Night in Oman-6

We three fall into each other’s arms, hugging tightly. Rashid hurries inside and I see our happiness mirrored in his eyes. Moreso, in his wide, joyful grin!

“I found these two little bandits alive and well,” he tells me with smug satisfaction. “They left the hiding place with our aunt, Um Murshid, and went to her home after the attack.”

“Nasra! Nasra, we missed you so much!“ the two of them clamour, talking over Rashid. We both try to lower their excitment by shushing them, though it is a wonderful reunion!

My lonliness is immediately dispelled by their presence. I am overwhelmed by gratefulness and joy! Sayeed has grabbed my tunic as though he may never let go. I gently pry his little fingers loose and hold them in my warm hands until I feel him relax.

Rashid breaks into our celebration, saying, “Nasra, I must leave. Men survivors of the A’Theebti attack are assembling at the date plantation of Sheikh Anwar. Our plan is to ride at once to the camp of Uncle Tariq. We must secure freedom for Father and attempt to sway the allegiance of Uncle away from Hilal, and maybe even to support Hassan.”

Rashid says all the men with him are hopeful that Uncle will comprehend the treachery that Abu Guma visited upon our village by attacking it before Rashid had time to meet with the villagers, as Uncle charged him to do. They want to convince Uncle Tariq that this is an omen of Old Rasper’s future behaviour, especially if Hilal becomes the next Sultan. They share the Omani belief that no campaign can succeed if it employs treachery and deals in unwarrented death and destruction.

“Yes,” I assure my brother, “you are right to go to these men! I do not feel lonely with such ‘little bandits’ beside me. I am concerned, though, about their safety, because if they cannot be quiet and keep themselves out of sight, there is no telling what may befall us!“

Rashid nods. He knows our protection lies in not being seen or heard. “Nasra, you saw that I brought them wrapped in black so they could not know the way here. Besides, they have seen the destruction in A’Theebti. And they had the shock of seeing our dear uncle, Abu Murshid lying dead in his own garden. That horrible caution should sober their thoughts.”

I ask if Aunt is well and accompanied by anyone else.

“Poor soul has only our adolescent cousin, Murshid and his two younger brothers.” Rashid tells me sadly.” Fortunately, as their house was only partially burned, the good neighbours will bury Uncle and help rebuild the home for Aunt and our cousins.

My stomach knots as I try to absorb the blow of this terrible news. Aunt Sheikha, Um Murshid, is a sister of our mother and our families are very close.

“Remember,” Rashid sternly breaks into my thoughts, “we are in a desperate fight! And our utmost efforts are needed for the triumph of the better choice for our next ruler.”

The three of us put our right hand to our heart to show our efforts are indeed promised.

Rays of the rising sun slide into the cave, lighting our faces against the backdrop of black and blood red stone walls. I use this serious mood to repeat that I will need help from the little ones, especially if more wounded fighters are brought to me for medical attention.

Rashid gives a warning once more about silence and hiding. He has a quick word with Yahyah,followed by a hasty leave-taking. Outside, he orders his camel to buckle her front legs, then her rear ones, and so lower herself to a deep kneel that folds her tall body down to the ground. Now he can jump into the saddle. In a flash, she gets her forelegs under herself, to kneel up and to rock her back legs to half mast and next, all four to her full height. She carries Rashid off, walking her stately camel walk, down the wide stepped path, to find the men gathering beside the wa’adi.

“Nasra, I brought clothes for Sayeed and me,” Teela says as she reaches for a bundle on the floor; see it is what your mother packed and sent with us to Jamal’s market.“ Bless Mother!

“Good, Teela.” I pat her shoulder in thanks. “You can find space in this cave for them. Later, after you have both washed off the dirt from the past days, I will show you around our sick bay and cooking area.”

By afternoon, they have been cleaned, fed and schooled in what is to be our daily routine. Teela has made up pallets of straw for the two of them and they are now sleeping their cares away! Yahyah, too. He sleeps most of every day. This is helpful for the healing process which is closing the arrow wound neatly. Once the skin is knitted firmly, I will show him therapies to return strength to his damaged shoulder and arm muscles.

Teela successfully burned the dried bloody clothing that Yahyah arrived in. She was very impressed by the effect of the ceiling baffles to hide the smoke. She tiptoed outside a couple of times to be sure no gray whisps rose to smudge the pale blue of the sky.

She is a marvelous help with Yahyah, as well, having no reluctance to touch his body to wash him, cleanse his wound and scratches, or help him dress. She has wrapped a plaid headscarf around his glossy black hair to fashion a beautiful turban,“to make him presentable!” I wonder how she learned to do that!

In the late afternoon, once the sun has burned itself out, and deep, true blue is returning to the sky, I go out unto the patio to again perform a ceremony of protection. My patient and two new helpers dream while I softly chant my incantation, burn frankensence and sacred herbs, and circle the patio in front of our cave entrance. To finish, I prostrate myself at the stony entrance and surrender my awareness to the forces I have summoned.

It is Siham who calls me back to her world by pushing her soft muzzle into my neck.

“Siham, old dear!“I smile at her as I sit up to pat her neck while I come to my senses.

She is here because it is time for her afternoon drink. I fill a bucket for her. Sayeed and Teela stir as I softly call their names.

Soon we are following Siham down the back path to her camel charges. Teela and I carefully carry a large bucket each. Sayeed bumps along with a small one, splashing us in the process. He is young. He will learn.

As the animals refresh themselves, I survey the grass and alfalfa. It will probably be a week before Rashid returns and there should be enough grazing until then. If not, there is feed in the cave.

Walking back, Sayeed wants to chatter about their time in hiding. Teela and I shush him but he cannot calm his excitement.

“Sayeed,” I hiss at one point,”if we raise our voice above a whisper, it will be possible to alert any enemies who may be hiding in the shadows. Did you not see how those attackers destroyed A’ Theebti?“

“Yes, Nasra,“ he says contritely grabbing my hand. Now he whispers; “I will try to be very quiet. We were quiet, were we not, Teela, in the market hiding place? And nobody found us there. The attackers rode off long before an old grandfather offered to step outside to be sure no danger lingered and to tell us we could leave to go home.”

Teela, in nodding vigorous agreement, sends her headful of tight curls bobbing in all directions.

“Teela, you really must cover that head of unruly hair in a proper veil,” I admonish her. “Or you may cause our patient to think you are provoking him to bad thoughts with your immodesty.“

“But Nasra,” she argues, “our culture is not yours. We do not have this belief. On Zanzibar we follow the African worship of nature. We believe in natural behaviour between men and women. I need not follow your ‘restrictions for modesty’!“

“Alright then,“ I concede because I do not want an argument. “Just tie up your hair neatly so it does not attract the attention of our patient who is of our culture.”

“Yes, I will do that, Nasra, as you ask it of me.“

During the following days, our lives pass without event. Except, that is, for one small change in me. My emotions are in a slight but very strange turmoil. I am aware of this while talking with the patient. I hope it is the work of my sixth sense responding to the young man as he uses his own spiritual forces to heal. I do not know how else to account for the sudden tenseness in my stomach or increased rate of beating from my heart when I am in his presence.

Yahyah seems oblivious to the changes in me. He keeps to our routine, eating and drinking as I instruct him to, a model patient. The young ones help me with him and are especially industrious about completing daily chores in the cave.

Teela has made a red scarf from a cloth bag that held cinnamon sticks. She ties it like a band around her head so her hair lies flat about her face and is more or less tidy on the rest of her head.

We are delighted to have discovered that Yahyah is quite a story-teller! We three gather round him in the evenings, sipping sweet tea, our eager faces illuminated by the flame of a small lantern.

He keeps us spellbound by recounting his adventures as a spy during the past months. He brings to life my vague sense of Oman being in uneasy motion to settle the succession of the old Sultan.

Yahyah tells us about the internal arguments in other villages where people are lining up to support one or other of the twin sons eligible to be the next Sultan.

Yahyah describes far corners of our country where he has travelled to spy on behalf of the twin, Hassan. He has walked lengthy canyons between the multi-coloured bald stone mountains of the north, and along the gray tops of mountains from the south eastern coast to the desert interior. He recounts journeys on dhows, the great seafaring ships of the old Sultan. Teela cannot contain her questions when he weaves the tale of his voyage to Zanzibar to meet Baluchi troops and accompany them back to Salalah. Yahyah with his magical words, brings to life the preparations in a desert camp where Omani Bedu men join Yemani soldiers so all can travel to fight with Hassan.

When I am able to sit quietly alone, I reflect upon my feelings as they are influenced by my patient. What can they mean? He is a spy. He is not a member of my tribe, nor even of my village. These separations would ordinarily signify that he was not eligible for my feelings. But my feelings persist.

Most Omani girls my age are already married and probably have a child. Mother convinced Father not to pursue marriage for me until I had finished my lessons in healing. However, young men were dying in this bloody fight over succession and as a consequence, prospects for a family of my own were diminished.

If Father returns with Rashid, I will seek his counsel. It is Mother whom I desperately want. Why oh why have we had no word of her?

On the evening of the tenth day since his departure, Rashid rounds the corner to our patio and whistles softly for Sayeed.

Teela and I follow as the little fellow scampers outside, calling in a whisper to ask what his older brother wants. We arrive in time for me to hear he needs Siham and the camels to help deliver more patients.