or
Suraqa's Prize
A hundred camels; fair reward,
Thought Suraqa bin Malik, who
Had set his eyes upon that prize,
And knew precisely what to do;
Instructing thus his faithful slave,
He ordered her in secrecy
To go prepare his agile mare,
With the utmost rapidity.
Then Suraqa slipped out of town,
And with the greatest care was bound
For where the bounty hunter's mount
Sat patiently without a sound.
He started from the mouth of
Thaur,
And let his heightened senses glean
From every trace in every space,
The path his quarry must have seen.
Into the desert, Suraqa
Picked up on every clue with care
And on he pressed without a rest
To overcome the fleeing pair.
Then as he came atop a dune,
His skill and patience bore him fruit;
For came in sight, to his delight,
The object of his long pursuit.
He gently spurred his trusted mare
To canter at a steady pace,
Then drew his bow, which he held low,
And nocked an arrow, just in case.
But when they came within his range,
The duo swiftly turned around
Which caught the bounty hunter's mount
By such surprise, Suraqa frowned.
He masterfully reined her in,
And forced her round to face the two,
Their noble faces full of grace:
A grace that graces very few.
He drew his breath and shouted out
A call to give in peacefully,
But not a word, not one uttered
By
Taymi or by
Hashimi.
Then Suraqa, his bowstring drawn,
Attempted to advance his mare,
When unseen hands let loose the sands,
And Suraqa was in despair;
For all his years of horsemanship,
He could not stay the fluid sand,
With little choice, he found his voice,
(And, though he did not understand)
Suraqa promised he would leave
If only he could be set free;
The Prophet prayed; the sand, it stayed,
Releasing him immediately.
But such is the allure of wealth,
That Suraqa forgot his plight,
And sought he then to try again
With all his strength, and all his might.
No sooner had he spurred the beast
Than did the sands return that stalked
The poor bounty hunter's mount,
Who raised his bow with arrow nocked;
And then his eyes went wide with fear,
For all of feeling left his hands,
The tracker's face lost every trace
Of color that a face demands.
And in an earnest, broken voice,
Did Suraqa renew his oath,
To turn away from them that day,
And grant safe passage to them both.
The Prophet raised his hands in prayer,
And that at once allayed the sands,
Which served to spare Suraqa's mare,
And brought back feeling in his hands.
Then did the Prophet give the news
To Suraqa that he would wear
From Khusro's gold, of wealth untold,
The royal bangles as his share.
And so the years went rolling by,
Until that day divinely willed,
When struck with awe, the tracker saw
That strangest prophecy fulfilled.
