{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_53684/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_53684","id":"gutenberg_53684","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53684","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Deserts -- Fiction","Merchants -- Fiction","Muslims -- Fiction","Perseverance (Ethics) -- Fiction","Short stories"],"text":"In the Desert of Waiting\n\nTHE LEGEND OF CAMEL-BACK MOUNTAIN\n\n\n[Frontispiece: A man in Arab dress, surrounded by large water jars\nand flowering bushes, looks beyond a camel asleep under palm trees\nto the sun rising behind distant dunes]\n\n\n\n\nIN THE DESERT OF WAITING\n\nTHE LEGEND OF CAMEL-BACK MOUNTAIN\n\n\nBY Annie Fellows Johnston\n\nAuthor of \"The Little Colonel Series,\" \"Big Brother,\"\n\"Joel: A Boy of Galilee,\" etc.\n\n\n\"_Thy alchemist Contentment be_\"--SADI\n\n\nBOSTON\nL. C. PAGE & COMPANY\n_PUBLISHERS_\n\n\n\n\nCopyright, 1904, by L. C. PAGE & COMPANY (_Incorporated_)\n\nCopyright, 1905, by L. C. PAGE & COMPANY (_Incorporated_)\n\n_All rights reserved_\n\nEighth Impression, July, 1910\n\n\n\n\n              O ye, who vainly question\n          Why there must ever lie twixt man\n            And the far City of his Desire\n         Some desert waste of disappointment,\n           Where he must watch the Caravan\n    Pass on and leave him with his baffled hopes,\n                 Here is the reason.\n                By the grace of Allah,\n                        Read!\n\n\n\n\nOnce upon a time, a caravan set out across the desert, laden with\nmerchandise for a far distant market. Some of the camels bore in their\npacks wine-skins that held the richest vintage of the Orient. Some\nbore tapestries and some carried dyestuffs and the silken fruits of\nthe loom. On Shapur's camel was a heavy load of salt.\n\nThe hope of each merchant was to reach the City of his Desire before\nthe Golden Gate should close. There were other gates by which they\nmight enter, but this one, opening only once a year to admit the\nvisiting Rajahs from sister cities, afforded a rare opportunity to\nthose fortunate enough to arrive at the same time. It was the\nprivilege of any who might fall in with the royal retinue, to follow\nin the train to the palace of the ruling Rajah, and thus gain access\nto its courtyards. Wares displayed there for sale often brought\nfabulous sums, a hundred fold greater, sometimes, than when offered\nin the open market.\n\nOnly to a privileged few would the Golden Gate swing open at any other\ntime. It would turn on its hinges for a messenger sent at a king's\nbehest, or to any one bearing wares so rare and precious that only\nprinces could purchase, but no common vendor could hope to pass its\nshining portal, save in the rear of the train that yearly followed the\nRajahs.\n\nSo they urged their beasts with all diligence. Foremost in the caravan\nand most zealous of all was Shapur. In his heart burned the desire to\nbe the first one to enter the Golden Gate, and the first one at the\npalace with his wares. But half way across the desert, as they paused\nat an oasis to rest, a dire lameness fell upon his camel, and it sank\nupon the sand. In vain he urged it to continue its journey. The poor\nbeast could not rise under its great load.\n\nSack by sack he lessened its burden, throwing it off grudgingly and\nwith sighs, for he was minded to lose as little as possible of his\nprospective fortune. But even rid of the entire load the camel could\nnot rise, and Shapur was forced to let his companions go on without\nhim.\n\nFor long days and nights he watched beside his camel, bringing it\nwater from the fountain, and feeding it with the herbage of the oasis,\nand at last was rewarded by seeing it struggle to its feet and take a\nfew limping steps. In his distress of mind at being left behind by the\ncaravan he had not noticed where he had thrown his load. A tiny rill\ntrickling down from the fountain had run through the sacks and\ndissolved the salt, and when he went to gather up his load only a\npaltry portion was left, a single sackful.\n\n\"Now Allah has indeed forgotten me!\" he cried, and, cursing the day\nhe was born, he rent his mantle and beat upon his breast. Even if his\ncamel were able to set out across the desert it would be useless to\nseek a market, now that his merchandise was destroyed.\n\nSo he sat upon the ground, his head bowed in his hands. Water there\nwas for him to drink, and the fruit of the date palm, and the cooling\nshade of many trees; but he counted them all as naught. A fever of\nunrest consumed him. A baffled ambition bowed his head in the dust.\nWhen he looked at his poor camel kneeling in the sand he cried out,\n\"Ah, woe is me! Of all men I am most miserable! Of all dooms mine is\nmost unjust! Why should I, with life beating strong in my veins, and\nambition like a burning simoon in my breast, be left here helpless on\nthe sands, where I can achieve nothing and make no progress towards\nthe City of my Desire?\"\n\nOne day, as he sat thus under the palms, a bee buzzed about him. He\nbrushed it away, but it returned so persistently that he looked up\nwith languid interest.\n\n\"Where there are bees there must be honey,\" he said. \"If there be any\nsweetness in this desert, better that I should go in its quest than\nsit here bewailing my fate.\"\n\nLeaving the camel browsing by the fountain he followed the bee. For\nmany miles he pursued it, till far in the distance he beheld the palm\ntrees of another oasis. He quickened his steps, for an odor rare as\nthe perfumes of Paradise floated out to meet him. The bee had led him\nto the rose gardens of Omar.\n\nNow Omar was an alchemist, a sage with the miraculous power of\ntransmuting the most common things of earth into something precious.\nThe fame of his skill had travelled to far countries. So many pilgrims\nsought him to beg his wizard touch, that the question, \"Where is the\nhouse of Omar?\" was heard daily at the gates of the city. But for a\ngeneration that question had remained unanswered. No man knew the\nplace of the house of Omar since he had taken upon himself the life\nof a hermit. Somewhere, they knew, in the solitude of the desert, he\nwas practising the mysteries of his art, and probing deeper into its\nsecrets, but no one could point to the path leading thither.\n\nOnly the bees knew, and, following the bee, Shapur found himself in\nthe old alchemist's presence. Now Shapur was a youth of gracious mien,\nand pleasing withal. With straightforward speech he told his story,\nand Omar, who could read the minds of men as readily as unrolled\nparchments, was touched by his tale. He bade him come in and be his\nguest until sundown.\n\nSo Shapur sat at his board and shared his bread, and rose refreshed by\nhis wine and his wise words. And at parting, the old man said with a\nkeen glance into his eyes: \"Thou thinkest that because I am Omar, with\nthe power to transmute all common things into precious ones, how\neasily I could take the remnant of salt that is still left to thee in\nthy sack, and change it into gold. Then couldst thou go joyfully on to\nthe City of thy Desire, as soon as thy camel is able to carry thee,\nfar richer for thy delay.\"\n\nShapur's heart gave a bound of hope, for that is truly what he had\nbeen thinking. But at the next words it sank.\n\n\"Nay, Shapur, each man must be his own alchemist. Believe me, for thee\nthe desert holds a greater opportunity than kings' houses could offer.\nGive me but thy patient service in this time of waiting, and I will\nshare such secrets with thee that when thou dost finally win thee to\nthe Golden Gate, it shall be with wares that shall gain for thee a\nroyal entrance.\"\n\nThen Shapur went back to his camel, and in the cool of the evening\nurged it to its feet, and led it slowly across the sands; and because\nit could bear no burdens he lifted the remaining sack of salt to his\nown back and carried it on his shoulders all the way. When the moon\nshone white and full in the zenith he reached the rose gardens of\nOmar. He knocked on the gate, calling, \"Here am I, Omar, at thy\nbidding, and here is the remnant of my salt. All that I have left I\nbring to thee, and stand ready now, to yield my patient service.\"\n\nThen Omar bade him lead his camel to the fountain, and leave him to\nbrowse upon the herbage around it. Pointing to a row of great stone\njars he said, \"There is thy work. Every morning, before the sunrise,\nthey must be filled with rose-petals plucked from the myriad roses of\nthe garden, and the petals covered with water from the fountain.\"\n\n\"A task for poets,\" thought Shapur, as he began. \"What more delightful\nthan to stand in the moonlighted garden and pluck the velvet leaves?\"\n\nBut after awhile the thorns tore his hands and the rustle and hiss\nunderfoot betrayed the presence of serpents, and sleep weighed heavily\nupon his eyelids. It grew monotonous standing hour after hour,\nstripping the rose-leaves from the calyxes, until thousands and\nthousands and thousands had been dropped into the great jars. The very\nsweetness of the task began to cloy his senses.\n\nWhen the stars had faded and the East was beginning to brighten, old\nOmar came out. \"'Tis well,\" he said, viewing his work. \"Now break thy\nfast and then to slumber, to prepare for another sleepless night.\"\n\nSo long months went by, till it seemed to Shapur that the garden must\nsurely become exhausted. But for every rose he plucked another bloomed\nin its stead, and night after night he filled the jars. Still he was\nlearning no secrets, and as the deadly monotony of his task began to\neat into his soul he grew restless and began to ask himself questions.\n\"Was he not wasting his life? Would it not have been better to have\nwaited by the other fountain until some caravan passed by that would\nhave carried him out of the desert solitude to the dwellings of men?\nWhat opportunity was the desert offering him greater than kings'\nhouses could give?\"\n\nAnd ever the thorns tore him more sorely, and the lonely silence of\nthe night weighed upon him. Many a time he would have left his task\nhad not the shadowy form of his camel, kneeling outside by the\nfountain, seemed to whisper to him through the starlight, \"Patience,\nShapur! Patience!\"\n\nOnce, far in the distance, he saw the black outline of a merchant\ncaravan, passing along the horizon, where day was beginning to break.\nHe did no work until it had passed from sight. Gazing after it, with\na fierce longing to follow, he pictured the scenes it was moving\ntowards--the gilded minarets of the mosques, the deep-toned ringing of\nbells, the cheerful hum of the populace, and all the life and stir of\nthe market-place. When the shadowy procession had passed the great\nsilence of the desert smote him like a pain. Again looking out he saw\nhis faithful camel, and again it seemed to whisper, \"Patience, Shapur,\nPatience! So thou, too, shall fare forth some day to the City of thy\nDesire!\"\n\nOne day in the waning of summer Omar called him into a room in which\nhe had never been before. \"Now, at last,\" said he, \"thou hast proved\nthyself worthy to be the sharer of my secrets. Come! I will show thee.\nThus are the roses distilled, and thus is gathered up the precious oil\nfloating on the tops of the vessels. Seest thou this tiny vial? It\nweighs but the weight of one rupee, but it took the sweetness of two\nhundred thousand roses to make the attar it contains, and so costly is\nit that only princes may purchase. It is worth more than thy entire\nload of salt that was washed away at the fountain.\"\n\nShapur worked diligently at this new task, until there came a day when\nOmar said to him, \"Well done, Shapur! Behold the gift of the desert,\nits reward for thy patient service in its solitude!\"\n\nHe placed in Shapur's hands a crystal vase, sealed with a seal, and\nfilled with the precious attar.\n\n\"Wherever thou goest this sweetness will open for thee a way and win\nfor thee a welcome. Thou camest into the desert a common vendor of\nsalt, thou shalt go forth an Apostle of my Alchemy. Wherever thou\nseest a heart bowed down in some Desert of Waiting, thou shalt whisper\nto it, 'Patience! Here if thou wilt, in these arid sands, thou mayst\nfind thy garden of Omar, and even from the daily tasks that prick thee\nsorest, distil some precious attar to sweeten all life.' So like the\nbee that led thee to my teaching, thou shalt lead others to hope.\"\n\nThen Shapur went forth with the crystal vase, and the camel, healed\nin its long time of waiting, bore him swiftly across the sands to the\nCity of his Desire. The Golden Gate, that would not have opened to the\nvendor of salt, swung wide for the Apostle of Omar. Princes brought\ntheir pearls to exchange for drops of his attar, and everywhere he\nwent its sweetness opened for him a way and won for him a welcome.\n\nWherever he saw a heart bowed down in some Desert of Waiting he\nwhispered Omar's words and tarried to teach Omar's alchemy, that\nfrom the commonest experiences of life may be distilled its greatest\nblessings. At his death, in order that men might not forget, he willed\nthat his tomb should be made at a certain place where all caravans\npassed. There at the crossing of the highways he caused to be cut in\nstone that symbol of patience, the camel, kneeling on the sand. And\nit bore this inscription, which no one could fail to see as he toiled\npast toward the City of his Desire:\n\n\"Patience! Here, if thou wilt, on these arid sands, thou mayst find\nthy Garden of Omar, and even from the daily tasks which prick thee\nsorest distil some precious attar to bless thee and thy fellow man.\"\n\nA thousand moons waxed and waned above it, then a thousand more, and\nthere arose a generation with restless hearts, who set their faces\never Westward, following the sun towards a greater City of Desire.\nStrange seas they crossed. New coasts they came upon. Some were\nsatisfied with the fair valleys that tempted them to tarry, and built\nthem homes where the fruitful hills whispered stay.\n\nBut always the sons of Shapur pushed ahead, to pitch their tents a\nday's march nearer the City of their Desire, nearer the Golden Gate\nwhich opened every sunset to let the royal Rajah of the Day pass\nthrough. Like a mirage that daily vision lured them on, showing them\na dream gate of Opportunity, always just ahead, yet ever out of reach.\n\nAs in the days of Shapur, so it was in the days of his sons. There\nwere some who fell by the way, and, losing all that made life dear,\ncried out as the caravans passed on without them, that Allah had\nforgotten them; and they cursed the day that they were born, and laid\nhopeless heads in the dust.\n\nBut Allah, the Merciful, who from the beginning knew what Desert of\nWaiting must lie between every son of Shapur and the City of his\nDesire, had long before stretched out his hand over one of the\nmountains of his continent. With earthquake shock it sank before him.\nWith countless hammer strokes of hail and rain-drops, and with\ngleaming rills he chiselled it, till as the centuries rolled by it\ntook the semblance of that symbol of patience, a camel, kneeling there\nat the passing of the ways. And now, to every heart bowed down and\nhopeless, it whispers the lesson that Shapur learned in his weary\nDesert of Waiting:\n\n_\"Patience! Thou camest into the desert a vendor of salt; thou mayst\ngo forth an alchemist, distilling from life's tasks and sorrows such\nprecious attar in thy soul, that its sweetness shall win for thee a\nwelcome wherever thou goest, and a royal entrance into the City of thy\nDesire!\"_\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n\nAnd this, O Son of Shapur, is the secret of Omar's alchemy: To gather\nsomething from every one thou passest on the highway, and from every\nexperience fate sends thee, as Omar gathered from the heart of every\nrose, and out of the wide knowledge thus gained of human weaknesses\nand human needs, to distil in thine own heart the precious oil of\nSympathy. That is the attar that shall win for thee a welcome wherever\nthou goest. And no man fills his crystal vase with it until he has\nfirst been pricked by the world's disappointments, and bowed by its\ntasks.\n\nThou vendor of salt, who, as yet, canst follow only in the train of\nothers, is not any waiting well worth the while, if, in the end, it\nshall give thee wares with which to gain a royal entrance?","title":"In the Desert of Waiting: The Legend of Camel-back Mountain","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":2886}