The Boys And The Beggars Were Inspired With Fresh Energy, The
Aghawat Were Gruffer And Surlier Than I Had Ever Seen Them, And The
Young Men About Town Walked And Talked With A Freer And An Easier
Demeanour Than Usual.
My old friends the Persians-there were about 1200
of them in the Hajj Caravan-attracted my attention.
The doorkeepers
stopped them with curses as they were about to enter, and all claimed
from each the sum of five piastres, whilst other Moslems were allowed
to enter the Mosque free. Unhappy men! they had lost all the Shiraz
swagger, their mustachios dropped pitiably, their eyes would not look
any one in the face, and not a head bore a cap stuck upon it crookedly.
Whenever an "'Ajami," whatever might be his rank, stood in the way of
an Arab or a Turk, he was rudely thrust aside, with abuse muttered loud
enough to be heard by all around. All eyes followed them as they went
through the ceremonies of Ziyarat, especially as they approached the
tombs of Abu Bakr and Omar,-which every man is bound to defile if he
can,-and the supposed place of Fatimah's burial. Here they stood in
parties, after praying before the Prophet's window: one read from a
book the pathetic tale of the Lady's life, sorrows, and
[p.435]mourning death, whilst the others listened to him with
breathless attention. Sometimes their emotion was too strong to be
repressed. "Ay Fatimah! Ay Muzlumah! Way!
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