And then he picked up the chicken and mounted his mule and rode to
market. As he set off, he wondered what to do with the sixty-five dirhams that
warmed up his pocket. But as he neared the market, he found himself thinking of
Hassan.
When he entered the market, a
beggar in ragged clothes accosted him. "Here!" Muhammad said to him.
The beggar gaped at the chicken which Muhammad was handing to him. "This
for me?" the beggar exclaimed. "Yes!" said Muhammad with a
smile. The beggar snatched the chicken and kept his fingers crossed for
Muhammad, then moved away. Another beggar tripped up to Muhammad, holding out
his hand. Muhammad smiled and handed him five dirhams. Then he lowered his eyes
and moved on to the place where he had been heading.
He stood there, holding the
mule and waiting patiently for someone to come and buy it.
He sold the mule and walked
back to Azlu. "I am now free," he thought on the way. "I can
sleep wherever I want. I won't be going to their no-go areas. But I won't go
away from Azlu, either. Here I am and here I stay. I won't be begging anyone
for food. The money in my pocket can carry me all through winter."
And he sighed. Yetto's eyes had
just broken in on his thoughts. So he thought of her until he suddenly burst
out: ‘Khalaqany, razaqany, âllammany, hadany….’
One Monday morning Muhammad was
walking slowly along the reed edge. Suddenly, he stopped and pricked up his
ears. “What’s this?” he thought while he listened in amazement. “Who could it
be?” He walked on a little and stopped again. Strange sounds were coming from
the place where his shack once stood. He immediately thought of Hassan. “But
one man’s voice can’t make all this noise,” he thought. “These are the voices
of many men, if I’m any judge.” And he walked on, quickening his pace as he
proceeded. And the voices became clearer and clearer: they were men chanting:
"Khalaqany, razaqany, âllamany; hadany…” And they were all sitting in a
circle, with legs crossed and heads down, just beside the heap of rubble, and
Hassan was among them. Muhammad’s eyes glistened with tears as he sat down with
them and joined in the chanting. And all of a sudden, Hassan fell silent and
raised his hand. All the others looked at him and kept quiet. Muhammad too looked
at him, and when their eyes met, both smiled. “Here I am again!” Hassan began.
“You’re welcome!” Muhammad replied in a broken voice, not knowing what to say
next. Hassan took a long look at him, then said:
“What happened to your shack,
Muhammad?”
“I came one night from Tushki and found the shack in flames.”
“Where did you go then?”
“I went from place to place
along the reed edge, sleeping at a different place each night.”
“How often do you come this
way?”
“Almost daily.”
“We came yesterday and the day
before, but we didn’t find you.”
“You know, it has rained
recently. My jellaba was then covered with dirt, so I took it off and washed it
in the river, and I had to wait until it dried. The last couple of days were
sunny, you know.”
“Why haven’t you built a new
shack?”
“I can’t.”
“Why didn’t you leave the
village altogether?”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“You know why!”
“Yes, I know. And that’s what I
told these men. Some of them said you would never be back. But I was quite sure
you were only somewhere around. Now I am happy to see you again. And I have
brought you these nine students. I told them about you, and they all wanted to
see you. And others are coming. I hope you are ready for us.”
“I am pleased to meet you. But
the problem is that I have no shelter.”
“These two men over here have
money.” Hassan pointed at two men on his right. “They can pay for us all. We’ll
see how we can settle that. Now, tell us, Muhammad, why do you say: “Khalaqany,
razaqany, âllamany; hadany…”?
Muhammad smiled and said:
“Well, when I say Khalaqany I
remind myself that I actually exist, and that I do matter in some way, otherwise
God wouldn’t have bothered to make me in the first place, and since God made me
as a person, as a human being, then I have to behave in the way God had meant
me to behave, that is as a human being, not as an animal. When I say razaqany I
remind myself that I needn’t worry too much about the future, because God who
made me also provided me with the means of subsistence even before I was aware
that people should work to be able to keep themselves or their loved ones. And
since God did this for me in the past, then He can also do it for me at present
and in the future. So I shouldn’t worry too much about the future. When I say
âllamany I remind myself that this in itself is a great gift, because not all
people are literate, and not all literate people put their knowledge to good
use. So I keep reminding myself that God wants me to learn more and more about
Him, about myself, about life and about the world. And as I think of this, I
find myself reminiscing about the past: I recall what I was like and how I got
to be what I am today. I remember the hardships I went through; I remember the
happy moments I lived in the past; I remember the hundreds of people I got to
know throughout my life; I think of those people: how they were happy or
unhappy; I think about all these things over and over again, and try to soothe
myself. And when I say hadany I remind myself that I have a path to follow; I
have things to do and things not to do, and I wonder whether I am on the right
path. And as I think this way, I blend past and present and future and try to
see how I can best live the present, hoping that the future will be brighter.
And that’s it!”
“And what about love,
Muhammad?”
Muhammad sighed and said:
“You know the story of Yusuf
(Joseph), don’t you? Yusuf was the most handsome man in his time. He lived a
good part of his life in a palace. For you and me, that’s happiness. But then
Yusuf had the misfortune to do many years in prison. He lost maybe the best
years of his youth in prison. For you and me, that’s unhappiness. But then
Yusuf was released and became almost king. For you and me, that’s happiness,
isn’t it? Yusuf did suffer a great deal, but in the end he died a happy man.
What more could you or I ask for in his place? All you and I want is to live a
happy life. God says, Nay! There’s yet a much happier life, an everlasting
happy life. Suleiman (King Solomon) had everything he wanted, everything a
human being would ever dream of. So that’s happiness. What more could Suleiman
have sought for since he had everything he wanted? Nay! There’s yet a much
happier life, an everlasting happy life. And this life was not made for Yusuf
or Suleiman only. It’s made for us all. Why should God give us another good
life if we had a good life already? You know why? It’s because He is a loving
God. It’s because He is a great God. It’s because He is a forgiving God. God
doesn’t owe us anything. It’s we who owe God everything. We don’t give God
anything. It’s God Who gives us everything.
“Unfortunately, we are quick to
forget God. Maybe because we don’t see God. But we do see God’s creation, don’t
we? When you see a beautiful woman, all you see is that beautiful woman. If you
fall in love with her, all you think of is her. She’ll become everything to
you. You’ll think of her; you’ll worry about her; you’ll wish her all the best
in the world– and in the end she mightn’t even think of you. She might be
thinking of someone else. You love her, you give her everything, and yet she
thinks of someone else. Just like God: He loves you, He gives you everything,
and yet you think of someone else. But when you say, as I do, “Khalaqany,
razaqany, âllamany; hadany…”, you realize that you have been burning your heart
for the wrong one. And as your realization gets greater so will be your love of
God. You may forget your beloved, and maybe love someone else, –who knows?– but
then your love of God gets stronger with the years. One day you’ll get married,
and your wife will be by your side, and then there will be ample room in your
heart for God. You’ll love God more than anyone else.”
“What do you think?” said
Hassan, looking at the other students, who were listening intently.
“I think we were right to
come!” said one of the students.
“I think we should go and bring
our mules and horses from the funduq”, said another. “We have to build a school
or at least a classroom here.”
“That’s right!” said Hassan,
looking at Muhammad. “We will fight, if need be, but we must build shacks or
even a big house to live in while we are here.”
Muhammad frowned. Hassan looked
at him, and said:
“Don’t you agree, Muhammad?”
“I think it’s not easy to fight
people here. I don’t know what happens next.”
“Leave it to us!” said Hassan,
rising to his feet. “You can stay here, Muhammad. The students and I will go
and meet the village people and see how we can fix the problem.”
Muhammad just watched agape as
the students went in two rows behind Hassan, towards the mosque.
About an hour later, the
students came down, chanting : “khalaqany, razaqany…”
Muhammad sprang to his feet and
met them. They were all smiles.
“Your shack will be built
again,” said Hassan with a smile. “And we’ll build our own shacks beside yours.
And we’ll build a large classroom and a small mosque.”
“But where will you build all
this?” Muhammad asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Here!” said Hassan happily.
“Didn’t I say we had two rich men among us? Then, let me say that the village
people took us for fools. They don’t think we’ll be able to stay here for a
long time, because it has already started raining, and if we don’t go soon, the
rain or the flood will drive us away! That’s what they think.”
“So let’s start!” said Muhammad
with a broad smile, turning towards the reed.
“We’ll fetch our animals
first!” said Hassan. “Come along with us.”
And they all set off, with
Hassan and Muhammad leading, chanting: “khalaqany, razaqany…”
A few days later, the number of
students more than doubled and the shacks filled all the place between the reed
and the graveyard. And so Muhammad began to worry.
One day, the Tushki man came
and stood at the door of the large classroom (which the students called school)
and said he wanted to sit with them awhile. Muhammad waved him in. As the
Tushki man sat down, Hassan raised his hand and said:
“What do you think of rulers
nowadays, teacher?”
Muhammad took the hint and
smiled, then said:
"Look, brother! Rulers are
just weak people like you and me. Rulers, too, suffer like you and me. They
suffer because they do not always get what they want. We all –with a few
exceptions– dream of wealth and fame and power and glory. And that's what most
rulers are after. But then that's their own problem. I don't want to be a
wealthy man; I don't want to be a famous man. I don't want to rule anybody. But
I respect them because they have the courage to do things I can't do. It's not
easy to rule a population. And I pity them, because most rulers stand to lose
more than they gain. Rulers often change like the weather, and many lose their
lives in the process.
"And this is what
fascinates me about it all. You see powers emerging, and others falling down. A
kingdom rising here and a kingdom falling there. And each kingdom –be it small
or big– has something to give, and once it has given that something it ceases
to be. And I have noticed that the thing that all kingdoms share is –believe it
or not!– knowledge. One nation or kingdom produces knowledge, and when it has
no more knowledge to give, it falls down. And then comes another nation or
kingdom and picks up that knowledge and takes it to other parts of the world,
so that other nations would add to that knowledge. And you see nation after
nation contribute to enriching our knowledge: of the world, of ourselves, and,
most importantly, of God. And this is what will keep happening in the future:
nation after nation will either produce more knowledge or spread it over the
world through conquest, occupation or trade. And so there'll come a day when
people all over the world will know God. Now, I feel that I know God already.
So I needn't be a ruler, or go through all the process just to reach the same
conclusion! All I hope is that our present kingdom will yield as much knowledge
as possible or take it to the largest lands as possible. May God let it be
so!"
Everybody said,
"Amen!" Then Muhammad looked at Hassan and said with a smile:
"Do you have another
question?" "No, teacher– not for now. It's lunchtime!"
At this there were gales of
laughter. Then, Muhammad started saying, “Khalaqany, razaqany, âllamany;
hadany…” A moment later, the Tushki man picked himself up and left, saying in a
low voice: “Khalaqany, razaqany, âllamany; hadany…”
Late that night, Muhammad was
lying on his side and thinking of Yetto when he heard footsteps approaching the
shack door. He looked up and saw Hassan smiling merrily. He glanced at the
lantern, then back at Hassan, who stayed standing up at the door, his face
aglow with pleasure.
"What's the matter?"
said Muhammad.
"Abdelaziz and Ismaïl want
to speak to you."
"Let them come in!"
said Muhammad, sitting up.
"Peace be with you!"
said the two students in unison as they sat down between Muhammad and Hassan.
"Peace be with you too!
What's the matter?" said Muhammad.
"We want to help
you," said Ismaïl.
"With what?" said
Muhammad.
"With marriage," said
Abdelaziz.
"Thank you!" said
Muhammad.
Then there was silence.
"They will give you some
money so that you can marry," said Hassan suddenly.
"That would make me
glad!" said Muhammad with a smile. He was about to add something when a
sudden thunder roared across the sky.
"Will you marry,
then?" said Hassan eagerly.
"I would like to marry the
one I told you about," said Muhammad, looking Hassan straight in the eye.
"And what if her father
refused?"
"I don't know. It depends
on my heart."
"Do you reason with your
heart?" said Ismaïl causiously.
"I reason with my head,
but my head gets at fault sometimes. My heart is not always right, but
sometimes it is."
"So you have only one
choice, I suppose," said Abdelaziz.
"So far, yes."
"You are our
teacher," said Ismaïl. "And, normally, a teacher of your age should
be married. Honestly, many students here have talked about this."
"I am not surprised,
brother Ismaïl," said Muhammad gently. "But I have a problem. At
present, I love a woman, and this woman is not married. And as long as she is
not married yet, I just can't get her out of my head. Otherwise, I wouldn't
have stayed here long after my shack had been burned down. I can understand you
feelings. Please, try to understand my own!"
"So all we can do for
you," said Abdelaziz, "is go to your beloved's father and see what he
says."
"Go to my father
first," said Muhammad with a smile. "And don't go all of you! Just
one man or two would be enough. If my father grants you permission, then go on
to the woman's father. And thanks in advance!"
"That's the least we can
do for you, teacher!" said Abdelaziz, rising to go.
A light rain had begun to fall
when Hassan put out the light and wished Muhammad good night.
In the morning, Muhammad was
sitting alone in the reed mosque and reading the Quran in a low voice. He kept
reading until tears welled up in his eyes. Then he closed the Quran and slipped
it back on the shelf and went out. There were puddles here and there between
the shacks. Muhammad stood looking down at those puddles, and wondered what
would happen if the next days brought more rain or if the wadi brought over
more water from far lands. What would happen to him and his students if there
were a flood? He went on thinking as he shuffled around between the shacks.
Then his thoughts shifted to Yetto. His father had told Hassan and Ismaïl that
he would be awaiting them at siesta-time. All the twenty-three students and himself
would be there, in his father's home, and they would talk about Yetto. Now the
students were away at the market; he had stayed behind to keep an eye on the
shacks during their absence.
On their return from market,
the students were not only twenty-three, but forty! And they were chanting:
“Khalaqany, razaqany, âllamany; hadany…” Muhammad was astounded. His hands
trembled as he embraced the new comers. And suddenly, Hassan faced all the
students and said: “We have an important appointment today.” (He suddenly
raised his voice over the neighing of the horses and the roars of the thunder.)
“It’s nearly siesta-time. Let two of you stay in here to look after the shacks
and the animals. The rest of us will go and meet the man, I mean our teacher’s
father. So be prepared, May God bless you!”
Muhammad looked at Hassan with
glistening eyes, and said:
“I am proud of you, Hassan!”
Hassan rewarded him with a
smile and ran to help with clearing up the mess caused by the mules, the
donkeys and the horses that the new comers had brought with them.
And then the procession of
students started off towards Muhammad’s family home, while heavy drops of rain
were falling steadily and the thunder was threatening big rains.
The procession was quiet: no
talking, no chanting.
And then the guest-room in
Muhammad’s family home was packed with students, many of whom had no idea why
they were there.
Tea was served, and Muhammad’s
father faced Hassan, and said:
“It’s you who came to me
earlier in the day, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am!” said Hassan
politely.
And now all the students
listened intently as Muhammad’s father said:
“You came to me and said that
my son Muhammad wished to marry a young woman from the village. You didn’t know
whom you were talking about. This village is cram-full of young women and
girls. And I would be happy to gladden my son by enabling him to marry any one
of these village women and girls. But there’s one –and only one– that neither
my son nor any man like him should dream of. And that’s the one you said my son
Muhammad wished to marry.”
Hassan had just opened his
mouth to say something when Muhammad’s father rose to his feet and left the
room for a while. All the students turned their eyes to Muhammad, who was
looking down. Then, all of a sudden, all eyes turned towards the door, through
which came in a young woman with dark eyes and eyebrows. Some of the students
gaped, then muttered, “Subhana Allah! Maasha Allah!” (Praise God!) The others
were simply struck dumb. “This is the woman my son wants to marry!” said
Muhammad’s father, standing beside Yetto in the middle of the room, and signed
to her to turn and face all the rows of students. Muhammad looked up at her,
and their eyes met, and he kept his eyes glued to her as she turned this way
and that, while Muhammad’s father went on, “This is the woman my son can never
marry. Not that I don’t want him to marry her. But it’s her father who would
never accept to give her to my son. Her father is free. This is his daughter;
he is free to marry her off to a man of his own choosing. Nobody should blame
him for that. It’s not because my son loves her that he deserves her. Love is
something, marriage is something else. You can leave now, daughter!”
Yetto shuffled out of the room
while Muhammad’s father returned to his seat, facing towards Hassan.
“What do you say now, man?”
said Muhammad’s father, looking at Hassan, who seemed to have lost his tongue.
It was some time before he could speak.
“We don’t blame you, sir,” he
mumbled. “All we want is that you grant us permission to go to the woman’s
father.”
“I warned him first,” said
Muhammad’s father sadly. “Today I have warned you all. You will only suffer if
you go to her father. I won’t go along with you. I won’t grant you any
permission. I will be very unhappy if you go to her father. I will become the
village idiot if people know that my son is struck on Yetto. But what can I do?
My son wants me to become the village idiot for the rest of my life! Go if you
want! I’m not stopping you!” And he burst into tears. Muhammad himself burst
into tears as he rose to his feet and signed to the students to leave.
