She looked at the dagger before she spoke again. ‘I loved my husband with every fibre of my being. My husband had the utmost love and respect for Sultan Muqrin in turn. I will do right by them and take the dagger to the caliph. Perhaps that will expiate my sins and misdeeds.’
The elderly woman frowned. ‘Sins and misdeeds? What are you talking about, child? Nothing bad could ever come from you!’
Halima smiled and tried to avoid having this conversation. What she had done, inviting the Portuguese to Bahrain, still caused her insurmountable guilt and heartache. ‘It doesn’t matter. What matters is that the dagger should reach the caliph’s hands.’
‘Which caliph, Halima? My husband and I spent time in Cairo on our way to Mecca the first time. The caliph was known to be weak, easily manipulated by the Mamluk amirs and commanding obedience from none but his harem!’ She paused and then quipped, ‘And I’m not so sure he even controls his harem!’
Halima replied absentmindedly, ‘Whatever the case, I have to fulfil the late sultan’s wishes.’
The sheikh’s convoy headed west with a group of pilgrims and a larger group of people simply fleeing from Al-Ahsa. The caravan was large and well guarded. The roads were no longer safe with the Arab tribes further inland rebelling and in the absence of a powerful central authority that could rein them in.
The travellers lifted their hands to the sky and prayed for a smooth and safe journey. The caravan’s departure was a bleak sight, amid the tearful goodbyes of the travellers and their loved ones. The cameleers began singing a sad tune that reminded the travellers of the forbidding, lonely road ahead and the loved ones they were leaving behind for a long time.
The caravan reached Mecca shortly before the pilgrimage season. Halima saw droves of people of all nationalities and complexions, who had come from all around the world speaking in different tongues – trading, eating and drinking, and conversing. She had hoped to spot pilgrims from Hormuz, whom she would be able to recognise from their clothes and appearance, but none were there to be seen. She was told the sea route to Jeddah was now perilous and few ships dared traverse it. She felt annoyed; it had never been this bad before the ships bearing the large red cross came.
The Hajj was a unique experience for Halima. She had left her small island only when she got married. Now, she was seeing and experiencing the world and its diversity. She drank putrid water, experienced hunger, ate foul-tasting cured meat, and tasted dirt in her mouth and felt it inside her eyes.
Halima rubbed her head in the sand and prayed humbly to the Creator. She experienced things she would never have encountered in the palace of her father the vizier. And she saw how big the world was, much bigger than the world she had lived in at the palace or even the estate of her slain husband. The eye-opening, multilayered and multicoloured discoveries she made distracted her from thinking about her ordeal.
At the Hajj, Halima learned that the Abbasid caliph had surrendered his title to the Ottoman Sultan Selim, who was now the official caliph of the Muslims. She could not understand how the caliph could be a non-Arab.
Halima asked Sheikh Tazi to whom she should give the dagger and the ring now, the deposed caliph or Sultan Selim, and in the event she were to give the gifts to the latter, then how would she be able to reach him.
Sheikh Tazi’s advice was that she should deliver them to the Ottoman sultan, since he was the current caliph of the Muslims. But since the sultan was too far from her, he said, she should go instead to the highest Ottoman authority in Hejaz, namely, Suleiman Pasha, commander of the Ottoman Red Sea fleet and ruler of Jeddah. The sheikh told her she had to wait until the Hajj season was over, however, as Suleiman Pasha would be busy receiving the delegations from around the Muslim world.
The Hajj season was soon finished. The pilgrims started leaving the Holy Land. Long caravans carrying luggage headed in all directions, and others made for the port of Jeddah where the pilgrims took ships back to their homes in the lands of Zanj, India and China. Mecca gradually shed its crowds and life returned to normal until the next Hajj season.
Sheikh Tazi and Halima’s caravan set out for Jeddah, the city where Suleiman Pasha, the new Ottoman ruler who could deliver the dagger to Sultan Selim, was based. Suleiman was popular among the Jeddans, in contrast to Hussein Pasha al-Kurdi. In Jeddah, Halima and the sheikh and his wife would go their separate ways; they were going back to Morocco via Egypt, but she did not yet have a specific destination in mind after her mission was completed.
The sheikh’s small caravan crossed the gate of Jeddah, which was now wide open. The guards did not ask them where they were going and what their purpose in the city was. Jeddah was now much safer, and life had returned to the normality that existed before the devil, as the people called their previous ruler, had come. The pilgrims stayed at a small inn, immediately adjacent to the wall.
The sheikh was able to find someone to vouch for him at the palace, and get a hearing with the governor. Tazi asked Halima to come with him. ‘You must come with me to the palace, Halima. Then you can deliver the dagger and the ring to Suleiman Pasha yourself.’
Halima was not too keen, and was nervous about going there. ‘I will give them to you, uncle. I don’t want to go to a place where there are too many men I don’t know.’
The sheikh persisted. ‘I will be with you the entire time. You must give him the gifts yourself, Halima. This is not the time to back down. You have come all the way from Al-Ahsa for this and you must get it done.’
Sheikh Tazi, accompanied by Halima, entered the governor’s palace. Tazi asked her to wait in a small hall outside the pasha’s private diwan, and entered by himself. The hall was brimming with guests. The sheikh sat and waited for his turn to meet the governor. Eventually the governor received him, asking him what the purpose of his visit was.
‘My name is Jamal al-Din Tazi. I come from Morocco. I went to Al-Ahsa last year with Sultan Muqrin al-Jabri, but he was killed in a battle with the Portuguese defending Bahrain. The situation there has become dangerous, so I decided to come for the Hajj and then return to Morocco.’
The pasha seemed interested in what the sheikh was saying. ‘One of the people who frequent my court told me two days ago that you were coming to meet me. He said you were carrying news from East Arabia, and that you had an important matter to discuss with me.’
‘Indeed, Pasha. I will brief you on developments in East Arabia so you can do what needs to be done. I also have another matter I want to discuss with you.’
The pasha gave him a broad smile. ‘Very well, let us begin with the news, Sheikh Tazi. I am very interested in what you have to say about Sultan Muqrin and the Portuguese.’
The sheikh began his report. ‘As you know, Your Excellency, the Portuguese have seized the trade routes between India and Arabia. For this reason, trade has never returned to normal. More importantly, the Portuguese spread terror and death everywhere their ships have visited, levelling cities and massacring people. Only a handful of cities have been spared their muskets and cannonballs.’
The sheikh did not want to prolong the conversation. He knew the pasha must have met many people already and probably did not want to hear any more unpleasant news, so he tried to be brief. ‘Sultan Muqrin sent his fleet to India to assist the Mamluk fleet led by Hussein Pasha al-Kurdi, but both fleets were defeated in the Battle of Diu. The Portuguese have commanded the seas since that day, and there has been nothing to stop them from raiding our lands. They have conquered and sacked Bahrain, and killed the sultan who died defending it. The Portuguese beheaded him and sent his decapitated head to Hormuz!’
While he spoke, the sheikh watched the pasha’s eye to determine the impact of the events he was describing on the Ottoman governor. He continued, ‘After subduing Bahrain, they will most definitely move on to Al-Ahsa. If they take it, then they will occupy all of East Arabia. As you know, Pasha, the Portuguese have an alliance with the Safavids, who have occupied Iraq and sacked Baghdad, and even turned the s
hrine of Imam Abu Hanifa into a stable for their horses.’
The sheikh paused when a servant came and brought him water. ‘The situation is very dangerous, Your Excellency. If Sultan Selim, the caliph of the Muslims and protector of Muslim lands, does not act, then they might mount a surprise attack from the south.’
Suleiman followed everything the sheikh said up until he mentioned the Mamluk fleet and the Battle of Diu. Suleiman stopped listening after that, and remembered his friend Hussein and his eagerness to repel the Portuguese. A stream of memories passed through his head, and the pasha could not conceal his emotions. He said, ‘Hussein Pasha al-Kurdi was my friend. We grew up in the Mamluk barracks together, and for many years were inseparable. But such is God’s will!’
The sheikh, remembering Halima, said, ‘I have someone with me who knew him well, Pasha, someone who wants to meet you too.’
‘Who may that be?’
‘Her name is Halima, the daughter of the Hormuzi vizier Khawaja Attar and widow of Bin Rahhal, Sultan Muqrin’s vizier. She has something she wants to give to you.’
The pasha rose unconsciously. ‘Where is she now?’
‘She is in the small hall, waiting to be let in, Pasha.’
Suleiman went with the sheikh to the place where Halima was sitting, away from the men in the palace. She wore a traditional Hormuzi veil through which only her beautiful eyes were visible. When she saw Suleiman Pasha she stood up in reverence, but did not extend her hand to shake his, and then sat back down.
Suleiman glimpsed a lock of her hair creeping out of her headscarf and touching her eyelashes. Her eyes radiated both charm and sorrow.
She spoke to him about the Portuguese threat in the Gulf and told him how her husband, Bin Rahhal, had gone to India to assist Hussein Pasha al-Kurdi until their defeat in Diu. Halima told Suleiman about their escape to Bahrain via Hormuz, disguised as merchants, and Hussein’s subsequent departure for Jeddah. Suleiman was impressed by Halima’s intelligence, logic and soberness.
Suleiman’s eyes welled with tears as he listened to Hussein’s ordeals, which had stayed with him until his horrific death not far from the palace where they now stood. Halima noticed the tears in the pasha’s eyes and asked him why he was tearful.
‘He was once my best friend. We knew each other for many years until time sent us on separate paths. It is also a long story.’
Halima took out the dagger from between the folds of her clothes and removed the silk cloth she had used to cover it, before handing the dagger over to Suleiman. He took it from her and examined it carefully. He immediately realised how valuable and unique an artefact it was. Halima also gave him the ring, but Suleiman was not interested in it, and was still fascinated by the dagger. He then asked her about the story behind it.
‘I will tell you the story as I heard it from my slain husband. A messenger from Vizier Imad al-Din Mahmoud of the Bahmani kingdom in India brought it to Sultan Muqrin, asking him to deliver it to the caliph in Cairo. The dagger was made from gold and jewellery that once belonged to the vizier’s mother and wife. The Indian vizier had great confidence in the sultan, who was a fair and just ruler known far and wide. Sheikh Tazi could tell you more about him.
‘Sultan Muqrin gave the dagger to my husband, Vizier Bin Rahhal, for safekeeping as he was leaving Al-Ahsa to put down a tribal rebellion in Najd. The sultan did not want to leave the dagger in his palace during his absence. Before my husband set off to India to fight the Portuguese alongside Hussein Pasha, he asked me to keep an eye on it until his return, and told me that, in the event of his death, I was to deliver it to the caliph by any means in fulfilment of Sultan Muqrin’s wishes.
‘Upon his return from India, my husband was killed treacherously. When Sultan Muqrin returned from his campaign, he did not stop in Al-Ahsa and I did not have the chance to meet him. He went straight to Bahrain to fight the Portuguese, who had mobilised their fleets to invade the island. Sultan Muqrin never returned; he was killed in the battle.’
Halima started to weep. Suleiman saw her tears drop on her veil below her eyes. He looked away to avoid seeing her in her moment of weakness and sorrow. He only turned back to her when she spoke again.
‘I didn’t know how and to whom I was to deliver the dagger. That is, until God sent me Sheikh Jamal al-Din Tazi, who did not mind me joining his caravan to Hejaz. After we arrived here, we learned that the Abbasid caliph had abdicated in favour of Sultan Selim. As Sheikh Tazi told me, the dagger now had to be delivered to Sultan Selim. There is no one else I can trust to do this but you, so I ask you to deliver it to the caliph to fulfil the wishes of the late Sultan Muqrin and my husband as well.’
Suleiman looked at the dagger again. Silence reigned over them, until Suleiman spoke. ‘I shall deliver it, God willing.’
He then glanced at her furtively and said, ‘Tell me about you, madam. I detect a strange accent in your speech.’
She looked away from Suleiman and set her eyes on the floor of the diwan, as though trying to hold a painful memory at bay. ‘I am Halima, daughter of Khawaja Attar, the famed vizier of Hormuz. I met Bin Rahhal when he came to our island to help restore King Salghur to the throne, which had been usurped by his brother. He asked for my hand in marriage a few days after the battle.’
Halima’s look changed again. Now she was smiling, recalling good memories. Suleiman saw this, and felt she was remembering a happy chapter in her life. He felt pity combined with admiration for this woman. She was the daughter of an important citizen of Hormuz who went on to live in a strange land. She had lost loved ones and yet she was here all the way in Hejaz, delivering a valuable artefact that had been entrusted not to her, but to her husband, though she could have lived a decent life if she had sold it.
‘Do you intend to return to Hormuz after the Hajj?’ Suleiman asked.
‘No, Your Excellency, not yet. I intend to remain in Medina for a while. I don’t know what God will decide for me. The Portuguese have occupied Hormuz where my father is, and Bahrain where my husband is buried. They might have taken Al-Ahsa by now too. I don’t want to return to any land occupied by those criminals!’
Sheikh Tazi suddenly spoke and asked for a drink. The guard brought him a glass of water, which the sheikh held up to his eyes and asked, ‘Is this holy water from Mecca?’
‘Yes, Sheikh. We only drink zamzam water in this palace. It is brought here each day straight from Mecca,’ the guard replied, and then turned back and left.
The sheikh drank and then poured some of the water over his hand and wiped it on his face. He said, ‘Have you heard of the hadith “If you drink zamzam water then let your faces have a share of it”?’
Suleiman said perplexedly, ‘I have never heard of this hadith, Sheikh Tazi.’
Halima was also confused. ‘I was with you in Mecca for several days and heard you speak about the virtues of zamzam water when we drank it, but you never mentioned it, uncle!’
The sheikh removed his turban and used the cloth to wipe his face. ‘I forgot to tell you about it, Halima. But it is a hadith and we must respect it. Give me your hands.’
Suleiman extended his hands, which he had joined together to allow the sheikh to sprinkle them with zamzam water, and then wiped his face as the sheikh had done. Tazi waited for Suleiman to dry his face and then asked Halima to follow suit.
Halima hesitated for a moment. She did not know what she was supposed to do with her veil and whether she should reveal her face to the pasha.
The sheikh seemed to have read her mind. ‘Uncover your face, Halima. The zamzam water takes precedence and we must follow the hadith!’
Halima obeyed, revealing her face and her breathtaking beauty. Suleiman was riveted by her. He did not want to take his eyes off her, as though he knew this opportunity might not be repeated.
The sheikh poured water on the palms of her hands, which she then lifted to wipe her face quickly, before putting the veil back on.
Suleiman needed a few moments to move
his eyes away from Halima. He said, ‘You will be my guests until the dagger reaches Sultan Selim. I will not let you travel until then. The sultan may enquire about you after he receives it, and if you leave, what would I tell him then?’
The sheikh began to pray for Suleiman. He said, ‘I am here with my wife. We intend to go back home with the convoy that will return to Morocco soon. We must leave, Pasha, but if you find a suitable accommodation for Halima in the city, I would be very grateful. She was the one who brought the sultan’s dagger and she is the one who wants to stay in the Holy Land. She is like a daughter to me and I want to make sure she has been taken care of before I depart.’
– 40 –
Hormuz
Attar collapsed in his favourite chair on the balcony overlooking the sea. He had grown used to being alone since Halima left. But he wished she were with him now, massaging his tired feet while he touched her head in affection like they used to do years ago.
Attar now had no life to speak of. His daughter and only child had gone to perform the Hajj and he had no idea when or if she would return. He had tried his best to convince her to come and live with him, having now lost almost everything. His house was ramshackle and it felt lonely, and the whole of Hormuz was no longer the same as it had been. The house was covered in dust, as the servants no longer did their jobs properly; everything around him was filthy, even his chair. His meals tasted off, and his appearance was a shadow of its former elegance and refinement, with no one to look after him and no one to look after. Attar felt he would die a lonely, broken man.
He rose from his chair and walked over to the parapet, near which he liked to stand when the weather was nice. He felt Halima’s spectre by his side. Attar turned towards where she used to stand, hoping to see her face, but all he got was emptiness. She was not there and this was something he had to accept, he told himself.
Attar looked at the horizon beyond the sea. He saw a few small ships cruising the calm water and others anchored in the harbour. This was not the Hormuz he once knew. He spotted three Portuguese ships moored nearby. Their gun ports were open, as though ready at a moment’s notice to level the city if Albuquerque ordered it. Attar felt intense hatred for the Portuguese who had destroyed everything beautiful on his island.
The Holy Sail Page 34