Bin Kabina had undergone the normal circumcision, obligatory for all Muslims, although it is usually performed on a child about the age of seven. As I sat there talking to him I thought of the ceremony I had watched five months earlier in the distant Tihama. For a fortnight the young men who were to be circumcised had danced each evening and late into the night, waiting for the day when the old men would announce that the positions of the moon and stars were favourable. The initiates wore short, tight-sleeved red jackets and baggy white drawers, tight at the ankle, the only time in their lives when they wore drawers, which were women’s dress. On the appointed day, riding on camels, they were paraded behind the musicians round the neighbouring villages, and then brought back just before sunset, followed by a large crowd, to their own village. Their friends helped them to take off their drawers, and then one after the other these young men, looking like girls with their flowing hair and delicate features, stepped forward in front of their tribe. Each of them stood, with legs apart and his hands gripping his long hair, staring motionless and unflinching at a dagger stuck in the ground in front of him, while a slave handled his penis until it was erect and then flayed the entire organ. When the slave stepped aside, his work at last completed, the lad sprang forward and, to the compelling rhythm of the drums, danced frenziedly before the eager, craning crowd, leaping and capering while the blood splashed down his legs.
This is the modified form of a rite far older than Islam. In the Hajaz mountains some of the tribes still performed ‘the flaying circumcision’, which was often postponed until a man was married and had children, and in which the skin was removed from the navel down to the inside of the legs. Ibn Saud forbade even the modified form of this circumcision, which he declared was a pagan custom, but the young men were prepared to risk the severest punishment rather than forgo the credit of submitting to this rite. On this particular occasion one of them had already been circumcised as a child, but he insisted on undergoing this second operation. Even after it was over their sufferings were not yet ended. Each morning they were held down over a small hole in the ground so that their mutilated parts dangled down, to kipper in the heat and smoke which came up from a fire below. Lads who had stood unmoved while they were circumcised screamed with the agony of this barbarous treatment. I described what I had seen to bin Kabina, who said, ‘That is not circumcision – it is butchery.’
In the evening I gave bin Kabina the clothes which I had brought for him and the spare dagger which was in my saddlebag. He buckled it on with pride. A stranger would have thought that he should have expressed his gratitude, but this was not customary among Arabs. He had accepted my gift and felt that there was no need for words. He would express his gratitude by other means.
We left Shisur on 9 November in the chill of dawn; the sun was resting on the desert’s rim, a red ball without heat. We walked as usual till it grew warm, the camels striding in front of us, a moving mass of legs and necks. Then one by one, as the inclination took us, we climbed up their shoulders and settled in our seats for the long hours which lay ahead. The Arabs sang, the full-throated roaring of the tribes; the shuffling camels quickened their pace, thrusting forward across the level ground, for we had left the hills behind us and were on the steppes which border on the Sands. We noticed the stale tracks of oryx, saw gazelle bounding stiff-legged across the plain, and flushed occasional hares from withered salt bushes in shallow watercourses.
Bin Shuas told us how they had carried Mahsin, who was his uncle, for three days tied on a camel, with the bone of his shattered thigh sticking through the skin, while they tried to outdistance the pursuers who followed in their tracks. Then bin Mautlauq spoke of the raid in which young Sahail was killed. He and fourteen companions had surprised a small herd of Saar camels. The herdsman had fired two shots at them before escaping on the fastest of his camels, and one of these shots had hit Sahail in the chest. Bakhit held his dying son in his arms as they rode back across the plain with the seven captured camels. It was late in the morning when Sahail was wounded, and he lived till nearly sunset, begging for water which they had not got. They rode all night to escape from inevitable pursuit. At sunrise they saw some goats, and a small Saar encampment under a tree in a shallow valley. A woman was churning butter in a skin, and a boy and a girl were milking the goats. Some small children sat under the tree. The boy saw them first and tried to escape but they cornered him against a low cliff. He was about fourteen years old, a little younger than Sahail, and he was unarmed. When they surrounded him he put his thumbs in his mouth as a sign of surrender, and asked for mercy. No one answered him. Bakhit slipped down off his camel, drew his dagger, and drove it into the boy’s ribs. The boy collapsed at his feet, moaning, ‘Oh my father! Oh my father!’ and Bakhit stood over him till he died. He then climbed back into his saddle, his grief a little soothed by the murder which he had just committed. As bin Mautlauq spoke, staring across the level plain with his hot, rather bloodshot eyes, I pictured the scene with horrible distinctness. The small, long-haired figure, in white loin-cloth, crumpled on the ground, the spreading pool of blood, the avid clustering flies, the frantic wailing of the dark-clad women, the terrified children, the shrill insistent screaming of a small baby.
I rode along haunted by the thought of that murdered child, while around me the watchful Arabs formed and re-formed into chattering groups. There was not one of them whose life would not be forfeit if we were surprised by Saar raiders. Vindictive as this age-old law of a life for a life and a tooth for a tooth might be, I realized none the less that it alone prevented wholesale murder among a people who were subject to no outside authority, and who had little regard for human life; for no man lightly involves his whole family or tribe in a blood-feud. I remembered that, in 1935, Glubb, describing the Bedu of the north, had written: ‘It was curious to think that even in the anarchical days of raging tribal chaos in un-governed Arabia before the emergence of the Akhwan or the present establishment of law and order, there was probably less fear and apprehension abroad than there is today in peaceful England.’ It was easy to be shocked by the Bedu’s disregard for human life. After all, many people feel today that it is morally indefensible to hang a man, even if he has raped and killed a child, but I could not forget how easily we ourselves had taken to killing during the war. Some of the most civilized people I had known had been the most proficient.
The country grew more arid; every plant and bush was dead. Skeletons of trees, brittle powdery branches, fallen and half buried in the drifting sand, and deposits of silt left by ancient floods, but now as dry as ashes, marked the course of Umm al Hait, ‘The Mother of Life’, the great trunk wadi which leads down to Mughshin. Nothing stirred, not even a lizard, for here there had been twenty-five years of unbroken drought.
On the second day at sunset we saw the Sands stretching across our front, a shimmering rose-coloured wall, seemingly as intangible as a mirage. The Arabs, roused from the nodding torpor of weary, empty hours, pointed with their sticks, shouted, and broke into a sudden spate of talk. But I was content to look in silence upon that long-awaited vision, as excited as a mountaineer who sees above the Indian foothills the remote white challenge of the Himalayas.
We rode parallel with the Sands, since the hard gravel surface of the plain was easier for our camels than the soft steepness of the dunes. In the late afternoons we usually turned in to the Sands to camp. Large mimosa-like trees, which the Arabs called ghaf, grew here. Deep down, their questing roots had found water, and their branches were heavy with flowering, trailing fronds that fell to the clean sand and formed arbours in which we camped.
One night, near Mughshin, when sleeping on the open plain, I was awakened by a long-drawn howl. Again and again the uncanny sound quavered across the camp, sending shivers down my back. It came from a group of figures sitting twenty yards away. I called out, ‘What is wrong?’ and bin Kabina answered, ‘Said is possessed by a zar.’ I got up, walked round some camels, and joined them. By the light
of the setting moon I could see the boy, one of the Bait Kathir, crouching over a small fire. His face and head were covered with a cloth, and he rocked himself to and fro as he howled. The others sat close to him, silent and intent. Suddenly they began to chant in two parts, while Said thrashed himself violently from side to side. More and more wildly he threw himself about, and once a corner of the cloth with which he covered his face fell into the embers and began to smoulder. Someone leant forward and put it out. Steadily the chanting rose and fell about the demented boy, who gradually became calmer. A man lit some incense in a bowl and held it under the boy’s nose beneath the cloth. Suddenly he began to sing in a curious, strained, high-pitched voice. Line by line the others answered him. He stopped, grew violent again, and then calmed once more. A man leant forward and asked him questions and he answered, speaking like someone in his sleep. I could not understand the words, for they spoke Mahra. They gave him more incense and the spirit left him. A little later he lay down to sleep, but once again he was troubled. This time he sobbed bitterly and groaned as if in great pain. They gathered round him once more and chanted until he grew calm. Then he slept. In the morning he was all right.
The belief in possession by a zar or evil spirit is also widely held in the Sudan, Egypt, and Mecca, and is generally thought to have originated in Abyssinia or central Africa. It seems to me possible that it originated in southern Arabia. My companions told me that whenever they exorcized a zar they used the Mahra tongue, and I knew that the ancestors of the Mahra had originally colonized Abyssinia.
We reached Mughshin eight days after leaving Shisur. We were approaching the well and Mahsin was telling us once more about the battle in which he had been wounded. His stiff leg was stretched out in front of him. Suddenly, unaccountably, our camels panicked, scattering in great plunging bounds. I saw a man fall from his camel in front of me as I fought to keep my seat. When my camel was under control I looked back. Mahsin lay crumpled and motionless on the ground. We ran back to him. His damaged leg was twisted under him and he was moaning faintly. His head-cloth had fallen off and the close-cropped hair showed grey upon his skull. As I bent over him I realized that he was older than I had thought. We tried to straighten him but he screamed. I got morphia from my saddle-bags and gave him an injection, and then we carried him on a blanket to the trees. By the grace of God the well was close at hand. Perhaps our thirsty camels had smelt the water and this had started the stampede. We fashioned rough splints from branches and set his leg; there seemed little left but splintered bone. Bin Shuas crouched beside him, keeping the flies off his face, while others sat round discussing whether he would live or die. Occasionally a man would shake his head and say sorrowfully, ‘Mahsin didn’t deserve this.’ Then they rose and set about their tasks, watering the camels and cooking food.
In the evening we discussed what we must do. They said that Mahsin could not be moved. He must stay here till he recovered or till he died, and the Rashid must remain with him. He had killed many men, especially from the Saar, and if his enemies heard that he was lying helpless here, they would come from afar to kill him. During the past days I had let the news leak out that I planned to cross the Empty Quarter. I knew from bin Kabina that I could count on the Rashid. Sultan and Musallim had both said they would come with me, and were insistent that I should take some of the Bait Kathir, for they were jealous of the Rashid. Now everything was changed. I was in the hands of the Bait Kathir and I wondered whether they would still be eager for this journey. Sultan soon suggested that we should travel eastwards, through the Sahma sands where I had been the year before, and perhaps visit the quicksands of Umm al Samim which he knew I was anxious to see. I went to bed disconsolate, certain that my plans were wrecked.
Next morning bin Kabina told me that the Rashid had agreed that he and AI Auf should go with me, but asked that I should lend the others two of my service rifles, and enough ammunition. I willingly agreed. Mahsin seemed better and drank a little milk. I promised him that I would remain with him till he was on the mend and I gave him another injection of morphia, for he was still in great pain. I then spoke to Sultan, hinting that as the Bait Kathir would not come with me across the Sands, I should send bin Kabina to find me more Rashid. He protested. ‘Why do you speak like this, Umbarak? Listen to me! Have I not promised to take you across the Sands? I, Sultan. What do you want with the Rashid anyway. You know the Bait Kathir – old friends – your companions of last year. Did we fail you then? By God, Umbarak, why do you doubt us now?’
I remained at Mughshin for nine days. The extensive but shallow depression where the Umm al Hait ends against the Sands was well wooded with ghaf and tamarisk, and on the surrounding plains there were plenty of arad salt bushes, which are good food for camels as long as water is available. Near the well there was a dense grove of untended palms whose dates are collected in September by the Al Kathir tribes. Among the palms was a salt-encrusted ditch of very brackish water, three hundred yards long, and in the middle of it a small spring of fresher water just fit to drink.
Usually, Bedu lop tall trees to provide food for their camels, but the ghaf trees here were unmutilated, for Mughshin is a hauta where no tree may be cut. On my way to the Hadhramaut I had passed several of these hautas, probably once the sacred groves of some forgotten cult. We would ride down a wadi and camp under trees in no way remarkable from others which we had passed, but I would be warned not to damage them for this was a hauta. The Bedu believed that to ignore this prohibition would be to incur misfortune and possibly even death. Mughshin was distinguished from other hautas since hares might not be killed here. Even in the sands of Ghanim, where there was no hauta, the Bedu would not eat hares, although elsewhere they ate their meat with relish. The ban did not include gazelle. I remember being told in the Hajaz that hunting and cutting wood were both forbidden within the sanctuary around Mecca.
In the evening after we had fed we heard angry voices behind us where the Rashid sat around Mahsin. Bin Kabina and I went over to them, and soon everyone in the camp was there. Amair was shouting at bin Mautlauq, and while I watched he snatched his head-cloth from his head and threw it at his feet. Many people were talking and it was difficult to make out what the row was about. Among Bedu anyone, however young, can always express his opinion, and will probably do so even if the argument has got nothing to do with him. No Bedu would ever think of saying ‘For God’s sake mind your own business’, for he would accept the fact that anything that concerned him concerned everyone else in the community. Eventually I gathered that some weeks earlier Amair had lost a camel, and bin Mautlauq had offered to look for it provided Amair promised him a reward of five riyals if he found it. Amair now maintained that bin Mautlauq had known all the time where the camel was, and he refused to hand over the money he had promised. Finally the matter was referred to Tamtaim, who was respected by the Rashid for his great age and shrewdness. He decided that Amair should pay the money provided that bin Mautlauq swore on the tomb of al Jauhari, which was on the coast several days journey to the west of Salala, that he had not known where the camel was when he had offered to look for it. Both of them accepted the judgement and were soon helping each other to mend a saddle. Disputes are generally settled among the Bedu by one side or the other swearing on oath on a saints tomb to the truth of their statement, and it is for the arbitrators to decide which side shall be asked to take the oath. Few Bedu would swear falsely on one of these tombs, of which there are several along the coast and in the Hadhramaut.
During the days that I was at Mughshin my companions often asked me for medicines. Bedu suffer much from headaches and stomach trouble. Sometimes my aspirin worked, but if not the sufferer would get someone to brand him, usually on his heels, and would announce a little later that his headache was now gone, and that the old Bedu remedies were better than the Christian’s pills. Bedu cauterize themselves and their camels for nearly every ill. Their bellies, chests, and backs are often criss-crossed with the ensuing scars. I
had heard that many years ago a British cargo steamer was ship-wrecked on the southern coast of Arabia. A few survivors were picked up by some Junuba who, hoping no doubt for a reward, took them eventually to Muscat. Camel’s milk and dates had given the Englishmen acute diarrhoea, and the Bedu, despite their protests, forcibly cauterized them. They eventually arrived at Muscat nearly killed by dysentery and this primitive treatment.
One of the Bait Kathir had an exposed nerve in a back tooth, which he asked me to remove. I hate taking out teeth, especially as they are usually nothing but blackened shells. This one was fairly sound, however, and I removed it without difficulty, the patient lying on the ground with his head fírmly held between someone’s knees. Musallim was suffering from severe constipation. I gave him a powerful dose of Epsom salts, but when this did not work at once, he resorted to the Bedu remedy of hamrar. He lay on the ground while a dozen of his friends knelt round him in a circle chanting. Old Tamtaim led the singing, which got faster and faster as the participants got more and more excited. At intervals one of the singers would lean forward and take up a mouthful of flesh from Musallim’s stomach, making a curious bubbling noise as he did so. Musallim’s bowels were loosed soon after this. I gave the credit to the Epsom salts, while they claimed it for the hamrar.
Gazelle were plentiful at Mughshin. Musallim and bin Shuas shot us meat each day, so we fed well; indeed, too well. I was worried about our rations, especially as I should now have to leave enough food with Mahsin and the Rashid. All Bedu are improvident, and my companions cooked lavish meals from our fast-dwindling supplies. I encouraged them to eat the rice which they preferred, since this would be of little use to me during the waterless journey which lay ahead. Bedu have no desire for variety in their meals and will happily eat the same food twice a day for months, judging it not by its quality but by its quantity. I tried once to vary the sameness of our food. Musallim had shot a gazelle and I cooked an elaborate and, I thought, excellent lunch; unfortunately, bin Turkia had gone off to look for a camel and did not come back till after dark, by which time the grilled meat was a congealed mess liberally sprinkled with sand. The others ate it, but declared unanimously that they preferred the boiled meat and soup which Musallim cooked.
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