“The harîm of my grandfather, Muhammad Pasha Sâlih, depute me to request that thou wilt honour us this day and every day with thy most gracious presence, O my mother.”
Before the termination of this speech and ceremony, Barakah was lying on her face in tears. She had thought, through the long hours of deprivation, that they were teaching her own child to disregard, if not to hate her. The relief was great. Murjânah sat beside her and caressed her, while Muhammad, standing reverently, looked concerned.
They took her with them in the carriage to the Pasha’s house, where, instead of reprobation, she met boundless sympathy. The ladies Fitnah and Murjânah told her all that had been done for the small boy, with evident anxiety for her approval. Muhammad showed her all the harîm pets. He bade a slave-girl bring his own white doves. She brought three in her bosom. At his call, they flew to him and settled on his head and shoulders. There dwelt a parrot in the house of Na’imah, a monkey in the house of Fitnah Khânum, which she had to visit; as well as roving cats, and little birds in cages, and several street-dogs who came round for food. He also showed with pride his plot of garden, consisting of a box of scented herbs. And all the while that she was in the house, he waited on her like a page, kissing her hand whenever he could get a chance, and telling her the joy he felt in seeing her. When, left alone with him, she strove to whisper consolation, he shook his head decidedly, and told her: “O my mother, I have learnt to know that I was very wicked. Thou wast ever much too gentle and too kind with me. Allah knows how much I love thee—my grandmothers have taught me that—but it is well that I should be removed from thee a while and brought to reverence. It is not right that one so delicate as thou art should have a rough, ill-mannered boy to vex her.”
He loved her more than ever, it appeared, but thought her not much wiser than himself.
Her fear of the stern rules of El Islâm was tamed by reverence.
“By Allah, they are like the string and we the beads,” said Umm ed-Dahak, holding up a rosary to point her meaning. “Thirty-three beads of no intrinsic worth. If scattered, useless and soon lost. If strung together, a comely instrument of praise to God.”
Barakah watched Muhammad with humility; not jealous of the change which had been wrought by others, but choosing to regard it as a miracle direct from Heaven. His pride, once wayward, now was focused on his coming manhood. He told her all his thoughts, which seemed to her most wise. He waited on her hand and foot when in her presence. Yet in this deference there was a touch of condescension which was absent from the honour which he paid to Yûsuf. His father was his sovereign, she his tender care. Such wisdom in so small a child appeared miraculous. She worshipped his perfections while he bowed before her.