After Resting About An Hour In The Booth,
Which, Though Crowded With Sitting Customers, Was Delightfully Cool
Compared With The Burning Glare Of The Road, We Mounted Our Asses, And
At Eleven A.M. We Started Meccah-Wards.
This return from Muna to Meccah is called Al-Nafr, or the Flight[FN#8]:
we did not fail to keep our asses at speed, with a few halts to refresh
ourselves with gugglets of water.
There was nothing remarkable in the
scene: our ride in was a repetition of our ride out. In about half an
hour we entered the city, passing through that classical locality
called “Batn Kuraysh,” which was crowded with people, and then we repaired
to the boy Mohammed’s house for the purpose of bathing and preparing to
visit the Ka’abah.
Shortly after our arrival, the youth returned home in a state of
excitement, exclaiming, “Rise, Effendi! dress and follow me!” The Ka’abah,
though open, would for a time be empty, so that we should escape the
crowd. My pilgrim’s garb, which had not been removed, was made to look
neat and somewhat Indian, and we sallied forth together without loss of
time.
A crowd had gathered round the Ka’abah, and I had no wish to stand
bareheaded and barefooted in the midday September sun. At the cry of
“Open a path for the Haji who would enter the House,” the gazers made way.
Two stout Meccans, who stood below the door, raised me in their arms,
whilst a third drew me from above into the building.
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