As Their Drapery Floated In The Wind, And
Their Faces Were Veiled With The “Lisam,” It Was Frequently Difficult To
[P.182] distinguish the sex of the wild being, flogging its animal to
speed.
These people, as has been said, often resort to Arafat for
blood-revenge, in hopes of finding the victim unprepared. Nothing can
be more sinful in Al-Islam than such deed—it is murder, “made sicker” by
sacrilege; yet the prevalence of the practice proves how feeble is the
religion’s hold upon the race. The women are as unscrupulous: I remarked
many of them emulating the men in reckless riding, and striking with
their sticks every animal in the way.
Travelling Eastward up the Arafat Fiumara, after about half an hour we
came to a narrow pass called Al-Akhshabayn[FN#11] or the “Two Rugged
Hills.” Here the spurs of the rock limited the road to about a hundred
paces, and it is generally a scene of great confusion. After this we
arrived at Al-Bazan (the Basin),[FN#12] a widening of the plain; and
another half-hour brought us to the Alamayn (the “Two Signs”), whitewashed
pillars, or rather thin, narrow walls, surmounted with pinnacles, which
denote the precincts of the Arafat plain. Here, in full sight of the
Holy Hill, standing boldly out from the deep blue sky, the host of
pilgrims broke into loud Labbayks. A little beyond, and to our right,
was the simple enclosure called the Masjid Nimrah.[FN#13] We then
[p.183] turned from our eastern course northwards, and began threading
our way down the main street of the town of tents which clustered about
the southern foot of Arafat. At last, about three P.M., we found a
vacant space near the Matbakh, or kitchen, formerly belonging to a
Sharif’s palace, but now a ruin with a few shells of arches.
Arafat is about six hours’ very slow march, or twelve miles,[FN#14] on
the Taif road, due east of Meccah. We arrived there in a shorter time,
but our weary camels, during the last third of the way, frequently
threw themselves upon the ground. Human beings suffered more. Between
Muna and Arafat I saw no fewer than five men fall down and die upon the
highway: exhausted and moribund, they had dragged themselves out to
give up the ghost where it departs to instant beatitude.[FN#15] The
spectacle showed how easy it is to die in these latitudes[FN#16]; each
man suddenly staggered, fell as if shot; and, after a brief convulsion,
lay still as marble. The corpses were carefully taken up, and
carelessly buried that same evening, in a vacant space amongst the
crowds encamped upon the Arafat plain.[FN#17]
The boy Mohammed, who had long chafed at my pertinacious
[p.184] claim to Darwaysh-hood, resolved on this occasion to be grand.
To swell the party he had invited Omar Effendi, whom we accidentally
met in the streets of Meccah, to join us[;] but failing therein, he
brought with him two cousins, fat youths of sixteen and seventeen, and
his mother’s ground-floor servants. These were four Indians: an old man;
his wife, a middle-aged woman of the most ordinary appearance; their
son, a sharp boy, who spoke excellent Arabic[FN#18]; and a family
friend, a stout fellow about thirty years old. They were Panjabis, and
the bachelor’s history was instructive. He was gaining an honest
livelihood in his own country, when suddenly one night Hazrat Ali,
dressed in green, and mounted upon his charger Duldul[FN#19]—at least, so
said the narrator—appeared, crying in a terrible voice, “How long wilt thou
toil for this world, and be idle about the life to come?” From that
moment, like an English murderer, he knew no peace; Conscience and
Hazrat Ali haunted him.[FN#20] Finding
[p.185] life unendurable at home, he sold everything; raised the sum of
twenty pounds, and started for the Holy Land. He reached Jeddah with a
few rupees in his pocket[;] and came to Meccah, where, everything being
exorbitantly dear and charity all but unknown, he might have starved,
had he not been received by his old friend. The married pair and their
son had been taken as house-servants by the boy Mohammed’s mother, who
generously allowed them shelter and a pound of rice per diem to each,
but not a farthing of pay. They were even expected to provide their own
turmeric and onions. Yet these poor people were anxiously awaiting the
opportunity to visit Al-Madinah, without which their pilgrimage would
not, they believed, be complete. They would beg their way through the
terrible Desert and its Badawin—an old man, a boy, and a woman! What were
their chances of returning to their homes? Such, I believe, is too
often the history of those wretches whom a fit of religious enthusiasm,
likest to insanity, hurries away to the Holy Land. I strongly recommend
the subject to the consideration of our Indian Government as one that
calls loudly for their interference. No Eastern ruler parts, as we do,
with his subjects; all object to lose productive power. To an “Empire of
Opinion” this emigration is fraught with evils. It sends forth a horde of
malcontents that ripen into bigots; it teaches foreign nations to
despise our rule; and it unveils the present nakedness of once wealthy
India. And we have both prevention and cure in our own hands.
As no Moslem, except the Maliki, is bound to pilgrimage without a sum
sufficient to support himself and his family, all who embark at the
different ports of India should be obliged to prove their solvency
before being provided with a permit. Arrived at Jeddah, they should
present the certificate at the British Vice-Consulate, where they would
become entitled to assistance in case of necessity. The Vice-Consul at
Jeddah ought also to be instructed
[p.186] to assist our Indian pilgrims.
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