One Object, Unique In Appearance,
Stood In View—The Temple Of The One Allah, The God Of Abraham, Of
Ishmael, And Of Their Posterity.
Sublime it was, and expressing by all
the eloquence of fancy the grandeur of the One Idea which vitalised
Al-Islam, and the strength and steadfastness of its votaries.
The oval pavement round the Ka’abah was crowded with men, women, and
children, mostly divided into parties, which followed a Mutawwif; some
walking staidly, and others running, whilst many stood in groups to
prayer. What a scene of contrasts! Here stalked the Badawi woman, in
her long black robe like a nun’s serge, and poppy-coloured face-veil,
pierced to show two fiercely flashing orbs. There an Indian woman, with
her semi-Tartar features, nakedly hideous, and her thin legs, encased
in wrinkled tights, hurried round the fane. Every now and then a
corpse, borne upon its wooden shell, circuited the shrine by means of
four bearers, whom other Moslems, as is the custom, occasionally
relieved. A few fair-skinned Turks lounged about, looking cold and
repulsive, as their wont is. In one place a fast Calcutta Khitmugar
stood, with turband awry and arms akimbo, contemplating the view
jauntily, as those “gentlemen’s gentlemen” will do. In another, some poor
wretch, with arms thrown on high, so that every part of his person
might touch the Ka’abah, was clinging to the curtain and sobbing as
though his heart would break.
From this spectacle my eyes turned towards Abu Kubays.
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