Road to Ubar Pa - Nicholas Clapp [109]
Hud's mother recalls six wondrous signs, which offer a sampling of the folklore of ancient Arabia. The black rock miraculously turned white is an inversion of the tradition that the black rock set in the corner of Mecca's holy shrine (the Ka'aba) was once dazzlingly white, darkening only in the shadow of the sins of man. Symbolically, Hud can reverse this and lead his people out of darkness into the light.
There are other images of light and white. The people of the heavens have white faces; rays of light bless the infant Hud. Then, as a final and inspired touch, a pearl, which is normally white, appears as a sign on Hud's arm. But here this talisman is green, the color of Islam.
The giant man who lifts Hud's mother into the sky harks back to the tradition that the People of 'Ad were a race of giants. Here is an excellent example of the creative role of exaggeration in Arabian folklore. Where we might employ relatively unimaginative words such as "impressive" or "beyond belief," Arab storytellers would describe a city as encrusted with rubies and pearls, or add a few zeroes to a tribe's population. An idea that was beyond man's comprehension would be symbolized by a being that was beyond comprehension; in this case a vision of heaven is delivered by "a man whose head was in the sky and whose feet were in the vast expanses of the earth." And this giant is a little guy compared to Arabian visions of angels: Gabriel (who appears later in the tale) is traditionally described as having a thousand eyes, wings that cover the earth, and a face that radiates the light of a thousand suns. The point is that the beings who flank God in his heaven—to say nothing of God himself—are beyond measurement in human terms (and infinitely more imposing than squat stone idols).
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Lines 26–27: "his mother saw him and asked, 'My son, whom are you worshipping?'..."
Lines 44–77: "When Hud was four years old God spoke to him..."
The prophet Hud's relationship with his God—and his people—is at first low-key. As a small child, he mildly rebukes idolatry by pointing out to his mother, "These idols bring neither harm nor profit ... Neither do they see or hear." They are useless blocks of rock. But then the situation escalates. Fired by a message from God, Hud challenges his people—and his king—to worship but a single God. He wins a few converts but otherwise is rebuked and cursed. He counters with a seventy-year series of warnings and threats. To no avail. Even when the wrath of God comes down upon the People of 'Ad, they turn a deaf ear to Hud, his chosen prophet.
Regrettably, this arc of character and story development probably has little to do with actual events at Ubar. Rather, it is about a different man in a different age. It is an extraordinary replication—rich in emotion and detail—of the early career of the prophet Muhammad. Confronting the malaise and materialism of the people of Mecca, Muhammad became increasingly frustrated and angry at their disbelief, only to have his own tribe, the Quraish, proclaim his Koran a forgery and reject him as an impostor. As he walked the streets of Mecca, he was showered with insults.
It was then that, like Hud, Muhammad took it upon himself to become a "warner." His sermons, in fact, repeatedly brought up the story of Iram/Ubar as a prime example of the fate God had in store for the Meccans. It was only when he was in Mecca that Muhammad delivered verses of the Koran dealing with the People of 'Ad. Agitated, intense, inspired, they have been called the "Terrific Suras."
It is a little confusing, but the dynamic here is three-tiered: our tale's Hud (described in the 1100s) is modeled on the prophet Muhammad (600s), who in turn equated himself with a historic Hud (150–500)!
During his years in Mecca, Muhammad would have had no problem likening himself to a Jewish prototype. It was only after he left Mecca and migrated to Medina that he had a serious falling-out with the Jews. Even then, he honored them as "the People of the Book," that is, the Old Testament.
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