Ali Baba And 40 Thieves 10

Another bandit marks Alibaba’s house but Marjina is vigilant.

Sam discusses Dozakh, Jannat, Life, death ..

The second bandit found Mustafa's stall easily in the dark hours before daybreak. He quickly struck up a conversation.

"Durood!" he said matter-of-factually. "Are you the master cobbler who claims he recently stitched up a dead body in the dark, blindfolded?"

"I am," Mustafa responded, "although that feat's not exactly public knowledge."

"I didn't say it was public knowledge," he agreed. "You told someone, who told me. He claims you even led him to the house where you did it. Blindfolded."

"What business is it of yours?" Mustafa asked.

"I don't believe any of it," the robber said. "No properly blindfolded man can accurately find his way back from anywhere. Especially while it is still as dark as it is right now. If it is all really true, prove it by taking me there right now, after you have been properly blindfolded."

"Why should I?" Mustafa retorted. "I don't have to prove anything to you."

"That you don't," he agreed amiably, placing an Asharfi on Mustafa's palm. "But I am happy to pay to see if it can really be done. I can make it worth your while to prove it to me."

"We don't have to go back to the same house to prove that," Mustafa said, as he pocketed the Asharfi and stood up for the test.

"But I want you to," the robber asserted and placed another Asharfi on Mustafa's palm.

Mustafa looked at the second Asharfi for a long time. Then, with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, he pocketed it too.

"Your business," he said, "is no business of mine."

He walked out of his shop to stand again at the place where Marjina had tied the kerchief around his eyes.

The thief blindfolded Mustafa, and was led through the same convoluted route to Alibaba's door.

He noted the work of his predecessor, and speculated on how and why he had been foiled. Perhaps the neighbourhood kids had been playing with white chalk, liked his mark and had replicated it on their own doors.

He marked another unique sign with red chalk on the jamb in a place where he thought it would not be easily seen or accidentally get wiped, and walked away with Mustafa.

Arriving back at Mustafa's stall, he quickly paid Mustafa another Asharfi, thanked and praised him for his magical skills and hurried back to his rendezvous with the others.

Marjina had not told anyone about the white chalk sign, so it bothered her more. She had now been thoroughly inspecting the house exterior regularly, to gauge if the white mark had been a one-off event or was a part of something more sinister.

Her heart jumped when she discovered the new hidden red sign on her door jamb.

'I'm positive it wasn't there earlier,' she thought, 'but perhaps I'd missed it. I still need more than this to disturb the master.'

Nevertheless, she chalked the doors of all her neighbours again in a like manner. Her heart was filled with foreboding that someone had identified their house. So she decided to increase her vigil and really be on guard for anything out of the ordinary.

The robbers went to town again as planned. But when the Captain sent one of his men with the second robber as an advance party, they found that they had been thwarted again.

Fuming silently, as the risk of their discovery and capture increased exponentially every time they entered civilisation en masses, they returned empty handed.

All hell broke loose when they finally gathered back at the cave den.

"Khaak bar sar-et," they howled at their failed brother. "You should die!"

"Khaak bar sar-am," the shamed man agreed. "I should die!"

He cut his own throat.

'Can't afford more delays or another failure,' their Captain pondered. 'I must do this myself. If these birds learn we are onto them, as they might already suspect by now, they may fly away.'

"You need to die yourself," he sighed, "to get to Jannat."

"What's Jannat?" Josh asked, interrupting the Arabian Nights tale.

"Paradise," answered Sam. "It is the opposite of Dozakh, or Hell."

"How can you get anywhere," asked Josh, "when you are already dead?"

"The life within you manages to stick to the physicality of who you are," Sam

answered. "That is why you perceive yourselves only as your body. Your body is not you, it is what you have gathered here."

"This body came from the five elements, and will eventually be given back to them. That part of you which didn't come from the five elements, remains even after your body is no more. That is the real you."

"Death is the name for the end of this life. But in many cultures and religions, it is not considered as your end. It is simply an end of your body. Your soul journeys on."

"Death of this body is just the beginning of another journey for the soul within this body. Like you changing trains at the train station."

"The train stops at the station, but your journey continues. This body stops functioning at death, but the Soul within it, carries on. Where does it go?"

"Many cultures and religions believe that it takes another train, another body - until it reaches its final destination."

"Sometimes, it also temporarily stops at stations called Heaven and Hell. People believe that these stations do not exist on this Earth. They are somewhere out there. And the Soul reaches there after the death of this body."

Ali Baba And 40 Thieves 09

The blindfolded Mustafa leads the thief to Alibaba's house.

The home is marked, but Marjina foils the ID.

"I can't tell you where I did it," Mustafa retorted at the affront. "But blindfold me again and lead me as I tell you to lead me. I can take you there if you pay me."

The thief chewed on this proposition for a few moments, excited at the possibilities yet sceptical of the old man's vanity.

‘Could he really lead them back to the right house blindfolded,’ he wondered, ‘when he had gone there just once, months ago, and been led back using another route?’

'No harm in trying,' he thought. 'What have I got to lose? This old man is full of surprises, and it’s still hours before daybreak. I will easily know if he's lying.'

He finally nodded and slipped another golden ducat into Mustafa's palm.

The old cobbler left his shop open, walked out and stood at the spot where Marjina had tied the kerchief around his eyes.

The thief blindfolded Mustafa, and was led into the same convoluted route Marjina had taken.

The thief marvelled at the slave-girl's machinations, as he saw how she had turned into unnecessary side streets and doubled back to confuse the wily old fox.

He marvelled more at Mustafa's sure-footedness as he walked on, counting step by step.

But the proof of the pudding lay in its eating. After having taken such a convoluted route, if the blindfolded old cobbler could bring them back to his stall after identifying any house, the thief felt reasonably sure that Mustafa would have successfully defeated her intrigues to hide the job location.

He marvelled at the old man's intellect and sharp senses, but held his tongue lest the old man failed or had been lying.

It didn't seem like Mustafa was concocting a show for his benefit out of greed, but then it was Mustafa's town. He had grown up in it, and probably used these streets since childhood.

'Let's see what happens,' he thought, barely able to hold his bubbling enthusiasm in check, despite years of practice and vocational requirement.

He was jolted out of his reverie, when the blindfolded Mustafa halted suddenly, calmly pointed at a house and said, "This is it. This is where I came with her."

Mustafa had stopped in front of Qasim's house, where his brother Alibaba now lived with his extended family.

The bandit took a white chalk and made a special mark on one end of the door, so he might readily identify this house in the future. Then they walked on in the dark.

The blindfolded Mustafa led the thief back towards his stall on the second leg of his journey using the alternative route Marjina had followed. To the robber's amazement, Mustafa arrived at his shop without once faltering en-route.

"Believe me now?" he mocked him, removing the blindfold from his eyes and returning the thief's kerchief.

Marvelling at what he had just witnessed, the thief bowed in open admiration and awe at Mustafa's unique skills. He quietly placed another Asharfi on Mustafa's wrinkled palm. Then he hastened back to his rendezvous with the other thieves.

Shortly after they had gone, Marjina emerged from her house on some errand and saw the strange white mark on her door.

She puzzled over it awhile, and suspecting it might mean mischief, she chalked the doors of all her neighbours in like manner. However, she kept her misgivings to herself, not wanting to stir up a storm in a teacup and unnecessarily disturb her master or mistresses.

Meanwhile, the bandit returned and told his comrades his tale of adventure and how he had found the clue. The Captain and his men arranged a rendezvous in the town and dispersed, entering the town at different times in singles and twos using different routes.

The man who had placed the mark on Ali Baba's door accompanied his leader to point out the house. He took him to the place straightway and showing his sign on the door, exclaimed, "This is it!"

But when the Captain looked around him, he saw that all the houses around them bore similar chalk-marks.

"How can you be so sure," he asked, "when the whole neighborhood has the same sign on their doors?"

Noticing his mark now on so many different houses, the guide was suddenly baffled and became unsure of the house he had himself marked in the first place. They returned to their rendezvous and the Captain told his men to disperse and reassemble at the cave den.

Back at the cave, the men were furious.

"Was this a joke?" they roared. "We labored in vain. How clumsy can you be? Inept! Showing us a sabz bagh!"

"What's that?" asked Josh, interrupting the Arabian Nights tale.

"It's Persian slang for being led up a garden path," Sam explained. "For deceiving them, giving them wrong information, wasting their time. They risked so much by going there, you see. But they achieved so little. So they were mad at him."

"Khaak bar sar-et," they hissed at their failed brother. "You should die!"

"Khaak bar sar-am," the shamed man agreed. "I should die!"

They cut his throat.

Hurried plans were then made, and a more responsible and thorough man was sent to do this job properly.

Josh was staring at Sam, incredulous at what he had just heard. 'How could they kill their brother for something like this?' he thought. Sam

noticed his silent look and understood his disbelief.

"People are different," he tried to explain. "They have different values, think differently. And they can do surprising things. It's best not to judge, or at least, not to judge too quickly."

"For you see, whatever is worth doing, is worth doing properly. The thieves thought the job had been botched because of their brother's mistake. Mistakes can be costly. In the world they lived in, mistakes could be fatal."

Ali Baba And 40 Thieves 08

With mutual distrust growing, thieves widen their search & discover Mustafa.

He tells a noteworthy tale ...

"Meanwhile," Sam continued the Arabian Nights tale, "the robbers had returned to their treasure cave and discovered that Qasim's body was gone."

On doing an inventory of the loot, they had also discovered many sacks and bags of Asharfis and gold coins missing.

They paired up and took turns at keeping the whole area around the cave under constant surveillance.

But despite months of vigil, no progress was made on identifying the intruders.

When no suspicious activity was observed around the cave for months, and no one was caught sneaking in, mutual distrust grew amongst the thieves.

Suspicion that one or more of them were traitors began to take root in their minds. Tempers flared easily, cracks appeared in their bonding, and the group became difficult to manage. Their Captain saw this.

Distrust is like a vicious fire, he knew. Once it gets entrenched, it keeps on going until it consumes everything. Even put out, it reignites itself, devouring the good with the bad, and still feeding on empty.

He realised that unless the perpetrators were identified and punished quickly, he risked the breakup of his band and the destruction of everything that had together been accomplished and accumulated.

He decided to widen the scope of their investigations. He instructed some of his men to dress up as foreign merchants and sent them to all the neighbouring towns and villages to see if they could find any clues.

"So we investigate those who have recently become rich?" a thief sought clarification when the strategy had been outlined. "Follow the money! Anything else?"

"Listen for gossip about recent indiscreet spending," their leader answered. "Ask around about the recently dead, and where they lived if they died in suspicious circumstances."

"The one we slayed, knew our secrets," he seethed. "Those who took his body, know them too. We can't let them live with this knowledge. We can't let this go unpunished. Until we find and eliminate them, we cannot rest nor sleep."

"What say you?" he demanded from them.

"Baleh!" the bandits beat their chests and assented in unison. The unanimous cry had an intensity that was almost physical. You could almost touch it.

"Mo'afagh bashed!" their leader cried back, wishing them luck.

The thieves disguised themselves and penetrated the furthest corners of nearby civilisation in the dark of the night.

When day broke, they were indistinguishable from the respectable citizens going about their business. Some established themselves near barber shops, some in the market place, some near the brothels, and some near the liquor shops.

In Alibaba's town, the disguised bandit was roaming amongst the still closed shops in the Bazar, trying to determine where he should best station himself.

It was still dark. His clothes fluttered in the brisk wind. As he walked quietly at this early hour, he came upon the only open shop. Mustafa's.

He walked over to the cobbler's stall and saluted.

"Salaam," he said. "It's still dark. How can you see clearly enough to sew a shoe, old man?"

"I don't need to see," Mustafa boasted, "to sew a shoe. I recently stitched a dead body together, blindfolded and in the dark. This is just a shoe."

The bandit gasped, choking at this sudden revelation. He couldn't believe his luck.

"You must be joking," he said, expelling words out of his throat with difficulty. "You mean, you stitched a cerecloth for a corpse blindfolded."

"You are new here," Mustafa was offended. "And obviously haven't heard of me before. I am Mustafa! I stitched up a corpse together in the dark, not his shroud."

"Who could possibly want a corpse stitched?" the bandit probed slyly. "And why?"

Mustafa's honed senses now alerted him that he had already said too much.

"Never mind," he said abruptly. "You mind your own business."

"A master cobbler, and a teasing storyteller," the thief laughed as he gave Mustafa an Asharfi. "Here, have this. You've got me hooked now, and I am happy to pay to hear your intriguing tale. Tell me more about your special skill and what you did to that corpse."

The old cobbler's rheumy eyes lit up with pride as he recounted his tale, "A bonds-woman

blindfolded me before taking me there. It was all done in great secret. She took me to a room where a dead man's body lay dismembered in four quarters, and asked me to stitch it. I ..."

The thief listened with great interest, and asked questions about date and detail. It became clear to him that Mustafa was not lying. He had undoubtedly stitched together the man they had slain. The similarities were too many to be dismissed as coincidental.

'The cunning wretch,' he sighed inwardly, 'She sunk me when I was so close to the shore.'

"Interesting story," he said presently, "if only it were true! There is no way of proving any of it really happened, is there? You can't even tell me where you did the job, because you were so conveniently blindfolded. What a load of crap!"

Ali Baba And 40 Thieves 07

Alibaba observes Qasim's full mourning rituals. But why wash a dead body if you bury or burn it anyway?

Alibaba arrived soon after. He had brought the kafan (shroud) with him.

Together, they washed Qasim's stitched body in warm water (Gusl). Then donning it the shroud (kafan), they lay the corpse upon a bier, ready for the funeral procession and burial.

When the neighbors started arriving, Marjina went to the mosque and informed the Imam that a Janaza (funeral) awaited in Qasim's household.

She requested him to come and read the prayers for the dead. The Imam went back with her and said the funeral prayers.

Four mourners picked up the four corners of the bier and bore it on their shoulders. The Janaza proceeded with the Imam towards the burial grounds.

Mourners took turns at carrying the bier, rotating and relieving the coffin bearers until they arrived at the cemetery. Here they buried Qasim, and went their ways.

The women folk, as was customary, gathered together in Qasim's house and sat an hour with his widow comforting and condoling her.

No one suspected anything. There wasn't any reason to. The business of Death was over, The business of Life carried on. It was business as usual. While the dead rested, the live returned to their chores.

"Is this how it is done in Islam?" asked Josh.

"Sharia," Sam answered, "which is Islamic religious law, calls for burial of the body after a simple ritual involving bathing and shrouding the body. The Muslims of the community then gather to offer their collective prayers for the forgiveness of the dead. This prayer is called Salat al-Janazah (Janazah prayer)."

"Hindus also bathe and shroud the body, and prayers follow the funeral procession, but they then cremate their dead bodies instead of burying them. Cremation of the body is forbidden in Islam."

"Why wash a dead body," Josh asked, "if you are going to bury or burn it anyway?"

"Well, you clean yourself when you reach somewhere after a long journey, don't you?" Sam asked in reply. "Similarly a body arrives at the junction of death after the long journey of life."

"But the dead can't wash themselves. So commonly, adult members of the immediate family and of the same gender as the deceased, wash the dead body. In most cultures, a dead body needs to be treated with respect and dignity. How a culture treats its dead, tells you a lot about that culture."

"In most cultures, a dead human body is not considered just a piece of meat, though literally, it is just that from a scientific point of view. So it is washed and clothed, even though, as you say, in the end it will be burned or buried anyway."

"Pa, are there strict rules about a kafan too?" James asked.

"Most cultures generally wrap their corpses in a simple plain cloth," Sam answered, "to respect the dignity and privacy of the deceased. The specifics of this ritual, including the material, style, and colour of the cloth, may vary across regions and religions."

"Sharia says that the shroud should be simple and modest. So, Muslims generally use white cotton cloth to serve as the shroud. Hindus have traditionally used white or saffron cotton cloths. A poor Muslim or Hindu though, will perhaps be grateful to use any clean cloth they could get, I guess."

"A full and formal dress code has now become common in Christian and European cultures to farewell their dead."

"But Josh's question is an interesting one. I don't think that either the dead or their body cares too much either way if they are washed or not before their final rites. The living care about it though, and so it is done. Even some animals understand, respect and pay homage to death."

"Are you guiding them," Rose raised an eyebrow, "or misguiding them?"

"I am just speculating on why the rites are what they are," Sam answered, "and confessing, I guess, that sometimes our kids can ask questions that we never asked all our lives. We should have."

"Generally, it is considered impolite to question these things. What rational answers can you expect from orthodoxy anyway? They never ever questioned either, they just followed. Perhaps that's why asking such questions is frowned upon. Because neither do they know, nor do they want to confess their ignorance."

"You are presuming too much," Rose protested.

"Paa! Our story," James interrupted a possible domestic. "What did Ali Baba do then?"

"Ali Baba observed all the mourning rituals for the death of his brother to the letter," Sam continued with the Arabian Nights tale, "and remained in his house ceremonially grieving for the full mourning period."

"How long should someone grieve their brother's death according to Sharia?" Rose asked.

"Generally, for three days," Sam replied. "Islamic mourning is observed by increased devotion, receiving visitors and condolences, and avoiding decorative clothing and jewellery."

"Even in a funeral procession, Islam expects that Muslims show acceptance of Allah's will when their relative dies. Grief at the death of a beloved person is normal, and weeping for the dead by males or females is perfectly acceptable in Islam."

"But all acts and speech that show dissatisfaction with Allah's verdict such as undignified crying and shrieking, loud wailing, beating the chest and cheeks, tearing hair or clothes, breaking objects, scratching faces etc. are frowned upon, even though much latitude is granted in practice."

"As fatigue and emotion can adversely affect ones' behaviour, such behaviour is rarely censured."

"Different societies have different customs and traditions associated with life as well as death. Ali Baba's customs allowed a man to have more than one wife. It was also not unusual in the Kingdom of Persia at the time that when a husband died, his brother married his widow."

"So, four lunar months and 10 days after Qasim's funeral, when her Iddah ended, Ali Baba openly married Qasim's widow, and took over all the property and slaves belonging to his deceased brother."

"He appointed Qasim's eldest son, who had been learning trading from his late father, in-charge of Qasim's shop and delegated to him, his powers to carry on the family business."

Ali Baba And 40 Thieves 06

Marjina convinces the Haqeem that Qasim is very sick & then Mustafa to go blindfolded to sew the corpse.

Ali Baba left her weeping, and went to discuss with Marjina how to manage the burial of his brother.

After much consultation, he left the slave-girl and departed home to speak to his wife.

Then, Marjina went to the medicine dispensary, and requested daru from the druggist.

"Daru?" Josh's ears pricked. "Why did she want alcohol?"

"Daru means alcohol in Urdu," Sam laughed, "but it also means medicine in Farsi (Persian)."

"Similarly in Hindi, we say 'dava daru karo' when we are telling someone to get medical help."

When Josh nodded and did not seek further clarification, Sam continued with his retelling of the Arabian Nights tale:

"Who is ill?" the physician asked Marjina.

"Master Qasim," she responded. "Been sick for days. Not eating, not sleeping, working himself to death. It's finally caught up with him, I'm afraid."

"The Hakeem questioned her thoroughly on Qasim's condition before an appropriate medicine could be given. But Marjina was a clever girl. She accurately described symptoms of a critically fatal sickness she knew of."

"While returning home with the Haqeem's medicine, she also briefly stopped to gossip with all and any acquaintances and neighbors about her master's dreadful illness."

"Meanwhile, Ali Baba discussed the situation with his wife while they dug and buried their latest installment of loot. She understood their predicament and consented to his plan of action."

"Throughout the rest of the day, they made a point of being seen, passing back and forth between Qasim's house and their own, and speaking to as many of their neighbors and acquaintances as they could, about Qasim being severely ill."

"In the evening, Marjina went to the Haqeem again. She asked for the strongest dose of a medicine that could pull back a man from the brink of death."

"Is he that bad now?" the druggist inquired, as he handed her his strongest dose.

Tears filled her eyes as she responded, "Much worse! Medicine appears to have done him no good. I'm afraid, he might have left it too late. It might be all over for him before he sees another day."

"No one was therefore surprised, when wailing and cries were heard from Qasim's house late that evening. News spread quickly in the neighborhood that Qasim was dead."

"Long before dawn the next morning, a veiled figure dropped the inner bolt on the outer door of Qasim's house and stepped quietly on the dark pavement outside. She checked left and right. Satisfied that no one was about, she closed the door from outside and walked briskly towards the Bazar."

James sat up in bed, unable to bear the excitement lying down. Josh's head was poking out of the duvet too, watching him intently while the rest of his body lay well hidden under the covers.

Sam felt at peace. The kind of peace that can only come from contentment one feels when one is with family. He continued with his retelling of the story.

"Now, I'll tell you about Mustafa," he said.

"Mustafa habitually arrived at his shop long before daybreak. He was getting on in his years and rapidly losing sight in both eyes, but that deterred him neither from practising his trade nor from walking up to his shop in pitch darkness every morning."

"He was a master cobbler, and proud of it. He could still sew up a shoe without looking at it, a feat others found impossible to imitate."

"As he was about to open his stall this morning, a veiled figure carefully stepped out of the shadows and gently called out his name."

"Mustafa Baba?"

Mustafa jumped with fear.

"You gave me a fright!" he whimpered. "What do you want?"

"Sorry," Marjina whispered as she gave him a gold mohar, "I didn't mean to scare you. I've been waiting here long. Will you come with me blindfolded, to do an urgent job? You will be very well paid."

"What is the job?" his curiosity was aroused at such a generous fare, despite his sudden apprehensions.

"Something only you can do," she promised him sincerely. "You will be very well paid."

He generally steered clear of intrigues. But personal pride and potential windfall forced him to reconsider today.

"Who are you?" he inquired further. "Why all this secrecy?"

"I can't answer questions that could identify my master," Marjina responded. "Secrecy is paramount. But you will be able to name your price."

"Secrets scare me," he scowled. "I am getting old. I don't like them anymore."

Silently, she placed another gold muhar on his palm, and assured him, "I will lead you, be with you at all times, and bring you back too."

He turned the golden asharfis over and over between his fingers while he stared at her eyes and mulled over his decision.

"Please come," pleaded Marjina. "I beg of you! We need your help."

Finally, he nodded.

She quickly tied a handkerchief tightly over his eyes and led him by his stick. She deliberately took a longer route, and went into unnecessary side streets just to double back again and confuse the blindfolded old fox.

The rest of the world was sleeping, blissfully unaware of her stratagems, when they finally reached her master's house. Opening the door silently, she ushered him in and took him to the dark room wherein lay the dead body of her master.

There, she asked him to sew together the pieces of the corpse, as they had been laid out for him.

When Mustafa had done her bidding, she paid him his fees. She then led the old cobbler back to the outer door.

Still veiled, she stepped out of the house and casually looked around.

All was clear. Guiding the blindfolded Mustafa out on the street, she bolted the door from outside and took yet another convoluted route to lead him back to his stall in the Bazaar.

A street dog barked and followed them awhile, but could not rouse anyone in the sleeping town. The cock was ushering in the dawn as she arrived home silently and safely once again.