The Barqaʿīd Maqāmah: A Missing Slip, a Silver Coin and Abū Zayd Revealed

1. A forgotten slip opens a new mystery

«فَلَمْ تَعُجْ إِلَى بُقْعَتِي»
She did not return to my spot.

The woman had collected donations but left one written slip behind. That small oversight moves the story into a new incident. Ruqʿah is a written slip and buqʿah a place; their similar sounds create deliberate verbal play.

2. Returning in disappointment

«بَاكِيَةً لِلْحِرْمَانِ، شَاكِيَةً تَحَامُلَ الزَّمَانِ»
She returned weeping over deprivation and complaining of the cruelty of her times.

The attendant returns to the elder visibly distressed. Bākiyah (weeping) and shākiyah (complaining) function as circumstantial descriptions. Their parallel endings make the prose rhythmical, while the two verbs reveal different aspects of her disappointment.

3. The elder’s words of resignation

«إِنَّا لِلَّهِ وَأُفَوِّضُ أَمْرِي إِلَى اللَّهِ»
We belong to God, and I entrust my affair to God.

On hearing of the loss, the elder first invokes religious trust, then turns to a poem of complaint. Ufawwiḍu is the first-person imperfect of form II, meaning “I entrust.” The shift from invocation to poetic lament is part of the scene’s dramatic progression.

4. No faithful companion remains

«لَمْ يَبْقَ صَافٍ وَلَا مُصَافٍ»
Neither a sincere person nor a sincere companion remains.

The paired words lament the apparent absence of sincere relationships. Ṣāfin suggests purity of intention, and muṣāfin a person who deals with another sincerely. This is the speaker’s emotional complaint, not a universal claim that everyone is untrustworthy.

5. Sound play in muʿīn

«وَلَا مُعِينٍ وَلَا مَعِينٍ»
Neither a helper nor a flowing spring of generosity remains.

Muʿīn means a helper, while maʿīn means water flowing openly across the ground. In this poetic setting, running water evokes a generous companion. The near-identical written forms have distinct vowel patterns and meanings, creating precise wordplay.

6. A bitter close to the couplet

«فَلَا أَمِينٌ وَلَا ثَمِينٌ»
Neither a trustworthy person nor anything valuable remains.

Amīn describes someone trustworthy; thamīn means valuable or precious. The rhyme unites a moral judgment and a judgment of material worth. The elder’s lament therefore moves between broken trust and lost possessions.

7. Hope and count the slips

«مَنِّي النَّفْسَ وَعِدِيهَا وَاجْمَعِي الرِّقَاعَ وَعُدِّيهَا»
Give yourself hope and promises, and gather and count the written slips.

Two pairs of commands structure the line. ʿIdīhā means “promise it,” whereas ʿuddīhā means “count them.” The vowel and consonant doubling matter. Both are feminine singular imperatives addressed to the woman, and their closeness of sound forms effective wordplay.

ExpressionMeaning
ʿIdīhāPromise it
ʿUddīhāCount them

8. One slip is missing

«فَوَجَدْتُ يَدَ الضَّيَاعِ قَدْ غَالَتْ إِحْدَى الرِّقَاعِ»
I found that the hand of loss had taken one of the slips.

When she recounts the slips, one has disappeared. The “hand of loss” personifies loss as an agent capable of taking something. This is an instance of personification/metaphorical expression. The literal event is simply that one written slip cannot be found.

9. A sharp rebuke

«تَعْسًا لَكِ يَا لَكَعُ»
Woe to you, foolish one!

The elder’s voice turns from lament to anger. Taʿsan expresses misfortune or an imprecation, and yā marks direct address. The exchange reveals character and tension; his harsh speech is part of the narrative, not an endorsed model of conduct.

10. The attendant crosses the narrator’s path

«قَرَنْتُ بِالرُّقْعَةِ دِرْهَمًا وَقِطْعَةً»
I added a dirham and a piece to the slip.

When the woman comes within reach, al-Ḥārith presents the written slip with a small financial offer. Qarantu means “I joined,” dirham refers to a silver coin, and qiṭʿah to a piece or portion. The payment is an incentive for an answer about the elder’s identity.

11. An offer centered on the shining coin

«إِنْ رَغِبْتِ فِي الْمَشُوفِ الْمُعَلَّمِ»
If you desire the polished, marked coin.

In introduces a condition, and raghibti is a past-tense verb addressed to one woman. Al-mashūf suggests something polished or made bright, and al-muʿallam something bearing a mark. The coin is described so as to heighten its appeal.

12. The condition: disclose the secret

«فَبُوحِي بِالسِّرِّ الْمُبْهَمِ»
Then disclose the hidden secret.

Būḥī is a feminine singular command from the root b-w-ḥ, “to disclose.” Mubham refers to something still obscure. The narrator’s request is more than a casual question: he suspects that the poems and the elder’s hidden identity belong to a larger pattern.

13. The dirham as a full moon

«فَمَالَتْ إِلَى اسْتِخْلَاصِ الْبَدْرِ التَّمِّ»
She inclined to secure the full moon.

Badr tamm literally means the full moon, but here refers to the shining silver coin. The metaphor presents a small payment as visually splendid. The wording does not say the dirham is *like* a moon; it directly calls the coin a moon.

14. Stop debating and ask

«دَعْ جِدَالَكَ وَسَلْ عَمَّا بَدَا لَكَ»
Leave your disputation and ask what you wish.

The woman takes control of the exchange once the coin is in view. Daʿ (“leave”) and sal (“ask”) are masculine singular imperatives addressed to al-Ḥārith. Their brevity speeds up the dialogue and gives her reply an assured, almost playful tone.

15. What exactly does the narrator ask?

«فَاسْتَطْلَعْتُهَا طَلْعَ الشَّيْخِ وَبَلْدَتَهُ»
I asked her about the elder’s identity and his home town.

Istaṭlaʿa is a form X verb meaning to seek information or discover what is hidden. The narrator asks who the elder is and where he comes from. Personal details and place of origin together give a stronger clue than a name alone.

16. Who wove the poem?

«وَالشِّعْرَ وَنَاسِجَ بُرْدَتِهِ»
And about the poetry and the one who wove its cloak.

Nāsij literally means a weaver. The verse treats poetry as a woven cloak: just as cloth requires skillful arrangement of threads, poetry requires a crafted arrangement of words, metre, and imagery. The metaphor visualizes literary craftsmanship.

17. The clue: Sarūj

«إِنَّ الشَّيْخَ مِنْ أَهْلِ سَرُوجَ»
The elder is one of the people of Sarūj.

When the woman names Sarūj, al-Ḥārith receives a significant clue. Earlier encounters make the town suggest Abū Zayd al-Sarūjī, but a clue is not yet identification. The expression min ahl means belonging to the people of a place or group.

18. The poetry is richly woven

«وَهُوَ الَّذِي وَشَى الشِّعْرَ الْمَنْسُوجَ»
He is the one who embroidered the woven poetry.

Washā means to decorate or embroider, while mansūj means woven. Together they extend the textile metaphor: the poet first weaves the composition, then ornaments it. The answer corroborates the elder’s literary skill as well as his origin.

19. She disappears like a hawk and an arrow

«ثُمَّ خَطَفَتِ الدِّرْهَمَ خَطْفَةَ الْبَاشِقِ»
Then she snatched the dirham like a hawk swooping upon its prey.

Khaṭf means snatching swiftly, and bāshiq denotes a hunting bird. After disclosing the information, the attendant immediately takes the payment. The expression turns a quick hand movement into an image of a bird striking its prey.

20. The arrow that escapes the bow

«وَمَرَقَتْ مُرُوقَ السَّهْمِ الرَّاشِقِ»
She darted away like a swiftly shot arrow.

Maraqa means to pass out or dart through rapidly; sahm is an arrow. The hawk image describes seizing the coin; the arrow image describes departing at speed. Two similes give the scene a strong sense of movement.

21. Could the elder be Abū Zayd?

«فَخَلَجَ قَلْبِي أَنَّ أَبَا زَيْدٍ هُوَ الْمُشَارُ إِلَيْهِ»
It occurred to me that the person indicated might be Abū Zayd.

Khalaja qalbī suggests a thought stirring in the heart. The place-name Sarūj, literary skill, and familiar style point toward Abū Zayd. Yet at this moment it is a suspicion; certainty requires seeing the person clearly.

22. Choosing not to push through the crowd

«إِلَّا بِتَخَطِّي رِقَابِ الْجَمْعِ»
Except by stepping over the people in the crowd.

Al-Ḥārith wants to approach the elder immediately, but the gathering is crowded. He avoids forcing his way across people and disturbing them. This creates a moral contrast between satisfying personal curiosity and respecting those around him.

23. Patience is part of discernment

«وَجَعَلْتُ شَخْصَهُ قَيْدَ عِيَانِي»
I kept his figure constantly within sight.

The narrator waits instead of disrupting the assembly. He keeps the elder in view until the sermon ends. Qayd ʿiyānī pictures vision as a bond that holds the figure in place, conveying attention, patience, and suspense.

24. A familiar face confirmed

«وَفِرَاسَتِي فِرَاسَةُ إِيَاسٍ»
And my discernment was like that of Iyās.

Once the sermon concludes, the narrator approaches and looks carefully at the man’s face; suspicion becomes recognition. Firāsah is keen discernment from signs. Iyās is a figure proverbially associated with penetrating judgment in Arabic literary tradition, so the comparison underscores al-Ḥārith’s success.

25. Hospitality after recognition

«وَآثَرْتُهُ بِأَحَدِ قُمُصِي، وَأَهَبْتُ بِهِ إِلَى قُرْصِي»
I gave him one of my shirts and invited him to share my food.

Recognition leads to hospitality rather than interrogation alone. Āthartuhu conveys preferring or favouring another, while qurṣ denotes a round loaf or portion of bread. The identity mystery is resolved for the narrator; the ensuing conversation remains for the next lesson.