<h3><SPAN name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></SPAN>CHAPTER III</h3>
<h4>OUR VISIT TO RUFA'A</h4>
<p>During the time that we spent at Ali we had numerous visitors.
The first day came five camels with two riders apiece,
and a train of donkeys, bringing rich pearl merchants from
the capital; these sat in a circle and complacently drank
our coffee and ate our mixed biscuits, without in any way
troubling us, having apparently come for no other object
than to get this slender refreshment.</p>
<p>Next day came Sheikh Mohammed, a young man of seventeen,
a nephew of Sheikh Esau, who was about to wed his
uncle's daughter, and was talked of as the heir-apparent to the
throne; he was all gorgeous in a white embroidered robe,
red turban, and head rings bound in royal gold. He played
with our pistols with covetous eyes, ate some English cake,
having first questioned the bazaar-master as to the orthodoxy
of its ingredients, and then he promised us a visit next day.</p>
<p>He came on the morrow, on a beautifully caparisoned
horse, with red trappings and gold tassels. He brought
with him many followers and announced his intention of
passing the day with us, rather to our distress; but we were
appeased by the present of a fat lamb with one of those large
bushy tails which remind one forcibly of a lady's bustle, and
suggests that the ingenious milliner who invented these
atrocities must have taken for her pattern an Eastern sheep.
This day 'Prince' Mohammed handled the revolver more
covetously than ever, and got so far as exchanging his<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_31" id="Page_31"></SPAN>[<SPAN href="./images/31.png">31</SPAN>]</span>
scarlet embroidered case, with red silk belt and silver buckle,
for my leathern one.</p>
<p>Sheikh Mohammed was very anxious to see how I could
shoot with my revolver, so a brown pot containing about
half a pint of water was put on a lump of rock as a mark.
I was terrified; for I knew if I missed, as I surely expected,
I should bring great discredit on myself and my nation, and
there was such a crowd! My husband said I must try, and
I am sure no one was more astonished than I was that I
shattered the pot. If I had not it would have been said that
I only carried the revolver for show.</p>
<p>That afternoon a great cavalcade of gazelle huntsmen
called upon us. The four chief men of these had each a
hooded falcon on his arm, and a tawny Persian greyhound,
with long silky tail, at his side. They wore their sickle-like
daggers in their waistbands; their bodies were enveloped in
long cloaks, and their heads in white cloths bound round
with the camel-hair straps; they were accompanied by
another young scion of the El Khalifa family, who bestrode
a white Arab steed with the gayest possible trappings. Thus
was this young prince attired: on his head a cashmere kerchief
with gold akkal; he was almost smothered in an
orange cloth gown trimmed with gold and lined with green,
the sleeves of which were very long, cut open at the ends and
trimmed; over this robe was cast a black cloth cloak
trimmed with gold on the shoulders, and a richly inlaid
sword dangled at his side, almost as big as himself, for he
was but an undersized boy of fifteen. The sportsmen made
a very nice group for our photography, as did almost everything
around us on Bahrein.</p>
<p>Any excavator would have lost patience with the men of
Bahrein with whom we had to deal; tickets had to be issued
to prevent more men working than were wanted, and claiming
pay at the end of the day; ubiquity was essential, for they<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_32" id="Page_32"></SPAN>[<SPAN href="./images/32.png">32</SPAN>]</span>
loved to get out of sight and do nothing; with unceasing
regularity the pipe went round and they paused for a 'drink'
at the bubble-bubble, as the Arabs express it; morning, noon-tide,
and evening prayers were, I am sure, unnecessarily
long. Accidents would happen, which alarmed us at first,
until we learnt how ready they were to cry wolf: one man
was knocked over by a stone; we thought by his contortions
some limb must be broken, and we applied vaseline, our only
available remedy, to the bruise; his fellow-workmen then
seized him by the shoulders, he keeping his arms crossed the
while, shook him well 'to put the bones right again,' as they
expressed it, and he continued his work as before.</p>
<p>The bazaar-master and the policeman would come and
frantically seize a tool, and work for a few seconds with
herculean vigour by way of example, which was never
followed. 'Yallah!' 'hurry on' (<i>i.e.</i> Oh God); 'Marhabbah!'
'very good,' the men would cry, and they would sing and
scream with a vigour that nearly drove us wild. But for the
occasional application of a stick by the bazaar-master and
great firmness, we should have got nothing out of them but
noise.</p>
<p>One day we had a mutiny because my husband dismissed
two men who came very late; the rest refused
to work, and came dancing round us, shouting and
brandishing spades. One had actually got hold of a naked
sword, which weapon I did not at all like, and I was
thankful 'Prince' Mohammed had not yet got the revolver.
For some time they continued this wild weird dance, consigning
us freely to the lower regions as they danced, and
then they all went away, so that the bazaar-master had to be
sent in search of other and more amenable men. Evidently
Sheikh Esau, when he entrusted us to the charge of the
bazaar-master and sent policemen with us, was afraid of
something untoward happening. Next day we heard that<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_33" id="Page_33"></SPAN>[<SPAN href="./images/33.png">33</SPAN>]</span>
his majesty was coming in person with his tents to encamp
in our vicinity, and I fancy we were in more danger
from those men than we realised at the moment, fanned as
they are into hatred of the infidel by the fanatical Wahabi;
thirty years ago, I was told, no infidel could have ventured
into the centre of Bahrein with safety.</p>
<p>Another important visitor came on Saturday in the
shape of Sheikh Khallet, a cousin of the ruling chief, with
a retinue of ten men, from Rufa'a, an inland village. We sat
for awhile on our heels in rows, conversing and smiling, and
finally accepted an invitation from Sheikh Khallet to visit
him at his village, and make a little tour over the island.
Accordingly, on Sunday morning we started, accompanied
by the bazaar-master, for Rufa'a, and we were not a little
relieved to get away before Sheikh Esau was upon us, and
escape the formalities which his royal presence in our midst
would have necessitated.</p>
<p>We had an exceedingly hot ride of it, and the wind was
so high that our position on our donkeys was rendered even
more precarious than usual. The desert sand whirled around
us: we shut our eyes, tied down our hats, and tried to be
patient; for miles our road led through the tumuli of those
mysterious dead, who once in their thousands must have
peopled Bahrein; their old wells are still to be seen in the
desert, and evidences of a cultivation which has long ago
disappeared. As we approached the edge of this vast necropolis
the mounds grew less and less, until mere heaps of
stones marked the spot where a dead man lay, and then we
saw before us the two villages of Rufa'a. Of these, one is
known as Rufa'a Shergeh, or South-western Rufa'a; the
other, which belongs to the young Prince Mohammed, is
called Rufa'a Jebeli. The Rufa'a are much older than
Moharek, or Manamah; they are fortified with castellated
walls of mud brick. Many of the El Khalifa family reside<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_34" id="Page_34"></SPAN>[<SPAN href="./images/34.png">34</SPAN>]</span>
here in comfortable houses. South-western Rufa'a is quite
a big place, and as our arrival became known all the village
turned out to see us. The advent of an English lady
among them was something too excessively novel: even
close-veiled women forgot their prudery, and peered out
from their blue coverings, screaming with laughter, and
pointing as they screamed to the somewhat appalled object
of their mirth. 'Hade bibi!' ('there goes the lady'),
shouted they again and again. No victorious potentate ever
had a more triumphant entry into his capital than the
English 'bibi' had on entering South-western Rufa'a.</p>
<p>Sheikh Khallet was ready to receive us in his <i>kahwa</i> or
reception-room, furnished solely by strips of matting and a
camel-hair rug with coarse embroidery on it; two pillows
were produced for us, and Arabs squatted on the matting all
round the wall, for it was Sheikh Khallet's morning reception,
or <i>majilis</i>, just then, and we were the lions of the
occasion. Our host, we soon learnt, rather to our dismay,
was a most rigid ascetic—a Wahabi to the backbone. He
allows of no internal decorations in his house; no smoking
is allowed, no wine, only perpetual coffee and perpetual
prayers; our prospects were not of the most brilliant. Some
of the Wahabi think even coffee wrong. After a while all
the company left, and Sheikh Khallet intimated to us that
the room was now our own. Two more large pillows were
brought, and rugs were laid down; as for the rest we were
dependent on our own very limited resources. We had
brought our own sheets with us.</p>
<p class="figcenter"><SPAN href="./images/ill-04.jpg"><ANTIMG src="./images/ill-04_th.jpg" alt="THE INTERIOR OF SHEIKH SABA'S HOUSE AT RUFA'A, BAHREIN" title="THE INTERIOR OF SHEIKH SABA'S HOUSE AT RUFA'A, BAHREIN" /></SPAN></p>
<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">The Interior of Sheikh Saba's House at Rufa'a, Bahrein</span></p>
<p>Sheikh Saba, who had married Sheikh Khallet's sister,
was a great contrast to our host; he had been in Bombay
and had imbibed in his travels a degree of worldliness which
ill became a Wahabi. He had filled his house, to which he
took us, with all sorts of baubles—gilt looking-glasses hanging
on the walls; coloured glass balls in rows and rows up to the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_35" id="Page_35"></SPAN>[<SPAN href="./images/35.png">35</SPAN>]</span>
ceiling, each on a little looking-glass; lovely pillows and
carpets, Zanzibar date baskets, Bombay inlaid chests, El
Hasa coffee-pots, and a Russian tea-urn—a truly marvellous
conglomeration of things, which produced on us a wonderful
sense of pleasure and repose after the bareness of our host's
abode. Sheikh Saba wore only his long white shirt and
turban, and so unconventional was he that he allowed his
consort to remain at one end of the room whilst my husband
was there.</p>
<p>The courtyards of these houses are architecturally
interesting: the Saracenic arch, the rosettes of open-work
stucco, the squares of the same material with intricate
patterns—great boons in a hot land to let in the air without
the sun. There is also another contrivance for obtaining air;
in building the house a niche three feet wide is left in the
outer wall, closed in on the inner side except for about a foot.
It is funny to see the heads of muffled women peering out
of these air-shafts, into which they have climbed to get an
undisturbed view. Here some of the women wear the
Arabian <i>buttra</i> or mask, which, while it hides their features,
gives their eyes full play. They are very inquisitive. Some
of the women one meets on Bahrein are highly picturesque
when you see them without the dark-blue covering.</p>
<p>I was fetched to one harem after the other, always
followed by a dense crowd, to the apparent annoyance of my
hostesses, who, however, seemed powerless to prevent the
intrusion. I saw one woman holding on to the top of the
door and standing on the shoulders of one who was squatting
on the floor. One good lady grew enraged at the invasion,
and threw a cup of hot coffee in an intruder's face.</p>
<p>In the afternoon we rode over to Mountainous (and, it
might be added, ruinous) Rufa'a.</p>
<p>It is built on a cliff, 50 feet above the lowest level of
the desert; from here there is a view over a wide, bleak<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_36" id="Page_36"></SPAN>[<SPAN href="./images/36.png">36</SPAN>]</span>
expanse of sand, occasionally relieved by an oasis, the
result of a well and irrigation, and beyond this the eye rests
on Jebel Dukhan, 'the mountain of mist,' which high-sounding
name has been given to a mass of rocks in the
centre of Bahrein, rising 400 feet above the plain, and
often surrounded by a sea-fog; for Bahrein, with its
low-lying land, is often in a mist. Some mornings on
rising early we looked out of our tent to find ourselves
enveloped in a perfect London fog—our clothes were soaking,
the sand on the floor of our tent was soft and adhesive;
then in an hour the bright orb of heaven would disperse all
this, for we were very far south indeed, on the coast of
Arabia. Alas! on arrival we found that our young friend
Sheikh Mohammed was out, for he had to be in attendance
on his uncle, Sheikh Esau, who had just arrived at his tent
near our encampment, and he had to provide all his uncle's
meals; we saw a donkey with a cauldron on its back
large enough to boil a sheep in, large copper trays, and many
other articles despatched for the delectation of the sovereign
and his retinue. Sheikh Mohammed's mother, quite a
queenly-looking woman, was busying herself about the
preparation of these things, and when she had finished she
invited us to go into the harem. My husband felt the
honour and confidence reposed in him exceedingly, but, alas!
all the women were veiled; all he could contemplate was
their lovely hands and feet dyed yellow with henna, their
rich red shirts, their aprons adorned with coins, their gold
bracelets and turquoise rings. However I assured him that
with one solitary exception he had lost nothing by not seeing
their faces. In one corner of the women's room was the biggest
bed I ever saw: it had eight posts, a roof, a fence, a gate, and
steps up to it; it is a sort of daïs, in fact, where they spread
their rugs and sleep, and high enough to lay beds under
it too. Occasionally we got a good peep at the women<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_37" id="Page_37"></SPAN>[<SPAN href="./images/37.png">37</SPAN>]</span>
as they were working in the fields, or cutting with semi-circular
saws the scrub that grows in the desert for their
cattle.</p>
<p>Half-way between the two Rufa'as we halted at a well,
the great point of concourse for the inhabitants of both
villages. It was evening, and around it were gathered
crowds of the most enchanting people in every possible
costume. Women and donkeys were groaning under the
weight of skins filled with water; men were engaged in filling
them, but it seems to be against the dignity of a male Arab
to carry anything. With the regularity of a steam crane the
woodwork of the well creaked and groaned with a sound like
a bagpipe, as the donkeys toiled up and down their slope,
bringing to the surface the skins of water. It was a truly
Arabian sight, with the desert all around us, and the little
garden hard by which Sheikh Saba cultivates with infinite
toil, having a weary contest with the surrounding sand
which invades his enclosure.</p>
<p>The sun was getting low when we returned to our bare
room at Sheikh Khallet's, and to our great contentment we
were left alone, for our day had been a busy one, and a
strain on our conversational powers. Our host handed us
over to the tender mercies of a black slave, Zamzam by
name, wonderfully skilled at cooking with a handful of
charcoal on circular stoves coloured red, and bearing a marked
resemblance to the altars of the Persian fire-worshippers.
He brought us in our dinner: first he spread a large round
mat of fine grass on the floor; in the centre of this he
deposited a washing basin filled with boiled rice and a bowl
of <i>ghi</i> or rancid grease to make it palatable; before us were
placed two tough chickens, a bowl of dates, and for drink we
had a bowl of milk with delicious fresh butter floating in it.
Several sheets of bread about the size and consistency of
bath towels were also provided, but no implements of any<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_38" id="Page_38"></SPAN>[<SPAN href="./images/38.png">38</SPAN>]</span>
kind to assist us in conveying these delicacies to our mouths.
With pieces of bread we scooped up the rice, with our
fingers we managed the rest, and we were glad no one was
looking on to witness our struggles save Zamzam with a
ewer of water, with which he washed us after the repast was
over, and then we put ourselves away for the night.</p>
<p>Very early next morning we were on the move for our
trip across the island. The journey would be too long for
donkeys, they said, so Sheikh Khallet mounted us on three of
his best camels, with lovely saddles of inlaid El Hasa work,
with two pommels, one in front and one behind, like little
pillars, capped and inlaid with silver. We—that is to say my
husband and I and the bazaar-master—ambled along at a
pretty smart pace across the desert in the direction of a
fishing village called Asker, on the east coast of the island,
near which were said to exist ancient remains; these, of
course, turned out to be myths, but the village was all that
could be desired in quaintness; the houses were all of bamboo,
and the floors strewn over with little white helix shells; in
one of them we were regaled with coffee, and found it
delicious after our hot ride; then we strolled along the
shore and marvelled at the bamboo skiffs, the curiously-fashioned
oars and water casks, the stone anchors, and other
primitive implements used by this seafaring race. The
bazaar-master would not let us tarry as long as we could
have wished, for he was anxious for us to arrive before the
midday heat at a rocky cave in the 'mountain of mist,' in
the centre of the island. We dismounted from our camels,
and proceeded to examine Jebel Dukhan, an escarped mass of
limestone rocks with rugged outline and deep caves. From
the gentle elevation of the misty mountain one gets a very
fair idea of the extent and character of Bahrein. The island
has been likened to a sheet of silver in a sea of pearl, but it
looked to us anything but silvery, and for all the world like<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_39" id="Page_39"></SPAN>[<SPAN href="./images/39.png">39</SPAN>]</span>
one of the native sheets of bread—oval and tawny. It is
said to be twenty-seven miles long and twelve wide at its
broadest point. From the clearness of the atmosphere and
the distinctness with which we saw the sea all around us,
it could not have been much more. There are many tiny
villages dotted about here and there, recognisable only by
their nest of palm trees and their strips of verdure. In the
dim distance, to our left, arose the mountains of Arabia;
beyond, the flat coast-line of El Hasa, encircling that wild,
mysterious land of Nejd, where the Wahabi dwell—a land
forbidden to the infidel globe-trotter.</p>
<p>Yet another sheikh of the El Khalifa family was
introduced to us, by name Abdullah; he owns the land
about here, and having been advised of our coming, had
prepared a repast for us, much on the lines of the one we
had had the evening before.</p>
<p>We much enjoyed our cool rest and repast in Abdullah's
cave, and for two hours or more our whole party lay stretched
on the ground courting slumber, whilst our camels grazed
around. Another sheikh was anxious to take us to his
house for the night, but we could not remain, as our work
demanded our return to camp that night, so we compromised
matters by taking coffee with him on a green oasis near his
house, under a blazing sun, without an atom of shade, and
without a thing against which to lean our tired backs. Then
we hurried back to Rufa'a, to take leave of our friend, Sheikh
Khallet, and started off late in the evening for our home.</p>
<p>Soon we came in sight of Sheikh Esau's tent; his
majesty was evidently expecting us, for by his side in the royal
tent were placed two high thrones, formed of camel saddles
covered with sheepskins, for us to sit upon, whilst his
Arabian majesty and his courtiers sat on the ground. As
many as could be accommodated sat round within the
walls of the tent. Those for whom there was no room inside<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_40" id="Page_40"></SPAN>[<SPAN href="./images/40.png">40</SPAN>]</span>
continued the line, forming a long loop which extended
for some yards outside the tent. Here all his nephews
and cousins were assembled. That gay youth Sheikh
Mohammed, on ordinary occasions as full of fun as an English
schoolboy, sat there in great solemnity, incapable of a smile
though I maliciously tried to raise one. When he came
next morning to visit us he was equally solemn, until his
uncle had left our tent; then his gaiety returned as if by
magic, and with it his covetousness for my pistol. Eventually
an exchange was effected, he producing a coffee-pot
and an inlaid bowl, which had taken our fancy, as the price.</p>
<p>On the surrounding desert a small gazelle is abundant.
One day we came across a cavalcade of Bahreini sportsmen,
who looked exceedingly picturesque in their flowing robes and
floating red kaffiehs, and riding gaily caparisoned horses, with
crimson trappings and gold tassels. Each had on his arm
a hooded falcon and by his side a Persian greyhound. When
the gazelle is sighted the falcon is let loose; it skims rapidly
along the ground, attacks the head of the animal, and so
confuses it that it falls an easy prey to the hounds in pursuit.
Albuquerque in his 'Commentaries' says: 'There are many
who hunt with falcons about the size of our goshawks, and take
by their aid certain creatures smaller than gazelles, training
very swift hounds to assist the falcon in catching the prey.'</p>
<p>In their ordinary life the Bahrein people still retain the
primitiveness of the Bedouin.</p>
<p>There are about fifty villages scattered over the islands, recognisable
from a distance by their patch of cultivation and
groups of date-palms. Except at Manamah and Moharek
they have little or nothing to do with the pearl fisheries, but
are an exceedingly industrious race of peasants who cultivate
the soil by means of irrigation from the numerous wells with
which the island is blessed. There are generally three to
six small wheels attached to the beam, which is across the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_41" id="Page_41"></SPAN>[<SPAN href="./images/41.png">41</SPAN>]</span>
well, over which the ropes of as many large leathern buckets
pass. When these buckets rise full they tilt themselves
over, the contents is then taken by little channels to a
reservoir which feeds the dykes, transferred thence to the
palms in buckets raised by the leverage of a date-trunk
lightly swung by ropes to a frame, and balanced at one end
by a basket of earth into which it is inserted; it is so light
to lift that women are generally employed in watering the
trees.</p>
<p>To manure their date-groves they use the fins of a
species of ray fish called <i>awwal</i>, steeped in water till they are
putrid; <i>awwal</i>, by the way, was an ancient name of the
Island of Bahrein, perhaps because it was the first island
of the group in size, <i>awwal</i> in Arabic meaning <i>first</i>.</p>
<p>The area of fertility is very rich and beautiful; it
extends all along the north coast of the island, and the
fishing village of Nayim, with its bamboo huts nestling
beneath the palm-trees, is highly picturesque; and all this
fertility is due to the number of fresh-water springs which
burst up here from underground, similar, no doubt, to those
before alluded to which spring up in the sea. The Arabs
will tell you that these springs come straight from the
Euphrates, by an underground channel through which
the great river flows beneath the Persian Gulf, doubtless
being the same legend alluded to by Pliny when he
says, 'Flumen per quod Euphratem emergere putant.'
There are many of them—the Garsari well, Um-i-Shaun,
Abu Zeidan, and the Adari, which last supplies many miles
of date-groves through a canal of ancient workmanship.
The Adari well is one of the great sights of Bahrein, being
a deep basin of water 22 yards wide by 40 long, beautifully
clear, and full of prismatic colours. It is said to come up
with such force from underground that a diver is driven back,
and all around it are ruins of ancient date, proving that it<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_42" id="Page_42"></SPAN>[<SPAN href="./images/42.png">42</SPAN>]</span>
was prized by former inhabitants as a bath. The water is
slightly brackish, as is that of all these sources, so that those
who can afford it send for water to a well between Rufa'a
Jebeli and Rufa'a Shergeh—called Haneini, which is
exceedingly good, and camels laden with skins may be seen
coming into Manamah every morning with this treasure.
We obtained our water supply thence. The other well, Abu
Zeidan, is situated in the midst of the ruins known as
Beled-al-Kadim, or 'old town.'</p>
<p>Two days later our camp was struck, and our long
cavalcade, with Seid-bin-Omar, the bazaar-master, at its
head, returned to Manamah. He had ordered for us
quite a sumptuous repast at his mansion by the sea, and
having learnt our taste for curiosities, he brought us as
presents a buckler of camel-skin, his 8-foot-long lance,
and a lovely bowl of El Hasa work—that is to say, minute
particles of silver inlaid in wonderful patterns in wood.
This inlaying is quite a distinctive art of the district of
Arabia along the north-eastern coast known as El Hasa;
curious old guns, saddles, bowls, and coffee-pots, in fact
everything with an artistic tendency, comes from that
country.</p>
<p>The day following was the great Thursday's Market
at Beled-al-Kadim, near the old minarets and the wells.
Mounted once more on donkeys, we joined the train of
peasants thither bound; I being as usual the object of
much criticism, and greatly interfering with the business
of the day. One male starer paid for his inquisitiveness,
by tumbling over a stall of knick-knacks, and precipitating
himself and all the contents to the ground.</p>
<p>The minarets and pillars of the old mosques looked
down on a strange scene that day. In the half-ruined,
domed houses of the departed race, stall-holders had pitched
their stalls: lanes and cross lanes of closely-packed vendors<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_43" id="Page_43"></SPAN>[<SPAN href="./images/43.png">43</SPAN>]</span>
of quaint crockery, newly-cut lucerne, onions, fish, and
objects of European fabric such as only Orientals admire,
and amongst all was a compact mass of struggling
humanity; but it was easy to see that the date-palm and
its produce formed the staple trade of the place. There
were all shapes and sizes of baskets made of palm-leaves,
dates in profusion, fuel of the dried spathes, the male
spathes for fructifying the palm, and palm-leaf matting—the
only furniture, and sometimes the only roofing of their
comfortless huts.</p>
<p>The costumes were dazzling in their brilliancy and
quaintness. It was a scene never to be forgotten, and one
of which a photograph, which I took from a gentle eminence,
gives but a faint idea. It was our last scene on Bahrein—a
fitting conclusion to our sojourn thereon.</p>
<hr class="full" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_44" id="Page_44"></SPAN>[<SPAN href="./images/44.png">44</SPAN>]</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_45" id="Page_45"></SPAN>[<SPAN href="./images/45.png">45</SPAN>]</span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="MASKAT" id="MASKAT"></SPAN>MASKAT</h2>
<hr />
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