Road to Ubar Pa - Nicholas Clapp [58]
"Too bad for you," she said, laughing, and led the way outside. The men downed handfuls of pine nuts, the last of their breakfast, and followed.
With clouds of incense billowing skyward, the little group circled the compound's corral. And in the light of day we saw that the men were wearing elegant purple robes looped over their right shoulders, a rarely seen traditional dress. They paused to offer prayers and incense at the entrances to the three domed huts in which their cattle had spent the night. The incense wasn't to offset the smell of the cattle (though it helped); rather, it was offered to protect the animals—from djinns.
The mountains of Dhofar, the Shahra believed, were rife with djinns, invisible spirits born of smokeless fire. By day they dwelt at waterholes and in dark gullies. Though some djinns were friendly, most were not. Given to inflicting misery and misfortune, they could take the form of whirlwinds and raging sandstorms. Or they could shape-change into reptiles, various beasts, or even humans. Their true identity was discernible only by their feet, which were like the hoofs of asses. In great numbers, djinns were abroad at night, especially on Wednesdays and Fridays. Flying out across the land, they uttered screams so loud and penetrating that anyone unwisely out and about would lose his wits. It was a time to bar doors and windows and leave the darkness to its owners.
Now, in the early morning, frankincense dispelled any lingering djinns, and the cattle could be led off to pasture with a reasonable assurance of safety. The herdsmen would nevertheless be wary of strangers going their way. In broad daylight, djinns could manifest themselves as fellow travelers, leading men and animals astray, often to their deaths.
The cattle disappeared over a hill, their passage marked by a lingering cloud of dust that hung motionless. "A good sign," Ali Achmed noted, looking off across the land. "No djinns."
The Shahra remaining at the settlement turned to their daily tasks. The dwellings of men and beasts were swept out. A little girl worked at a loom; her mother churned milk in a leather bag. A dog lazed in the sun, one eye open, lest it be kicked by a nearby goat.
Despite everyone's diligence, it appeared the djinns had worked some mischief. A little boy hadn't been able to shake off a bad cold, and something needed to be done. The settlement's matriarch added fresh frankincense to a burner and led the child to the center of the corral. Round and round she circled him, enveloping him in incense. She chanted, "Look at this your sacrifice: frankincense and fire. From the eye of the evil spirit; of mankind, from afar; of kindred, nearby, and from afar. Be redeemed from the evil spirit. Look at this your sacrifice: frankincense and fire."7
She passed the burner to an older man, who continued the ritual, circling and chanting. Frankincense and fire were a potent combination. The incense brought the blessing of Allah, and fire—even a small spark—was believed even more effective than the name of Allah in curing possession. Fire dispelled djinns, creatures born of fire.
As the day wore on, tribespeople came and went. A woman came by in search of a lost chicken. Assault rifles jauntily cradled in the crooks of their arms, three young men stopped by for coffee; they had been down to the coast and shared news of the outside world.
With Ali Achmed translating, we asked about the People of 'Ad. Yes, they all agreed, the 'Ad were their long-ago ancestors. The Shahra knew about Ubar and referred to the city's inhabitants as "Irema." We were startled by this, for Irem (or Iram), we believed, was the Koran's name for Ubar. Here was a living link between the two principal names for our city!8 The Irema, the Shahra told us, were a rich if wicked people who ate off golden plates. That is, until "their city turned over."
A young man with the mustache of a brigand chuckled and told us that to the Shahra the phrase "Take him to the Irema" means "Get rid of him."