Hashim Siddiq: A Thousand Salutations, O Rain-Bringer

By Ibrahim Ahmed Al-Hassan

(1)
The train is moving, Uncle Zain, the weight of life in tow, on a track as long as life itself. It speeds up, slows down, twists and turns. Uncle Zain, sitting heavily in the “Train of Worry,” drifts west one day, east another, months and years passing by…

The Train of Worry’s clanking wheels pick up slowly, then thunder, with the chains of its cars rattling through our young ears. We board the Train of Worry in our youth, journeying on the wings of imagination, only to wake up to the narrator’s voice, recalling each station: Jabal Muya… Jabal Atshan… Jabal Royan… Wad Al-Houri… Wad Al-Neel… Wad Sajman… And even the sleepy village headmaster with his yellowing office. We remember people’s luggage, stacked high in piles… The “Train of Worry,” a masterpiece by Hashim Siddiq, has been a part of our memories since childhood, filling the pages of our notebooks with thoughts we’d jot down, erase, then write again.

(2)
That was Hashim Siddiq, the man behind the most famous radio drama of the 1970s, The Train of Worry. “A train like life itself,” he wrote. “It carries all kinds of people. Some board, others disembark. Some have words to say, others are silent. Some are newlyweds, others are heavy-hearted. Some travel for celebration, others for mourning. People go on vacation, others go to work, some to confront the conductor. Some find sleep, some remain awake. A train like life—a station that fills with people, then empties out, as the train moves on and on… forever rolling forward.” Onward it moves, east to west, north to south—through Waau, Al-Ubayyid, Nile state, and even the hills of Kassala. By the time it reaches Khartoum, we are only left with patience and the promise of another chapter in this life’s journey.

(3)
“My son, years have passed since we left the land of compassion. If only we could return swiftly, to rest beneath the shade of kindness.”

As the song reaches its crescendo—”Today, we’re visited by visions woven from the depths of our roots”—drowsiness overtakes me in a distant and prolonged exile, with the auto-stop feature on my cassette player slowly fading. The voice of Salah Ibn Al-Badiya, singing words by Hashim Siddiq, echoes with the last verses of longing: “A thousand salutations to you, Mother, O tree of compassion growing along the riverbanks. A thousand salutations to you, Father, O steadfast shield before which swords have bowed.”

(4)
In the shop of Uncle Ali Saleh Ghasreeb, in the 1970s, I’d stand there mesmerized by the rich aroma of incense rising and twisting from an incense burner. The smoke would dance to the elegant rhythm of the Phillips radio, tuned to shortwave, broadcasting the melodious words of Hashim Siddiq from Radio Omdurman, with Salah Ibn Al-Badiya’s sublime voice:

“Once we returned in the memory of a long absence,
The incense perfumed the air, the night drank in the scent of acacia,
Alongside the path, the landscape held fields of golden wheat,
And the moon lay over the sands, where the soil drank in the morning’s dewdrops,
The valley flourished with rain’s bounty, lush and green.”

The song’s words pulled me in, making me forget the errand I was sent for, only to return home, asking again, “What was I supposed to bring?”

(5)
Can I challenge pain with words and write about Hashim Siddiq? Write something endless and eternal? I doubt I can capture his essence. Hashim Siddiq etched many things within us—the Train of Worry, and then something else… Something like the tapping of fingers to music… News echoing from a paper… The sound of a harbor string that hums as ships approach. Something within us that has no beginning or end—Hashim left me returning to my pen.

(6)
Reading Hashim Siddiq, one finds the full expanse of his Sudanese poetic genius: “I challenge pain with words / I laugh with the boundless time / I demolish the barricades / I know when to become rain / I know when to become fire.” As you read and plunge into the depths of his lyricism, unraveling layers of symbolism, you lose yourself in his rich expression, in the harmony of words, until you feel like a dervish chanting in reverent ecstasy—“Allah… Allah… Allah.”

(7)
Hashim Siddiq once described his own work as “something like the tapping of fingers when they find harmony with music.” Reading him, you too feel compelled to drum your fingers on any surface you find—be it a table, a chair, or even the wall behind you. If nothing else, you drum your fingers in the open air, completing the rhythm you feel within. And what music is it? It’s the music of Hashim Siddiq’s poetry—a melody that plays “on a taut string, vibrating across time on its own, untouched by hands.”

(8)
Today, the valiant knight disembarks from the Train of Worry. A train like life itself—a station that fills with people, then empties out, as the train moves on and on. Hashim Siddiq disembarked, leaving behind Uncle Zain on the Train of Worry, drifting west one day, east another, through months and years.

(9)
Hashim Siddiq has departed, while we, still on the long road of farewell, wave in the open air, bidding the departed farewell with our sighs and tears, unable to move on… unable, as fate binds us.

(10)
Oh Allah, Most Merciful, Hashim Siddiq comes to you today, honest, loyal, patient, and true. Grant him the honor of being among the righteous, the martyrs, and the virtuous. Bestow upon us, his family, and his loved ones, patience and solace. There is no strength or power except in You.