Prologue The setting sun revealed stars on what could possibly be the last evening of Ramadan, the month of fasting in which the faithful refrain from eating or drinking from sunrise to sunset. It had not been a particularly harsh twenty-nine days this year, as the month had fallen between the long and thirsty days of summer and the shorter and far more pleasant winter fasts. Still, even the most pious of the small city hoped the sighting of a new moon would end the month and bring the festivities of Eid-alFitr one day early. It was with this hope that many came out into the pleasant evening air to gather around the Grand Mosque, which had once been a palace, to watch the imam peer up into the sky in search of the new moon. With its white marble walls that glowed under the last rays of the setting sun, the mosque was a majestic building with domes and minarets that dwarfed every other structure in the city. The massive central structure had a door as tall as five fully grown men standing on each other's shoulders and was carved with intricate geometric shapes. The two wings of the mosque curved outward at the back corners and the ends of the wings tapered gracefully into a large wall overlooking a huge courtyard open to the clear evening sky. The conditions were excellent for a moon sighting. The sky was completely free of clouds and the imam, standing on the central tower, could see all the way to the horizon with perfect visibility. It was a spectacular sight as the soft tones of twilight encompassed the entirety of the city of Medina'tul-Agham and spread down the shallow eastern side of the hill to the plains. The long central road of the empire, known as the Trader's Way, provided a natural boundary for the city as it wound its way across the slowly rolling expanse for miles. Beyond this, dark mountains rich in mineral wealth, which had once provided the economic sustenance of the city, lay silent and still as if they, too, wanted to hear what the imam would proclaim. On a balcony halfway up the mosque, the hook-nosed and sharp-eyed captain of the guard leaned on the railing and peered at the crowd, more than a thousand strong, to ensure his guardsmen were standing to attention. His gaze swept across the festive atmosphere as the city's labourers, crafters, merchants, scribes, traders, and farmers mingled easily with one another and their families around the circular reflecting pool at the centre of the courtyard. He allowed himself a small measure of satisfaction. There was no hint of conflict or discord. At ground level, the attention of the people in the crowd was split between the spire where the imam was gazing up at the sky and the many small stalls that had sprung up at the edges of the courtyard. Some of the more entrepreneurial of the city merchants had decided there was no reason not to take advantage of the flurry of activity on the first night of Eid. They brought their wares up the hill, in wagons or on their backs, and set up small booths in hopes of tempting the good people of the city into starting the festivities just a little bit early. A multitude of lanterns decorated in angular shapes were filled with scented oil and lit, easing the hearts of the people even as they loosened the strings of their coin purses. There were carts full of trinkets and toys doing brisk trade. Blankets arranged neatly on the ground displayed jewellery and bundles of decorated cloth that were being scrutinized by potential customers as gifts for family and friends. Some of the older men and women reclined on cushions spread in a circle on sturdy rugs while a shopkeeper bustled about, taking orders for honey drinks and date pastries. Business was good for the snacks, despite competition from the mosque volunteers handing out water and dates for free. Even if Eid did not come this night, there was still the breaking of the fast to celebrate when the sun finally set. On the tower, the imam could feel the crowd's restlessness below. It would be disappointing to let them down, but the rules of the lunar Islamic calendar were clear -- the month and its fasts could only end on the twenty-ninth day with the sighting of the new moon. The time for the evening prayer was fast approaching and, with a final glance, the imam decided the people would have to be informed that God, in all his wisdom, had decided that Ramadan would run for its full thirty days this year. Just as the imam's gaze turned down to deliver the disappointing news to the waiting throng, a flash of silver caught her eye. It was the youngest new moon she had ever seen, barely a sliver of a white curve set against the deepening blue of the evening sky. She leaned a little dangerously over the parapet to confirm what she was seeing and then nodded as a smile spread across her weathered face. Holding her arm out with palms upturned, she murmured a quick prayer of thanks. In a clear, strong voice, Imam Fatima called out the news, "Praise be to God. The new moon is sighted. The holy month of Ramadan has ended. May he accept all your fasts and prayers of the past month as we give thanks for the joyful days of Eid." The crowd erupted in delight. The laughter and shouts of the people rose up past the stoic man on the balcony, past the smiling woman on the spire, and higher to the heavens as the city of Agham celebrated. Men slapped each other on the back and embraced, women hugged, and children were picked up and tossed in the air with joy. Even the guardsmen relaxed and smiled as the outpouring of emotion flooded over them all. Older children took off running through the courtyard gates and down the hill to carry the good news home. Windows and doors were thrown open as people came out to confirm, and the jubilation rippled out into a widening circle until it covered the entire city. "Praise be to God! The holy month of Ramadan has ended, and Eid has come!" Excerpted from Under the Full and Crescent Moon by Aamir Hussain All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
