1. Whispers in the Dust
It was in a remote part of the globe where the sands of the
desert appeared to extend infinitely, and where time itself appeared to be
engulfed, that there was a village, called Khuldabad. Its houses of mud were
gold in the hot sun, and its people went about with the sort of caution that
belongs to men who have a neighbour next door which is old and unknown. The
desert which fronted Khuldabad was not merely a locality; it was a personality.
It is what the people of the village referred to as Dast-e-Khamooshi-The Silent
Sand. No one ever went far into it, however long he might have lived there, nor
even the boldest men, not even with camels. This silence had its explanation,
and it was not merely the silence of the absence of birds or wind, it was the
silence of a thing watching. Something waiting. The stories were originally
heard by Zahra when she was still a child. She used to sit on the roof in the
evening, with her legs hanging over the edge, and listen to the voice of her
grandmother -Daadi Jaan- cutting legends in the dying light. Daadi would tell
me, long ago, when the sun was dying, a jinn prince had been cursed and put
into a sandglass which was buried somewhere in this desert. He used to be
beautiful, dreadful, and strong. He attempted to command the winds, and was
imprisoned by a Sufi mystic. And when that sandglass is found, And turned three
times… he shall come back.” Zahra used to laugh at the story year after year. It
was enchanted yet ridiculous, a bed-time caution in verse. She did not realize that
the jinn of the story was real. And some day she would possess his prison in
her own hands.
2. The Day the Sky Cracked
It was a lost goat that started the day when everything
changed. Zahra had been running after her younger brother Hamid, who had been
running after the goat, who had gone far away beyond the fields of the village.
The wind was stronger than ordinary, and it scraped her cheeks, and the sand
cut her skin with its little blades. At last she came up with Hamid, on the
brink of a sand dune, and knelt to rest herself. And then she caught sight of
it--a sliver of glass sticking out of the ground like an eye in the ground. In
her breast grew tense. She pulled her fingers about it, scraping the sand off
it till she reached the object. It was an hourglass, however, such as Zahra had
never seen. It was smooth and cool as glass in spite of the fury of the sun,
and it glittered a little with writing in a language she could not read. The
thing she noticed the most was the sand inside it- it did not fall. Rather it
was floating like smoke in water, but without the pull of gravity. She took it
to the light and turned it out of curiosity. The sand started to whirl a little
and in a moment the world around her quieted down. There was silence in the
air. The wind stopped even. A thing had waked up. Her heart beat fast, and she
hastily put it away in her shawl. She did not tell Hamid, who was too busy to
observe. However, the same night, when she was lying in bed, Zahra was not able
to sleep. Since at the back of her mind she was sure she was being watched by
something lurking in the darkness.
3. A Voice in the Shadows
Zahra attempted to forget about the hourglass during three
nights. She tied it up in a cloth and stuffed it under her cot in the hope that
she can forget about it. Yet at night it would appear to have a pulse of its
own and would glow in the darkness. No one could have been awakened by the
light, but Zahra could feel it. It called to her,--not with voice, but with
feeling, as the breath of a warm body touched her neck. The third night brought
the overpowering of fear by curiosity. She took it in the dark and gave it a
second turn. At once the wind outside swelled with a howl. The curtain shook. The
skin on Zahra prickled as a cold feeling coiled itself on her spine. And
suddenly, as though a voice were speaking out of the air, she heard a voice
within her--not around her, but within. It was old, deep and not quite human. One
more turn, And I am thine. Zahra froze. Her hands were shaking. She glanced
about frantically, and found nobody. Who is that? whispered she, hoarsely. And
silence, and then again the voice. I am enslaved. A king of fire and darkness. Thou
hast my cage. One turn more, And I will pay you in wishes.” “Wishes?” Zahra
murmured, her heart beating. All the stories she had ever heard yelled at her. Wishes
did not come free. And jinns did not give freely. But then the voice was gone
and she remained sitting in the dark with the hourglass beating like a heart in
her hands.
4. The Village Burns
Next morning Khuldabad woke up in perplexity. Over night the
village well had gone dry. Animals did not want to drink water. One of the palm
trees in the court had burst into flame, and burnt itself out in strange and
unnatural silence, before the fire had gone out. Everybody was in the dark. The
old men grumbled of curses. Others attributed it to winds. Zahra was aware of
the truth yet she kept silent. She had a conflict between fear and guilt. She
had not rotated the glass three times. Not yet. But the jinn within it was
dripping- its substance reaching to the fringes of the world. That afternoon
Zahra sat alone in the shrine on the edge of the village, as villagers
attempted to dig a new well and murmured about evil spirits. She was looking at
the sandglass. The third turn would make him free. Was he going to assist his
people? Or kill them? The sun went down, and long shadows lay. Zahra gripped
the glass in her fingers. And with a gradual, conscious movement she turned it
once again. The air cut. The earth trembled a little under her feet. There was
a scream--a scream of an inhuman nature--which rent the air like thunder. The
hourglass burst in smoke that rose in twisting columns of red and gold. Then
suddenly a figure emerged. Tall, clothed in ash-colored stuff which swirled
like smoke, with eyes of molten coals. The jinn made a bow. Malik al-Attar,
Prince of the Sulfur Winds am I. And I am free.”
5. The First Wish
Zahra ought to have fled. All her muscles cried to her to
run. And yet there was a look in the face of the jinn--a melancholy deep down
in his fire. He gazed at her as one who has been imprisoned would gaze, as one
who has lived centuries of silence would breathe. He was hovering inches off
the ground, and his hands were still locked in shining cuffs of gold, yet he
did not attack. He just waited. You set me free. You have a wish to pay.” Zahra
spoke with trembling voice. I do not want wealth. Or power. I only want… the
village well to fill up again.” Malik blinked. A little thing to pay such a
risky price. Very good.” He lifted a hand, mumbled a word in a language Zahra
did not recognize and disappeared in a cloud of dust. The following morning the
well did not merely fill up, but overflowed. The water came out of it as a
spring, clear and cold. The inhabitants of the village were amazed. Others
wept, others prayed. Zahra did not say a word. But this night she went to the
roof, and Malik was there--sitting on the edge like a shadow. Watching. It came
to her then: the jinn had not left her. He was just starting.
6. A Curse Remembered
Malik appeared more and more as days went by. And he would
not walk with the people of the village, but Zahra would see him sitting on top
of minarets, or drifting across rooftops, or curled in the shadows of her room
at night. His appearance was no longer terrifying- but very disturbing. He
talked to her in riddles, and he told her about cities that were not there
anymore. He told of palaces of gold, hidden in dunes, and of jinn who sang to
the stars and of the old betrayal which had cost him his prison. Zahra was
listening as spell-bound as she was afraid. She found out that Malik had been
the ruler of a kingdom composed of fire and the wind, an elemental kingdom,
until he attempted to integrate the jinn world with the human world. One night
he told me: I would like to give magic away. However, they were afraid of us. We
are locked by the mystics. They called us monsters.” There was a quaver in his
voice--not of anger, but of recollection. Zahra felt sorry for him, yet another
part of her dreaded to think what other things he could do. She inquired whom
the Sufi was who had imprisoned him, and Malik darkened. She was not a Sufi, he
said bitterly. She was a power robber. She kept my heart in that sandglass, and
she put it deep down in your world. Every hundred years a person discovers it. Every
hundred years somebody listens to me. None ever turns it three times-- until
you, though. Zahra had opened the gates of centuries of suffering, sorrow, and
forgotten flame, she had not merely liberated a creature. And there were two
wishes left to her.
7. The Second Wish
The village was threatened by a famine. Winds became arid,
skies did not rain and crops died. Zahra saw how her neighbors starved. Children
became skinny. In doorways mothers were crying. She was aware of what she was
supposed to do. She called Malik that night in the light of a crescent moon. She
stood there and said, I want rain. Of the crops. In the name of my people. My
second wish is that.” Malik threw up his head. Art thou not afraid what the
rain will cost? What do you say? Magic is a crook in the world, Zahra. It
breakfasts one hand, and robs the other.” Zahra thought, and nodded. Yet--I
hope it will rain. Malik heaved a sigh, and held up both hands. Words of
antiquity came out of his mouth as flaming silk. The clouds that night, were
drawn over Khuldabad, the first time in ten years. Thunder boomed. The dunes
were dancing in lightning. And there came rain--not rain drops, but a rain that
wet the thirsty earth. The people were happy. Her father wept and the village
prayed at dawn as a thank offering. But Zahra saw something more, strange vines
were growing on the edge of the desert. Not natural. And in days that followed
strange sightings were whispered. Forms of rain. Animals of fog. Another thing
had come with the rain Malik called. The boundary between worlds was lessened. And
there was still one wish that Zahra had.
8. The Jinn Who Stayed
In the ensuing days Malik was more reserved. He did not
anymore show up on rooftops or laugh with the wind. Rather, he stood close to
Zahra and was quiet. One night she said to him, What will you do when I make my
last wish? His eyes looked at her in an inscrutable fashion. “Return. Or
attempt.” What do you mean, Try to do what? To get back what was mine. My
kingdom. My kind. My vengeance. Zahra clenched her throat. You want war? Malik
said softly, I want balance. Your world has not remembered its agreements. You
imprisoned things you did not know. You are afraid of what belongs to others.” Zahra
was sitting next to him. She said to him, for the first time, Do you miss
it--your world? He made no reply. but his fingers outlined lines in the sand
which the wind swept away. Zahra dreamt that night of cities of glass, of
stairways cut out of lightning, of skies where the jinn rode in spiralling
circles like flame-birds. She awoke with tears in her eyes and she could not
tell whether they are her or Maliks.
9. The Final Wish
It was without any noise. One of the boys in the village, a
friend to the brother of Zahra disappeared. Then another. Next an old man. No
blood. No signs. Just vanished. Malik remained silent but the storm was in his
face. Somewhere there had been a failure. Something he had not intended to
admit. Things of the in-between. The type which fed on dreams, on breath. One
night she came upon Malik standing on the edge of the desert, looking out to
the dunes. Had you known they were coming? she said. I had hoped they would
not, he said, with heavy voice. Yet magic always draws magic. Zahra only had
one wish left, she said. “Yes.” Is it possible to fix this with it? He turned.
“You could. Or you might want to forget. Or would be rid of me.” She came
nearer. She was shaking. I desire my village to be safe. I would like the wall
between our realities closed once more. I desire… equilibrium.” Malik looked at
her, the old flame in his eyes smouldering. Well, that is your last wish. And
with that he held his arms up again. The dunes were torn by a howl. Light was
flashing through the air. The atmosphere glistened. Then there was silence. Once
more the hourglass was at the feet of Zahra, dark, empty, lifeless. Malik was
no more.
10. What Remains
Years passed. Khuldabad flourished. Rains came all seasons. The
well was never again dried. And Zahra? She became a silent, wise woman--not a
magician, but a woman of still eyes and of stories. In the evening children
would come to her door, and demand stories. and sometimes--only sometimes--she
said to them that she had known a jinn prince whose eyes were like fire and
whose voice was like thunder, and that he had once promised her the world, and
had given her peace instead. Nobody ever believed her. The desert only, which
still spoke When the wind whistled.
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