--The Hakawati tells the story of the Bloody Lapis—
(part 1 of 2)
We have customs and traditions as old as the sand. They are not written except within us and how we live by them for they are as much a part of us as our memories and souls. So long as we exist, the customs will not fade and so long as they exist, neither shall we.
Among the oldest of these traditions are Blood Debt and Sanctuary. The family of a murdered person may seek the death of the murderer without fear of reprisal. If the murderer cannot be found, one of the murderer’s family may be killed to satisfy the Blood Payment. If in the desert we come across a lone traveler we give them Sanctuary if they ask it of us. Sometimes these two customs come into conflict since a person offered sanctuary cannot be killed to satisfy a blood debt without offending those giving him protection. When this happens, the animosity between families or tribes might last years or generations and could even lead to open war.
Such was a time many years ago when our grandfathers’ grandfathers were young and a deep rivalry existed between the tribes of Sidaj and Jaram.
There was in the tribe of Sidaj a young man named Kassam. He was not born Sidaj but was a foundling discovered as an infant in the desert. A child discovered in this manner is almost always the cast off result of a woman having been seduced by a djiin or an efreet. These children are usually seen as ill omens and left where they are found. However, the goatherd that found little Kassam was an old man who, with a barren wife, had no children of his own so he took the infant home.
The old goatherd and his wife decided they would raise the child as the son they could never have and gave him the name, Kassam. As he grew, Kassam began to show a strength greater than his slight frame should hold. At seven he had the strength of boys twice his age. Some began to suspect Kassam of being a found child because off his strength. However, Kassam’s, quiet disposition and shy manner meant that in spite of his great strength, he was often bullied by the other children. Rarely was it that he did not have bruises and scrapes on him from the rough treatment he endured.
By the age of fourteen both of his adoptive parents died. He inherited their meager possessions which were nothing but a small herd of goats and a ragged tent. His most prized memento of his parents was a grape sized lapis stone his father always wore on a leather cord about his neck. When the old goatherd died, he gave the stone to Kassam, telling him, “Do all that you can for the Sidaj, my son. There is no greater duty than to family and when I am gone, the tribe will be your family.”
Kassam lived modestly and grew into a fine young man. Though shunned by many of his fellow tribesman because of their suspicions about his being a found child, Kassam remembered his father’s words and never failed to help when he could. Most often it was lending his strength which by all accounts was equal to that of a horse. Though to look at him one would see only a modest and unremarkable build.
One of the boys who as a child took particular glee in tormenting Kassam was named Masri and he grew into one of the Sidaj’s finest horsemen. Masri led many successful raids against foreign caravans, enriching himself and the Sidaj. But never would he allow any spoils to be distributed to Kassam.
One night after a particularly successful raid Kassam was as usual helping unload the goods from captured camels. When he lifted the entire pack from one of the camels and set it on the ground the bindings came undone and out spilled bolts of cloth. One of the raiders knew Kassam’s tent needed mending so he told Kassam to take a bolt or two of the cloth.
Masri was nearby and heard this. “Kassam deserves nothing,” proclaimed Masri. “For all his strength he does not ride on raids. He is timid as the goats he herds and of little use for other than clearing away rocks for old women!” Masri approached Kassam and shoved him in the back. “Go! Go back to your goats!”
Kassam walked off, eyes cast down but Masri followed him, pushing him along. “See! He does not even turn and face me like a man when insulted. This is how you face a man, Goatherd.” Masri grabbed Kassam by the shoulder and spun him around. Kassam did not raise his eyes. Sneering, Masri snatched the lapis stone from around Kassam’s neck, dashed it to pieces against a nearby rock and turned away, laughing.
Enraged, Kassam grasped Masri by the back of the neck and the belt. He lifted Masri over his head and threw him against the same rock, snapping his back. With Masri twitching, Kassam tossed him aside like a doll and knelt to gather the pieces of his broken lapis. When he looked up, the faces of those gathered about stared at him with horror, fear and awe. Masri moaned but did not move. Ashamed of his anger and fearing what the others might do, Kassam fled to his tent. He hastily gathered a few water skins, a loaf of stale bread and ran into the desert night.
By morning Masri was dead and his family demanded blood payment. Even though a few tribesmen spoke in favor of Kassam, saying that Masri instigated the confrontation, the Sidaj Emir allowed the blood payment. The Emir saw this as a way to appease Masri’s family, punish Kassam for killing the Sidaj’s best raider and to rid the Sidaj of a suspected foundling.
Kassam walked the desert until his bread and water were was all gone. Despairing, Kassam lay at the base of a rocky hill. In the cloudless sky, the black crosses of vultures drifted in lazy circles over Kassam. He closed his eyes, consigning himself to the slow death of thirst. Exhausted, he soon fell asleep, but was awoken many hours later by a voice.
“Is he dead,” asked the voice.
Kassam opened his eyes. The harsh desert sun stabbed at them and all he saw were blurry shadows around him. “Go away,” he said to the shadows, thinking them vultures. “I am no meal yet.”
“No but you soon will be,” said the largest of the vulture shadows. “Who are you?”
Kassam squinted but the shadow remained blurry. He tried to lift his head but found himself too weak. “Kassam Al Sidaj,” he said to the shadow. “But you will have to wait a while longer before calling me supper.”
“You are not Kassam,” dismissed the shadow. “He has the strength of a horse. Or so it is said of the man that killed Masri Al Sidaj.”
Kassam closed his eyes and spoke as if ashamed. “That is me, but by the scales of Set, I had no intention of killing Masri. I shall regret it until my dying moment. I would ask you at least wait until that moment arrives before eating my carcass.”
The voice laughed as did others around Kassam. “Very well. Is there anything else you wish, Kassam Al Sidaj?”
“There are many things a dying man might ask for,” said Kassam. “But I doubt vultures have either water or shade that might ease my passing or prolong what time remains to me.”
“You might be surprised,” said the voice. “Give him some water.”
Kassam felt his head being lifted from the rocky ground. A damp cloth dabbed at his burning face and pressed to his cracked lips so that he might take a little water at first. Once his lips were moistened, the mouth of a waterskin was brought to them and though the water was warm from the sun and tasted of leather Kassam eagerly drank like a hungry goat kid at its mother’s teat. He drank until the waterskin was taken away.
A shadow fell over Kassam. “Careful,” said the voice. “Too much and you may become ill.”
Kassam opened his eyes and as they focused, the shadows around him took the shape of men. The man whose shadow fell across Kassam and who had been speaking to him sat atop a dark grey mare. Kassam did not know the man’s face but the fine robes he wore and the gilded tassels hanging from the horse reins marked him as a man of standing among nomads.
“Your regret over Masri’s death seems genuine,” said the man looking down at Kassam. “And though I shall not mourn the Sidaj devil that harassed caravans under our protection, it would be improper to deny any man sanctuary from death in the desert. Even if he is a Sidaj. We will take you back to camp, Kassam. And once there, so long as you are within sight of a Jaram tent, you shall have sanctuary among the Jaram. As Emir of all Jaram, you have my word.”