A month and a half went by. Such was my love for my wife and my yearning desire to see her again, she being mistress of my body and soul, that I counted the passage of time in heartbeats. I decided to bolster my patience by performing the minor pilgrimage and standing on the Mountain of Mercy, invoking all kinds of prayers that would engender a favorable response and good outcome. That is how I came to compose the Epistle at Arafa, all of it in accordance with the statements of various schools and accepted traditions. For students I convened a number of sessions on the topic, in which I expounded on the work's major themes and explained the work's goals. I pointed out that the process of standing at 'Arafa was a gesture of wisdom, not merely an act of worship. I summed up the whole thing by saying, "The day spent standing at 'Arafa represents continuation of the relationship, severance of the appurtenances of causality, departure from the humiliation of pernicious phenomena, and entry into the higher world by means of essence. It is there that one glimpses the first signs of the ultimate, is exposed to the fragrances of the good works of the one who gains cognizance so that he may perceive and be perceived."
The students made many copies of the Epistle and circulated it to pilgrims and people praying in the Great Mosque and at some of the entry gates. Some copies fell into the hands of the usual set of jurist pedants, who proceeded to read it with their feeble eyes and intellects, not to mention their poor and outmoded methodology. It managed, not surprisingly, to get on their nerves and provoke their extreme anger. They all went to see the governor to complain and showed him a copy of the Epistle, pointing out passages that they considered deviant and blasphemous. When the governor looked at the text for himself, he told them to stop disparaging a holy man of God. He likened them to someone whom I actually mention in the epistle itself, looking out on the world from a concave fortress so that all he can see is whatever is directly facing it. Hatred, the governor reminded them, only engenders troubles. He went on to suggest that they follow the path of tolerance rather than the opposite, of lofty goals rather than paltry ones. With that he sent them away, duly humbled. Someone whose information was entirely trustworthy shared this account with me, all of which only increased my admiration for the governor.
With the arrival of the month of Rajab I was hoping dearly for the fulfillment of that amazing event, than which there could not be anything sweeter and dearer to my heart: to see my wife standing before me, to hug and kiss her and share those bonds of marriage that God and religion have declared permissible. During that month, never a day passed without my washing myself in either the Jamal al-din or the Mayyanshi baths, putting on some perfume, and donning my very best clothes. I would leave it to Ghaylan and Yasir to clean the house and prepare for my reunion with my wife. I would then hire a camel and head out of Mecca to the north toward the port of Jedda. There I would ask for the captain of the boat in which my wife was traveling. No one knew of his whereabouts. I kept on searching and making inquiries, but without success. I even gave my wife's name to the person in charge of receiving pilgrims. When I eventually returned to the residence at night, my hopes dashed, I would start to panic. I endured a thousand kinds of agony, and only intercessions, dreams, and constant prayer enabled me to overcome them. Both Yasir and Ghaylan realized full well what I was going through. They both advised me to relax at home. They volunteered to take turns traveling to Jedda to check on things.
But at the end of Rajab there came the day when I received the most unbearable news conceivable. At midday both men came into my room, their faces glum and utterly miserable, followed by a group of other people. From them I learned that my dear wife had died; they offered their sympathy and condolences. I looked like someone whose tongue had been cut out or who had swallowed steel; my only response was with eye movements and gesticulations. The captain of the vessel and its pilot both told me about the journey and the difficulties they had faced. They particularly emphasized the efforts they and the women on board had made to save my wife; she had been struck down by a fever, and it had reached its most intensive stage in the boiling heat of `Aydab, that unlucky spot. But God had decided to take my wife to Himself, along with five other victims. They handed me the death and burial certificate before departing along with the group of other people, all of whom also expressed their sorrow and condolences.
No sooner had they left than both Ghaylan and Yasir burst into tears. I meanwhile was trying to get my tongue to work, while simultaneously holding back my own tears and preventing myself from feeling giddy. They then took me into the garden, where a host of mourners, students, and disciples were gathering, people I knew and others I didn't.
Just after noon, a group of sharifs arrived, with Abu Numa at their head. They all offered me their condolences, while Yasir was yet more affected by the fact that the governor and the sharifs had come to see me. He and his assistants did their level best to offer a welcome to the mourners according to custom and tradition. Just before the afternoon prayer, everyone left for the sacred enclosure in a procession that I myself headed, accompanied by the notables of the city. Their leader held on to my arm and from time to time whispered words of sorrow and sympathy into my ear. Once the ablutions and prayers were over, we were summoned to the prayer for the departed. The ceremony was conducted in a reverential manner. When it was completed, I told my distinguished companion the governor that I dearly wished to return to my residence and rest. He suggested that he would accompany me on a trip to visit my late wife's grave and gave me a choice of two dates. "The best charity is that which comes soonest," I said, quoting the old proverb. With that, we embraced, and everyone went their own way.
Once back at my residence, I locked the door and lay down on my bed. Now the tears came, and I started sobbing quietly, fully aware that there was no way of salving my shattered soul and broken heart. I felt absolutely terrible and was unable to sleep, except perhaps for the occasional nap. This went on for two days or more, at the end of which Yasir knocked on my door to make sure I was still among the living. He told me that the governor had been asking for me. I decided to get up, wash, and pray. As I left the house, I acknowledged the condolences of a new set of people, including students and disciples. I first checked on the date and time, then headed for the governor's palace, where I found Abu Numa waiting for me.
As I walked toward him I offered my apologies, but he gave me a warm and sympathetic welcome. He took me to a back courtyard where a troop was ready to leave. We both mounted horses and headed for the Jedda port surrounded by armed guards. Once there, we boarded a boat along with our mounts, bound for 'Aydab. When we arrived, he headed for the cemetery to the south of the town that had been designated on the death and burial certificates. The five members of the guards split up to look for the other victims who had been buried here, and I trusted my heart and instincts to direct me to the place where my late wife was buried. I walked very slowly, followed by my companion who had made this trip possible. When I stopped, I took a look at the letters inscribed on the grave to my left, and there indeed was my wife's grave. Without tears or panic, I leaned over the soil and inhaled the blessed scent of the precious one it contained. The sharif did likewise. I then pronounced some short verses from the Qur'an and prayers invoking God's mercy on the pure spirit of my wife, asking that the Creator grant her entry into the broad expanses of His paradise. All around me, the sharif, his guards, and some local indigents kept repeating their amens and invoking phrases appropriate for the place and occasion. Both in the cemetery and by the gate I handed out as many alms as I could, as did the governor himself. With that we returned to Mecca. During the return journey the governor asked me about the idea of building a tomb for my late wife, but I declined his offer, saying that I thought it better for her grave to be just like the majority of other believers. Apart from that conversation, the governor and I remained silent for the rest of the journey.