The Road to Mecca Ch 8 JINNS
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THE SUN IS ABOUT TO SET when a big, black snake suddenly slithers across our path: it is almost as thick as a child's arm and perhaps a yard long. It stops and rears its head in our direction. With almost a reflex movement, I slide down from the saddle, unsling my carbine, kneel and take aim - and at the same moment I hear Mansur's voice behind me:
'Don't shoot - don't...!'- but I have already pressed the trigger; the snake jerks, writhes and is dead.
Mansur's disapproving face appears over me. 'Thou shouldst not have killed it... anyhow, not at the time of sunset: for this is the time when the jinns come out from under ground and often assume the shape of a snake ...'
I laugh and reply: 'O Mansur, thou dost not really believe those old wives' tales about jinns in the shape of snakes?'
'Of course I believe in jinns. Does not the Book of God mention them? As to the shapes in which they sometimes appear to us - I don't know ... I have heard they can assume the strangest and most unexpected of forms...'
You may be right, Mansur, I think to myself, for, indeed, is it so farfetched to assume that, apart from the beings which our senses can perceive, there may be some that elude our perception? Is it not a kind of intellectual arrogance which makes modern man reject the possibility of life-forms other than those which can be observed and measured by him? The existence of jinns, whatever they may be, cannot be proved by scientific means. But neither can science disprove the possible existence of living beings whose biological laws may be so entirely different from our own that our outer senses can establish contact with them only under very exceptional circumstances. Is it not possible that such an occasional crossing of paths between these unknown worlds and ours gives rise to strange manifestations which man's primitive fantasy has interpreted as ghosts, demons and such other 'supernatural' apparitions?
As I remount my dromedary, playing with these questions with the half-smiling disbelief of a man whose upbringing has made him more thick-skinned than are people who have always lived closer to nature, Zayd turns with a serious countenance toward me:
'Mansur is right, O my uncle. Thou shouldst not have killed the snake. Once, many years back when I left Hail after Ibn Saud had taken the town - I shot a snake like that one on my way to Iraq. It was also at the time when the sun was setting. A short while afterward, when we stopped to say our sunset prayer, I suddenly felt a leaden weight in my legs and a burning in my head, and my head began to roar like the roar of falling waters, and my limbs became like fire, and I could not stand upright and fell to the ground like an empty sack, and everything became dark around me. I do not know how long I remained in that darkness, but I remember that in the end I stood up again. An unknown man stood to my right and another to my left, and they led me into a great, dusky hall that was full of men who walked up and down in excitement and talked to each other. After a while I became aware that these were two distinct parties, as before a court of justice. An old man of very small size was sitting on a raised dais in the background; he seemed to be a judge or chieftain, or something like that. And all at once I knew that I was the accused.
'Someone said: "He has killed him just before sunset by a shot from his rifle. He is guilty." One of the opposing party retorted: "But he did not know whom he was killing; and he pronounced the name of God when he pulled the trigger." But those of the accusing party shouted: "He did not pronounce it!" - whereupon the other party repeated, all together, in chorus: "He did, he did praise the name of God!" - and so it continued for a while, back and forth, accusation and defence, until in the end the defending party seemed to gain their point and the judge in the background decided: "He did not know whom he was killing, and he did praise the name of God. Lead him back!"
'And the two men who had brought me to the hall of judgment took me under the arms again, led me back the same way into that great darkness out of which I had come, and laid me on the ground. I opened my eyes - and saw myself lying between a few sacks of grain which had been piled on both sides of me; and over them was stretched a piece of tent cloth to protect me from the rays of the sun. It seemed to be early forenoon, and my companions had evidently made camp. In the distance I could see our camels grazing on the slope of a hill. I wanted to raise my hand, but my limbs were extremely weary. When one of my companions bent his face over me, I said, "Coffee ..." - for from nearby I heard the sound of the coffee mortar. My friend jumped up: "He speaks, he speaks! He has come to!" - and they brought me fresh, hot coffee. I asked them, "Was I unconscious the whole night?" And they answered, "The whole night? Full four days thou didst not budge! We always loaded thee like a sack onto one of the camels, and unloaded thee again at night; and we thought that we would have to bury thee here. But praise be to Him who gives and takes life, the Living who never dies..."
'So thou seest, O my uncle, one should not kill a snake at sunset.'
And although half of my mind continues to smile at Zayd's narrative, the other half seems to sense the weaving of unseen forces in the gathering dusk, an eerie commotion of sounds so fine that the ear can hardly grasp them, and a breath of hostility in the air: and I have a faint feeling of regret at having shot the snake at sunset....
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IN THE AFTERNOON of our third day out of Hail we stop to water our camels at the wells of Arja, in an almost circular valley enclosed between low hills. The two wells, large and full of sweet water, lie in the centre of the valley; each of them is the communal property of the tribe - the western one belongs to the Harb, the eastern to the Mutayr. The ground around them is as bald as the palm of one's hand, for every day around noon hundreds of camels and sheep are driven in from distant pastures to be watered here, and every little blade of grass which grows out of the soil is nibbled away before it can even take breath.
As we arrive, the valley is full of animals, and ever-new flocks and herds appear from between the sun-drenched hills. Around the wells there is a great crowding and commotion, for it is not an easy thing to satisfy the thirst of so many animals. The herdsmen draw up the water in leather buckets on long ropes, accompanying their work with a chant to keep the multiple movements even: for the buckets are very big and, when filled with water, so heavy that many hands are needed to draw them out of the depth. From the well nearest us - the one that belongs to the Mutayr tribe - I can hear the men chant to the camels:
Drink, and spare no water,
The well is full of grace and has no bottom!
Half of the men sing the first verse and the others the second, repeating both several times in quick tempo until the bucket appears over the rim of the well; then the women take over and pour the water into leathern troughs. Scores of camels press forward, bellowing and snorting, quivering with excitement, crowding around the troughs, not visibly pacified by the men's soothing calls, Hu-oih... huu-oih! One and another pushes its long, flexible neck forward, between or over its companions, so as to still its thirst as quickly as possible; there is a rocking and pushing, a swaying and thronging of light-brown and dark-brown, yellow-white and black-brown and honey-coloured bodies, and the sharp, acrid smell of animal sweat and urine fills the air. In the meantime, the bucket has been filled again, and the herdsmen draw it up to the quick accompaniment of another couplet:
Naught can still the camels' thirst But God's grace and the herdsman's toil!
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- and the spectacle of rushing water, of drinking and slurping and calling and chanting starts all over again.
An old man standing on the rim of the well raises his arm in our direction and calls out:
'May God give you life, O wayfarers! Partake of our bounty!'
whereupon several other men disentangle themselves from the crowd around the well and run toward us. One of them takes hold of my dromedary's halter and makes it kneel down, so that I may dismount in comfort. Quickly a way is made for our animals to the trough, and the women pour out water for them: for we are travellers and therefore have a prior claim.
'Is it not wonderful to behold, muses Zayd, 'how well these Harb and Mutayr are keeping their peace now, so soon after they have been warring against each other?' (For it is only three years since the Mutayr were in rebellion against the King, while the Harb were among his most faithful supporters.) 'Dost thou remember, O my uncle, the last time we were here? How we bypassed Arja in a wide circle at night, not daring to approach the wells - not knowing whether friend or foe was here...?'
Zayd is referring to the great beduin rebellion of 1928-1929 the culmination of a political drama which shook Ibn Saud's kingdom to its foundations and, for a time, involved myself in it.
WHEN THE CURTAIN ROSE in 1927, peace was reigning in the vast realm of Saudi Arabia. King Ibn Saud's struggle for power was over. His rule in Najd was no longer contested by any rival dynasty. His was Hail and the Shammar country, and his, too, was the Hijaz after he had ousted the Sharifian dynasty in 1925. Outstanding among the King's warriors was that same re-doutable beduin chieftain, Faysal ad-Dawish, who had caused him so much worry in earlier years. Ad-Dawish had distinguished himself in the King's service and proved his loyalty time and time again: in 1921 he conquered Hail for the King; in 1924 he led a daring raid into Iraq, from where the Sharifian family, protected by the British, intrigued against Ibn Saud; in 1925 he took Medina and played a decisive role in the conquest of Jidda. And now, in the summer of 1927, he was resting on his laurels in his Ikhwān settlement of Artawiyya, not far from the frontier of Iraq.
For many years that frontier had been the scene of almost continuous beduin raids arising from tribal migrations in search of pastures and water; but in a series of agreements between Ibn Saud and the British - who were responsible for Iraq as the Mandatory Power - it had been decided that no obstacles should be placed in the way of such necessary migrations, and that no fortifications of any kind should be erected on either side of the Najd-Iraq frontier. In the summer of 1927, however, the Iraqi government built and garrisoned a fort in the vicinity of the frontier wells of Bisayya, and officially announced its intention to build other forts along the frontier. A ripple of uneasiness ran through the tribes of northern Najd. They saw themselves threatened in their very existence, cut off from the wells on which they were entirely dependent. Ibn Saud protested against this open breach of agreements, only to receive - months later - an evasive answer from the British High Commissioner in Iraq.
Faysal ad-Dawish, always a man of action, told himself: 'It may not be convenient for the King to start a quarrel with the British - but I will dare it.' And in the last days of October, 1927, he set out at the head of his Ikhwan, attacked and destroyed the fort of Bisayya, giving no quarter to its Iraqi garrison. British aeroplanes appeared over the scene, reconnoitred the situation and withdrew - against their habit - without dropping a single bomb. It would have been easy for them to repel the raid (an action to which they were entitled by virtue of their treaties with Ibn Saud) and then to settle the problem of the forts by diplomatic negotiations. But was the British-Iraqi government really interested in a speedy, peaceful settlement of the dispute?
Deputations from the northern Najdi tribes appeared before Ibn Saud and pleaded for a campaign against Iraq. Ibn Saud energetically refused all such demands, declared Ad-Dawish a transgressor, and ordered the amir of Hail to keep close watch over the frontier regions. The financial allowances which the King was giving to most of the Ikhwan were temporarily cut off from the tribes under Ad-Dawish's control; and he himself was bidden to remain at Artawiyya and there await the King's judgment. The Iraqi government was officially informed of all these measures and notified that Ad-Dawish would be punished severely. At the same time, however, Ibn Saud demanded that in the future the frontier treaties be more strictly observed by Iraq.
This new conflict could thus have been easily ironed out. But when matters had reached this point, the British High Commissioner let Ibn Saud know that he was sending out an air squadron to chastise Ad-Dawish's Ikhwān (who had long since returned to their home territory) and to 'force them to obedience toward their King'. Since at the time there was no telegraph at Riyadh, Ibn Saud sent posthaste a courier to Bahrain, from where a telegram was dispatched to Baghdad, protesting against the proposed measure and invoking the treaties which forbade either party to pursue lawbreakers across the frontier. He stressed that he had no need of British 'assistance' in enforcing his authority over Ad-Dawish; and, finally, he warned that a British air action over Najdi territory would have dangerous repercussions among the Ikhwān, who were already sufficiently stirred up.
The warning remained unheeded. Toward the end of January, 1928-three months after the Bisayya incident - a British squadron flew across the frontier and bombed Najdi territory, wreaking havoc among Mutayri beduin encampments and indiscriminately killing men, women, children and cattle. All the northern Ikhwān began to prepare for a campaign of vengeance against Iraq; and it was only thanks to Ibn Saud's great prestige among the tribes that the movement was stopped in time and confined to a few minor frontier skirmishes.
In the meantime, the destroyed fort of Bisayya was quietly rebuilt by the British and two new forts were erected on the Iraqi side of the border.
FAYSAL AD-DAWISH, summoned to Riyadh, refused to come and justify an action which, in his opinion, had been undertaken in the King's own interest. Personal resentment added to his bitterness. He, Faysal ad-Dawish, who had served the King so faithfully and so well, was only amir of Artawiyya which, in spite of the large number of its inhabitants, was no more than an overgrown village. His leadership had been decisive in the conquest of Hail - but the King's cousin, Ibn Mussaad, and not he, had been appointed amir of Hail. During the Hijaz campaign it was he, Ad-Dawish, who besieged Medina for months and finally forced its surrender - but not he had been made its amir. His passionate, frustrated urge for power gave him no rest. He said to himself: 'Ibn Saud belongs to the tribe of Anaza and I to the tribe of Mutayr. We are equal to another in the nobility of our descent. Why should I admit to Ibn Saud's superiority?'
Such reasoning has always been the curse of Arabian history: none will admit that another is better than he.
One by one, other dissatisfied Ikhwān chieftains began to forget how much they owed to Ibn Saud. Among them was Sultan ibn Bujad, shaykh of the powerful Atayba tribe and amir of Ghatghat, one of the largest Ikhwān settlements in Najd: victor of the battle of Taraba in 1918 against the forces of Sharif Husayn; conqueror of Taif and Mecca in 1924. Why had he to be content with being no more than amir of Ghatghat? Why had not he, but one of the King's sons, been made amir of Mecca? Why had he not at least been appointed amir of Taif? He, like Faysal ad-Dawish, saw himself cheated of what he considered his due; and since he was Ad-Dawish's brother-in-law, it appeared only logical for the two to make common cause against Ibn Saud.
In the autumn of 1928, Ibn Saud called a congress of chieftains and ulamā to Riyadh with a view to solving all these disputes. Almost all tribal leaders came except Ibn Bujad and Ad-Dawish. Adamant in their opposition, they declared Ibn Saud a heretic - for had he not made treaties with the infidels and introduced into the lands of the Arabs such instruments of the devil as motorcars, telephones, wireless sets and aeroplanes? The ulamā
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assembled at Riyadh unanimously declared that such technical innovations were not only permissible but most desirable from the religious point of view since they increased the knowledge and strength of the Muslims; and that, on the authority of the Prophet of Islam, treaties with non-Muslim powers were equally desirable if they brought peace and freedom to Muslims.
But the two rebellious chieftains continued their denunciations and found a ready echo among many of the simple Ikhwān, who did not possess sufficient knowledge to see anything but the influence of Satan in Ibn Saud's actions. His earlier failure to impart education to the Ikhwan and turn their religious fervour to positive ends began to bear its tragic fruit...
The steppes of Najd were now humming like a beehive. Mysterious emissaries rode on fast dromedaries from tribe to tribe. Clandestine meetings of chieftains took place at remote wells. And, finally, the agitation against the King burst out in open revolt, drawing in many other tribes besides the Mutayr and Atayba. The King was patient. He tried to be understanding. He sent messengers to the recalcitrant tribal leaders and tried to reason with them: but in vain. Central and northern Arabia became the scene of widespread guerrilla warfare; the almost proverbial public security of the country vanished and complete chaos reigned in Najd; bands of rebel Ikhwān swept across it in all directions, attacking villages and caravans and tribes that had remained loyal to the King.
After innumerable local skirmishes between rebel and loyal tribes, a decisive battle was fought on the plain of Sibila, in central Najd, in the spring of 1929. On one side was the King with a large force; on the other, the Mutayr and the Atayba, supported by factions from other tribes. The King was victorious. Ibn Bujad surrendered unconditionally and was brought in chains to Riyadh. Ad-Dawish was severely wounded and said to be dying. Ibn Saud, mildest of all Arabian kings, sent his personal physician to attend him - and that doctor, a young Syrian, diagnosed a serious injury to the liver, giving Ad-Dawish a week to live; whereupon the King decided: 'We shall let him die in peace; he has received his punishment from God.' He ordered that the wounded enemy be brought back to his family at Artawiyya.
But Ad-Dawish was far from dying. His injury was not nearly as serious as the young doctor had assumed; and within a few weeks he was sufficiently recovered to slip away from Artawiyya, more than ever bent on revenge.
AD-DAWISH'S ESCAPE from Artawiyya gave a new impetus to the rebellion. It was rumoured that he himself was somewhere in the vicinity of the Kuwayt frontier recruiting new tribal allies to his own, still considerable, force of Mutayr. Among the first to join him were the Ajman, a small but valiant tribe living in the province of Al-Hasa near the Persian Gulf; their shaykh, Ibn Hadhlayn, was Faysal ad-Dawish's maternal uncle. Apart from this, there was no love lost between Ibn Saud and the Ajman. Years ago they had slain the King's younger brother Saad and, fearing his revenge, had migrated to Kuwayt. Subsequently Ibn Saud had forgiven them and allowed them to return to their ancestral territory, but the old resentment continued to rankle. It flared up into open enmity when, during negotiations for a settlement, the Ajman chieftain and several of his followers were treacherously murdered in the camp of Ibn Saud's relative, the eldest son of the amir of Al-Hasa.
The alliance of the Ajman with the Mutayr kindled a new spark among the Atayba tribes in central Najd. After the capture of their amir, Ibn Bujad, they had reassembled under a new chieftain; and now they rose once again against the King, forcing him to divert most of his strength from northern to central Najd. The fight was hard, but slowly Ibn Saud got the upper hand. Group after group, he overwhelmed the Atayba until, in the end, they offered to surrender. In a village halfway between Riyadh and Mecca their shaykhs pledged fealty to the King - and the King again forgave them, hoping that at last he would have a free hand against Ad-Dawish and the rest of the rebels in the north. But hardly had he returned to Riyadh when the Atayba broke their pledge for the second time and renewed their warfare. Now it was a fight to the finish. For a third time the Atayba were defeated and almost decimated - and with the complete destruction of the Ikhwan settlement of Ghatghat, a town larger than Riyadh, the King's authority was re-established in central Najd.
Meanwhile, the struggle in the north continued. Faysal ad-Dawish and his allies were now solidly entrenched in the vicinity of the border. Ibn Musaad, the amir of Hail, attacked them time and time again in behalf of the King. Twice it was reported that Ad-Dawish had been killed; and both times the tidings proved false. He lived on, stubbornly and uncompromisingly. His eldest son and seven hundred of his warriors fell in battle; but he fought on. The question cropped up: From where does Ad-Dawish receive the money which even in Arabia is necessary for waging war? From where his arms and ammunition?
Vague reports became current that the rebel, once so bitterly critical of Ibn Saud's treaty relations with the 'infidels', was now himself treating with the British. Rumour had it that he was a frequent visitor in Kuwayt: could he be doing this, people asked themselves, without the knowledge of the British authorities? Was it not possible, rather, that turmoil in the lands of Ibn Saud suited their own purpose only too well?
ONE EVENING IN RIYADH, in the summer of 1929, I had gone to bed early and, before falling asleep, was diverting myself with an old book on the dynasties of Oman, when Zayd abruptly came into my room:
'There is a man here from the Shuyūkh. He wants to see thee at once.'
I hurriedly dressed and went to the castle. Ibn Saud was awaiting me in his private apartments, sitting cross-legged on a divan with heaps of Arabic newspapers around him and one from Cairo in his hands. He answered my greeting briefly and, without interrupting his reading, motioned me to his side on the divan. After a while he looked up, glanced at the slave who was standing by the door and indicated with a movement of his hand that he wished to be left alone with me. As soon as the slave had closed the door behind him, the King laid down the newspaper and looked at me for a while from behind his glittering glasses, as if he had not seen me for a long time (although I had spent some hours with him that very morning). 'Busy with writing?'
Iraq.' 'No, O Long-of-Age, I have not written anything for weeks.' "Those were interesting articles thou hast written about our frontier problems with
He was evidently referring to a series of dispatches I had written for my Continental newspapers about two months earlier; some of them had also appeared in a newspaper in Cairo where, I flatter myself, they helped to clarify a very involved situation. Knowing the King, I was certain that he was not speaking at random but had something definite in mind; and so I remained silent, waiting for him to continue. He did continue:
'Perhaps thou wouldst like to write something more about what is happening in Najd - about this rebellion and what it portends.' There was a trace of passion in his voice as he went on: 'The Sharifian family hates me. Those sons of Husayn who now rule in Iraq and Transjordan will always hate me, for they cannot forget that I have taken the Hijaz from them. They would like my realm to break up, for then they could return to the Hijaz and their friends, who pretend to be my friends as well, might not dislike it either... They did not build those forts for nothing: they wanted to cause me trouble and to push me away from their frontiers...'
From behind Ibn Saud's words I could hear jumbled, ghostly sounds - the rolling and rushing of railroad trains which, though still imaginary, might easily become real tomorrow: the spectre of a British railroad running from Haifa to Basra. Rumours of such a plan had been rampant for years. It was well known that the British were concerned about securing the 'land route to India': and this, indeed, was the meaning of their mandates over Palestine, Transjordan and Iraq. A railroad from the Mediterranean to the Persian Gulf would not only form a new, valuable link in Britain's
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imperial communications but would also afford greater protection to the oil pipeline that was to be laid from Iraq across the Syrian Desert to Haifa.
On the other hand, a direct rail connection between Haifa and Basra would have to cut across Ibn Saud's northeastern provinces - and the King would never even entertain such a suggestion. Was it not possible that the building of forts along the Iraq-Najd frontier, in flagrant contravention of all the existing agreements, represented the first stage of a carefully devised scheme to bring about enough disturbance within this critical area to 'justify' the establishment of a small, semi-independent buffer state more amenable to the British? Faysal ad-Dawish could serve this purpose as well as, or perhaps even better than, a member of the Sharifian family, for he was a Najdi himself and had a strong following among the Ikhwān. That his alleged religious fanaticism was only a mask was obvious to anyone acquainted with his past; what he really wanted was power alone. There was no doubt that, left to himself, he could not have held out for so long against Ibn Saud. But - had he been left to himself?
After a long pause, the King continued: 'I have been thinking, as everyone has, about the supplies of arms and ammunition that Ad-Dawish seems to have at his disposal. He has plenty of them - and plenty of money, too, it has been reported to me. I wonder whether thou wouldst not like to write about these things -I mean, those mysterious sources of Ad-Dawish's supplies. I have my own suspicions about them; perhaps even more than suspicions - but I would like thee to find out for thyself all thou canst, for I may be wrong.'
So that was it. Although the King spoke almost casually, in a conversational tone, it was obvious that he had weighed every word before he uttered it. I looked hard at him. His face, so grave a moment before, broke into a broad smile. He placed his hand on my knee and shook it:
'I want thee, O my son, to find out for thyself - I repeat: for thyself - from where Ad-Dawish is getting his rifles, his ammunition and the money he is throwing about so lavishly. There is hardly any doubt in my own mind, but I wish that someone like thee, who is not directly involved, would tell the world of the crooked truth behind Ad-Dawish's rebellion... I think thou wilt be able to find out the truth.'
Ibn Saud knew what he was doing. He has always known that I love him. Although I often disagree with his policies, and never make a secret of my disagreement, he has never withheld his confidence from me and often asks my advice. He trusts me all the more, I believe, because he is well aware that I do not expect any personal gain from him and would not even accept a post in his government, for I want to remain free. And so, on that memorable evening in the summer of 1929, he calmly suggested to me that I should go out and explore the web of political intrigue behind the Ikhwān rebellion - a mission which probably entailed personal risk and certainly could be accomplished only at the cost of strenuous efforts.
But the Shuyūkh was not disappointed in my reactions. Apart from my affection for him and his country, the task which he now entrusted to me seemed to promise an exciting adventure, not to speak of a possible journalistic 'scoop'.
'Over my eyes and my head be thy command, O Long-of-Age, I immediately replied. 'I shall certainly do what I can.'
'Of that I have no doubt, O Muhammad; and I expect thee to keep thy mission a secret. There may be danger in it - what about thy wife?'
The wife was a girl from Riyadh whom I had married the previous year; but I was able to assure the King on this point:
'She will not cry, O Imām; it was only today that I was thinking of divorcing her. We do not seem to suit one another.'
Ibn Saud smiled knowingly, for divorcing a wife was a thing not unfamiliar to him. 'But what about other people - thy kinsfolk?'
"There is no one, I believe, who would mourn should anything happen to me - except, of course, Zayd; but he will accompany me in any case, and the things that befall me will befall him as well.'
'That is all to the good,' replied the King. 'And, oh, before I forget: thou wilt require some funds for the undertaking' - and slipping his hand under the cushion behind him, he drew out a purse and thrust it into my hand; from its weight I immediately guessed that it was filled with golden sovereigns. I remember thinking to myself: How certain he must have been, even before he asked me, that I would accept his suggestion...!
BACK IN MY QUARTERS, I called Zayd, who had been awaiting my return.
'If I should ask thee, Zayd, to accompany me on an enterprise that might prove dangerous - wouldst thou go with me?'
Zayd replied: 'Dost thou think, O my uncle, that I would let thee go alone, whatever the danger? But where are we going?'
'We are going to find out from where Ad-Dawish is getting his arms and his money. But the King insists that no one should know what we are doing until it has been done; so thou must be on guard.'
Zayd did not even bother to reassure me, but turned instead to the more practical question:
'We can't very well ask Ad-Dawish or his men; how then do we set about it?'
On my way back from the castle I had been ruminating over this problem. It appeared to me that the best starting point would be one of the cities of central Najd, where there were many merchants who had intimate connections with Iraq and Kuwayt. Finally I settled upon Shaqra, the capital of the province of Washm, about three days' journey from Riyadh, where my friend Abd ar-Rahman as-Siba'i might be able to help me.
The following day was occupied with preparations for our expedition. As I did not want to attract too much attention to my movements, I cautioned Zayd not to draw provisions, as was customary with us, from the King's storehouses, but to purchase everything we needed from the bazaar. By evening Zayd had collected the necessary assortment of foodstuffs: about twenty pounds of rice, the same amount of flour for bread, a small skin containing clarified butter, dates, coffee beans and salt. He had also bought two new waterskins, a leather bucket and a goat-hair rope long enough for very deep wells. We were already well provided with arms and ammunition. Into our saddlebags we stuffed two changes of clothing per man; and each of us wore a heavy abaya which, together with the blankets over our saddles, would serve as covering on cool nights. Our dromedaries, which had spent several weeks at pasture, were in excellent condition; the one I had recently given to Zayd was an extremely fleet Omani racer, while I rode the beautiful old 'northern' thoroughbred which had once belonged to the last Rashidi amir of Hail and had been presented to me by Ibn Saud.
After nightfall we rode out of Riyadh. By dawn we reached Wadi Hanifa, a deep, barren river bed between steep hills - the site of the decisive battle fought over thirteen hundred years ago between the Muslim forces of Abu Bakr, the Prophet's successor and First Caliph of Islam, and those of the 'false prophet', Musaylima, who for many years had opposed the Muslims. The battle signalled the final victory of Islam in Central Arabia. Many of the original Companions of the Prophet fell in it, and their graves are visible to this day on the rocky slopes of the wādi.
During the forenoon we passed the ruined city of Ayayna, once a large, populous settlement, stretching along both banks of Wadi Hanifa. Between rows of tamarisks lay the remnants of the past: broken-down house walls, with the crumbling pillars of a mosque or the ruin of a palatial building rising here and there, all of them speaking of a higher, more gracious style of architecture than that of the simple mud buildings one sees in present-day Najd. It is said that until about one hundred and fifty or two hundred years ago, the entire course of Wadi Hanifa from Dar'iyya (the original capital of the Ibn Saud dynasty) to Ayayna - a distance of over fifteen miles - was one single city; and that when a son was born to the amir of Dar'iyya, the news of his birth, passed along from rooftop to rooftop by the women, travelled within minutes to the utmost end of Ayayna. The story of Ayayna's decay is so clouded by legends that it is difficult to discern the historical facts. Most probably the town was destroyed by the first Saudi ruler when it refused to accept the teachings of Muhammad ibn Abd al-Wahhab; but Wahhabi legend has it that, as a sign of God's wrath, all the wells of Ayayna dried up in a single night, forcing the inhabitants to abandon the city.
At noon of the third day we sighted the mud walls and bastions of Shaqra and the high palms which towered above its houses. We rode between empty orchards and through empty streets; and only then we remembered that it was Friday and that everyone must be at the mosque. Off and on
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we encountered a woman cloaked from head to toe in a black abāya; she would start at the sight of the strangers and draw her veil across her face with a quick, shy movement. Here and there children played in the shadow of the houses; a solid warmth was brooding over the crowns of the palms.
We went straight to the house of my good friend Abd ar-Rahman as-Siba'i, who at that time was in charge of the bayt al-māl, or treasury, of the province. We dismounted before the open gate and Zayd called into the courtyard, 'Ya walad! 'O boy!' - and as a servant boy came running out of the house, Zayd announced: 'Guests are here!'
While Zayd and the boy busied themselves with unsaddling the dromedaries in the courtyard, I made myself at home in Abd ar-Rahman's qahwa, where another servant immediately lit a fire under the brass pots on the coffee hearth. Hardly had I drunk the first sip when voices became audible from the courtyard questions and answers rang out: the master of the house had returned. Already from the staircase, still invisible, he shouted his greeting of welcome to me, and then appeared in the doorway with open arms: a delicate little man with a short, light- brown beard and a pair of deep-set, humorous eyes in a smiling face. In spite of the heat he wore a long fur coat under his abāya. This fur coat was one of his most treasured possessions. He never tired of telling everyone who was not already aware of its history that it had once belonged to the former King of the Hijaz, Sharif Husayn, and had fallen into his, Abd ar-Rahman's, hands at the conquest of Mecca in 1924. I cannot remember ever having seen him without that coat.
He embraced me warmly and, standing on his toes, kissed me on both cheeks: 'Ahlan wa-sahlan wa-marhaba! Welcome to this lowly house, O my brother. Lucky is the hour that brings thee here!!
And then came the usual questions: Whence, and whereto, and how is the King, and was there rain on the way or didst thou at least hear of rains? - the whole traditional exchange of Arabian news. I told him that Anayza, in central Najd, was my destination - which was not quite true but could well have been.
In earlier years Abd ar-Rahman had been engaged in extensive trade between Najd and Iraq and was thoroughly familiar with both Basra and Kuwayt. It was not difficult to get him to talk of those places and to sound him out about people who might recently have arrived from there (for it seemed to me that with Faysal ad-Dawish being reported so near the border of Kuwayt, either that place or Basra might furnish some indication as to his source of supplies). I learned that a member of the well-known Al-Bassam family of Anayza - an old acquaintance of mine - had recently visited Kuwayt on the way back from Basra, and, not wanting to expose himself to the hazards of a journey through rebel-infested territory, had returned via Bahrain to Najd. He was in Shaqra at present, and if I wanted, Abd ar-Rahman would send for him: for, in accordance with ancient Arabian custom, it is for the new arrival to be visited rather than to pay visits. Soon afterward, Abdullah al-Bassam joined us in Abd ar-Rahman's qahwa.
Abdullah, although belonging to perhaps the most important family of businessmen in all Najd, was not himself a rich man. His life had been full of ups and downs - mostly downs - experienced not only in Najd but also in Cairo, Baghdad, Basra, Kuwayt, Bahrain and Bombay. He knew everybody who was anybody in those places, and carried in his shrewd head a store of information about everything that was going on in Arab countries. I told him that I had been asked by a German business firm to explore the possibilities of importing agricultural machinery into Kuwayt and Basra; and since I had been offered a fat commission by the firm, I was anxious to find out which of the local merchants in those two towns were likely to entertain such a proposition. Al-Bassam mentioned several names, and then added:
'I am sure that some of the Kuwayti people will be interested in thy project. They are always importing things from abroad, and nowadays trade seems to be quite lively - so lively that large consignments of silver riyals are arriving almost every day directly from the mint at Trieste.'
The mention of the silver riyals gave me a jolt. This particular kind of riyal, the Maria Theresa thaler, constituted, side by side with the official Arabian currencies, the chief commercial coinage of the entire Peninsula. It was minted at Trieste and sold at its silver value, plus a small minting charge to the various governments and also to a few outstanding merchants with large trade interests among the beduins; for the beduins were averse to accepting paper money and took only gold or silver - preferably Maria Theresa thalers. Large imports of these coins by Kuwayti traders seemed to indicate that a brisk business was going on between them and the beduins.
'Why,' I asked Al-Bassam, 'should Kuwayti merchants import riyāls just now?'
'I do not know,' he replied, with a trace of perplexity in his voice. "They talk of buying meat-camels from beduins near Kuwayt for sale in Iraq, where the prices are high nowadays; though I do not quite see how they expect to find many camels in the steppes around Kuwayt in these disturbed times... I should rather think,' he added with a laugh, 'that it would be more profitable to buy riding-camels in Iraq and to sell them to Ad-Dawish and his men - but, of course, Ad-Dawish would not have the money to pay for them...'
Would he not, indeed?
That night, before going to bed in the room assigned to us by our host, I drew Zayd into a corner and told him:
'We are going to Kuwayt.'
'It will not be easy, O my uncle,' replied Zayd; but the gleam in his eyes spoke more eloquently than his words of his readiness to embark on something that was not only not easy but extremely dangerous. It would, of course, be child's play to travel across territory controlled by forces and tribes loyal to the King; but for at least one hundred miles or so before reaching the borders of Kuwayt we would be entirely on our own in the midst of hostile territory through which the rebellious Mutayr and Ajman tribesmen were roaming. We could, of course, travel to Kuwayt by sea via Bahrain, but that would require a permit from the British authorities and thus expose all our movements to the closest scrutiny. The same objection would apply to travelling via Al-Jawf and the Syrian Desert into Iraq, and thence to Kuwayt; for it would be too optimistic to suppose that we could slip through the many control points in Iraq. There remained, therefore, nothing but the direct overland route to Kuwayt. How to penetrate undetected into the town itself was a question that could not be easily answered at present; and so we left it to the future, trusting in our luck and hoping for unforeseen opportunities.
Abd ar-Rahman as-Siba'i wanted me to stay with him for some days, but when I pleaded urgent business, he let us go the next morning, after augmenting our food supply by a quantity of dried camel-meat - a delicious addition to the rather monotonous fare ahead of us. He also insisted that I should visit him on my return journey, to which, in truth, I could only answer, Inshā- Allah - 'God willing.'
FROM SHAQRA WE TRAVELLED for four days toward northeast without encountering anything unusual. On one occasion we were stopped by a detachment of loyal Awazim beduins who formed part of Amir Ibn Musaad's forces; but my open letter from the King immediately put them at rest and, after the customary exchange of desert tidings, we continued on our way.
Before dawn of the fifth day we approached a region over which Ibn Saud's arm no longer extended. From now on day travel was out of the
question; our only safety lay in darkness and stealth.
We made camp in a convenient gulley not far from the main course of the great Wadi ar-Rumma, the ancient, dry river bed that runs across northern Arabia toward the head of the Persian Gulf. The gulley was thickly overhung with arfaj bushes, which would afford us some cover as long as we kept close to the almost vertical bank. We hobbled our camels securely, fed them a mixture of coarse barley flour and date kernels - thus obviating the necessity of letting them out to pasture - and settled down to await the nightfall. We did not dare light a fire, for even in daytime its smoke might betray us; and so we had to content ourselves with a meal of dates and water.
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How sound our precautions were became evident in the late afternoon, when the strains of a beduin riding-chant suddenly struck our ears. We took hold of our camels' muzzles to prevent them from snorting or bellowing, and pressed ourselves, rifle in hand, flat against the protecting wall of the gulley.
The chanting grew louder as the unknown riders approached; we could already discern the words, La ilaha ill'Allah, la ilaha ill'Allah - "There is no God but God, There is no God but God' - the usual Ikhwān substitute for the more worldly travel chants of 'unreformed' beduins. There was no doubt that these were Ikhwān, and in this area they could only be hostile Ikhwān. After a while they appeared over the crest of a hillock, just above the bank of the gulley - a group of eight or ten camel-riders slowly advancing in single file, sharply outlined against the afternoon sky, each of them wearing the white Ikhwān turban over his red-and-white-checked kufiyya, two bandoliers across the chest and a rifle slung on the saddle-peg behind him: a sombre and forbidding cavalcade, swaying forward and backward, forward and backward, in rhythm with the gait of the dromedaries and the great but now so misused words, La ilaha ill'Allah... The sight was impressive and at the same time pathetic. These were men to whom their faith obviously meant more than anything else in life; they thought they were fighting for its purity and for the greater glory of God, not knowing that their fervour and their longing had been harnessed to the ambitions of an unscrupulous leader in quest of personal power...
They were on they 'right' side of the gulley as far as we were concerned: for had they been riding on the opposite side, they would have seen us as plainly as we could now see them from beneath the protective overhang of the bushes. When, with the lilt of the Creed on their lips, they disappeared from view down the hill, we sighed with relief.
'They are like jinns,' whispered Zayd. 'Yes, like the jinns who know neither joy of life nor fear of death ... They are brave and strong in faith, no one can deny that - but all they dream about is blood and death and Paradise...'
And, as if in defiance of the Ikhwān's gloomy puritanism, he began to sing, sotto voce, a very worldly Syrian love song: 'O thou maiden of golden-brown flesh...'
As soon as it was quite dark, we resumed our surreptitious march in the
direction of distant Kuwayt.
'LOOK THERE, O MY UNCLE!' Zayd suddenly exclaimed. 'A fire!'
It was too small a fire for a beduin encampment; a lonely herdsman, perhaps? But what herdsman would dare light a fire here unless he were one of the rebels? Still, it would be better to find out. If it was only one man, we could easily take care of him and also, possibly, gather some precious information about enemy movements in the area.
The soil was sandy and the feet of our camels made almost no noise as we cautiously approached the fire. In its light we could now make out the crouching figure of a solitary beduin. He seemed to be peering into the darkness in our direction, and then as if satisfied with what he had seen, he rose without hurry, crossed his arms over his chest - perhaps to indicate that he was unarmed - and calmly, without the least appearance of fright, awaited our coming.
'Who art thou?' Zayd called out sharply, his rifle pointed at the ragged stranger.
The beduin smiled slowly and answered in a deep, sonorous voice: 'I am a Sulubbi...'
The reason for his calm now became obvious. The strange, gypsy-like tribe (or rather group of tribes) to which he belonged had never taken part in Arabia's almost unceasing beduin warfare; enemies to none, they were attacked by none.
The Sulubba (sing., Sulubbi) have remained to this day an enigma to all explorers. Nobody really knows their origin. That they are not Arabs is certain: their blue eyes and light-brown hair belie their sunburned skins and carry a memory of northern regions. The ancient Arab historians tell us that they are descendants of crusaders who had been taken prisoner by Saladin and brought to Arabia, where they later became Muslims; and, indeed, the name Sulubba has the same root as the word salīb, that is, 'cross', and salībi, which means 'crusader'. Whether this explanation is correct is difficult to say. In any case, the beduins regard the Sulubba as non-Arabs and treat them with something like tolerant contempt. They explain this contempt, which contrasts sharply with the Arab's otherwise so pronounced sense of human equality, by asserting that these people are not really Muslims by conviction and do not live like Muslims. They point out that the Sulubba do not marry, but are 'promiscuous like dogs', without consideration even of close blood relationship, and that they eat carrion, which Muslims consider unclean. But this may be a post factum rationalization. I am rather inclined to think that it was the awareness of the Sulubba's racial strangeness that caused the extremely race-conscious beduin to draw a magic circle of contempt around them - an instinctive defence against blood mixture, which must have been very tempting in the case of the Sulubba: for they are, almost without exception, beautiful people, taller than most of the Arabs and of a great regularity of features; the women, especially, are very lovely, full of an elusive grace of body and movement.
But whatever the cause, the beduin's contempt for the Sulubba has made their life secure: for anyone who attacks or harms them is deemed by his kinsfolk to have forfeited his honour. Apart from this, the Sulubba are highly esteemed by all desert dwellers as veterinarians, saddle-makers, tinkers and smiths.
The beduin, though despising handicraft too much to practise it himself, is nevertheless in need of it, and the Sullubba are there to help him in his need. They are also efficient herdsmen and, above all, unquestioned masters in the art of hunting. Their ability to read tracks is almost legendary, and the only people who can compare with them in this respect are the Al Murra beduins on the northern fringes of the Empty Quarter.
Relieved at finding that our new acquaintance was a Sulubbi, I told him frankly that we were Ibn Saud's men which was quite safe in view of the respect which these people have for authority and requested him to extinguish his fire. This done, we settled on the ground for a lengthy conversation.
He could not tell us much about the disposition of Ad-Dawish's forces, 'for,' he said, 'they are always on the move, like jinns, never resting at one place for long'. It transpired, however, that no large concentration of hostile Ikhwān happened to be in our immediate vicinity just now, although small parties were constantly crossing the desert in all directions.
An idea suddenly struck me: might we not utilize the Sulubbi's instinct for hunting and pathfinding to lead us to Kuwayt?
'Hast thou ever been to Kuwayt?' I asked him.
The Sulubbi laughed. 'Many times. I have sold gazelle skins there and clarified butter and camel wool. Why, it is only ten days since I returned from there.'
'Then thou couldst perhaps guide us to Kuwayt? - I mean, guide us in such a manner as to avoid meeting Ikhwan on the way?'
For a few moments the Sulubbi pondered over this question; then he replied hesitantly: 'I might, but it would be dangerous for me to be caught by the Ikhwān in thy company. I might, though, but... but it would cost thee a lot.'
'How much?'
'Well...- and I could discern the tremor of greed in his voice - 'well, O my master, if thou wouldst give me one hundred riyāls, I might guide thee and thy friend to Kuwayt in such a manner that none but the birds of the sky would set eyes on us.'
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One hundred riyāls was equivalent to ten sovereigns - a ridiculously small sum considering what it would mean to us; but the Sulubbi had probably never in his life held so much cash in his hands.
'I shall give thee one hundred riyāls - twenty now and the rest after we reach Kuwayt.'
Our prospective guide had obviously not expected his demand to be so readily granted. Perhaps he regretted that he had not set his price higher, for, as an afterthought, he added:
'But what about my dromedary? If I ride with you to Kuwayt and then back, the poor beast will be worn out entirely, and I have only one...'
Not wishing to prolong the negotiations, I promptly replied: 'I shall buy thy dromedary. Thou shalt ride it to Kuwayt, and there I shall hand it to thee as a gift - but thou must lead us back as well.'
That was more than he could have hoped for. With great alacrity he rose, disappeared into the darkness and reappeared after a few minutes, leading an old but beautiful and obviously hardy animal. After some haggling we settled upon one hundred and fifty riyāls as its price, on the understanding that I would pay him fifty now and the rest, together with his reward, in Kuwayt. Zayd fetched a purse filled with riyāls from one of our saddlebags and I started counting the coins into the lap of the Sulubbi. From the depths of his bedraggled tunic he drew out a piece of cloth in which his money was tied; and as he started to add my riyāls to his hoard, the glitter of a new coin caught my eye.
'Stop!' I exclaimed, placing my hand over his. 'Let me see that shining riyal of thine.'
With a hesitant gesture, as if afraid of being robbed, the Sulubbi laid the coin gingerly on the palm of my hand. It felt sharp-edged, like a new coin, but to make sure I lit a match and looked at it closely. It was indeed a new Maria Theresa thaler - as new as if it had just left the mint. And when I held the match over the rest of the Sulubbi's money, I discovered five or six more coins of the same startling newness.
'Where didst thou get these riyāls?'
'I came by them honestly, O my master, I swear ... I did not steal them. A Mutayri gave them to me some weeks ago near Kuwayt. He bought a new camel-saddle from me because his was broken...
'A Mutayri? Art thou certain?'
'I am certain, O my master, and may God kill me if I speak a lie... He was of Ad-Dawish's men, one of a party that had recently been fighting against the amir of Hail. It surely was not wrong to take money from him for a saddle...? I could not well refuse, and I am sure that the Shuyūkh, may God lengthen his life, will understand this...'
I reassured him that the King would not bear any malice toward him, and his anxiety subsided. On questioning him further, I found that many other Sulubba had received such new riyāls from various partisans of Ad-Dawish in exchange for goods or small services.
OUR SULUBBI INDEED PROVED himself an outstanding guide. For three nights he led us a meandering course across rebel territory, over pathless stretches which even Zayd, who knew this country well, had never seen before. The days were spent in hiding; the Sulubbi was a past-master at finding unsuspected places of concealment. On one occasion he led us to a water hole which, he told us, was unknown even to the beduins of the region; its brackish, brown water assuaged the thirst of our camels and enabled us to refill our waterskins. Only twice did we see groups of Ikhwāns in the distance, but on neither occasion were they allowed to see us.
In the forenoon of the fourth morning after our meeting with the Sulubbi, we came within sight of the town of Kuwayt. We did not approach it from the southwest, as travellers from Najd would have done, but from the west, along the road from Basra, so that anyone who met us would think we were Iraqi traders.
Once in Kuwayt, we made ourselves at home in the compound of a merchant with whom Zayd was acquainted from his days in the Iraqi Constabulary.
A damp, oppressive heat lay over the sandy streets and the houses built of sunbaked mud bricks; and, accustomed to the open steppes of Najd, I was soon drenched with perspiration. But there was no time for rest. Leaving the Sulubbi in charge of the camels - with the strict injunction not to mention to anyone from where we had come - Zayd and I proceeded to the bazaar to make our preliminary investigations.
Not being familiar with Kuwayt myself, and not wishing to make Zayd more conspicuous by my presence, I remained for about an hour alone in a coffee shop, drinking coffee and smoking a nargile. When Zayd at last re-appeared, it was obvious from his triumphant expression that he had found out something of importance.
'Let us go outside, O my uncle. It is easier to talk in the market place without being overheard. And here I have brought something for thee - and for me as well' - and from under his abāya he produced two Iraqi igāls of thick, loosely plaited brown wool. 'These will make Iraqis of us.'
Through discreet enquiries Zayd ascertained that a former partner of his - a companion of his old smuggling days in the Persian Gulf - was now
living in Kuwayt, apparently still engaged in his accustomed trade.
'If there is anyone who can tell us something about gun-running in this town, it is Bandar. He is a Shammar like myself - one of those stubborn fools who could never fully reconcile themselves to Ibn Saud's rule. We must not let him know that we are working for the Shuyūkh - and, I think, not even from where we have come; for Bandar is not really a fool. He is a very cunning man - indeed, he has tricked me too often in the past that I should trust him now.'
We finally traced the man to a house in a narrow lane close to the main bazaar. He was tall and thin, perhaps forty years of age, with close-set eyes and a sour, dyspeptic expression; but his features lit up in genuine pleasure when he beheld Zayd. Because of my light skin, I was introduced as a Turk who had settled in Baghdad and had been engaged in exporting Arab horses from Basra to Bombay. 'But it does not pay nowadays to bring horses to Bombay,' added Zayd. 'Those merchants from Anayza and Burayda have completely cornered the market there.'
'I know,' replied Bandar, 'those dirty Southerners of Ibn Saud are not content with having taken away our country; they are bent on taking away our livelihood as well...'
'But what about gun-running, Bandar?' asked Zayd. 'There should be a lot of business here, with all these Mutayr and Ajman desirous of twisting Ibn Saud's neck - heh?'
'There was a lot of business,' replied Bandar, with a shrug of his shoulders. 'Until a few months ago I was making quite good money buying up rifles in Transjordan and selling them to the people of Ad-Dawish. But now all that is finished, entirely finished. You couldn't sell a single rifle now.'
=
'How is that? I should think Ad-Dawish would need them more than ever before.'
'Yes,' retorted Bandar, 'so he does. But he gets them at a price for which one like thee or me could never afford to sell... He gets them in cases, from overseas - English rifles, almost new - and he pays ten riyāls for a rifle with two hundred rounds of ammunition.'
'Praise be unto God!' exclaimed Zayd in genuine astonishment. 'Ten riyāls for an almost new rifle with two hundred rounds: but that is impossible...!'
It really did seem impossible, for at that time used Lee-Enfield rifles cost in Najd about thirty to thirty-five riyāls apiece, without ammunition; and even if one took into consideration that the prices at Kuwayt might be lower than in Najd, the tremendous difference was still unaccountable.
Bandar smiled wryly. 'Well, it seems that Ad-Dawish has powerful friends. Very powerful friends... Some say that one day he will become an independent amir in northern Najd.'
'What thou sayest, O Bandar,' I interposed, 'is all well and good. Perhaps Ad-Dawish will really make himself independent of Ibn Saud. But he has no money, and without money even the great Alexander could not have built a kingdom.'
Bandar broke out into a loud guffaw: 'Money? Ad-Dawish has plenty of that - plenty of new riyāls, which come to him in cases, like the rifles, from beyond the sea.'
'Cases of riyāls? But that is very strange. From where could a beduin obtain cases of new riyāls?'
'That I do not know,' replied Bandar. 'But I do know that almost daily some of his men are taking delivery of new riyāls that are reaching them through various merchants in the city. Why, only yesterday I saw Farhan ibn Mashhur at the port supervising the unloading of such cases.'
This was indeed news. I knew Farhan well. He was a grand-nephew of that famous Syrian beduin prince, Nuri ash-Shaalan, who had once fought together with Lawrence against the Turks. I had first met young Farhan in 1924 in Damascus, where he was notorious for his revels in all the doubtful places of entertainment. Some time afterward he fell out with his great-uncle, migrated with a sub-section of his tribe, the Ruwala, to Najd, where he suddenly became 'pious' and joined the Ikhwan movement. I met him again in 1927 in Ibn Musaad's castle at Hail. By then he had donned the huge, white turban of the Ikhwān as a symbol of his new-found faith, and was enjoying the bounty of the King; when I reminded him of our previous meetings in Damascus, he quickly changed the subject. Stupid and ambitious as he was, he had seen in Ad-Dawish's revolt an opportunity to achieve
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an independent amirate for himself in Al-Jawf, an oasis north of the Great Nufud for in Arabia, as elsewhere, rebels follow the time-honoured practice of dividing the lion's skin before the lion has been killed.
'So Farhan is here in Kuwayt?' I asked Bandar.
him.' 'Of course. He comes here as often as Ad-Dawish, and goes freely in and out of the shaykh's palace. The shaykh, they say, has a great liking for
'But do not the British object to Ad-Dawish's and Farhan's coming to Kuwayt? I seem to remember that some months ago they announced that they would not allow Ad-Dawish or his people to enter this territory...?'
Bandar guffawed again. 'So they did, so they did. But, I have told thee: Ad-Dawish has very powerful friends... I am not sure whether he is in town just now; but Farhan is. He goes every evening to the Great Mosque for the maghrib prayer - thou canst see him there with thine own eyes if thou dost not believe me...'
And see him we did. When, taking Bandar's hint, Zayd and I strolled in the early evening in the vicinity of the Great Mosque, we almost collided with a group of beduins, unmistakably Najdi in bearing, who emerged from around a street corner. At their head was a man in his middle thirties, somewhat shorter than the tall beduins who surrounded and followed him, his handsome face adorned by a short, black beard. I recognized him at once. I do not know to this day whether he recognized me; his eyes met mine for a moment, swept over me with a puzzled ex-pression, as if he were trying to recall a dim memory, and then turned away; and an instant later he and his retinue were lost in the throng of people moving toward the mosque.
We decided not to extend our clandestine sojourn in Kuwayt unduly by waiting for an opportunity to see Ad-Dawish as well. Bandar's revelations were confirmed by Zayd's adroit enquiries from other acquaintances in the town. Ad-Dawish's mysterious supplies of Lee-Enfield rifles -only superficially disguised as 'purchases' - clearly pointed to a Kuwayti merchant who had always been prominent as an importer of arms; and the large amounts of mint - new Maria Theresa riyāls that circulated in the bazaars of Kuwayt were in almost every case traceable to Ad-Dawish and the men around him. Short of seeing his actual depots and examining the consignment papers - which was scarcely within the realm of likelihood - we had enough evidence to confirm the suspicions the King had voiced during his talk with me.
My mission was completed; and in the following night we made our way out of Kuwayt as stealthily as we had come. During Zayd's and my investigations in the bazaars, our Sulubbi had found out that there were no rebel groups at the moment to the south of Kuwayt. And so to the south we went - in the direction of Al-Hasa province, which was firmly under the control of the King. After two strenuous night marches, we encountered, not far from the coast, a detachment of Banu Hajar beduins who had been sent out by the amir of Al-Hasa to reconnoitre the latest positions of the rebels; and in their company we re-entered loyal territory. Once safely within Ibn Saud's realm, we parted from our Sulubbi guide who, contentedly pocketing his well-earned reward, rode away toward the west on the camel I had 'presented' to him, while we continued southward in the direction of Riyadh.
THE SERIES OF ARTICLES which I subsequently wrote made it clear for the first time that the rebels were being supported by a great European power. They pointed out that the basic aim of these intrigues was to push Ibn Saud's frontiers southward and, ultimately, to convert his northernmost province into an 'independent' principality between Saudi Arabia and Iraq, which would allow the British to build a railway line across its territory. Apart from this, Ad-Dawish's rebellion offered a welcome means to bring about so much confusion in Ibn Saud's kingdom that he would be in no position to resist, as he had hitherto done, Britain's demands for two important concessions: one of them being the lease of the Red Sea port of Rabigh, north of Jidda, where the British had long wanted to establish a naval base, and the other, control of that sector of the Damascus-Medina railway which runs through Saudi territory. A defeat of Ibn Saud at the hands of Ad-Dawish would have brought these schemes well within the realm of practical possibility.
A flash of sensation followed the publication of my articles in the European and Arabic (mainly Egyptian) press; and it may well be that the premature disclosure of all that secret planning contributed something to its subsequent frustration. At any rate, the plan of a British railway from Haifa to Basra was allowed to lapse into oblivion in spite of the large sums which appeared to have been spent for preliminary surveys, and was never heard of again.
What happened afterward is a matter of history: that same summer of 1929, Ibn Saud protested to the British against the freedom accorded Ad-Dawish to purchase arms and ammunition at Kuwayt. Since he had no tangible 'proof' that these arms were being supplied by a foreign power, the King could protest only against the sales as such. The British authorities replied that it was the traders in Kuwayt who were supplying arms to the rebels - and that Britain could do nothing to stop this, since in the treaty of Jidda of 1927 they had lifted their embargo on the import of arms to Arabia. If Ibn Saud wanted, they said, he too could import arms via Kuwayt... When Ibn Saud objected that the very same treaty obliged both Britain and Saudi Arabia to prevent in their territories all activities directed against the security of the other party, he received the answer that Kuwayt could not be termed 'British territory' since it was an independent shaykhdom with which Britain had no more than treaty relations...
And so the civil war continued. In the late autumn of 1929, Ibn Saud personally took the field, this time determined to pursue Ad-Dawish even into Kuwayt if - as had always been the case in the past - that territory remained open to the rebels as a refuge and base for further operations. In the face of this determined attitude, which Ibn Saud took care to communicate to the British authorities, they apparently realized that it would be too risky to pursue their game further. British aeroplanes and armoured cars were sent out to prevent Ad-Dawish from retreating again into Kuwayti territory. The rebel realized that his cause was lost; never would he be able to withstand the King in open battle; and so he started to negotiate. The King's terms were crisp and clear: the rebel tribes must surrender; their arms, horses and dromedaries would be taken away from them; Ad-Dawish's life would be spared, but he would have to spend the rest of his days in Riyadh.
Ad-Dawish, always so active and full of movement, could not resign himself to inaction and immobility: he refused the offer. Fighting a last-ditch battle against the overwhelming forces of the King, the rebels were completely routed; Ad-Dawish and a few other leaders - among them Farhan ibn Mashhur and Naif abu Kilab, chieftain of the Ajman - fled to Iraq.
Ibn Saud demanded Ad-Dawish's extradition. For a time it seemed that King Faysal of Iraq would refuse his demand by invoking the ancient Arabian law of hospitality and sanctuary; but finally he gave in. Early in 1930, Ad-Dawish, seriously ill, was handed over to the King and brought to Riyadh. When after a few weeks it became obvious that this time he was really dying, Ibn Saud, with his customary generosity, had him brought back to his family at Artawiyya, where his stormy life came to an end.
And once again peace reigned in the realm of Ibn Saud...
AND ONCE AGAIN PEACE reigns around the wells of Arja.
'May God give you life, O wayfarers! Partake of our bounty!' calls out the old Mutayri beduin, and his men help us to water our camels. All
grudges and enmities of the so recent past seem to be forgotten, as if they had never been.
==
For the beduins are a strange race: quick to flare up in uncontrollable passion at even imaginary provocations, and just as quick to swing back to the steady rhythm of a life in which modesty and kindness prevail: always heaven and hell in close proximity.
And as they draw water for our camels in their huge leather buckets, the Mutayri herdsmen chant in chorus:
Drink, and spare no water,
The well is full of grace and has no bottom...
-3-
ON THE FIFTH NIGHT after our departure from Hail, we reach the plain of Medina and see the dark outline of Mount Uhud.
The dromedaries move with tired step; we have a long march behind us, from early morning deep into this night. Zayd and Mansur are silent, and I am silent. In the moonlight the city appears before us with its crenellated walls and the slim, straight minarets of the Prophet's Mosque.
We arrive before the gate which, because it faces north, is called the Syrian. The dromedaries shy before the shadows of its heavy bastions, and we have to use our canes to make them enter the gateway.
Now I am again in the City of the Prophet, home after a long wandering: for this city has been my home for several years. A deep, familiar quiet lies over its sleeping, empty streets. Here and there a dog rises lazily before the feet of the camels. A young man walks by singing; his voice sways in a soft rhythm and fades away in a side-lane. The carved balconies and oriel windows of the houses hang black and silent over us. The moonlit air is lukewarm like fresh milk.
And here is my house.
Mansur takes leave to go to some friends, while we two make the camels kneel down before the door. Zayd hobbles them without a word and begins to unload the saddlebags. I knock at the door. After a while I hear voices and footsteps from within. The shine of a lantern appears through the fanlight, the bolts are drawn and my old Sudanese maid servant, Amina, exclaims joyfully:
'Oh, my master has come home!'
====
세진님, 요청하신 <메카로 가는 길 (The Road to Mecca)> 제8장 <진들 (Jinns)>의 1,000단어 분량 상세 요약입니다. 지침에 따라 본문은 <해라>체로 서술했습니다.
<제8장: 진들 (Jinns) 요약>
<1. 황혼의 뱀과 사막의 영적 실재>
해질 무렵 아사드는 길을 가로지르는 굵은 검은 뱀을 발견하고 반사적으로 총을 쏘아 죽인다
이어 또 다른 동행자인 자이드 역시 과거 해질녘에 뱀을 죽인 뒤 원인 모를 중병에 걸려 나흘 동안 의식을 잃었던 섬뜩한 체험담을 털어놓는다
<2. 아르자의 우물과 이크완 반란의 기억>
하일에서 출발한 지 사흘째 되던 날, 일행은 낮은 언덕으로 둘러싸인 아르자의 우물에 도착해 낙타에게 물을 먹인다
이 광경은 1928년부터 1929년까지 이븐 사우드 국왕의 왕국을 뿌리부터 뒤흔들었던 거대한 '이크완(Ikhwan) 반란'의 기억을 소환한다
<3. 국왕의 은밀한 밀명>
1929년 여름, 리야드의 궁정에서 이븐 사우드 국왕은 아사드를 은밀히 자신의 개인 처소로 불러들인다
영국은 팔레스타인, 트랜스요르단, 이라크에 걸친 위임통치령을 바탕으로 지중해 하이파에서 페르시아만 바스라까지 이어지는 철도와 송유관 경로를 확보하고자 했다
<4. 쿠웨이트로의 잠입과 비밀 정보 수집>
아사드와 자이드는 은밀히 리야드를 빠져나와 나지드 중부의 샤크라로 향한다
반란군 부족들이 들끓는 험난한 사막을 돌파하기 위해, 아사드는 사막의 방랑자이자 탁월한 추적 기술을 지닌 비(非)아랍계 수룹바(Sulubba) 부족의 한 남자를 길잡이로 고용한다
쿠웨이트의 무기 밀수업자 반다르와의 접촉을 통해 충격적인 사실이 드러난다
<5. 폭로와 반란의 종식, 그리고 메디나 귀환>
조사를 마친 아사드는 남쪽의 하사 주로 탈출한 뒤, 이크완 반란의 배후에 영국 제국주의의 음모가 도사리고 있음을 폭로하는 기사들을 유럽과 이집트 유력지에 연속 게재한다
외세의 은밀한 지원이 차단되자 고립된 앗-다위시와 반란군은 1929년 늦가을 이븐 사우드 국왕의 총공세 앞에 완전히 궤멸된다
사막의 위험과 정치적 음모를 모두 뚫고 지나온 아사드는 마침내 제2의 고향이자 영적 안식처인 '예언자의 도시' 메디나에 도착한다
===
아래는 첨부하신 <The Road to Mecca Ch 8: JINNS>의 1,000단어 정도 요약입니다. 이 장은 제목은 <Jinns>이지만, 실제 중심은 “진” 자체보다도, 사막적 상상력, 베두인 세계, 이븐 사우드의 정치, 아드다위시 반란, 그리고 아사드의 비밀 정찰 임무에 있습니다.
<요약>
이 장은 해질 무렵 아사드 일행 앞에 큰 검은 뱀이 나타나는 장면으로 시작한다. 아사드는 거의 반사적으로 총을 쏘아 뱀을 죽인다. 그러나 동행자 만수르는 못마땅해한다. 해가 질 무렵에는 뱀을 죽이면 안 된다는 것이다. 그 시간은 “진”들이 나오는 시간이기 때문이다. 아사드는 만수르에게 그런 이야기를 정말 믿느냐고 묻는다. 만수르는 당연히 믿는다고 답한다. 꾸란에도 진이 언급되어 있지 않느냐는 것이다.
아사드는 여기서 진에 대해 흥미로운 사색을 펼친다. 그는 서구 근대인의 태도처럼 진을 단순한 미신으로 치부하지 않는다. 인간의 감각과 과학적 측정이 포착할 수 없는 존재 양식이 있을 수 있지 않느냐고 생각한다. 꾸란이 말하는 진은 인간과는 다른 생명체일 수 있고, 인간의 감각이 제한되어 있기 때문에 우리가 그들을 직접 인식하지 못할 수도 있다는 것이다. 다만 그는 그것을 과학적으로 증명할 수는 없다고 말한다. 중요한 것은 사막의 어둠과 고독 속에서 인간이 보이지 않는 힘의 존재를 느끼게 된다는 점이다.
만수르는 예전에 해질 무렵 뱀을 죽인 뒤 병이 나고 이상한 환상을 본 경험을 이야기한다. 그는 무덤 속처럼 어두운 곳에 끌려가 재판을 받았고, 자신이 하나님의 이름을 부르며 방어하지 못했다는 이유로 유죄가 되었다고 느꼈다. 아사드는 만수르의 이야기를 들으면서도 절반은 웃고 절반은 불안해한다. 그는 방금 죽인 뱀 때문에 이상한 후회와 불길함을 느낀다. 이렇게 이 장의 첫 부분은 진에 대한 민간신앙과 이슬람적 상상력, 그리고 합리적 회의 사이의 긴장을 보여준다.
다음 장면은 하일에서 출발한 지 사흘째 되는 날, 아사드 일행이 아르자 우물에 도착하는 대목이다. 아르자는 하르브와 무타이르 두 부족의 공동 우물이다. 우물 주변은 낙타와 양, 사람들로 가득 차 있다. 깊은 우물에서 물을 길어 올리는 일은 힘들고, 여러 사람이 가죽 물통을 끌어올리며 노래를 부른다. 그 노래는 “마셔라, 물을 아끼지 마라. 우물은 은총으로 가득하고 바닥이 없다”는 식의 구절로 반복된다. 이 장면은 사막에서 물이 단순한 자원이 아니라 하나님의 은총이자 공동체의 생명이라는 사실을 잘 보여준다.
아르자 우물 주변에서 사람들은 서로에게 관대하게 물을 나누어준다. 얼마 전까지 서로 싸우던 부족들도, 지금은 여행자들에게 “우리의 풍요를 나누라”고 외친다. 그러나 이 평화로운 장면은 곧 정치적 회상으로 이어진다. 자이드는 하르브와 무타이르가 지금은 평화롭게 물을 나누지만, 얼마 전에는 이븐 사우드의 적이었던 파이살 아드다위시를 지지하며 반란에 가담했다고 말한다. 이를 계기로 아사드는 1928~29년의 거대한 베두인 반란과 이븐 사우드의 정치적 위기를 설명한다.
그 배경에는 이라크 국경 문제가 있다. 이븐 사우드는 영국과 조약을 맺고 나지드-이라크 국경 지대에 요새를 세우지 않기로 합의했으나, 이라크 쪽은 국경 근처에 요새를 세우려 했다. 이븐 사우드는 항의했지만 영국은 회피했다. 이때 파이살 아드다위시가 이끄는 이크완 세력이 문제를 무력으로 해결하려 했다. 그는 이라크 국경 초소를 공격했고, 이에 영국 공군이 나지드 지역을 폭격했다. 베두인 부락들이 피해를 입고, 여성과 아이들까지 죽었다. 이븐 사우드는 대규모 부족 회의를 열어 사태를 수습하려 했지만, 아드다위시와 다른 반항적 추장들은 오지 않았다.
이 반란은 단순한 종교적 광신이나 국경분쟁이 아니었다. 아사드는 여러 원인이 뒤섞여 있었다고 본다. 하나는 이크완의 종교적 엄격주의였다. 그들은 자동차, 전화, 무선, 비행기를 악마의 도구로 보았고, 이븐 사우드가 그런 현대적 장치를 받아들이는 것을 못마땅하게 여겼다. 그러나 울라마들은 그런 기술이 종교적으로 금지된 것이 아니며, 오히려 무슬림의 힘과 지식을 증가시킬 수 있다고 판정했다. 또 다른 원인은 부족 지도자들의 권력욕과 질투였다. 아드다위시와 이븐 부자드 같은 인물들은 이븐 사우드 아래에 복종하는 것을 견디지 못했다. 특히 아드다위시는 하일 정복에서 자신의 공을 인정받지 못했다고 느꼈고, 아즈만과 무타이르 부족을 이끌며 반란을 키워갔다.
전투는 시빌라에서 결정적으로 벌어졌다. 이븐 사우드는 충성 부족들을 모아 반란군과 맞섰고, 반란군은 패배했다. 이븐 부자드는 항복했고, 아드다위시는 부상당했지만 살아남았다. 그러나 그는 멈추지 않고 쿠웨이트 방면으로 도망쳐 다시 세력을 모으려 했다. 이때부터 의문이 생긴다. 아드다위시는 어디서 무기와 돈을 얻는가? 어떻게 계속 반란을 유지할 수 있는가? 아사드는 이 질문이 이 장의 실제 서사적 중심으로 이어진다고 보여준다.
1929년 여름 어느 날 밤, 이븐 사우드는 아사드를 은밀히 부른다. 그는 아사드에게 아드다위시의 무기와 자금 출처를 조사해 달라고 부탁한다. 이븐 사우드는 영국이 배후에 있을 가능성을 의심한다. 영국은 겉으로는 사우디와 조약관계를 유지하지만, 실제로는 쿠웨이트를 통해 아드다위시를 지원해 나지드 북동부를 불안정하게 만들고, 장차 하이파와 바스라를 잇는 철도나 송유관 같은 전략적 이익을 노릴 수 있다는 것이다. 이븐 사우드는 아사드가 외국인이면서도 자신을 사랑하고, 정치적 감각과 언론 경험을 가진 인물이라고 보고, 이 위험한 임무를 맡긴다.
아사드는 이를 받아들인다. 그는 자이드를 동행자로 삼아 쿠웨이트로 향한다. 임무는 위험하다. 아드다위시 세력에게 잡히면 목숨을 잃을 수 있고, 영국 측의 감시를 받을 수도 있다. 이들은 공개적으로 움직이지 않고, 몰래 사막길을 돌아간다. 준비 과정에서 낙타, 식량, 물통, 커피, 밀가루, 대추야자, 소금, 총알 등을 챙긴다. 여정 중 샤크라와 와디 하니파, 폐허가 된 옛 도시 아야나를 지나며, 아사드는 와하비 운동의 역사와 초기 이슬람 정복의 기억을 떠올린다.
샤크라에서는 아사드의 옛 친구 압드 아르라흐만 아스시바이를 만난다. 그는 나지드와 이라크, 쿠웨이트 사이의 상업과 인맥을 잘 아는 사람이다. 아사드는 그를 통해 쿠웨이트 쪽에 새로운 은화, 특히 마리아 테레지아 탈러가 대량으로 들어오고 있다는 단서를 듣는다. 이 은화는 베두인들이 신뢰하는 화폐였고, 대량 유입은 누군가 반란군에게 자금을 대고 있다는 의심을 강화한다.
이후 아사드와 자이드는 쿠웨이트로 가기 위해 더 은밀한 길을 택한다. 도중에 그들은 이크완 무리와 맞닥뜨릴 뻔하지만, 어둠 속에 숨어 위기를 피한다. 아사드는 그들을 보며 묘한 감정을 느낀다. 그들은 신앙심이 강하고 죽음을 두려워하지 않는 용감한 사람들이지만, 동시에 삶의 기쁨과 아름다움을 모르는 사람들처럼 보인다. 자이드는 그들을 “진”과 같다고 말한다. 그들은 생명도 죽음도 모르고, 피와 낙원만 꿈꾼다는 것이다. 이 장 제목 <Jinns>는 여기서 다시 의미를 얻는다. 진은 단순한 초자연적 존재가 아니라, 사막 속에서 인간성을 잃고 광신과 폭력의 도구가 된 사람들의 이미지와도 연결된다.
아사드 일행은 한 불빛을 발견하고 접근하다가 술루비족 사람을 만난다. 술루비는 아랍인도, 정통 베두인도 아닌 독특한 집단으로 묘사된다. 그들은 사냥, 길 찾기, 수리, 금속 세공, 수의술 등에 능하지만, 다른 베두인들에게 멸시받는다. 아사드는 이들을 통해 사막 사회 내부의 위계와 배제도 보여준다. 이 술루비 남자는 돈을 받고 아사드 일행을 쿠웨이트까지 안내한다. 그는 뛰어난 안내자였고, 험한 사막길을 안전하게 통과시킨다. 그 과정에서 그가 가진 새 은화를 통해, 아드다위시 쪽 사람들이 쿠웨이트에서 은화를 받고 있다는 추가 단서도 얻는다.
쿠웨이트에 도착한 아사드와 자이드는 이라크 영사관에 아는 상인의 집에 머문다. 그들은 시장에서 정보를 수집하고, 자이드의 과거 밀수 인맥을 활용해 반다르 아스샴마리라는 인물을 찾아낸다. 반다르는 무기 밀매에 관여한 사람이다. 그는 아드다위시가 더 이상 평범한 상인들에게서 무기를 사지 않는다고 말한다. 값싼 신형 소총과 탄약이 대량으로 들어오고 있으며, 그것은 쿠웨이트의 영향력 있는 상인들을 통해 공급된다는 것이다. 더구나 아드다위시의 친족 파르한이 쿠웨이트에 자주 드나들며, 영국 사람들이 그 움직임을 알고도 막지 않는다는 정황이 드러난다.
아사드와 자이드는 모스크에서 파르한을 직접 본다. 자이드는 그가 누구인지 확인한다. 이로써 아사드는 임무의 핵심을 파악한다. 아드다위시의 반란은 단순한 부족 반란이 아니라, 쿠웨이트 상인, 무기 자금, 영국의 묵인 또는 지원과 연결되어 있었다. 그는 더 오래 머물지 않고 정보를 가지고 돌아간다. 이후 그는 유럽과 아랍 언론에 글을 써서 반란군이 강력한 외부 세력의 지원을 받고 있다고 폭로한다.
그 결과 영국 쪽의 은밀한 계획은 일정 부분 좌절된다. 아사드는 영국이 사우디 영토를 남쪽으로 밀어붙여, 사우디와 이라크 사이에 독립적 완충국을 만들고, 철도·송유관·홍해 항구 라비그 양허권 등을 확보하려 했다고 해석한다. 그의 글이 이런 계획을 드러내자, 영국 언론은 문제를 회피하려 했고, 이븐 사우드는 쿠웨이트의 무기 구매를 막아 달라고 공식 항의한다. 결국 아드다위시 반란은 힘을 잃고, 반란군은 패배한다. 아드다위시는 이라크로 도망가지만, 나중에 이븐 사우드에게 넘겨지고 병든 상태에서 가족에게 돌아가 죽는다.
이 장의 마지막은 다시 아르자 우물과 평화의 장면으로 돌아온다. 얼마 전의 원한과 전쟁은 잊힌 듯, 무타이르 베두인들은 여행자들에게 물을 나누며 노래한다. 이어 아사드는 메디나에 가까워진다. 다섯 번째 밤, 멀리 우후드 산의 어두운 윤곽이 보이고, 예언자의 도시 메디나의 성벽과 미나렛이 달빛 속에 나타난다. 긴 여정 끝에 그는 자신의 집 앞에 도착한다. 만수르는 친구들을 찾아 떠나고, 자이드가 낙타를 무릎 꿇린다. 아사드가 문을 두드리자, 오래된 수단 출신 하녀 아미나가 기뻐 외친다. “오, 주인님이 집에 오셨다!”
이 장은 그래서 여러 층으로 읽힌다.
- 표면적으로는 아사드의 사막 모험과 첩보 임무 이야기다.
- 역사적으로는 이븐 사우드가 사우디 국가를 통합하는 과정에서 겪은 이크완 반란과 영국의 국경정치 이야기다.
- 종교적으로는 진, 운명, 보이지 않는 힘, 신앙과 광신의 차이를 묻는 장이다.
- 문학적으로는 뱀, 우물, 밤길, 노래, 사막의 불빛, 메디나의 달빛이 이어지는 아름다운 여행 산문이다.
- 가장 깊은 주제는 이것이다. 사막에는 보이지 않는 존재만 있는 것이 아니라, 보이지 않는 정치, 보이지 않는 욕망, 보이지 않는 신앙의 힘도 있다.
- 아사드는 그 모든 것을 통과해, 마침내 다시 “집”에 도착한다.
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