Rouh Al Behhar: Spirit of the Sea

How many evenings had I spent here, where the restless waves kissed the sand beneath my feet, waiting for a silhouette on the horizon? Dubai’s skyline had risen around me like glass mountains in the last twenty years, yet my vigil had remained unchanged. Each sunset became a promise, each dawn a quiet disappointment, as I waited for my father’s return from the sea.

He was a pearl diver, a man whose breath held the weight of the ocean’s stories. My memories of him were fragments: the scent of salt clinging to his robe, the hush of his voice when he recited verses to calm my fears, the glint of pearls in his calloused hands. These memories were my inheritance, more precious than the ocean’s treasures. And so, I waited, believing in his return even as the tides pulled the days away from me.

Not everyone shared my hope. My uncles and their wives, voices heavy with resignation, told me at the Majlis today that I was clinging to a ghost. “Your father is gone,” they said, with pity and certainty. My mother’s eyes brimmed with tears, reflecting the setting sun’s final rays, and unable to contain the ache that bloomed within me, I fled the house, running to the shore.

The sea had taken him, but it was also the only place that soothed the storm inside me.

I knelt on the sand, hugging my knees, whispering prayers to the One above, prayers I had uttered every day since my father’s departure. My faith was vast, like the stars glittering above, yet shadows of doubt crept in. Was I a fool, as my aunts claimed? Was I waiting for a man who would never return?

Tears pricked my eyes, but I squeezed them shut, letting the sound of the waves lull me into a restless calm. In that moment, there was no hope or despair, only the pull of nothingness as the rhythmic breathing of the sea pulled me deeper into its quiet embrace.

Time slipped away, and when I opened my eyes, something was wrong. The waves had stilled, frozen in place like blue mountains, each crest halted mid-crash. Seagulls hovered in the air, suspended like smudges of ink across the amber sky.

Panic surged as I tried to stand, but my legs were numb, pinned by a cold that seeped into my bones. A prickling chill ran down my spine as a sound, soft yet distinct, broke the silence.

Splish. Splash. Splish. Splash.

A black dot appeared on the horizon, growing larger with each step it took upon the frozen sea. It became a silhouette—a tall woman in a flowing dress, her hair trailing behind her like seaweed caught in the current, moving with a life of its own.

She walked across the halted waves, disappearing behind one crest and reappearing on the next, moving towards me with purpose.

Splish. Splash.

As she drew near, I could see her clearly. She was like water held in a crystal vessel, the sunset’s glow shimmering through her translucent form. A golden headdress rested on her brow, framing a face of serene beauty, and her black hair floated as if underwater.

Fear gripped my heart as I tried again to rise, but it was no use. “What do you want from me?” I whispered, my voice breaking.

She smiled, a soft curve that brought the scent of rain-soaked earth. Her eyes were deep and calm, reflecting the twilight like twin moons. “There is a sadness within you, child, as deep as the sea,” she said, her voice a melody that seemed to blend with the hush of the frozen world. “What burdens your heart so heavily?”

I lowered my gaze, unable to answer, but she stepped closer, leaving damp footprints that glistened on the sand, water trickling from her as if she were part of the sea itself. She lifted my chin with a cool finger, and our eyes met.

“I am Rouh Al Behhar, Spirit of the Sea,” she whispered. “I speak the language of the wind and waves. Perhaps I can bring news of the one you seek, or perhaps… something more.”

My fear was a knot, but hope flared within me. “I want to see my father,” I blurted, tears threatening. “No, I want him to return. If you truly command the sea, please, bring him home.”

She brushed away a tear that had dared to fall, her touch cool and comforting. She turned to the ocean, the frozen waves glinting under the last light. “It is within my power,” she said softly, “but there is a price.”

“What do you want?” I asked, bracing myself.

“Your tears,” she replied. “All of them. For the rest of your life.”

Confusion crossed my face. “My tears?”

“You will never shed tears again, not of joy, nor of sorrow. We, the spirits of the sea, live on the essence of human tears, as you live on bread and water. This is my price.”

I stood, finally finding strength in my legs, and met her gaze. “If that is what it takes, I will give you every tear I have left.”

A gentle smile spread across her face. “Well said, child.” She extended her hand, and a swirl of mist gathered, forming into a bow of white pearl with a black string glistening like the depths of the sea.

“This is the Bow of Noor,” she said. “Its string is spun from my hair. Take this arrow,” she continued, producing a slender arrow of the same shimmering pearl. “Shoot it towards the setting sun with faith in your heart, and your father will return if he still walks the world.”

I took the bow, the weight light yet immense in my hands, and nocked the arrow. Pulling it back, I aimed for the glowing horizon, whispering a prayer as I released it. The arrow flew, a silver streak against the fading sky, until it vanished into the twilight.

The bow dissolved in my hands, and the world around me shuddered back to life. The waves crashed, the birds soared, and the sea breathed once more. A great wave rolled over Rouh Al Behhar, drenching me with its cold spray, and as it retreated, she was gone.

Days later, a ship was seen near the shore, battered but intact. My father stood on its deck, his face older but his eyes the same, searching the shoreline. I ran to him, his arms wrapping around me, holding me close as I felt his heartbeat against mine.

I was happy, but as I pulled back, I realized that not a single tear had fallen, even in this moment of joy.

My wish had been granted.

Moral of the Story:

Be mindful of what you offer for what you seek. Some wishes, even when fulfilled, come with prices you can only understand when it is too late.