“Bismillah” (in the name of God), handing a pipe.
Friend admiring it: “Mashallah” (God is great). And so on.
Many of these phrases in which the name of God is used are with the intention of avoiding the evil eye. Nothing must be admired, in so many words, without one of these invocations.
Thus, one must not say, “What a fine boy!” on seeing a Persian son, but “Mashallah” (praise God). In fact, the word “Mashallah,” engraved on gold or silver and ornamented with pearls, is commonly worn sewn to the caps of young children, and the word is often written and worn as an amulet to protect a fine horse. For the same reason a blue bead is often put in the tail of a horse, or sewn on the caps of the children of the poor. Cats’ eyes are frequently worn for this protection from the evil eye, and a hand[31] with one finger extended I have seen used. This hand was, of course, quite different from the metal open hand which surmounts religious buildings and banners, all the fingers of which are extended. Talismans (“Telism”) are constantly worn; they are generally enclosed in metallic cases and affixed to the arm (“Bazūbund”). They are often verses from the Koran, at other times merely figures rudely drawn, or a collection of letters placed in some eccentric figure, as the well-known Abracadabra; often the repetition of some of the names of God being simple invocations.
A Persian is very loath to let these talismans be seen. They are generally obtained from dervishes, priests, or old women.
During the cholera time in Shiraz I was attending the daughter of the then high priest. I happened to see the old gentleman, who was sitting surrounded by a crowd of friends, petitioners, and parasites. He was writing charms against the cholera. I, out of curiosity, asked him for one; it was simply a strip of paper on which was written a mere scribble, which meant nothing at all.
I took it and carefully put it away. He told me that when attacked by cholera I had but to swallow it, and it would prove an effectual remedy.
I thanked him very seriously, and went my way. The next day he called on me and presented me with two sheep and a huge cake of sugar-candy, weighing thirty pounds. I did not quite see why he gave me the present, but he laughingly told me that my serious reception of his talisman had convinced the many bystanders of its great value, and a charm desired by an unbelieving European doctor must be potent indeed.
“You see, you might have laughed at my beard; you did not. I am grateful. But if I could only say you had eaten my charm, ah—then.”
“Well,” I replied, “say so if you like,” and our interview ended.