There is a life-like pliability
[p.34] about it as it falls, and the tight cerements so define the
outlines that the action makes me shudder. It looks almost as if the
dead were conscious of what is about to occur. They have forgotten
their tools; one man starts to fetch them, and three sit down to smoke.
After a time a shallow grave is hastily scooped out.[FN#11] The corpse
is packed in it with such unseemly haste that earth touches it in all
directions,—cruel carelessness among Moslems, who believe this to torture
the sentient frame.[FN#12] One comfort suggests itself. The poor man
being a pilgrim has died “Shahid”—in martyrdom. Ere long his spirit shall
leave Al-Bakia,
“And he on honey-dew shall feed,
And drink the milk of Paradise.”
I entered the holy cemetery right foot forwards, as if it were a
Mosque, and barefooted, to avoid suspicion of being a heretic. For
though the citizens wear their shoes in the Bakia, they are much
offended at seeing the Persians follow their example. We began by the
general benediction[FN#13]: “Peace be upon Ye, O People of Al-Bakia!
Peace be upon Ye, O Admitted to the Presence of the
[p.35] Most High!
