Talk:The Guest of Karadak
| Information about this edition | |
|---|---|
| Edition: | Extracted from Adventure, 15 august 1927, pp. 151–184. |
| Source: | https://archive.org/details/adventure-v-063-n-05-1927-08-15 |
| Contributor(s): | i came i dumped |
| Proofreaders: | i sifted |
HAROLD LAMB tells about tradition among the Arabs, in connection with his long novelette in this issue.
A word about Arab tradition. It is like no other tradition because the spoken word was handed down from generation to generation rather than the written. Until the ninth or tenth centuries very few Arabs could write, and it was customary when two riders met on the trail to stop and exchange anecdotes. “So-and-so says, on the authority of Such-an-one—”
Naturally when the first annals came to be written they were merely a collection of hadith—tradition. So we find the early Arab histories to be brief and matter-of-fact, almost invariably truthful. They deal with men and deeds, weapons and the amount of spoil taken in the razzias—with covenants and herds and the position of wells. And especially with the manner in which the great warriors of the hosts met their deaths.
These fragmentary histories were jotted down on “date leaves, bits of leather, shoulder blades, stony tablets, or the hearts of men.” But, put into words by men born and bred to war, who spent most of their lives in the saddle, the written hadith have a real ring to them. Here we find no lengthy memoirs, no monastery-compiled chronicles, or histories written long after events. We have the word-of-mouth narrative of men who were on the scene.
That is, perhaps, why the medieval histories of al Tabari and ibn Khaldun are better reading than anything that came out of Europe in those days. The Arab then had a fine sense of chivalry, a keen wit, any amount of pride in himself and his deeds and a full appreciation of what was due him, and others—in the way of money, but more particularly, of honor.
As an example, take an incident in a famous battle—Cadesiya, when the small host of invading Arabs was confronted by the great mass of Persians under Rustam, in the year 635—as related by al Baladhuri and Mas'udi.
(To explain the situation, Sa'd, the Lion, leader of the Arabs, was sick that day and was watching events from a cot placed on the rampart of a tower. So his horse, a white mare, was without a rider. Every able bodied man was in the lines, and the women had been put in charge of the wounded and the prisoners. Among those confined was Abu Mihjan, a hot headed but redoubtable warrior who had not long since charged single-handed against an elephant—the first to be encountered by the Arabs.)
“Abu Mihjan was sent away to Badi by Omar (the Caliph), because he drank wine. Somehow, he managed to escape and rode after Sa'd. In the army of Sa'd, Abu Mihjan again drank wine and Sa'd flogged and imprisoned him in the tower. There he was heard to sing:
'Bury me by the roots of the vine,
The moisture will wet my bones;
Bury me not in the open plain,
Lacking the fragrant grape.'
“When he heard the shouting of the battle he asked Zabra a concubine of Sa'd to set him free to take part in the fight, after which he would return to his fetters. She made him swear by Allah he would do so. Mounted on Sa'd's mare he rode against the Persians, piercing through their line several times, and once cutting with his sword into the trunk of an elephant. Many did not know who he was, and others thought him to be Al Khizr (one of the angels).
“But Sa'd said, 'If Abu Mihjan were not safe in chains I could swear it were he and the mare my own.' Abu Mihjan afterward rode back to his gaol, and Sa'd exclaimed, 'The mare is indeed mine, but the charge is that of Abu Mihjan!'
“When the issue with Rustam (the battle with the Persians) was ended, Sa'd said to Abu Mihjan, 'By Allah, I shall never punish thee for wine drinking after seeing what I saw of thee.'
“'As for me,” Abu Mihjan answered, 'by Allah, I shall never drink it again.'”
I HAVE tried to tell the story of the Guest of Karadak as Daril would have told it, relating it in his own way as haidth—tradition.
The hospitality and the fighting qualities of the Rajputs are too well known to need comment. They would, as one chronicler put it, “find cause for quarrel in the blowing of the wind against their faces.” The feud between Kurran's clan and the clan of the cousins, Awa Khan and Sidri Singh was only one of fifty—or a hundred—going on at the time. Perhaps its first cause had been no more than an unintended word, or a fancied grievance. Nothing would appeal more to a Rajput chieftain than an opportunity to defend the honor—against a stranger—of another Rajput with whom he was at feud.
In one case a raja, flying for his life from the pursuit of his enemies, stopped for a night at the dwelling of a third chieftain who was not involved in their quarrel. This Rajput considered that the fugitive was now his guest and he was obligated to protect him, so he defended his house against the pursuers and lost his life in so doing—Harold Lamb.