Bilal

[NaSra]

Bilal defies
his master


I was standing in slave position against the wall when they brought in Ammar.


They pushed his to his knees, but he lifted his head to them. I saw then that it would end badly. Had he been a slave he would have known the protection of the bent head. But he insisted on his rights as a free man, however low on the ladder, and dared to face them.


‘What does Muhammad teach you?’


‘He teaches us that all men are equal before God as the teeth of a comb.’


I know that I, Bilal, the slave against the wall shivered with cold when I heard these words and I know that Umaya grew red in the face and was hot. But a slave has not the same pulse as his owner.


I’ve often wondered why Ammar was so bold that day. He might have said: ‘Muhammad teaches us to pray…to speak the truth…to desire for your neighbour what you desire for yourself,’ and they would have turned him loose. But Ammar, God have mercy on him, opened the book to them:


<b>‘Muhammad teaches us to worship the One God only.’</b>


Abu Sufyan had, I remember, a fly-swat which he would curl around his neck like a living thing. When Ammar said ‘One God’ the fly-swat rose like a swish of dog’s hair on his back.


Abu Sufyan was not the worst- I reserve that pity for the men of Taif- and besides Abu Sufyan’s own slaves thought him not a bad master. He never raised his voice when an eyebrow would do. But he frightened me with his softness and, that day, he frightened Ammar by presuming to talk equally with him.


‘One God?’ he asked, very logically, in a voice that seemed only curious.


‘But we have 360 gods who watch over us, who provide for us.’


I remember then something rare: a white butterfly outside the opposite window that would not go away. I remember Abu Sufyan walking around Ammar. I remember. I remember. And why not? In that room, in the next minutes, all my life changed.


‘Doesn’t Muhammad realize that we live bu giving housing to the gods. Every tribe has its worshipped god. Every year the tribes of Arabia come to Mecca to pray and to buy from us. The gods are both our worship and revenue. And don’t we look after the weak and the poor? Don’t you get your share? Now…’


He paused, as orators do to give themselves platform, and held the room on his next word…


‘Were we to replace the 360 gods with one, whom we cannot see, but is supposed to be everywhere, in this garden…in Taif, in Medina, in Jerusalem…on the Moon…where would Mecca be then? Who would come here when they have God at home?’


Everyone seemed satisfied. The merchant prince had put down the One God and a short sentence had been roundly thrashed by a long speech/ the matter might have ended there with no hurt to anyone if my master had not involved me, who had as much part in the proceedings as the wall at my back. But suddenly there was no wall at my back; my name was spoken.


In a sway of silk, Umaya approached Ammar.


‘You say a slave is equal to his master…?’ The silk shivered on his back. ‘Is black Bilal for whom I paid money, equal to me?’


He paused to relish the absurdity of the question. I, ‘black Bilal,’ was really outside the question, ‘equal or unequal.’ I was nothing and therefore neither. Indeed, I might have joined in the laughter as Umaya in a clowning gesture cupped the question in the palm of his hand under Ammar’s nose. No answer was needed. But Ammar- what a fool he seemed then- dared take up the question that everyone else, even Umaya, had dropped.


‘Muhammad teaches us that all men, all races, all colours, all conditions, are equal before God.’


There was silence. Then I heard my name again.


‘Bilal.’


How was I to know that when I was called then, I was called from one life to another? But it is only God who knows the next minute of any of our lives.


I came as bidden.


‘Bilal, show this man the difference between a Lord of Mecca and yourself. Lash his face to teach his mouth a lesson.’


To this day I cannot understand the neatness of the phrase. Except, perhaps, that cruelty is sometimes very neat; certainly torture is precise.


They put the whip into my hand and Ammar looked up at me, offering his face for the punishment.


How can I tell you what happened next? Even now, I cannot look back on that moment without a ringing in my ears and a sense of daze.


I remember, I suppose, very little. Umaya’s bulging eyes and Abu Sufyan’s profile, for he was a man who approved of punishments but would not lower his dignity to watch them.


But Ammar I saw clear. His gaze was pure and peaceful, unafraid, meek but strong. I saw in his eyes strength more powerful than my slavery.


In the moment I, Bilal, changed ownership.


I dropped the whip.


I heard their gasps. They knew what they had seen and I knew what I had done. A slave had revolted.


Ammar scrambled on the floor for the whip. He tried to put it back into my hand. His whispering was like a screaming in my head.


<b>‘Do what they say, Bilal…here is the whip…do it…they will kill you Bilal.’</b>


But this time when I threw the whip down everything became calm to me. I saw Abu Sufyan gesture to Umaya. I heard Hind’s light laugh and turned towards her. I had watched Hind my whole life without ever daring to look directly at her. So I only saw her in flashes. I did not know, until that moment, that I had already seen all of her. She was only her flashes.


Umaya was calm, even quiet.


‘If you are human enough to have gods, Bilal, then they are gods of your owner. Mine. You will not bring any unseen gods into my slave quarters.’


He glanced at the declining day.


‘I will correct you…but I will wait for the heat of the sun; it has passed its peak today.’


I felt ropes on my wrists and around my neck as they did what they liked with me. I was never more obedient. Then they led me out and threw me down the slave quarters to wait for morning.


<i>to be continued</i>