Once upon a time

Asked to child-sit, Jill Kamil took her young charge to the Yacht Club to watch the boats go by and tell her a fairy story. She started with the well-known Story of Rapunzel and found herself launching into the mediaeval tale of Anas El-Wogud
The confusion was understandable. I had only recently been looking at a translation of the ancient Egyptian tale known as the Doomed Prince (which appeared in the Arabian Nights as Anas El-Wogud), so when I started on the story of Rapunzel -- a maiden locked in a high tower being sought by her lover -- I quite naturally found myself thinking of Anas, similarly in search of a loved one who was locked in a tower on the island of Philae.
Many ancient Egyptian folk tales survived under Islam and eventually made their way into popular romance. Some of the most well known in the West are from the famous collection Alf Layla wa Layla, or "A thousand and one nights," which, though believed to be a work of Persian origin, was translated into Arabic and, in its final (Egyptian) version, contains many stories of unquestionable local inspiration. Think of Ma'ruf the Cobbler, Abu Sir and Abu Kir, the Shipwrecked Sailor, and, of course, Aladdin (Ala Al- Din) and his Wonderful Lamp.
The persistence of oral tradition is remarkable. It is transmitted by a raconteur, a story-teller, in market places, in holy places, in private homes, and, in my case, overlooking the Nile at Maadi. Naturally they are not recited in sequence, and they undergo change with the passage of time. Yet they are so deeply rooted in the collective memory that they not only survive, but evolve.
Back in the 13th century the great Sultan Qalawun had a passion for pomp and circumstance. He would ride slowly through the streets of Cairo led by a herald bearing the royal standard, accompanied by drummers and cup-bearers and retainers by the dozen. He played host to such eminent men of letters as Ibn Khaldun. With the little Egyptian girl seated before me, I began where all good stories begin, with a once upon a time.
Once upon a time, in the lavish courts of medieval Cairo, there lived a handsome young man called Anas El-Wogud. He was a favourite of the caliph, whose chief vizier was extremely jealous of his special favour. The vizier had a beautiful daughter called Zahr El-Ward (Rose Blossom), and when she and Anas chanced to meet in the palace garden one day they immediately fell in love. It was forbidden, of course, for the lovers to meet, but there was no great difficulty in doing so; veiled women could slip easily out of the harem, wend their way through narrow alleyways and market places to lonely spots along the banks of the Nile, under a sycamore near a canal, perhaps, or even behind the rocky formations at the edge of the desert.
And so the lovers met, and their love ripened, until one day Zahr El-Ward's maidservant, jealous of the beautiful girl and anxious to win the vizier's favour, told him what was happening. The vizier was overcome with rage. His first reaction was to kill the young man, to despatch him with one swift thrust of his sword. This, he reasoned, would serve a double purpose. It would put an end to the clandestine affair of his only daughter, and, with the young man out of the way, improve his relationship with the caliph.
But, he reasoned further, if I kill the young man it might draw the wrath of the caliph, who will surely suspect me of the crime? In any case, in mediaeval Islamic society, where a woman was expected to be chaste, his beloved daughter Zahr El-Ward could be punished for misconduct, not Anas El-Wogud! What to do?
So the vizier sent his daughter as far away from the attentions of the eager young man as possible. He banished her to the island fortress south of Aswan, which was, in fact, the temple of Isis on Philae island. There the young girl was imprisoned in a high tower and guarded night and day.
Sad and lonely was her lot. She knew the passage of the seasons from the hot desert wind that came in the spring; from the sound of the turbulent Nile flood dashing against the granite rocks at the end of the summer; and from the clear blue sky and dry air in the winter months. She despaired of ever knowing freedom again.
Meanwhile, her lover set off to search for her. Abandoning the court, he travelled up and down the Nile valley. He went past canals and across fertile fields. He travelled along the banks of the Nile and even into the barren reaches of the desert. On his journey he talked to animals, both large and small, and took care of those that were ailing and in need of attention. To them, and to the birds, he confided his wretchedness.
Finally the animals told Anas El-Wogud that there was one person who could help him, an old man who lived in a cave in the desert. The animals led the way, and indeed, there in a barren cave they found a bearded, white-haired hermit. The young man told him about his beloved, and it was the aged hermit who told him that she was imprisoned on the island of Philae.
And so Anas El-Wogud turned his face to the south. He travelled past ancient monuments of long-forgotten times when the kings built great structures of stone, and he passed through villages where the houses were of sun-dried brick. He continued beyond the great granite rocks that rose like the backs of elephants out of the Nile at Aswan, and eventually, there in the Nile, he saw the island of Philae. At last he was within sailing distance of Zahr El-Ward.
Much to his astonishment, however, he found that the river was alive with crocodiles. Their ferocious open jaws revealed great fangs. They lashed their tales, and looked so formidable that the young man walked backwards in horror. There seemed to be no way that he could ever cross the river and reach the island. He was about to give up hope when one of the crocodiles, who had heard about the kindness of Anas to all living creatures, swam to the bank and indicated, by a gesture with its tail, that Anas should mount its back to be borne to the island in safety.
In the tower, Zahr El-Ward found herself suddenly surrounded by birds. Through their fluttering and twittering they let her know that her lover was on his way. She was overcome with joy. In her anxiety to see him, she tore her underskirt into strips, made a rope, and lowered herself from the tower. The heroine's hair in this tale was not the long golden tresses that allowed Rapunzel to escape in the modern fairy tale. When she reached ground, she found a fisherman who agreed to row her across the river, little realising that Anas El-Wogud had himself already landed on the island in the disguise of a persecuted merchant from a distant land in case one of the caliph's officials should recognise him.
Tales from the Arabian Nights were not meant to be short and simple, even though the ending was entirely predictable. There was always another day in which to relate a new episode of the search of the lovers, one for the other. They travelled from island to island, around the Cataract region, and up and down the Nile valley. But at last they found one another.
When Zahr El-Ward's father, the vizier, heard what had happened, he succumbed to the inevitable will of Allah, blessed the marriage and ordered a huge banquet to take place in the Osiris room in the temple of Isis, attended by singers, musicians, acrobats and, of course, birds and animals.
And so, Anas El-Wogud and his beloved were wed, and I ended the story, of course, with the words "and they lived happy ever after." The ending is more eloquently expressed in the Arabian Nights: " ... and the lovers lived in the bosom of happiness to a ripe old age at which the roses of pleasure must shed their leaves and tender friendship take the place of passion."
I took the child back to her mother and walked home, marvelling on the survival of oral tradition from Pharaonic, through Graeco-Roman and mediaeval times to the present. As I told the story, I had not failed to observe the similarity between the story of Anas El-Wogud and the well-loved Osiris myth in which the devoted couple (Osiris and Isis) are separated as a result of jealousy (by Osiris' brother Set). Isis, in the Egyptian myth, searched for her beloved husband, just as Anas searched for his loved one in the Arabian Nights. As I recalled how I had described Anas being transported across the river on the back of a crocodile, I recalled that there was, indeed, on the gateway built by Hadrian to the west of the main temple of Isis on Philae, an image of the body of Osiris on the back of a crocodile. And finally, woven into the story of Anas El-Wogud, is a bearded old man, who could prophesy -- as could all the Desert Fathers of ancient times -- and guide the young man on his way.
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