Gold Dust

25

One day, one of the deep desert herdsmen stumbled into Ukhayyad’s paradise. The man rode in at nightfall on a stout, disheveled camel. He tethered the beast in the field and called out, “Praise God!” three times before greeting Ukhayyad. He said he was looking for his lost camels. He also said that Ukhayyad must be a saint beloved of God, since he had been blessed above all others with such pasturage — especially with the other parts of the desert world suffering from such drought.

Ukhayyad invited him to share tea. “It’s best if you say nothing about this to anyone,” Ukhayyad said.

“I’ll keep it a secret if you let me graze my camels here,” the stranger laughed, and then added, “That is, if God helps me find them in His wide desert!”

“God willing, you will find them.”

“No doubt I will. God answers the prayers of His saints.”

He wiped his beard and leaned back contentedly on the pebbles beneath them. “I’ll keep it a secret if you let me graze,” he repeated. “As you can see, I don’t ask for much in exchange for my silence!”

Laughing again, he said, “To be content with what we have. The faqihs all agree in their condemnation of greed — and who am I to say otherwise? To hell with wealth! Did you hear the story about that man in Adrar oasis who sold his wife and child for a handful of gold dust?”

The blood froze in Ukhayyad’s veins. “What!” he gasped.

“The story is on everyone’s tongue. The man surrendered his wife and child to one of the rich foreigners for a handful of gold dust. Gold — it blinds the eye! Not until I heard that story did I realize how cursed that yellow copper truly is.”

Ukhayyad held his tongue. Cold sweat poured across his shoulders, soaking the skin. His hands trembled and tea spilled onto the ground. Soon, the perspiration began to seep from his forehead and from around his mouth. Beads of it dripped into the cups, mixing into the frothy crown of the green tea. Blood began to seep from his heart.

In that single instant, he forgot all about the burdens sons inherit from their fathers — the nooses that choke, the dolls that bring ruin, and the empty, empty illusions. The things of the world began to take on their old meanings again. The noose went back to being a beloved wife. The doll became, once more, his progeny and heir to his mantle. The sham illusion became, once again, shame — actual shame.

In the blink of an eye, the beautiful dream melted away. In the blink of an eye, a harsh, wretched truth settled in. As the vision disappeared, freedom dissolved and the shackles returned.

It seemed to him now that all he had thought about during his daring escape had been no more than a fantasy. His wife was no noose, but a refuge; his son, no plaything, but the awaited messiah. The illusion too was revealed for what it was. In an instant, every sign turned on its head.

There was nothing strange about this turn of events. When a person decides to oppose Satan, he should never let his guard down. In order to converse with another living creature, a person has to speak in the Devil’s tongue. And in that moment, all vision of the divine vanishes, and all signs of heaven disappear.

How did this wretched nomad know how to banish inspiration? How did that accursed man know so well how to drive him mad?