Yesterday again the
Darts man stopping at the Al Wadi table while Omar was there.
The eyes, the cast of look, the little stoop channeling had one ready and
waiting.
— You know the man....?
This one was well-known, the thick-set Indian-Malay who for his alms had for a time taken to sprawling himself on the paths playing dead, lying there sometimes in drizzle.
There would be no acting for the man now.
— Gone ready.
The last year or so the chap had procured a bicycle with a little cart behind and seemed to be half-heartedly collecting cardboard for re-cycling. Drinker, perhaps in his late sixties.
Nothing much came out about his case. Without family it seemed and precious few allies. Coming across the man the first time in that pose he adopted for a couple of months made one start of course. More than once he had lain out motionless in steady drizzle and remained there for a half hour. For real collapses ambulances had been called a number of times, fine, gentle and delicate treatment always on display from the young uniformed crews. There had been no hope for the chap.
Omar thought it was normal and correct for the Darts man to convey the news, not knowing the fellow had form. Was this the fifth or sixth announcement of this kind by Darts man, one of which at least subsequently proving false?
In his early seventies himself now, the dyeing, the screwed down baseball cap, a certain bodily size gave the Darts man a slightly deceiving impression. (He himself thought a rather larger impression of youthfulness was achieved.)
A number of years ago Darts man had lost his wife to cancer; it had been a shock. Darts man tightened his jaw and screwed up his eyes delivering the matter. It was always easy to know now what was in store.
Omar knew the old Indian-Malay drinker. Not to Omar's taste of course. Well, he would face his maker now; we in life could not presume to judge. (It did however seem Omar had a fair idea how the case might conclude for th.) Told of the imputed terror of the Darts man Omar commented that of course that was unIslamic. Of course.
An unrelated follow-up came later during the conversation once the Darts man had taken off.
Omar sat something over the hour.
The conversation with Omar had first begun somewhere around the end of 2012 from memory, the meeting at one of the front former Enak Enak — Tasty, Tasty — tables at the market. Politics, both in the republic, the wider region and then the Middle East, was among the chief subjects. Belief, proper form and rituals for Muslims regularly cropped up. Some little raciness could be shared with Omar. Though for his part Omar had kept on the straight and narrow with his wife, the man had a keen appreciation of the fairer sex and an understanding of stronger allure. A wild boy nephew who liked the ladies and had owned some experimentation with the horse wallop was indulged by uncle Omar. When the incidence of hard drugs arose in this case Omar's reaction was a surprise. Omar had not said a word of condemnation.
Arab-Malay traditionalist. Wahhabi one might say. Sundays a Qur'anic teacher visited Omar's family circle at Marine Parade, delivering classes after lunch. Omar and his wife, one or two of the children and the grandchildren in particular in attendance.
Omar's grandfather had been a teacher of the Qur'an, with quarters at Khadija Mosque up the road in middle Geylang provided, where Omar had spent early years. In turn Omar had continued the pedagogic line teaching social sciences across the island.
A Hadrami Arab by ancestry, Omar was an active member of the Arab Association, a couple of years ago having a place on the admin. board and still active and interested. Meetings of the Association were regularly attended. A single year of Arabic language studies at university was almost sixty years ago; over half a century. Even Omar's father's Arabic had been imperfect.
A traditionalist, ex-school master, holding firm, steady and settled belief. Outside the Sunday classes Omar did not go back too much to the Holy Book these days. Numerous verses remained in memory and could be delivered when the occasion required. Omar was securely and safely situated within his religion. Not complacently, but securely and safely.
There was a good deal of the Arab firmness in Omar, despite the predominating Malay features. An impressive certitude was the impression. Certainly Omar would not claim so much, but what he had imbibed from his parents and grandparents, what he had developed through his studies and enquiries, held Omar in good stead. There was little serious or unsettling doubt. The Sunday Qur' anic teacher would no doubt be on guard for any slippage with Omar presiding at the head of the table.
Not all believers, whether in Islam or any of the other faiths, required such firm grounding. The essentials for the Muslim were the key prayers, Friday mosque attendance (for males), the form of the obeisance was important; then the Ramadan fast and observing the prohibitions, according to Omar. Being able to perform the hajj was a privilege unavailable to all. Faithful, earnest essentials were sufficient.
Whereupon we came to the tale that occurred to Omar in the particular context.
The men and women at the Al Wadi tables and the tables further afield there had prompted Omar. Neatly ironed shirts and polished shoes were not well represented among these chairs. The Prophet had enjoined his followers for the search for knowledge and understanding. Not all were fit for the task.
A Sultan or eminence of some related kind somewhere in the vicinity of the holy lands had needed to attend to the always tricky matter of succession. The time had arrived and no further delay. There were two candidates who were difficult to split. How to achieve his end?
In the preamble one had thought perhaps a familiar, known tale was in the offing, wise old King Solomon's unmasking of the true mother in the famous case of the two claimants of the child. Granddad Rade up in the stony village had a number of similar tales that had been relayed by his daughter in Melbourne.
On some advise, this particular Sultan at his morning assembly outlined the challenge for the men.
The pair would to deliver to his royal person—now listen carefully—a cow crowned with a turban. Did they understand?... They did?... Go hither then. Do your best and may the best man prevail.
Away the chaps did go on their quest.
Logically enough, the first man haunted the cattle market, awaiting his chance. No one had heard of such a thing of course, not at a market nor anywhere else. A turbaned cow!... But was there a better option than the market? Where otherwise might such a beast have been found? The task itself presumed such a creature in existence.
A wait. Patience was required.
Before the man's beard had turned completely white, what did his eyes behold? Just as foretold. Simply the beast needed to be purchased and herded back to the palace; the royal tents perhaps, standards aflutter in the breeze.
Now, meanwhile, the second man, the other candidate in line for succession, had not taken himself off either to a cattle market, nor the pastures. (His competitor had kept a keen eye out.) This man rather had repaired elsewhere. This man had taken himself directly to the chief mosque of the province.
Man of insight, intuition, ready to leap into the heart of matters with élan.
It was the time of the Friday prayer, man waiting for the exodus. Here were the worshipers emerging, the usual large crowd.
The man, the second candidate in running for succession to the particular principality in question, rich fertile lands no doubt, and no doubt one or two fine sultanas attached into the bargain, approached one worshiper, then another, and third and so on.
Could the men, one by one singly, and privately, tell him what had been delivered in the sermon just then, did it please them? Could they report the matter? They could take their time about it and reflect.
One. Two. Three. Four. In short order nothing less than a sizeable herd marshaled.
Ah! No more was needed. Off to the knees of the wise old ruler and the prize awaiting.
This one was well-known, the thick-set Indian-Malay who for his alms had for a time taken to sprawling himself on the paths playing dead, lying there sometimes in drizzle.
There would be no acting for the man now.
— Gone ready.
The last year or so the chap had procured a bicycle with a little cart behind and seemed to be half-heartedly collecting cardboard for re-cycling. Drinker, perhaps in his late sixties.
Nothing much came out about his case. Without family it seemed and precious few allies. Coming across the man the first time in that pose he adopted for a couple of months made one start of course. More than once he had lain out motionless in steady drizzle and remained there for a half hour. For real collapses ambulances had been called a number of times, fine, gentle and delicate treatment always on display from the young uniformed crews. There had been no hope for the chap.
Omar thought it was normal and correct for the Darts man to convey the news, not knowing the fellow had form. Was this the fifth or sixth announcement of this kind by Darts man, one of which at least subsequently proving false?
In his early seventies himself now, the dyeing, the screwed down baseball cap, a certain bodily size gave the Darts man a slightly deceiving impression. (He himself thought a rather larger impression of youthfulness was achieved.)
A number of years ago Darts man had lost his wife to cancer; it had been a shock. Darts man tightened his jaw and screwed up his eyes delivering the matter. It was always easy to know now what was in store.
Omar knew the old Indian-Malay drinker. Not to Omar's taste of course. Well, he would face his maker now; we in life could not presume to judge. (It did however seem Omar had a fair idea how the case might conclude for th.) Told of the imputed terror of the Darts man Omar commented that of course that was unIslamic. Of course.
An unrelated follow-up came later during the conversation once the Darts man had taken off.
Omar sat something over the hour.
The conversation with Omar had first begun somewhere around the end of 2012 from memory, the meeting at one of the front former Enak Enak — Tasty, Tasty — tables at the market. Politics, both in the republic, the wider region and then the Middle East, was among the chief subjects. Belief, proper form and rituals for Muslims regularly cropped up. Some little raciness could be shared with Omar. Though for his part Omar had kept on the straight and narrow with his wife, the man had a keen appreciation of the fairer sex and an understanding of stronger allure. A wild boy nephew who liked the ladies and had owned some experimentation with the horse wallop was indulged by uncle Omar. When the incidence of hard drugs arose in this case Omar's reaction was a surprise. Omar had not said a word of condemnation.
Arab-Malay traditionalist. Wahhabi one might say. Sundays a Qur'anic teacher visited Omar's family circle at Marine Parade, delivering classes after lunch. Omar and his wife, one or two of the children and the grandchildren in particular in attendance.
Omar's grandfather had been a teacher of the Qur'an, with quarters at Khadija Mosque up the road in middle Geylang provided, where Omar had spent early years. In turn Omar had continued the pedagogic line teaching social sciences across the island.
A Hadrami Arab by ancestry, Omar was an active member of the Arab Association, a couple of years ago having a place on the admin. board and still active and interested. Meetings of the Association were regularly attended. A single year of Arabic language studies at university was almost sixty years ago; over half a century. Even Omar's father's Arabic had been imperfect.
A traditionalist, ex-school master, holding firm, steady and settled belief. Outside the Sunday classes Omar did not go back too much to the Holy Book these days. Numerous verses remained in memory and could be delivered when the occasion required. Omar was securely and safely situated within his religion. Not complacently, but securely and safely.
There was a good deal of the Arab firmness in Omar, despite the predominating Malay features. An impressive certitude was the impression. Certainly Omar would not claim so much, but what he had imbibed from his parents and grandparents, what he had developed through his studies and enquiries, held Omar in good stead. There was little serious or unsettling doubt. The Sunday Qur' anic teacher would no doubt be on guard for any slippage with Omar presiding at the head of the table.
Not all believers, whether in Islam or any of the other faiths, required such firm grounding. The essentials for the Muslim were the key prayers, Friday mosque attendance (for males), the form of the obeisance was important; then the Ramadan fast and observing the prohibitions, according to Omar. Being able to perform the hajj was a privilege unavailable to all. Faithful, earnest essentials were sufficient.
Whereupon we came to the tale that occurred to Omar in the particular context.
The men and women at the Al Wadi tables and the tables further afield there had prompted Omar. Neatly ironed shirts and polished shoes were not well represented among these chairs. The Prophet had enjoined his followers for the search for knowledge and understanding. Not all were fit for the task.
A Sultan or eminence of some related kind somewhere in the vicinity of the holy lands had needed to attend to the always tricky matter of succession. The time had arrived and no further delay. There were two candidates who were difficult to split. How to achieve his end?
In the preamble one had thought perhaps a familiar, known tale was in the offing, wise old King Solomon's unmasking of the true mother in the famous case of the two claimants of the child. Granddad Rade up in the stony village had a number of similar tales that had been relayed by his daughter in Melbourne.
On some advise, this particular Sultan at his morning assembly outlined the challenge for the men.
The pair would to deliver to his royal person—now listen carefully—a cow crowned with a turban. Did they understand?... They did?... Go hither then. Do your best and may the best man prevail.
Away the chaps did go on their quest.
Logically enough, the first man haunted the cattle market, awaiting his chance. No one had heard of such a thing of course, not at a market nor anywhere else. A turbaned cow!... But was there a better option than the market? Where otherwise might such a beast have been found? The task itself presumed such a creature in existence.
A wait. Patience was required.
Before the man's beard had turned completely white, what did his eyes behold? Just as foretold. Simply the beast needed to be purchased and herded back to the palace; the royal tents perhaps, standards aflutter in the breeze.
Now, meanwhile, the second man, the other candidate in line for succession, had not taken himself off either to a cattle market, nor the pastures. (His competitor had kept a keen eye out.) This man rather had repaired elsewhere. This man had taken himself directly to the chief mosque of the province.
Man of insight, intuition, ready to leap into the heart of matters with élan.
It was the time of the Friday prayer, man waiting for the exodus. Here were the worshipers emerging, the usual large crowd.
The man, the second candidate in running for succession to the particular principality in question, rich fertile lands no doubt, and no doubt one or two fine sultanas attached into the bargain, approached one worshiper, then another, and third and so on.
Could the men, one by one singly, and privately, tell him what had been delivered in the sermon just then, did it please them? Could they report the matter? They could take their time about it and reflect.
One. Two. Three. Four. In short order nothing less than a sizeable herd marshaled.
Ah! No more was needed. Off to the knees of the wise old ruler and the prize awaiting.
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