Post by David on Aug 26, 2005 17:31:07 GMT -5
Life without Honor is meaningless[/b]
The pursuit of honor—and the prestige it brings—is a driving force behind the life of every Zakharan. For many, there is no greater cause. Even to a city dweller, money and power mean nothing if they are attained at the expense of one’s honor.
In its broadest sense, honor is the embodiment of all that is good—such as honesty, kindness, and forgiveness. Honorable men and women keep their word when it’s given. They are generous, offering sustenance to those who are poor, lending protection to those who are weak. They are faithful to their friends and loyal to their families. Men show their strength and bravery in battle; women display their courage in the face of hardship. Both must be virtuous and free of shame.
To a foreigner, the Zakharan concept of honor may appear complex. To a Zakharan, nothing could be simpler. Honor is as natural and as necessary as breathing, and its badge, for better or worse, is as inescapable as death.
Every action, large or small, serves either to enhance or erode one’s honor. Moreover, every deed colors the honor of an individual’s family. Honor and kinship are closely entwined. If a man acts dishonorably, his offense may create a stain upon his family’s honor that will be remembered for generations to come. The same, of course, would hold true for a dishonorable woman.
Honor is closely guarded. For every insult to a person’s honor, restitution must be made. If the insult is small, a simple apology may suffice. But to steal or injure with intention, to kill without justification—these are grave offenses. They can ruin the honor of the offender as well as that of the offender’s family. Moreover, these crimes assault the honor of the victim and the victim’s family, too. The graver the offense, the greater the required restitution—and the harsher the punishment.
If, for example, a woman in this fantasy world should be caught stealing, she may lose part of her hand; at the very least, she will be forced to make a humiliating public apology and to offer money or livestock to her victims. If a man kills another without just cause, then the victim’s family has the right to demand the offender’s death—or to kill him themselves—in lieu of monetary compensation. In all likelihood, the offender’s family will eliminate the offender themselves. When a crime is severe, only the death of the dishonorable person can erase the stain upon his or her family’s honor. In effect, the family must “cut out the offending part” before the honor of the whole can be restored.
Aside from murder, only one crime is great enough to warrant punishment by death: amorous impropriety. Contrary to popular belief among foreigners, no honorable desert warrior would ride off with his enemy’s screaming wife—even in the midst of a feverish camel raid. (Such raids, incidentally, are not considered stealing.) Nor would he ride off with his enemy’s unwed daughter unless a marriage were to be arranged somehow. In fact, if a desert raider were to return to his camp after committing such a crime, his brothers might strike him down on the spot—thereby sparing the family honor.
Women are the usual target when accusations of impropriety are made. Men are by no means exempt, however, as this common parable illustrates. In every Zakharan settlement, children approaching adolescence hear a story about a girl from a “distant village” who fell prey to temptation. The names in the story change at the teller’s whim, but we’ll call the girl “Maneira.”
Maneira was promised in marriage to her first cousin on her father’s side (a customary practice in Zakhara as well as the most common marriage pattern of 21st Century Earth, aka Cross-Cousin marriage). Unfortunately for all, she fell in love with a young herdsman. Struck by madness, she went to meet him one night. When news of her indiscretion reached her brother, Hasim, he immediately sought her out and plunged his dagger into her heart, as if to banish the evil spirits that had lead her astray. Hasim was a devoted brother who loved his sister dearly; he took no pleasure in this deed. But killing Maneira was his duty. Had he not done it, then it would have been his cousin’s right. By slaying her himself, Hasim had done more to repair his family’s honor.
The story is not finished until the fate of the herdsman is known. After killing his sister, Hasim looked for the boy who had wrought such shame and torment. It was Hasim’s right to demand the shepherd’s death—and to kill the dastard himself if need be. The herder’s father had already learned of his son’s impropriety. Like Maneira, the boy was killed by a member of his own family. Retaining honor can be a very bloody, sorrowful business.
The punishment for impropriety is not always as severe as the story demonstrates, however. In reality, Maneira and the boy might have been allowed to flee into the desert, and simply be banished from their families. In effect, however, they would still be dead to the families they dearly loved.
In some larger towns, a test of Fate and the gods’ grace is considered suitable punishment. For example, a boy was once placed in well for 40 days, while his paramour was placed in another. Each day, they received only a little coffee and a few dates. The girl survived; the boy did not. This was considered proof that the girl had benefitted from a holy grace, and her punishment was complete. So, too, was the boy’s.
The Blood Fued
No discussion of honor would be complete without mention of the blood feud. To kill another person is not a crime if that killing is justified. What constitutes justification? Not even Zakharans can always agree. A blood feud is a battle between two groups that begins when one side believes a killing is justified, and the other, having lost one of its own, disagrees. Soon, they are both caught in a vicious cycle, exacting one vengeful killing after another, with each side attempting to balance the scales. The feud may not end until an objective third party arranges a monetary settlement between the two groups, allowing each group to feel that its honor has been properly restored.
A blood feud usually erupts between two nomadic families or clans, but even entire villages have become embroiled in this deadly conflict.
A man without a family is not a man.[/b]
To Zakharans, a family is precious and irreplaceable. Even in the afterlife, a family remains intact, proving its strength as well as its importance. Material wealth is transient, but the bonds of blood are eternal.
Each person exists within the circle of his or her immediate family, which spans all surviving generations. That family, in turn, lies within a larger circle of cousins and uncles and aunts. Beyond that lies a third circle of relatives, one step removed, and then a fourth, like the rings which form around a pebble tossed into a pool. These circles create a person’s identity. Man or woman, boy or girl, an individual is nothing without the group. The rights of the family, therefore, must supersede the rights of any single person within it.
Zakharan families are typically lead by men. A father is in charge of his unwed daughters, his sons, and the families of his sons. In the villages, a son often lives with his father in the paternal home until he is well past 30 years of age. If he marries, his wife joins the crowded household and becomes part of her husband’s circles. Although the new bride’s position has officially changed, her brothers often continue to watch over her. If she divorces, she will return to her immediate family, taking up residence with her parents or siblings. Blood ties can never be broken.
Zakharans value large families, and they welcome the birth of each child. Eventually, of course, a paternal home can hold no more people. When space becomes scarce and a family can afford to build a new dwelling, a son will leave his paternal home and start anew. Rarely will he leave his ancestral village or city, however.
In the desert, tents replace houses, but the customs are similar. A nomadic patriarch typically has the largest tent among members of his immediate circle. He resides with his wife (or, on occasion, his wives) and his unmarried children. His married sons live in smaller tents, which are nearly always pitched nearby.
Because blood ties are so important, loyalty to one’s family is tantamount to Zakharan law. First and foremost, a man’s loyalty is to his immediate family. As noted before, his actions, for better or worse, will help define the honor of that family. A woman follows the same code. Loyalty next goes to the larger circle. If, for example, a man is wronged and asks for help, his cousins are honor-bound to assist him, provided their actions would in no way dishonor their immediate families.
Honor and kinship are two golden threads in the fabric of Zakharan life. Without either, the fabric unravels.
- Zakharan proverb
The pursuit of honor—and the prestige it brings—is a driving force behind the life of every Zakharan. For many, there is no greater cause. Even to a city dweller, money and power mean nothing if they are attained at the expense of one’s honor.
In its broadest sense, honor is the embodiment of all that is good—such as honesty, kindness, and forgiveness. Honorable men and women keep their word when it’s given. They are generous, offering sustenance to those who are poor, lending protection to those who are weak. They are faithful to their friends and loyal to their families. Men show their strength and bravery in battle; women display their courage in the face of hardship. Both must be virtuous and free of shame.
To a foreigner, the Zakharan concept of honor may appear complex. To a Zakharan, nothing could be simpler. Honor is as natural and as necessary as breathing, and its badge, for better or worse, is as inescapable as death.
Every action, large or small, serves either to enhance or erode one’s honor. Moreover, every deed colors the honor of an individual’s family. Honor and kinship are closely entwined. If a man acts dishonorably, his offense may create a stain upon his family’s honor that will be remembered for generations to come. The same, of course, would hold true for a dishonorable woman.
Honor is closely guarded. For every insult to a person’s honor, restitution must be made. If the insult is small, a simple apology may suffice. But to steal or injure with intention, to kill without justification—these are grave offenses. They can ruin the honor of the offender as well as that of the offender’s family. Moreover, these crimes assault the honor of the victim and the victim’s family, too. The graver the offense, the greater the required restitution—and the harsher the punishment.
If, for example, a woman in this fantasy world should be caught stealing, she may lose part of her hand; at the very least, she will be forced to make a humiliating public apology and to offer money or livestock to her victims. If a man kills another without just cause, then the victim’s family has the right to demand the offender’s death—or to kill him themselves—in lieu of monetary compensation. In all likelihood, the offender’s family will eliminate the offender themselves. When a crime is severe, only the death of the dishonorable person can erase the stain upon his or her family’s honor. In effect, the family must “cut out the offending part” before the honor of the whole can be restored.
Aside from murder, only one crime is great enough to warrant punishment by death: amorous impropriety. Contrary to popular belief among foreigners, no honorable desert warrior would ride off with his enemy’s screaming wife—even in the midst of a feverish camel raid. (Such raids, incidentally, are not considered stealing.) Nor would he ride off with his enemy’s unwed daughter unless a marriage were to be arranged somehow. In fact, if a desert raider were to return to his camp after committing such a crime, his brothers might strike him down on the spot—thereby sparing the family honor.
Women are the usual target when accusations of impropriety are made. Men are by no means exempt, however, as this common parable illustrates. In every Zakharan settlement, children approaching adolescence hear a story about a girl from a “distant village” who fell prey to temptation. The names in the story change at the teller’s whim, but we’ll call the girl “Maneira.”
Maneira was promised in marriage to her first cousin on her father’s side (a customary practice in Zakhara as well as the most common marriage pattern of 21st Century Earth, aka Cross-Cousin marriage). Unfortunately for all, she fell in love with a young herdsman. Struck by madness, she went to meet him one night. When news of her indiscretion reached her brother, Hasim, he immediately sought her out and plunged his dagger into her heart, as if to banish the evil spirits that had lead her astray. Hasim was a devoted brother who loved his sister dearly; he took no pleasure in this deed. But killing Maneira was his duty. Had he not done it, then it would have been his cousin’s right. By slaying her himself, Hasim had done more to repair his family’s honor.
The story is not finished until the fate of the herdsman is known. After killing his sister, Hasim looked for the boy who had wrought such shame and torment. It was Hasim’s right to demand the shepherd’s death—and to kill the dastard himself if need be. The herder’s father had already learned of his son’s impropriety. Like Maneira, the boy was killed by a member of his own family. Retaining honor can be a very bloody, sorrowful business.
The punishment for impropriety is not always as severe as the story demonstrates, however. In reality, Maneira and the boy might have been allowed to flee into the desert, and simply be banished from their families. In effect, however, they would still be dead to the families they dearly loved.
In some larger towns, a test of Fate and the gods’ grace is considered suitable punishment. For example, a boy was once placed in well for 40 days, while his paramour was placed in another. Each day, they received only a little coffee and a few dates. The girl survived; the boy did not. This was considered proof that the girl had benefitted from a holy grace, and her punishment was complete. So, too, was the boy’s.
The Blood Fued
No discussion of honor would be complete without mention of the blood feud. To kill another person is not a crime if that killing is justified. What constitutes justification? Not even Zakharans can always agree. A blood feud is a battle between two groups that begins when one side believes a killing is justified, and the other, having lost one of its own, disagrees. Soon, they are both caught in a vicious cycle, exacting one vengeful killing after another, with each side attempting to balance the scales. The feud may not end until an objective third party arranges a monetary settlement between the two groups, allowing each group to feel that its honor has been properly restored.
A blood feud usually erupts between two nomadic families or clans, but even entire villages have become embroiled in this deadly conflict.
A man without a family is not a man.[/b]
- Zakharan proverb
To Zakharans, a family is precious and irreplaceable. Even in the afterlife, a family remains intact, proving its strength as well as its importance. Material wealth is transient, but the bonds of blood are eternal.
Each person exists within the circle of his or her immediate family, which spans all surviving generations. That family, in turn, lies within a larger circle of cousins and uncles and aunts. Beyond that lies a third circle of relatives, one step removed, and then a fourth, like the rings which form around a pebble tossed into a pool. These circles create a person’s identity. Man or woman, boy or girl, an individual is nothing without the group. The rights of the family, therefore, must supersede the rights of any single person within it.
Zakharan families are typically lead by men. A father is in charge of his unwed daughters, his sons, and the families of his sons. In the villages, a son often lives with his father in the paternal home until he is well past 30 years of age. If he marries, his wife joins the crowded household and becomes part of her husband’s circles. Although the new bride’s position has officially changed, her brothers often continue to watch over her. If she divorces, she will return to her immediate family, taking up residence with her parents or siblings. Blood ties can never be broken.
Zakharans value large families, and they welcome the birth of each child. Eventually, of course, a paternal home can hold no more people. When space becomes scarce and a family can afford to build a new dwelling, a son will leave his paternal home and start anew. Rarely will he leave his ancestral village or city, however.
In the desert, tents replace houses, but the customs are similar. A nomadic patriarch typically has the largest tent among members of his immediate circle. He resides with his wife (or, on occasion, his wives) and his unmarried children. His married sons live in smaller tents, which are nearly always pitched nearby.
Because blood ties are so important, loyalty to one’s family is tantamount to Zakharan law. First and foremost, a man’s loyalty is to his immediate family. As noted before, his actions, for better or worse, will help define the honor of that family. A woman follows the same code. Loyalty next goes to the larger circle. If, for example, a man is wronged and asks for help, his cousins are honor-bound to assist him, provided their actions would in no way dishonor their immediate families.
Honor and kinship are two golden threads in the fabric of Zakharan life. Without either, the fabric unravels.
