Al-Zawahreh Bridge

The great bridge, connecting the "Dallah" commercial roundabout in the Al-Zawahreh neighborhood to the neighboring district on the other side of the city of Zarqa.

My friend Mahmoud stopped suddenly and began to ask: Do you know the story? The story of the bridge's construction?

I answered in the negative.

He did not wait and began to recount to me the tales I had missed.

The northern winds, dry and light, carry in their modest gusts the dust of distant deserts and the scents of wormwood and sage. They rise on the hill overlooking the river and the darkness of the place, striking the chest of the only guesthouse, bending around its pillar and the ornate coffee mortar, to stir the hearths and the fires burning beneath the pots and coffee pots.

Sheikh Mohammed Saud Al-Zawahreh glimpses what he can of the pale halos of lanterns between the tents and the distant courtyards of the town of "Shumar," where his family and kin reside. As for the good company, they are by his side in this generous, voluntary guesthouse, where the pots—specifically the "Sheikh's Dallah"—are over flickering fires, in such a spring climate, yet they never go out.

That year, the river water receded, silt spread, and the ribs of black rocks appeared on its bed.

Sheikh Mohammed Saud Al-Zawahreh walked along the western bank of the river, watching the water as it twisted between the pebbles.

He saw in this recession a precious opportunity to realize his dream: If we do not build the arch now, we will never build it.

For in the coming winter, the river might regain its wildness, and obstacles, perhaps even disasters, would follow.

But "there was nothing to be done"... there was no qualified builder among the clan, nor even among the cousins and their sons around the river.

He remembered the "White" arch in the slightly distant south, the one built by the venerable Chechen Sheikh before his death, completed by blessed hands, allowing the place to flourish and houses and flour mills to spread.

A sturdy stone arch, but far from the dwellings of the honorable Al-Zawahreh—here in the west—and far from the market and people's daily needs.

He was told that the arch had become one of the most important "resources," but it was common property without influence!

He replied to his interlocutor: "What is the value of a resource and influence if it is not in the service of the people?!"

The Sheikh paused and began to recall with his companions those painful events: a woman swept away by the river and drowning, a small child whose feet were swallowed by the silt and who was lost in the mud, a man returning from the market exhausted by the long detour in search of a safe crossing.

He turned to them, having just realized something, and said: "This year will be hard on everyone. Let us open the western 'Tawi' (well) to the people, and let it be a common resource for drinking."

The next morning, people passed the word: "The western Tawi... for the passerby before the neighbor, and whoever drinks the water, drinks with head held high," and they praised the generosity of Sheikh Mohammed Saud and the munificence of the clan.

• Second Paper: The Roman Threshing Floor

Sheikh Mohammed Saud's threshing floor was different from the rest, and it was called the Roman Threshing Floor.

It was located between the guesthouse—the Dallah guesthouse—and the town of Shumar, and it was surrounded by ancient stones as if they were the remains of Roman foundations.

The scent of wheat there was heavier and deeper, as if it carried a distant memory of seasons past.

That night, the Sheikh glimpsed three men bending over the wheat stalks.

They were masked with tightly pulled shemaghs, moving quickly.

He realized the situation and said to himself: They are not thieves, but it is the need in this harsh season.

The Sheikh approached with quiet steps. They did not notice him until he was among them.

They froze. One of them raised his head and said in a rough voice like a millstone: "Cover us, brother of the Arabs, and we will take nothing."

The Sheikh replied with compassion and firmness: "Take what is enough for you... and leave, before the owner of the threshing floor comes."

They gathered what they could and departed into the darkness.

The Sheikh stood alone looking at their footprints and said: "Concealment is more honorable than scandal."

• Third Paper: Blood at the Water Source

The heat had reached its peak, and the drought was biting the edges of the land as if it were a monster crawling from all directions.

The Zarqa River—that thin strip of life—had nothing left but a shallow pocket of water at a bend well known to the shepherds.

There, "Fazza'" stood with his thirsty horse, and from the other side came "Duhays" leading his camel, which was nearly collapsing from thirst.

They met at the same point, and each of them saw the water as a common right, but in a moment of distress, it turns into private property in the eyes of its owner.

Fazza' stepped forward first, and Duhays blocked him; the talk turned into hissing, then into a sharp tone of threat.

The horse was striking the ground with its hoof, and the camel was stretching its neck toward the water, as if the two beasts reflected the anger in the men's chests.

The evil intensified, then suddenly faded like a flash of lightning.

They continued toward the "Western Tawi" which the generous Sheikh had allowed for the people, to fill their water skins.

At the mouth of the "Tawi," where the space narrows, the forbidden happened.

It was not shouting or noise, but a fleeting moment in which enmity slipped from the chest to the hand.

Duhays fell, and Fazza' remained standing, looking at his deed in shock.

No one heard a sound, but the wind that passed over the "Western Tawi" carried with it something like regret, and a deep pain that would become endless.

Fazza' fled and vanished among the reeds, as if fleeing from himself.

The news reached the family of the deceased—they were a small clan in the vicinity of Sheikh Rashoud's tribe—and the space ignited, and chests began to boil with its fires.

They said to the protector of the sanctuary, to Sheikh Rashoud: "Blood is not left, blood money is not enough, and revenge is what is desired."

The Sheikh bowed his head and sought refuge in God, sensing the darkness, the narrow horizon, and the coming storm of blood.

• Fourth Paper: Protection and the Protégé

Night covered the Dallah hill overlooking the river with its darkness, specifically the bustling "Sheikh's Dallah" guesthouse, while distant whirlwinds stirred by the winds pushed toward the place.

The notables of the Al-Zawahreh clan were spending the evening, sharing with their Sheikh the glow of the evening and the sorrows of the grave event at the "Western Tawi" that morning.

The fire hissed under the coffee pots from the horror of the calamity, checked by Sheikh Mohammed Saud Al-Zawahreh with a fleeting glance as he stood tall in the guesthouse like an oak tree.

The whirlwinds approached and then dissipated, revealing three strangers, the first of whom began to walk toward the guesthouse, stumbling.

He stopped at the edge of the light, then stepped toward the rug and shouted to the Sheikh: "I am Fazza'... the killer of Duhays... I have come to you as a protégé... under the protection of God and then your protection."

Then he reached for his dagger, removed it, and threw it at the feet of the generous Sheikh, then knelt in silence.

Silence prevailed for a moment.

One of the wise men of the Al-Zawahreh clan stepped forward and whispered to the Sheikh: "If you accept his protection, we will be at odds with the cousins, the tribe of Sheikh Rashoud, and they will not be pleased... We fear that this matter will open a door that no one can close."

The generous Sheikh looked at Fazza', then answered his interlocutor: "I know Sheikh Rashoud perfectly well... He is a wise Sheikh, and he does not want blood to lead to more blood. And the right of the victim's family must not be lost." Then he continued: "But we do not turn away a protégé."

The generous Sheikh stepped forward, then bent down and picked up the dagger from the ground, then raised his head and said in a loud voice, heard by everyone: "You are protected... and no one shall touch you."

• Fifth Paper: The News and the Truce

Night pulled its cloak over the hill, and the north winds scattered what remained of the day's dust around it.

Sheikh Mohammed Saud signaled to one of his brothers, and he stood up.

He said to him: "Go to the dwellings of Sheikh Rashoud's clan... the cousins, and do not hide the news from Sheikh Rashoud, nor embellish it."

In a fleeting moment, the brotherly horseman had dissolved from the light of the lanterns, to melt into the blackness of the plain, rising and falling like a distant pulse.

At the outskirts of Sheikh Rashoud's clan, the men were standing, calling for revenge, and the night around them listened, fearing to intervene. The news had preceded the horseman, striking Sheikh Rashoud with a sting in the chest, and the blood had become the talk of the gatherings.

The horseman dismounted and did not step on the guesthouse rug. He remained standing until they brought him into the center of the guesthouse where Sheikh Rashoud sat.

The horseman stepped forward and said: "Our Sheikh... Fazza' is with us and is under our protection, and Sheikh Mohammed Saud has accepted his protection.

And we did not accept the protection except for reconciliation. And we have upon you by the right of (kinship) a protected truce, for three days, in which souls may calm, and blood may be saved from leading to more blood."

The council murmured, and their voices rose.

Sheikh Rashoud remained silent, passing his prayer beads between his fingers.

Then he raised his head slowly and said with firmness, wisdom, and resolve: "Blood is heavy. And tribal zeal blinds. But we are not people of darkness. The man is a protégé among them, and whoever protects the protégé protects the face of God. And the Al-Zawahreh have never betrayed a neighbor, nor turned away a seeker of refuge."

Then he turned to the knight: "Tell my cousin: We have heard and understood. The three-day truce (Atwa) is accepted; no man shall be touched during it, and after that, every event has its own response, and every right has its path."

• The Sixth Paper: Who Extinguishes the Fire

It was said that revenge remained the only option in the face of successive mediations.

By the final night, the two sheikhs had exhausted every available effort to prevent bloodshed.

That heavy evening, Sheikh Mohammad Saud Al-Zawahreh had to lead the final night's mediation himself, and go to his cousin the Sheikh's guesthouse... in all his prestige.

Everyone sat in Sheikh Rashoud's guesthouse, and beside him stood Sheikh Mohammad Saud like a spear in the middle of the room. As for the spark, it was present, looking for a suitable fuse to ignite.

The representative of the victim's clan was a man with a rough voice, resembling millstones in flour mills.

He was agitated, asking with astonishment and in a low voice about the truth of that man, who was as slender as a spear.

They told him: "This is the Sheikh of the noble Al-Zawahreh tribe."

He continued his insistence and asked stubbornly: "And the Roman threshing floor... to whom does it belong?"

One of them replied in a whisper: "To the Sheikh."

The representative did not wait; he stood up suddenly in the middle of the guesthouse and said in his rough voice: "We accept the blood money (Diyah)... The Sheikh who granted the western well willingly, and protected the needy on the night of the looting at the Roman threshing floor... cannot be refused."

• Conclusion

It is said... that that night was difficult, decisive, and critical. Sheikh Mohammad Saud—may God have mercy on him—collected the victim's blood money from his own wealth. It is said that Sheikh Rashoud also contributed some of his money to the blood money, but in secret.

As for the killer, Faza'—after life returned to him—he was working for a venerable Chechen sheikh in construction, so he vowed to God to be loyal to Sheikh Mohammad Saud and return the favor in kind.

Faza' gathered his companions and the members of his clan and brought them to this place, where we are standing now exactly above the bridge, and he built the arch... This was a hundred years ago and a bit more.

"This was within sight and hearing of the generous Sheikh and the visitors of his guesthouse at that time, his guesthouse that sat there on the top of that high hill."

My friend Mahmoud pointed to the lights of the current commercial square, the "Dallah" roundabout, where we were a little while ago.

Then he continued: "In 1985, the Zarqa Municipality renovated the bridge, so it became modern and towering as you see it now."

We crossed to the other side, accompanied by the echo and the ring of the ancient voice, which might fade, but—most certainly—will not dissolve or perish:

"This bridge... the Zawahreh Bridge, is the arch of the protégé who fulfilled his promise... and the Sheikh who provided cover."