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wave that would reduce these vain sandcastles to the nothingness, to the grains from which they came. But there are no waves here. Water is the enemy in Jahilia. Carried in earthen pots, it must never be spilled (the penal code deals fiercely with offenders), for where it drops the city erodes alarmingly. Holes appear in roads, houses tilt and sway. The watercarriers of Jahilia are loathed necessities, pariahs who cannot be ignored and therefore can never be forgiven. It never rains in Jahilia; there are no fountains in the silicon gardens. A few palms stand in enclosed courtyards, their roots travelling far and wide below the earth in search of moisture. The city’s water comes from underground streams and springs, one such being the fabled Zamzam, at the heart of the concentric sand—city, next to the House of the Black Stone. Here, at Zamzam, is a beheshti, a despised water—carrier, drawing up the vital, dangerous fluid. He has a name: Khalid.

A city of businessmen, Jahilia. The name of the tribe is Shark .

In this city, the businessman-turned-prophet, Mahound, is founding one of the world’s great religions; and has arrived, on this day, his birthday, at the crisis of his life. There is a voice whispering in his ear: What kind of idea are you? Man-or-mouse?

We know that voice. We’ve heard it once before.

While Mahound climbs Coney, Jahilia celebrates a different anniversary. In ancient time the patriarch Ibrahim came into this valley with Hagar and Ismail, their son. Here, in this waterless wilderness, he abandoned her. She asked him, can this be God’s will? He replied, it is. And left, the bastard. From the beginning men” used God to justify the unjustifiable. He moves in mysteri?us ways: men say. Small wonder, then, that women have turned to me.—But I’ll keep to the point; Hagar wasn’t a witch. She was trusting: then surely He will not let me perish . After Ibrahim left her, she fed the baby at her breast until her milk ran out. Then she climbed two hills, first Safa then Marwah, running from one to the other in her desperation, trying to sight a tent, a camel, a human being. She saw nothing. That was when he came to her, Gibreel, and showed her the waters of Zamzam. So Hagar survived; but why now do the pilgrims congregate? To celebrate her survival? No, no. They are celebrating the honour done the valley by the visit of, you’ve guessed it, Ibrahim. In that loving consort’s name, they gather, worship and, above all, spend.

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