A
man was walking through the marketplace one afternoon when, just as the ‘Muadhdhin’
began the call to prayer, his eye fell on a woman’s back. She was strangely
attractive though dressed in fulsome black a veil over head and face and she
now turned to him as if somehow conscious of his over-lingering regard and gave
him a slight but meaningful nod before she rounded the corner into the lane of
silk sellers. As if struck by a bolt from heaven, the man was at once drawn his
heart a prisoner of that look forever.
In
vain he struggled with his heart, offering it one sound reason after another to
go his way – wasn’t it time to pray? But it was finished: there was nothing but
to follow. He hastened after her, turning into the market of silks, breathing
from the exertion of catching up with the woman. Who had unexpectedly outpaced
him and even now lingered for an instance at the far end of the market. Many shops
ahead.
She
turned toward him and he thought he could see a flash of a mischievous smile
from beneath the black Muslim of her veil, as she – was it his imagination? –
beckoned to him. The poor man was beside himself. Who was she? The daughter of
a wealthy family? What did she want? He quickened his steps and turned into the
lane where she had disappeared. And so she led him, always beyond reach, always
tantalizingly ahead, now through the weapons market, now the oil merchants’, now
and the leather sellers; farther and farther from where they began the feeling
within him grew rather than decreased.
Was
she mad? On and on she led. To the very edge of the town the sun declined and
set, and there she was, before him as ever. Now they were come, of all places
to the ‘City of Tombs’.
Had
he been in his normal senses? He would have been afraid, but indeed he now
reflected. Stranger places than this had been a lovers tryst.
Had
he been in his normal senses, he would have been afraid, but indeed, he now
reflected, stranger places than this had seen a lovers’ tryst.
There
were scarcely twenty cubits between them when he saw her look back, and, giving
a little start, she skipped down the steps and through the great bronze door of
what seemed to be a very old sepulcher. A soberer moment might have seen the
man pause, but in his present state, there was no turning back, and he went
down the steps and slid in after her.
Inside,
as his eyes saw after a moment, there were two flights of steps that led down
to a second door, from whence a light shone, and which he equally passed
through. He found himself in a large room, somehow unsuspected by the outside
world, lit with candles upon its walls.
There
sat the woman, opposite the door on a pallet of rich stuff in her full black
dress, still veiled, reclining on a pillow against the far wall. To the right
of the pallet, the man noticed a well set in the floor.
“Lock the door behind you,” she said in a low, husky voice that was
almost a whisper, “and bring the key.” He did as he was told. She
gestured carelessly at the well. “Throw it in.”
A
ray of sense seemed to penetrate for a moment through the clouds over his
understanding, and a bystander, had there been one, might have detected the
slightest of pauses.
“Go
on,” she said laughingly, “You didn’t hesitate to miss the prayer as you
followed me here, did you?” He
said nothing.
“The
time for sunset prayer has almost finished as well,” she said with gentle
mockery. “Why worry? Go on, throw it in. You want to please me, don’t you?”
He
extended his hand over the mouth of the well, and watched as he let the key
drop. An uncanny feeling rose from the pit of his stomach as moments passed but
no sound came. He felt wonder, then horror, then comprehension.
“It
is time to see me…” she said, and she lifted her veil to reveal not the
face of a fresh young girl, but of a hideous old crone, all darkness and vice,
not a particle of light anywhere in its eldritch lines.
“See
me well” she said. “My name is Dunya (This worldly life). I am your
beloved. You spent your time running after me, and now you have caught up with
me. In your grave. Welcome, welcome.”
At
this she laughed and laughed, until she shook herself into a small mound of
fine dust, whose fitful shadows, as the candles went out, returned to the
darkness one by one…….
Moral of the Story:
The World
appeals to you, intrigues you, because it is meant to do. What you see is just
an hallucination. This World is nothing but a mere test for the mankind. You
must set your priorities and keep the end in mind.
