Come hither to salvation! Come hither to salvation!
God is Great! There is no other god than God!
AN EGYPTIAN GROCER.
The words swept over the city like a storm cloud, fraught with darkness, thunder, and lightning—symbols these of the mysteries, the threats, and the promises of the Faith. The mere sound of the full-throated syllables, even to one who had no Arabic, would, however obscure it might be, suggest something alike threatening and revealing. It was as though some moonless desert had found a tongue to proclaim to-morrow’s sunrise.
“By my life!” cried Seyyid ’Alí, “why, this human voice, acknowledging the might of the most Mighty, finds its way to the core of being. I do repent in that I did make mock of the engraver of seals. He was a righteous man, and of excellent courtesy and address. I have committed a fault. I have eaten dirt. I am the humblest of his servants. Come, yá-Moulai, let us hasten to say the Fátihah within the holy precincts of the Harem.” This prayer runs:
“Praise be to God, the Lord of the Worlds, the Compassionate, the Merciful, the King of the Day of Judgment. Thee do we worship, and of Thee do we seek help. Lead us in the right way, the way of those to whom Thou hast been gracious, not of those with whom thou art angry, nor of those who go astray.”
This, the opening chapter of the Kurán, is held in special veneration by the Muhammadans, by whom it is sometimes called the chapter of prayer, of thanksgiving, of treasure, and is repeated by them as often as the Christians repeat the Lord’s Prayer. Not less precious is the sublime passage in the second Súra, descriptive of the Divine Majesty, and entitled Ayatu’l-Kúrsí—that is, being translated, the Verse of the Throne. It runs something like this:
“God, save whom there is no God, is the living, the self-subsisting one. Slumber overpowereth Him not, nor sleep. Unto Him belongeth whatsoever is in the heavens, and whatsoever is in the earth. Who is he that shall intercede with Him, save through His good pleasure? He knoweth that which is past, and that which is to come unto them; and they understand not a single iota of His knowledge, except so far as He hath willed. His firmament spans the heavens and the earth, the preservation whereof doth not distress Him. And He is the most High, the most Supreme.”
Having said our prayers, my guide and I, we left the Harem and returned to the bazaars. The smell of burning aloe-wood drew our eyes to a shop where combs seemed to be the only purchasable articles. These combs, made of ebony, were of two kinds. The first, used by the men, are called male combs. They are provided with a single row of teeth. The others, known as female combs, have teeth on both sides. We passed on. A man bearing a sheepskin was hawking honey, like the water of the eye for purity. It is brought down to the Meccan markets by the Arabs of the clan of Beni Salem, another branch of the tribe of Harb, who also dwell not far from Rabegh, and are more numerous than the two tribes aforementioned, whose Sheykhs we had the pleasure of meeting in the coffee-house. Among the countless hawkers thronging the thoroughfares not a single Arab milkman did we see. We met only one milkman, and he was an Indian. For milk-selling is not a popular pursuit in Arabia. Indeed, it carries with it the stigma of an ineffaceable disgrace, the term “milk-seller” having come to bear the meaning of “bastard.” In like manner the Persians make use of the expression “mást-kash,” sour milk carrier, on the rare occasions when they are driven to reprove a mean flatterer. The first shop we entered was that of a draper who drove a remunerative trade in winding-sheets. There we noticed the poorer side of the East. Crowds of beggars—not necessarily poverty-stricken—were practising their lucrative business. Some were weeping, many were malingering, and one was really dead. There was no bargaining over the prices of the grave-clothes. Every purchaser chose the one he could afford to buy. While I was selecting mine Seyyid ’Alí intervened, saying, in an undertone: