River Spirit


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Also by Leila Aboulela
 Bird Summons
 Elsewhere, Home
 The Kindness of Enemies
 Lyrics Alley
 Minaret
 The Translator
 
 
 
 
 A NOVEL
 
 
 Grove Press
 New York
 
 
 
 Copyright © 2023 by Leila Aboulela
 Jacket design and collage by Cindy Hernandez
 Jacket image: woman © Unsplash/The New York Public Library
 (Public Domain); swashes of color © Alamy
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 Published simultaneously in Canada
 Printed in the United States of America
 First Grove Atlantic hardcover edition: March 2023
 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data is available for this title. 
 ISBN 978-0-8021-6066-9
 eISBN 978-0-8021-6067-6
 Grove Press
 an imprint of Grove Atlantic
 154 West 14th Street
 New York, NY 10011
 Distributed by Publishers Group West
 groveatlantic.com
 
 
 
 For Nadir, who also remembers
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ©Ahmed-Naji Mahjoub 
 
 
 
 The Prophet Muhammad ﷺ said, “I give you good tidings of the Mahdi. He will be sent at a time of conflict and earthquakes. Then he will fill the earth with equity and justice as it had been filled with tyranny and oppression. The dwellers of the heavens will be pleased with him as will be the dwellers of the earth. He will distribute wealth evenly among the people. And Allah will fill the hearts of Muhammad’s nation with contentment.” 
 —Musnad Ahl al-Hadith
 The Prophet Muhammad ﷺ said, “If there was only one day left in this world, Allah would extend that day so that He sends a man from me or from my family, whose name matches my name and whose father’s name matches my father’s name. He will fill the earth with equity and justice as it had been filled with tyranny and oppression.” 
 —Sunan Abu Dawud 
 
 
 
 Prologue
 The Nuba Mountains, December 1881
 Rabiha steps out of her hut, sets out to warn the Mahdi. The night is lit by a full yellow moon. She must not be seen by the soldiers surrounding the village. The governor of Fashoda is on the move, intent on annihilating the Mahdi once and for all. She must get to him first. Sounds of a shuffle, a pant: she turns to see the old hunting dog following her. She bends down, rummages on the ground, finds a mango stone, and throws it at the dog. She picks up a chewed bit of sugarcane. It is still in her hand when she reaches the outskirts of the village. The vegetation thickens and rising out of the shadows is a Shilluk warrior, posted to ensure that no one leaves the area, certainly not before the planned surprise attack against the rebels. Spear in hand, muscular torso above his loincloth, the physique of a wrestler. She stiffens, drops the bit of sugarcane. Fight or run, fight or run? She reaches for her knife. She turns so that he can see her in full. Curves, breasts, glow of shoulder, long braids. She forces her body into limpness, hangs her long neck in submission, hides her hand behind her back, palm tight over the knife. He approaches, first with caution, then the start of a swagger. Makes low soothing sounds as if she were a skittish calf, lone antelope, stray prey. He must be near enough now to scent the sandalwood she uses in her hair to drench the smell of grease; she can see the decorative row of bead-like scarring across his forehead. He drops his spear; she waits a beat and aims down at his stomach. There is hardly any sound apart from the thud of his body on the ground. She looks around, grabs his spear, and runs.
 She knows this land, every path, where it is smooth and where it is rocky. She had discarded her usual layered shoes, slipped her feet in flat tanned leather, tied the strings all the way up her calves. She can move faster like this, and she needs to be fast. Needs to warn them. Herding her goats as she did every morning, she had passed the hut of the village chief and overheard the conversation. The Turkish binbashi sent by Rashid Bey, the governor, to say that the assembled force intends the village no harm, they come in peace, passing through Kinana land, and heading up the mountains where the rebels have fled. The binbashi requested volunteers from the village but sensed a reluctance. Hence the imposed curfew, the prohibition against anyone leaving, in case they alerted the rebels.
 Last week the Mahdi with his community had been received warmly by Rabiha’s tribe. She had been one of the many who gathered to listen to him preach, entranced by his manners and compassionate smile, pierced by his words. She had pledged allegiance to his cause, to renounce material things and not shirk from jihad. These promises felt like a weighty responsibility she would carry forever. She was an orphan, brought up in the care of her older sister. Her father had died worn out by the tyranny of the Ottoman invaders, their cruel incessant taxes, their disregard for people’s circumstances. Rabiha remembered his anxiety the year his sugar crop failed; how could he pay what he didn’t