By Mehru Jaffer

A long walk along the banks of Vienna’s shimmering Danube River was perhaps an appropriate way to celebrate 2003 as the International Year of Freshwater. Reflections on today’s water problem led memory to times when the war fought in the desert was not over oil but water. A legend told in childhood came to mind about a man called Abdul Muttalib who held the key to Mecca many, many moons ago.

This was a man who was neither king nor cleric, capitalist or communist. He was just kind. He shared whatever he had with those who had less. Although his authority was absolute in the area none was afraid of him. The naked came to him with the surety that they would find clothes and the hungry, food. He readily cancelled the obligation of poor debtors and those who by misfortune had fallen under the sentence of law were acquitted through his favour. And above all he distributed the waters of the Zamzam, the lone spring surrounded by a sea of sand in a fair way and most generously to the thirsty. For he considered that visitors were worthy of more honour than any other, and to entertain the needy a matter of distinction.

Because his door was never closed against anyone, the fame of his liberality echoed far and wide and also because he was famous for opposing the corruption of the times in which he lived. His most precious possession was his reputation and the smile on the face of the other remained his greatest joy.

But it was not always so. When the waters of the Zamzam were first discovered in the arid valley that is lower than the level of the nearest sea, people were ready to kill each other for a single sip. And when one dominant tribe threatened with defeat by another fled Mecca it did so only after it had buried the precious Zamzam in stones and earth so that every trace of water was obliterated for generations to come. Abdul Muttalib was custodian of the Kaaba, the sacred shrine said to be first made by Adam, and cared for the premises with such devotion that countless other pilgrims were inspired to do the same.

Although water was scarce Abdul Muttalib converted the environs of the granite stone cube into an oasis of spiritual respite where every act of tribal vendetta was forbidden and respect for the other encouraged. It became a practice for people involved in the ways of the world to also spend time discovering that other dimension of human beings that is not involved in hostitlity and destruction.

Because he was so pure of thought and fine of action even the dreams he had were different to ordinary human beings. Once he dreamt that a voice wanted him to dig. On waking up Abdul Muttalib had little clue as to what he was supposed to dig?

The next night the dream repeated itself and the day was once again full of puzzles. But one of the dawns that followed pointed to the exact place that should be dug up and it was indicated by a white winged raven that was found picking ants there. Abdul Muttalib went to work and after he had cleared the rubbish, he saw water gush out to the delight of all the thirsty people of the desert.

His management of the waters of the well made Abdul Muttalib very wealthy but he continued to be loved as he did not allow greed to dry up his generoisty throughout his very inspiring life. Infact power and prestige made him open his arms out even wider as pilgrims continued to find in him a refuge from every calamity and misfortune from famine, to scarcity.

When no more thoughts and words were left to remember Abdul Muttalib I was back to today to monitor the on going war over oil and listen to warnings of the water crisis that threatens the survival of every one of us, and of the earth itself. And all these problems and such poverty of solutions, I moaned, as if there is nothing to learn from the life of Abdul Muttalib, as if the man had never lived, or that his entire life was lived in vain?