It Was As If The
Poetical Legends Of The Arab Spoke Truth, And That The Waving Wings Of
Angels, Not The Sweet Breeze Of Morning, Were Agitating And Swelling
The Black Covering Of The Shrine.
But, to confess humbling truth,
theirs was the high feeling of religious enthusiasm, mine was the
ecstasy of gratified pride.
Few Moslems contemplate for the first time the Ka’abah, without fear and
awe: there is a popular jest against new comers, that they generally
inquire the direction of prayer. This being the Kiblah, or fronting
place, Moslems pray all around it; a circumstance which of course
cannot take place in any spot of Al-Islam but the Harim. The boy
Mohammed, therefore, left me for a few minutes to myself; but presently
he warned me that it was time to begin. Advancing, we entered through
the Bab Benu Shaybah, the “Gate of the Sons of the Shaybah[FN#5]” (old
woman). There we raised our
[p.162] hands, repeated the Labbayk, the Takbir, and the Tahlil; after
which we uttered certain supplications, and drew our hands down our
faces. Then we proceeded to the Shafe’is’ place of worship—the open pavement
between the Makam Ibrahim and the well Zemzem—where we performed the
usual two-bow prayer in honour of the Mosque. This was followed by a
cup of holy water and a present to the Sakkas, or carriers, who for the
consideration distributed, in my name, a large earthen vaseful to poor
pilgrims.
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