“As you wish, Sha‘ban. But please tell the Master that I’ll come to see him again before he leaves on the pilgrimage.”
The two men bade each other a warm farewell, then parted company.
Two Notes
Note One: By dawn on the fourteenth day of Ramadan, preparations for the master’s pilgrimage were all in place. His servant Sha‘ban was sparing no effort rushing around and offering assistance. It was almost as though he were giving advanced expression to his delight because his master had promised to send him on the pilgrimage the following year.
Two hours after breakfast ‘Abd al-Rahman had the idea of packing some books in his baggage, but he abandoned the idea, contenting himself with a copy of the Qur’an and of Stations of Pilgrims on the Path to the Clear Truth by al-Harawi al-Ansari. Just as he was thinking of choosing a third book, he heard a light tapping on the door and hurried over. As he opened it, ‘Abd al-Rahman found himself face to face with Umm al-Banin, with Sha‘ban standing just behind her looking aggravated and worried. Before even exchanging greetings with her, he asked how her husband was. Handing him two full baskets, she answered by saying that all she wanted was to give him some food for the journey and to ask him to pray during the course of his blessed pilgrimage that she might have a child. She also managed to stammer out that Hammu would not object if he knew that she had come to see him.
‘Abd al-Rahman stood there, not knowing what to do. One moment he was looking at this veiled woman who clearly wanted to come inside, then he was glancing at his servant as though asking him for advice. When she grabbed his hand and kissed it fervently, he allowed her to come inside for fear that his neighbors might notice. He told his servant to take the gift and to stay close by.
‘Abd al-Rahman now sat down on his bench, reciting verses as he did so, while his visitor sat on the carpet close to his knees. In a single rapid gesture she removed her veil.
“I have learned,” she said, “that our Master is going on the pilgrimage. For that reason I have taken over the role of your late wife by providing you with some food for the journey: some local butter, honey, salted meat, and some sweets. Were I able to do so, I would have brought my Master all the gifts in the world.”
“Umm al-Banin, may you be well rewarded for your thoughtfulness and may God guide you to what pleases Him.”
As ‘Abd al-Rahman mouthed these words, he had to make an enormous effort to keep his emotions under control. He kept snatching glances at the uncovered face of this beautiful and delicate woman. All of a sudden she grabbed hold of his hand and started kissing it on both sides with tremendous fervor. He told her to stop and begged her to do so, but nothing had any effect. When he gave up and surrendered to the reality of the situation, he had the strong impression that his hand was actually complying with the woman’s wishes and enjoying the long, continuous kisses and the strokes of lips and cheeks it was receiving, mingled as they were with copious warm tears.
“Why are you weeping, Umm al-Banin?” he asked.
“Because, sir, my name is really not appropriate; I am called Umm al-Banin, mother of sons, and yet I have children only in my dreams. My desire for children has grown stronger than ever and occupies my every living moment. Neither distractions nor hugging other people’s children are of any use when it comes to lessening the yearning I feel. Sometimes, sir, when I’m on my own, you’ll see me grab a pillow to my lap and sing this nursery rhyme, crying like an idiot:
Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baby,
Bringing baby nice din-dins,
Dada comes from the garden,
With peaches and pomegranates.
“I’ve been childless for so many years, it makes me worried. I’m scared I’ll still be without children when menopause strikes — heaven forbid.”
The woman was speaking in genuine pain. Once in a while she would raise her teary eyes to look at ‘Abd al-Rahman who was lending a sympathetic ear to her tale.
“I beseech you, sir,” she went on pleadingly, “in the name of the blessed aura of your scholarship and your love for God and His Prophet, please pray during the course of your pilgrimage that I may give birth. Do not forget me while you are clasping the grillework of the shrine, performing the circumambulation of the Ka‘ba, running between Safa and Marwa, and standing on Mount ‘Arafat. Ask the Generous Provider to give me a child, just one baby who will enter the world from my womb and suckle my own milk. If I have no chance to produce a child and bring it up, my nipples and womb will wither to nothing. Tell me, sir, am I begging God to do something of which He is incapable?”
‘Abd al-Rahman grabbed the opportunity afforded by his annoyance at this inappropriate question and swiftly withdrew his hand so that nothing untoward should happen to him during this fasting month.
“Be reconciled to God, woman,” he said, “and never despair of His mercy. I hereby promise to devote much prayer to achieving your wishes. Now go home to your husband and prepare his morning meal. Tell him that you have been to see me.”
Umm al-Banin stood up, wiped away her tears, and put her veil on again. Eyes lowered, she left the room, compliant, yet happy. At first, Sha‘ban hesitated to say anything, but when his master encouraged him, he spoke.
“Having accompanied this woman on her walks, I am convinced — and God knows best — that she is undoubtedly both devout and loyal. But she likes to show herself in public and enjoys listening to the admiring comments and flirtatious gestures aimed at her. On our walks she has often told me not to stop the young men by the Nile or in the streets when they say such things to her. Her excuse has always been that in such places the breezes soon waft away such amorous expressions. There’s something else as well. All the time she keeps asking me for news about you and your activities. As God can attest, I only respond in the most general of terms, nothing specific. I tell her that you steer well clear of any involvement with women. But when she insisted that I escort her to your house tonight, there was absolutely no way of stopping her.”
‘Abd al-Rahman gave Sha‘ban a sympathetic smile. He asked his servant to recheck the baggage, heat some water for the solemn ritual of purification, and then go to the cameleer to check on the departure time next day after the noontime prayers. Once ‘Abd al-Rahman was left alone, he offered thanks to God that Umm al-Banin had not paid him a visit before the breaking of the fast had been announced. If she had done so — heaven forbid, she would assuredly have invalidated his fast and ritual purity. Praise be to the Arranger of Times and Matters!
Note Two: On the morning of the middle day of Ramadan, ‘Abd al-Rahman was shaken awake by a strange dream he had had. In it he saw himself saying farewell to Umm al-Banin who had become his wife. He was on his way to a Middle Eastern city close by where he was about to meet the descendant of Genghiz Khan, Timur Lang. No sooner had al-Hihi come in that he started telling him about the second part of the dream (omitting any mention of the first).
“In this dream I had, Hammu, the strangest thing happened. My mind is still reeling! I saw myself in a Mamluk city sitting with the mighty warrior, Prince Timur, ruler of the Mongols and Tatars. At some points I was discussing things with him, and at others I was negotiating. I can’t remember the sequence or details any longer. By the way, I recall now that my own shaykh, Muhammad ibn Ibrahim al-Abili, that master of rational ideas — God have mercy on him — predicted that I would eventually get to meet this person who, following the example of his forebears, would ravage the lands of Islam with fire and destruction and crush its people in a reign of terror and tyranny. This all happened at the beginning of the seventh Islamic century at the hands of Genghiz Khan, and the situation worsened with his grandson, Hulagu Khan, the destroyer of Baghdad. Now that same Tatar onslaught continues its onward march with another descendant. Timur Lang. All this is happening to us when barely half a century has passed since the Middle East managed to escape from the nightmare of the Crusades and the western regions from their massive defeat at the battle of al-Arak in 591. I can think of no better account of these terrors and disasters than that of Ibn al-Athir, even though he did not live long enough to witness its final destructive phases.