see into the future.’

  Qasimul Haq decided this was his chance to weigh in on the matter and warn the Zamorin. ‘My son-in-law, Si al-Tayeb, lived with the Portuguese for many years and speaks the
ir language. I implore Your Majesty to listen to what he has to say.’

  Si al-Tayeb was sitting on his knees further behind. ‘Your Majesty, I lived in their lands when I was a child. My father is an Arab Muslim and my mother is Spanish. Initially, we had agreements with them letting us practise our faith and traditions, and protecting our properties, when we still had our weapons. When we laid down our arms, everything changed; they prohibited us from praying in our mosques, confiscated our lands and prevented us from defending ourselves. After that, they took children from their parents to raise them as Catholics, and eventually drove us from our country to the north of Africa.’

  Si al-Tayeb lowered his head, trying to cope with a flash of bitter memories. He continued, ‘As you know, Your Majesty, the Maryam and its passengers were set alight, after they took young girls and boys. The Portuguese were drinking ale as they watched the people and the ship burn. People who do such things when they come claiming to be merchants will do even worse things in war. They will do the same to the rest of the kingdoms of India, one by one, until they take everything.’

  Qasimul Haq and Hussein felt that they had managed to have an impact on the Zamorin. The Hindu king was silent in thought, save for spitting chewed betel leaves. After hesitating for a while, he said, ‘Very well. You shall be my guests and you may re-supply your ships and purchase whatever quantities of spices you desire. After that, you will leave, like all other merchants. I don’t want you to bring your wars to my kingdom.’

  Hussein knew then that he would not be able to use Calicut as his base. Clearly, the Zamorin did not want to be a party to the conflict with the Portuguese.

  After they left the royal hall, Qasimul Haq grabbed Hussein’s hand. ‘Listen, Pasha. You must leave for the city of Diu as soon as possible, after you re-supply your ships of course. You will find the assistance you seek there. King Malik Ayaz is an eager warrior who can be easily provoked and convinced of the Portuguese threat.’ This time, a serious expression replaced Qasimul Haq’s usual smile. ‘He is the king of Diu and its environs. I will send my son-in-law with you to make the introduction. We go a long way back.’