Page 104 - Personal Column (Charles Belgrave)_Neat

to the men’s xnatems but exclusively for women. She is probably the
only European woman who has been in a mateni during Muharram.
I left the house on foot, alone, and walked through the dark passage­
like lanes to the Sliia quarter. Lights shone in many of the Little windows
of the tall houses which edged the streets, I met parties of black-robed
women hurrying along towards their matems; as they passed me they
hid their faces in their cloaks, but often I heard them giggling to each
other and murmuring ‘a/Mustashar—‘the Adviser’. They all knew me by
sight. Even the most strictly purdah women were allowed to leave their
homes to attend the matems on the nights of Muharram. I usually went
to three or four matems each night; my favourite was a very old one, so
old that the floor was several feet below the level of the road, hidden away
among the lanes of the Shia quarter. Though I knew the town inside out
I sometimes found it difficult to locate it at night even with a ten-days-old
moon.
Stooping under an arched doorway I entered the building and The Muharram Procession.
The Muharram Procession.
received a full blast of the atmosphere from inside, a combination of Head cutters
Chest beaters
pungent; tobacco, coffee fumes and humanity. I found myself in a big
hall. The high roof was supported by stone pillars, which were draped
with black material in the same way as the minarets of the Shia mosques
were draped in black as a sign of mourning. Around the four sides of
the matem were arched aisles carrying a lower roof. The place reminded
me of a Saxon church. It was lit by oil lamps which gave a yellowish
light; later, the matems took to using electricity and fluorescent lighting
which seemed out of keeping with the proceedings. Against one of the
pillars was a rough dais with two steps and a chair on the top, covered An Arab war-dance
with Persian carpets. Behind the chair were two banners; one was a vivid
green, the other was black with gold lettering. On the stone floor, which
was covered with reed mats, sat a solid mass of men, most of them in
white robes, but here and there young fellows wore coloured shirts or
pullovers. Every minute more people came in and somehow managed to
find places.
I had arrived before the preacher had begun; people were still smoking
and drinking coffee. The chief men came forward and welcomed me and
then started the usual argument. ‘I will get you a chair,’ said one of them.
‘No, thank you,’ I replied. ‘I much prefer sitting on the floor.’ The old
Haji seemed quite distressed. ‘We can borrow a chair from the house
next door; you will be more comfortable on a chair,’ he said. But even­
tually I persuaded them to let me sit on the ground, on a very old carpet
which somebody produced. I would have felt awkward and conspicuous
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