I now pass on to the Day of Sacrifice and the Days of Drying Flesh.
CHAPTER XII
THE DAY OF VICTIMS: FROM SUNDOWN TO SUNSET.
THE DAYS OF DRYING FLESH.
Long before the signal of Essraf was given, the canvas-city had been in a state of confusion: so that by the time the sermon was over most of the tents had been folded and stowed away. Thus everything was now ready for the impetuous rush from Arafat.
The pilgrims’ jubilation was then at its height. The uproar was deafening: drums were beaten, bugles called us to make haste, and rocket after rocket exploded as it whirred through the air.... We waited half an hour or so, exchanging kisses and congratulations, and then a path was prepared for the cavalcades. The Egyptian Mahmil took the right-hand side of the road and the Syrian the left: after them charged the mounted pilgrims, followed by those on foot, all and each showing the same reckless determination to press forward over every obstacle, no matter how narrow the road might be.
This headlong stampede after the sermon on the Mount is historic. It never grows stale with the years. The havoc it wrought in 1319 of the Flight it would be quite impossible to exaggerate; for the confusion which has become traditional was increased fivefold by the number of pilgrims, a number that was vastly greater than any within the recollection of the authorities. Women and men swooned in the crush and were trampled to death—litters were overthrown and smashed in pieces—camels were trodden under foot: but neither disaster nor death could, in the slightest degree, glut the wild desire by which the crowd was moved—the desire, namely, of being more completely possessed by the feeling of a religion-wrought delirium. It was not a triumphant procession of peaceful pilgrims, therefore, though that is undoubtedly what it should be; it was a charge of religious madmen running amok. How many were killed or maimed, I can hazard no guess; but of this I am quite certain,—the casualties had not been so terrible on any previous occasion within the memory of man.
Thus the dense mass moved on, and about the hour of midnight we reached Muzdalifah. There we halted for the night, the pious passing the time in praying and reading the Kurán. Very few pilgrims took the trouble to pitch tents here, the vast majority of them sleeping on the ground. Before lying down to rest, Seyyid ’Alí and I collected forty-nine stones apiece for the Lapidation of the Devil in the valley of Mina.
Now, this ceremony takes place three times: first, between sunrise and sunset on the 10th of the moon when every pilgrim must fling seven stones at a buttress, situated at the Meccan entrance to the valley, and called the Great Devil. These seven stones must be gathered at Muzdalifah, and have to be washed seven times and each time in fresh water. On the following day, the 11th, twenty-one stones must be thrown: seven at the Great Devil as before, seven at the Wusta or Central Point in the middle of the valley, and, last of all, seven more at the Ula or First Place lying at that entrance to Mina which faces Arafat. All these twenty-one stones may be gathered either in the valley itself or at Muzdalifah on the return journey; but they, too, must be washed seven times and each time in fresh water. The same rules apply to the third Lapidation, which is held on the 12th of Zú-’l-hijjáh: and the three ceremonies aforementioned are performed in commemoration of the tradition that Abraham was tempted three times of the Devil, at those very places in the valley, what time he was about to sacrifice his son Ishmael. Now the first day, which is the 10th of Zú-’l-hijjah, is called the Day of Victims, while the two following days are called the Days of Drying Flesh in the Sun.
Awaking early, my party set out, at peep of day, to the sacred monument hard by, where, amid scenes of indescribable solemnity, the Festival Prayers were celebrated by the Kazi of Mecca, who also preached a short sermon. Departing thence at sunrise, we arrived at Mina about nine o’clock, one of our servants dying of cholera on the road. We buried him where he fell, each one of us wondering if his own life would be the next to come to an end. What would happen after the slaying of the victims we dared not think. The prospect looked gloomy in the extreme.
Having eaten a good meal, we traversed the valley in the direction of Mecca, in order to be rid, as soon as possible, of the tiresome duty of stoning the Great Devil. When we reached the entrance to the valley, it was to find our access to his Satanic Majesty blocked by a vast concourse of excited pilgrims. The road, about thirteen yards wide, was packed with horsemen, camel-riders, litters, pilgrims on foot, and women in kejavehs, all struggling and fighting to get within stone’s throw of the buttress which rests against a wall that is only a little higher than itself which is—say, three yards high by two yards broad. Of the Orthodox sects the Shafeis are the most privileged, for they are allowed to stand at a distance of five cubits from the Devil, whereas the Hanefis are supposed to make their attack the more formidable by fighting at close quarters—within arm’s reach of the Arch Foe.
And all the while the great mountains frowned down upon us; very awe-inspiring I found them: the seven stones I had brought along with me fell at my feet only to be picked up by Seyyid ’Alí.