15
So I returned the seeds to her and asked if this gift she would accept
as a dowry. She nodded assent, casting her eyes downwards, silent,
as it was customary. So I married her fast, and she planted her
garden here, in this farm. That's why this place is called "the garden
in the sands." I had at the same time found a solution to the dear
poverty affecting my tribe and ensured for myself a modest and pious
wife."
Everybody smiled at this story, and turned towards Djaliil.
His cheeks had become red for the joy the story had procured him.
His heart was bursting out of pride. Then his grandfather declared to
me, as if confidentially:
“The woman of the story was Djaliil's second grandmother, from his
mother's side. She was my wife. She died giving birth to a second
daughter. May Allah be pleased with her and her with Him! She
made us swear to continue her work, and we have planted trees and
plants until now, partly for the sake of her memory. We hope this
work will still benefit her, through us, in her grave as it benefits us
now on this earth."
Narrow, high teacups of glass were served. Men continued
discussing the story long into the night, making gestures of
satisfaction. They would never tire of recounting the birth of their
oasis because the harvest was good this year, as it had been the
years before; the land was blessed.
Photo courtesy of Maha: http://www.almaha.net
At the end, they unwound their headdresses and allowed the incense
from a chiseled studded brass burner to perfume their hair and
beards. I was completely enraptured by the story so that I could only
see hands and disdashas moving around me. Djaliil and his
grandfathers had retired in a corner of the tent, holding hands and
seeming happy.
16
In the women's side of the tent, a group of very young girls began
singing tales about desert life under the firmament silently twinkling
up afar. These song tales told of love, of war, and of landscapes
disappearing under the bright stars. One of them told of death. It
said:
Live in this world as if you were going to live forever,
Prepare for the next world as if you were going to die
tomorrow. More than halves of the Arabs are Bedouins
The one who is rich knows after all the sacred hospitality
as well as the poorest of the nomads.
Everyone is perfected and inspired with conscience of
what is wrong and what is right.
Remind them! O Remind the believers!
Live in this world as if you were going to live forever,
Prepare for the next world as if you were going to die
tomorrow.”
In the back of the tent, I suddenly saw the scholar
approaching a woman who stood erect in one corner, tending a child.
Then he drew a bouquet of flowers he had picked from the wadi and
placed it on her lap, smiling. The heavy burqa glittered and I saw
Djaliil smiling back, happy. The magic of this instant was worth
waiting. It had been worth not knowing right away the identity of the
hawdaj lady. I had traveled across dunes and dust without knowing
Djaliil's mother had followed in our tracks. I did not know she had
come back to her tribe after many years of absence. I did not know
and that was the beauty of it. I suddenly realized how small I was.
And I recited:
"What have I got to do with the material world? The
example of the material world is that of a traveler. Traveling in
the afternoon, he stopped to rest under the shade of a tree for
some moments. Then he rose and left it."
Alike a traveler, I left and went sleeping on the bare ground.
At that instant, I knew that I really was a voyager.
Never would I feel that concept as strongly ever after. Now, it was
in me. And I remembered the trees slowly sliding into the sand
dunes, forever forgotten, and I understood. I understood that we all
but passed in this life, and that was what was intended.
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