Jihad, scion to the Umayyad dynasty, nephew to Amr ibn al-’As, one of the holy Companions to the Prophet, peace be upon him.’
‘A notable name, a great many titles,’ replied the voice, marginally impressed. ‘Very well, I shall give you my name, that we might part in peace, that I shall not roast your corpse and suck the marrow from your bones. There is no danger in the act, for you mortal men possess not the tongue to speak it, nor the eloquence to understand its meaning. Very well then, let us finish this, for I grow weary of your company. And peace also with you, General Uqba bin Nafi. I am called…’
And here there was a great ringing and clanging, as of a thousand brass and iron bells echoing in a hollow chamber, and a flock of birds chirping, alighted in a grove of olive trees. It deafened the general to hear it. But the Baraka was with the general that day, for he was blessed by The Most Compassionate One, and he was able to hear the true name of that creature of the race of djinn , they of the smokeless flame. As the djinn were commanded to bow before Adam the first man, so too did the general have authority over this djinni, now that his true name was known.
‘Brother djinni, you whose true name is ****************, I respectfully command that you leave this place, that we men might drink of these waters and not perish. Do this in the name of the Most Merciful, Great Allah, and we shall part in peace.’ And here the General voiced the djinni’s true name in full, every ringing syllable, and the djinni did as he was bade do, for Uqba had spoke his true name, which to the race of djinn is the same as an iron collar about one’s throat.
The general and his men thereafter drank the pond’s water and consumed the fish that swam within, replenishing themselves. Days later they scouted the lands surrounding the gorge and located a caravan’s trail, and by that way returned to the lands of men.”
The blind Berber storyteller finished his tale, and propped his head on his walking stick.
“A masterful story,” Driss the traveler said, clapping his hands in appreciation. “But tell me, what happened to the djinni?”
“They say he dwells about this very village,” the old man replied. “The Djinni of the Voice sustains our oasis and keeps the sandstorms from washing us away. He remains eternally grateful to General Uqba for not ordering him into his water skin as was his right, to keep as a weapon or for some terrible act.”
“I did not know, I did not know,” muttered the innkeeper, watching the inn’s wooden door bang on its hinges as the storm buffeted the caravanserai. “I thought most djinn were evil, malicious.”
“You should read your Quran my friend.” Driss replied sanctimoniously, finishing his tea.
****
Ali returned home to find his entire immediate family present in their tiny, old quarter dwelling. His two brothers, his father, and even his mother were seated around the blue knee-high dinner table. His brothers and father were ripping pieces off a disc of bread, dipping each handful into a communal dish of olive oil before shoving it into their mouths unceremoniously. His mother was propped up against the wall next to his father, not partaking of the afternoon snack.
“Ali,” his father called to him, summoning him to the table’s edge. “What’s this your brother Abdel tells me about your writings being on the news today?”
So we get right to it, Ali thought. “Father, it is nothing. I merely maintain a...website…. about various cultural issues and...and one of the posts was mentioned on Tunisia Today , that’s all.”
His father still appeared amiable. “Well Abdel is upset, but that sounds great! This means you will have more dinars coming in, yes?” Abdel gave Ali a death stare from his seat, silently urging Ali to be honest with their parents, each brother knowing that their father and mother had no practical understanding of how the internet or the media
‘A notable name, a great many titles,’ replied the voice, marginally impressed. ‘Very well, I shall give you my name, that we might part in peace, that I shall not roast your corpse and suck the marrow from your bones. There is no danger in the act, for you mortal men possess not the tongue to speak it, nor the eloquence to understand its meaning. Very well then, let us finish this, for I grow weary of your company. And peace also with you, General Uqba bin Nafi. I am called…’
And here there was a great ringing and clanging, as of a thousand brass and iron bells echoing in a hollow chamber, and a flock of birds chirping, alighted in a grove of olive trees. It deafened the general to hear it. But the Baraka was with the general that day, for he was blessed by The Most Compassionate One, and he was able to hear the true name of that creature of the race of djinn , they of the smokeless flame. As the djinn were commanded to bow before Adam the first man, so too did the general have authority over this djinni, now that his true name was known.
‘Brother djinni, you whose true name is ****************, I respectfully command that you leave this place, that we men might drink of these waters and not perish. Do this in the name of the Most Merciful, Great Allah, and we shall part in peace.’ And here the General voiced the djinni’s true name in full, every ringing syllable, and the djinni did as he was bade do, for Uqba had spoke his true name, which to the race of djinn is the same as an iron collar about one’s throat.
The general and his men thereafter drank the pond’s water and consumed the fish that swam within, replenishing themselves. Days later they scouted the lands surrounding the gorge and located a caravan’s trail, and by that way returned to the lands of men.”
The blind Berber storyteller finished his tale, and propped his head on his walking stick.
“A masterful story,” Driss the traveler said, clapping his hands in appreciation. “But tell me, what happened to the djinni?”
“They say he dwells about this very village,” the old man replied. “The Djinni of the Voice sustains our oasis and keeps the sandstorms from washing us away. He remains eternally grateful to General Uqba for not ordering him into his water skin as was his right, to keep as a weapon or for some terrible act.”
“I did not know, I did not know,” muttered the innkeeper, watching the inn’s wooden door bang on its hinges as the storm buffeted the caravanserai. “I thought most djinn were evil, malicious.”
“You should read your Quran my friend.” Driss replied sanctimoniously, finishing his tea.
****
Ali returned home to find his entire immediate family present in their tiny, old quarter dwelling. His two brothers, his father, and even his mother were seated around the blue knee-high dinner table. His brothers and father were ripping pieces off a disc of bread, dipping each handful into a communal dish of olive oil before shoving it into their mouths unceremoniously. His mother was propped up against the wall next to his father, not partaking of the afternoon snack.
“Ali,” his father called to him, summoning him to the table’s edge. “What’s this your brother Abdel tells me about your writings being on the news today?”
So we get right to it, Ali thought. “Father, it is nothing. I merely maintain a...website…. about various cultural issues and...and one of the posts was mentioned on Tunisia Today , that’s all.”
His father still appeared amiable. “Well Abdel is upset, but that sounds great! This means you will have more dinars coming in, yes?” Abdel gave Ali a death stare from his seat, silently urging Ali to be honest with their parents, each brother knowing that their father and mother had no practical understanding of how the internet or the media
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