The Story of Maulava, the Slave: During Medieval Times
Maulava gasped as a strong gust of red dirt swirled around her legs,and up through the many layers of her garments. The air was hot; stifling,and her gasp did little more than fill her parched mouth with another layerof dry, gritty soil. Like most Muslim women, Maulava was dressedconservatively. There were no flashing, gold ornaments on her neck, in herhair, or on her thin, sinewy arms. Finery was not befitting a women of herreligion - to serve Mohammed was to accept her place in the order ofthings, to subjugate herself to her husband and society. Her dress wasthick linen, soft with wear, and dyed a soft brown, worn on the hems butstill functional. The openings of her dress, around her neck and wristshad a subtle red and brown stitching - the practice had been handed downfrom antiquity to prevent dangerous demons from entering (al-Rakkasa), butMaulava didn't know that. To her, the openings were simply reminders ofher mother, dead for years now, who had so painstakingly created this dressand stitched the hems. Maulava gave thanks for her mother's skill, forwithout her expert touch, the garment would never have lasted, and Maulavawould be without clothing; exposed in shame.
Two days later the mistress asked her about the Qur'an,and asked Maulava to teach her about Mohammed. Perhaps, she thought, if her new man was kind and pious,he may someday release her from servitude. She felt the rumble of their horses and the roar of blood in herears, and she was carried away, far away from her little house and herbrother. For all her fatigue and hunger, she was relentless - this walk was herfate, and as long as she could walk she would do what the Prophet haddestined for her. s so tired; so hungry; so insanely worn out from this endlessmarching through the fields and the deserts and the towns. Maulavadreamed of her beloved brother Jalal and of the beautiful words of Rumithat had given her such compete comfort when she was afraid during her longmarch to Assyria. It got in every opening, and coated every surface. They passed palm trees andlow houses, with children playing in the streets, all light skinned, withblue eyes. She was uncertain and terrified of her path - and yet,somehow, she had relished each new day. She could feel the crust of dust in the corner of her eyes, but didn't darepush it away - it acted as a barrier to more dust. She had beenher brother's helper, and now she would take her place in the home ofanother man, and she would help him. This was to be her fate, this was to be her life, she thought. The wind pushed red dust pushed against her back, and in through thesleeves of her dress. She was certain that she must be entirely red; thedust was punishing. The sound of the footsteps of hercompanions in this march was hypnotizing, intoxicating; it filled her soul,somehow.
Common topics in this essay:
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Qur'an Qur'an,
Sorrow Joy,
Mohammed Qur'an,
Caucasoids Maulava,
Mohammed Maulava,
Sometimes Maulava,
Assyrian Church,
Christians BetBasoo,
Abbacci History,
blue eyes,
red dust,
seen slaves home,
slaves home,
words rumi,
mother dead,
children slaves,
seen slaves,
maulava march,
life slave,
passed maulava,
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Acceptance Essays
