Pawn in Frankincense - Dorothy Dunnett [161]
The initiates, it seemed, came in barefoot, and singly, each kneeling first with his two hands on the sacred threshold, and kissing each hand in turn. This one was a middle-aged man. He approached the chief Baba, the Mürsit on his sheepskin on the left of the throne and performed the full niyaz; the prostration, kissing the floor and then the right and left knee of the Baba and over his heart, thus forming a cross. Then came the ablution, seen before at every street corner, at every mosque fountain. The feet: It is an obligation required by the Merciful, the Compassionate, to be cleansed of every instance of having walked in rebellious and mistaken paths. The face: Wipe thy face clean of the acts of disobedience which thou hast committed until now, and of the impure water of ungodliness with which thou hast been polluted.
Jerott said to Marthe, ‘Do you pray? Do you turn to Mecca when the muezzin calls? I have never seen you.’
Around them, as the ablution went on, a kind of ragged chorus had developed; a single phrase, repeated with vehemence over and over, punctuating the ritual: Allah Eyvallah; Allah Eyvallah; Allah Eyvallah. God, yes by God. ‘You may take it I pray,’ said Marthe softly, ‘as often as I have seen you at your devotions.’
‘Brother, arise.’ The cleansing was over. ‘In accordance with the rites of Mohammed, Ali awaken the candle of this soul.’
The man getting to his feet before the Baba looked ill with nerves, Jerott thought. To a man of his faith, of course, it was probably the most important moment of his life. The Baba, settling round his waist some kind of woollen rope belt, did not smile, but he touched the man’s cheek, in passing, and the initiate, flushing, snatched and kissed the hem of his robe as he knelt. Jerott shifted uncomfortably. ‘May good things conquer: may evil things be repelled; may unbelievers be defeated; may evil speakers be ruined.… When we cry out for help, may they respond to our call.… In the name of the King; call upon Ali, the manifester of marvels.… O best of those who help … O overturner of hearts and minds … the rites of our Lord, our Patron Saint, Sovereign Haji Bektash Veli …
‘God: there is no God but He. Everything shall perish except His face! Judgement is His, and to Him ye shall return.’
They were chanting. The initiate was trembling: his nasal voice, following the Mürsit’s, hurried, stumbling on the words. ‘From the soul and by the tongue with love, I have become the servant of the Family of the Mantle … I have awakened from the sleep of indifference; I have opened the eye of my soul … The East and the West is God’s, therefore whichever way ye turn, there is the face of God.’
Someone got up and, lifting the big engraved copper bowl from the steps of the throne, removed the lid, together with a small oval stone which had lain on it. It appeared to be full of something … blood? Jerott could not see, and Marthe, obviously, was not going to be informative. It was passed round the dervishes, beginning with the Baba, and ending with the cupbearer himself, the picturesque chords of speech broken by sips until the text and the circle were complete. There was soft movement in the darkness to each side of the throne and turbaned servants, moving noiselessly on the carpets, began to make their way among the dervishes and into the outer confines of the room. The smell of warm, seasoned food, and another familiar whiff, which Jerott could have sworn came from some form of alcohol, began to seep into the air.
The big bowl had been refilled. The Cupbearer, making full niyaz to the Baba again, kissed his two knees and offered him the cup, his thumb laid along its edge. The Baba took it in the same way, the cupbearer kissing the thumb of the Baba and being at the same time himself kissed by the Baba,