A Bedouin Girl

The beating of the tambourines is heard plain and clear when the morning breeze touches it, toys with it, and carries it off to the farthest reaches of the desert, to enter the tents of Banu Kalb, thrilling them with delight and stirring longing in them. But the maiden of Banu Kalb hears the beating of the tambourines, listens to the clamor of the approaching caravan; the ululations of the women and the chanting of the men reach her ear — and she turns back to her tent, downcast and gloomy.

'Ho, Maysun,' said al-Jadal ibn Hunayf, lord of Banu Kalb, speaking to his daughter. 'Ho, Maysun, my little girl — fortune has come to you and fate has smiled upon you: today you go in bridal procession to the lord of Damascus, Muawiya ibn Abi Sufyan. Come, make yourself ready to go to him with this caravan. Rejoice, my daughter! What honor our tribe gains by ties of marriage with the emirs of the Banu Umayya, and what a portion of fortune will be at your command, O pearl of the desert! Rise, my daughter, to your camel-litter; smile at life and lay hold of happiness. But — do not forget the desert and the virtues of the desert, and do not forget a people bound to you by kinship and affection, who live a life of hardship in this far-off wilderness.'

And how quickly Maysun's state was transformed! She became the lady of the Umayyad palace, commanding and forbidding, she who before had owned nothing but the little tent and some of the goods within it. And Muawiya ibn Abi Sufyan so willed, and ordered that his wife's quarters never be without women players, dancers, ladies-in-waiting, and singing-girls, all of them charged together with bringing joy to Maysun's heart. So the incense burned in the braziers set out for it in the palace courtyard, and the sides of the great hall filled with the most plaintive and sweetest of melodies. And Maysun sat to listen to all the kinds of diversion displayed before her: she reclined upon the costliest of couches, adorned herself with the most precious of jewels, and let her gaze range over this vast opulence and this life of ease — and yet, with all this, her memory went back to her first homeland, to the desert; nor did she come to herself until her hand was signaling to the singing-girls: 'Enough!' Then the playing began, and stillness reigned, while her voice rose, tender and winning, chanting:

A tent where the winds flutter
is dearer to me than a lofty palace,
A dog barking the night-travelers away from me
is dearer to me than a gentle cat,
To wear a rough cloak with a contented eye
is dearer to me than wearing sheer gowns,
To eat a crust in the corner of my tent
is dearer to me than eating the fine loaf,
The voices of the winds in every mountain pass
are dearer to me than the beating of tambourines,
A slender youth of my own cousins
is dearer to me than a violent brute,
The roughness of my life among the Bedouin is sweeter
to my soul than the life of soft luxury,
I seek no substitute for my homeland —
and what is more splendid than a noble homeland!

An uneasy silence enveloped the room and all who were in it when Maysun delivered her poem; scarcely had she finished it when eyes were glaring at her and lips all but tore her apart with rage. How could music and song be silenced for the sake of longing for tents and sand and open space? This is injustice and ingratitude! What denial of blessing! And from the far end of the hall comes a harsh, mocking voice — the voice of one of the ladies-in-waiting — saying: 'My sisters, hasten to your singing again, and excuse your princess, for she is — a Bedouin!'

Rage, O Nature! Storm, you winds! Pour down, O sky, and water the Barada as the daughter of the desert waters it, with pearls that began to fall from her two beautiful eyes. Poor Maysun — you left kin and homeland and dear ones and came to this palace to be laughed at by those beneath you, and mocked because you are a Bedouin. A curse upon life, how bitter it is! — and perdition to a fate that betrays and deals no justice.

O beautiful Bedouin, stay your tears — unveil that face of yours, like the moon, and speak with your famous eloquence to the women of the palace and its singing-girls. Tell them of the Bedouin woman and the character of the Bedouin woman; tell them — perhaps some of the telling will scatter their ignorance.

And silence reigned another while over the sides of the great hall as Maysun spoke, saying:
Do you hold it against me, my sisters, that I am a Bedouin? The Bedouin woman loves purity of life, cherishes virtue, and hates treachery. The sister of al-Aswad ibn Ghifar saw that some of her people harbored treachery toward an enemy tribe, and she forbade them, saying:

Do not betray — this betrayal is a disgrace,
and every fault is seen as a fault, however small.
I fear the like of it for you tomorrow;
in affairs there are measures for the one who looks ahead.
The hatred of an aggressor against us, unrestrained,
plunging into wrong, will spare nothing and leave nothing.

And is not al-Hayfa bint Subayh a Bedouin in her words, boasting of her people and of her father:

The horses know, on the day of terror, if they are routed,
that the son of Amr will shield them in the din of battle.
He never showed foulness, never rose to a monstrous deed,
and every deed of honor — he is found vying for its height.
The neighbor never dreads treachery from him,
and if troubles descend, he is sufficient against them.

My sisters, said Maysun, my sisters, do you hold my Bedouin ways against me? The Bedouin woman requites the doers of good and repays kindness with kindness, as Rabta bint Jidhl said when the spear of her husband Rabi' broke in war, and Durayd ibn al-Simma, his foe, saw him and refused to fight him while he stood stripped of weapons — so Rabi' escaped a hideous death that was rightly bound to overtake him. Then time turned its wheel, and Durayd was taken captive and hid his identity from his captors; but Rabi's wife — al-Hayfa — knew him, and held her people back from harming or abusing him, saying:

We shall repay Durayd, on Rabia's behalf, a kindness,
for every man is repaid for what he sent before him.
If it was good, good shall be his repayment;
if it was evil, evil it shall be, and blameworthy.
We shall repay him a favor that was no small one:
his granting of the long, true-shafted spear.

My sisters, do you still hold my Bedouin ways against me? The Bedouin women are among the wisest of women, marked by a good sense which the wide desert itself breathed into them. Jum'a bint al-Hiss is but one of them, uttering such wisdom as trains the mind and delights the hearer, where she says:

The finest spoil to be gained and sought
is a store of reason, held and guarded.
The best of a man's traits is the truthfulness of his tongue,
and truth has a merit that shows itself and stands forth.
There is no good in a freeborn man who shows you a smiling face
and stabs you from behind and slanders you.

If a man cannot govern his own soul,
he is more helpless still to govern another's.

Thus did the daughter of the desert display her art, while night crept on with slow deliberateness, and a stillness spread over the corners of the hall and the people in it, moving the singing-girls to light the candles. Yes — the candles were lit, the chandeliers glittered with lights, and the hall swam in a blazing radiance that spread over every face the marks of good cheer and friendliness, while the braziers were stirred with their fuel; the aloes-incense kindled in them and sent through the hall its captivating, perfumed scent — and Maysun's spirit revived.

And when the light of the full moon broke forth in the star-strewn sky, Maysun walked out toward the palace gardens to delight in the sight of the moon's rays mirrored on the surfaces of the water. She walked on, caressing the leaves of the trees, breathing in the fragrance of the sweet herbs, listening to the murmur of the waters. And suddenly she stopped at a whispering that passed among a number of slave-girls who had sat down beneath some of the trees for evening talk. And behold, the breeze carried to Maysun some of their words — and behold, some of those words carried esteem and admiration for the princess of the palace, while others carried with them... 'a Bedouin'....