Young Writers Society

The Piper of Palestine…

My name is Hamza ibn-e-Saleh and I was born on the eighth of Rajab in the year 1397 A.H. I was the only child from my father’s second wife, who hailed from the clan of Allavis. My father belonged to the Khalili tribe.

I was born in Gaza.

It is said that at the time of my birth, a meteor crashed in the skies above the city’s slums and its amazing tail of scattered lights created a sense of joy amongst the children of the neighborhood, who were gathered in large numbers around the football field, having been sent from their homes on the excuse that their mothers needed peace in the house to cook. They lied. For in reality, there was neither food to be cooked, nor any warmth to be shared by the family, warmth of enjoying the food together, warmth of the feasts, warmth of the talk accompanying the servings, warmth of merry-making. Such warmth had become obscured in my land and forgotten amongst my people. The trip to the football field was for the boys to immerse them in play and play, so often makes the miseries of life forgettable. The tail of the meteor halted the game being played out as eager eyes, jolted up in unison to the heavens, and caught its unusual sparkling array of lights. All cheered. All laughed. All danced. This was a joy that no man may take from another; a sight that was not determined by imaginary carvings on the ground. It was a spectacle for all.

My birthday, hence, became the night of the “barq.”

My father was told by the learned of his community that the meteor was a good sign and that his new born son would be a present to our people; “he will illuminate the destiny of our people as the meteor has illuminated the sky tonight.” My father did not believe them. He told them straight that countless children had been born that night in the city and hence, to think his own son to be special was as preposterous as drawing water from a mirage. His practical mind did not allow his emotions to be stirred by the commoner talk or his spirits to be elevated by a strange preposition, for hope could become a source of permanent misery in our world.

While the men talked, I listened. Sometimes, I looked at my father and sometimes, I heard the elders. In my own thoughts, I was amused at the talk of all of them. They went on and on and their furthest imaginations could not help them in this case. I thought, and I listened. My mother patted my head and I went to sleep when all of them had left.

I have conscious memory of that day and while the world around me continued to revolve, I was thinking about things, people attribute to being thoughts of young children. I began to understand the language of birds as the age of seven. I was amazed by the variety of their tongues. “Chu, chu, chu” went one and “quay, quay, quay” went another. I began to understand when they called their mates, when they settled disputes and when they anticipated change in weathers. At the age of nine, I had mastered my comprehension of many animal sounds. Then, I ventured upon other elements of nature; wind water and fire. I tried to understand each and every sound within them. The gushes of wind of the evening desert nights and the constant chirping within fire burning as well flowing water at a sunset were sounds I stored in my mind.

I left the earth for I understood I did not, as yet have the ability to understand it and muster its sounds fully.

My work had begun…………….

The conflict between Jews and Palestinians is as old as antiquity. From the times of David to the surges of Zionism, this fight has continued through the Dawn of ages. Peace has remained elusive in my land while all claim rights to it.

It was the tenth of Muharram, when I sat beside the Date Palm tree on the main alley leading onto our house, that I met Musa. He looked at my dirty clothes and my bare feet. I looked at his bleeding nose and torn jabba. I think, I was around 15 at that time and he seemed a little older than me.

“Aye, from whence do you come and why do you tarry around here?” asked I.

“Are you the guardian of this place? Or are you the leader of your clan, that you ask me as such,” replied he.

“I am Hamza, son of Saleh, from the clan of Khalilis. I am not the guardian of this place, nor the leader of my clan. But my house is right at the back to where I sit,” answered I.

“Then I am Musa; child of none but father of countless, member of no clan but from the nation of Jews. My home, if there is one, is the dirty road where I tarry,” said he.

I was bewildered by his terse reply. During all that time, he kept looking at my bare feet. I hid them with my meendeel.

“You have a beautiful voice,” said he, thinking I had initiated to stop our exchange.” “But you are in search of the “melody”, am I not right? You have the vision but not the way. You think but fear an act. Why do you not free yourself of thought?” asked he.

“Can you provide me with the words?” asked I.

“I cannot and nor can anyone else. You have to look them up yourself, “said Musa.

“But I can help you locate them if you may.”

“Does the melody exist anymore?” asked I.

“I think so. It is hidden but is there,” relied he.

“Is it true that Al-Rashid hid them?” asked I.

“Might be. But that is all speculative. It is true, however, that it is somewhere around Mount Sinai,” replied he.

Will you travel with me there?” asked I.

“I can because what else do I have to do while I loiter around, “answered Musa.

“Then tomorrow, at sunset, we leave,” I announced.

“I shall wait for you by the gates of the city,” said he.

“What is Israel to you?” asked I, as we sat around the fireplace in the night of our journey, around the city of old Jerusalem.

“A home,” replied he.

As I played with the twigs, casting some into the fire and creating shadows with the others, he asked, “Don’t you wonder as to how I know your secrets?”

“Nay, I know more about yours then you do about mine, said I.

“Do you love Palestine?” asked he.

“Yes. It’s the Idea of my presence: a centre to my periphery.”

“Will you depart then, when you find the melody?” asked Musa.

“Yes,” replied I and covered up myself with the blanket and closed my eyes.

Mount Sinai is the place where God talked to man; a lodging where Moses received his Ten Commandments and the Jew, his Holy Law.

The melody of purity that Adam had brought to the Earth from the heavens has been fought over for possession for centuries throughout the Ages. I had heard my people speak of it, sometimes with nostalgia, sometimes with wonder and at other times, with perplexity and bitterness. It is believed that Harun Al-Rashid was the last known possessor of the melody. During his last days, he deposited it with Zubaida, his Queen and favorite wife and entrusted her with the responsibility to deposit the melody at the foot of Mount Sinai on the pretext that passing the melody further shall terminate with his death. Zubaida, a wife who honored the last wish of husband with utter duty, is thought to have complied with the Caliph’s wish within a month of Harun’s death.

You might wonder, my ardent reader, about the very nature of the object I keep referring to as the melody. The melody is an object of sublime subtlety. It resembles, according to the ancient drawings still with our elders, a top of a flute with an addition of string setters. At its base is a circular wedge, of the wood of Alakhsakhy, the largest timber in the inner most circle of the seventh heaven. Around the circular wedge are set 12 stones of extraordinary beauty with triplets of diamonds, rubies, sapphires and emeralds each. These 12 stones when spoken to in the language of Hebara, an ancient vernacular comprising of both Hebrew and Arabic, result in a culmination of music never heard in Man’s different ages except at very few instances of man’s utter glory. (A case in point is Noah’s flood warning or Remusis drowning) It is said and widely held that when the melody stop, which is after three hours, the dearest wish of the melody setter comes true, be it any. However, it comes at a price: the life of the melody setter, which extinguishes within the sighting of the next full moon. When such setters die, a bright crescent glows at the setter’s forehead while a crimson star glows at the setter’s heart. Then and only then, does the setter is recognized and awarded the title of “Piper.” The last such known Piper whose wish was granted by the melody was Khidr, who had wished for immortality. That way, he had solved a paradox; had his wish granted which liberated him from the punishment of the melody; his offering of life.

As we approached the shadow of Mount Sinai the next day through the Golan Heights and the border patrol at Syria, I gathered my thoughts about the task at hand. With me was a Palestinian, a nation that we had been fighting from millennia. I knew what Hamza had in mind. But finding the melody was significant. Only he knew the ancient language of Hebara and I needed him with me. If Hamza had it his way, my people would have faced a tremendous prospect; a loss of their territory that they had given up so much to keep for the past five decades.

We went through the opening and climbed our way onto the cliff adjacent to the western horizon of the mountain. We reached the next trench between the two subsequent depressions and set out to work. With the chisels that I had taken from Hassan’s house, I and Musa dug till noon at the spot Musa had indicated. Then we stopped to quench our thirsts and rested a bit. We started again breaking only to eat the coarse bread that we had brought along. At about five in the evening, my chisel struck something hard. Musa gathered up by my side and we both set out with our hearts to continue digging. After about four hours, the Alakhsakhy melody laid in front of our eyes.

“You know what I would wish for, “said I.

“Yes I know. However, I doubt whether you would be able to sing the ancient song to initiate its magic,” replied he.

The song was sung with ease. I combined all my previous knowledge of sounds, employed their basic syntax, took pronunciations from the hearings of fire, water and wind that I had concentrated upon so much for most of my existence. Lastly, I took the pebbles of earth and added their sound as well. The stones started rotating and shone brightly with their colors of red, blue, green and yellow.

My task had been accomplished.

The music had set.

Oh, the music of the ancient language, the sounds of the paradise lost and elements of Man’s original companion from his venturing on earth made Musa and me dizzy.

We started humming its unknown tune. We forgot who we were and it was not until an hour or so after wards, I realized that I had to make my wish. Time was limited.

“Do you have a wish for your homeland?” asked Musa.

“No Musa, I wish for yours too,” relied I.

“My people do not have any other home except Israel; it is our past, present and future combined into one. We have endured a long Diaspora and Israel is the aftermath of all our woes for the past two thousand years,” went on Musa.

“But that does not explain why my nation shall suffer for all that you have endured for the past millennia. My nation has been driven from its own homeland and made a prisoner of fate in its own country. You speak of a future. Without Palestine, we have none. You speak of a past; ours was lost and we have searched for it ever so earnestly. You speak of a present; ours is intertwined in disgrace, plunder and frailty,” said I.

“So what do you have in mind, Hamza?” asked Musa.

“A kingdom of heaven: where peace is not distant reality but a living present. Where the Al-Omar Mosque is as sanctified as the wall of Jericho, where the Moslem prostates but he is accompanied by the Rabbi in his prayers. Where the Jew respects the Mosque of Al-Aqsa while the Moslem kisses the wall,” said I.

“Then, I must tell you Hamza, I accompanied you to murder you before you made your wish for I always thought that you would wish for the creation of Palestine at the expense of Israel, that you would want my nation’s destruction. And the power of the melody scared me of these tragic prospects. However, I ask you to again consider your decision since, it would involve giving away your life, my friend,” said Musa.

“Musa, my life is but naught if I keep the misery of my people in retrospect. I was destined for this fate and I have resigned to it. I must ask you of only one favor, my friend. After I die, burry me at the foot of the Mount. Do not tell anyone that I was a Piper even when my wish has been granted. And never mention that you and I made this journey for that would make all the people turn their fingers at you. That is all I ask, my friend and now tarry home and let me complete my work,” said I and moved to the shadow of the nearest rock which was bathed in blue in the moonlit night.

2017: Palestine was born. The Al-Aqsa mosque is now part of the new country while Jerusalem is split between the two countries with a Palestinian mayor and a Jewish administrator. The first such administrator was Musa Gregory, an important figure of the Jewish movement of “Fallasten-al-Ikhtiar” which radically sought support for the creation of Palestine, amongst the Jews.

At the foot of Mount Sinai is the unmarked grave of Hamza bin Saleh. Musa dug his grave as he promised when he returned after a fortnight. At his grave are written words, in the Hebrew, though difficult to make out, “Hamza bin Saleh: the Piper of Palestine.” The melody lies by his side……………..