A Tale of 2 Raswans

A few months ago, I found what I believed, was an inexpensive copy of Carl Raswan's Drinkers of the Wind. Although I have read  the book several times, I don't own a copy of the book. I know, that's weird, to be a fan of Raswan's work and yet, not have a copy of one of the most important books he has written. I believed it was the kind of book you read once and then, never again. Much to my surprise, I never tire of the story, as the book always reads like new every time I read it, as if the book is customized for the day that I read it again. And so, I bought the book and like an old friend, looked forward to seeing it again.

The awe and wonder that Raswan personally experienced the first time he saw an Arabian horse is especially touching and still remains one of my favorite passages in the book. It makes it that much easier to understand, not to mention, believable,  the feelings he experiences for the horses Ghazal and Wudiyeh, later in his life:

"Our house stood not far from the tree-shaded country road along which riders were allowed to pass. My eyes scarcely reached the level of the window sill, and I had to stand on tiptoe to watch the horses go by. One Sunday morning I heard two riders approach. The sound of hoofs was so resonant that I listened with bated breath. Phili, my white-starred Phili, had come. This was surely the hollow cymbal ring of his small hoofs as they struck the hard road-way. The noise of the other horse's feet was only the clatter of an ordinary animal. 

I raced through the house, and out into the garden, as far as the fence, which at that time limited my world. Opposite me, two riders were passing our house. One of them was mounted on a dapple-grey, a small but powerful animal, playfully pawing the air with with his forelegs as he danced over the road. His motions were effortless; his rider enjoyed them with reins slack and firm but easy seat. Steed and rider were such a picture of grace and the hollow ring of hoof such music to my ears, that I have not forgotten it throughout my life. Nor have I forgotten the dark horse at his side, clumsily forging ahead-a spiritless creature.

Suddenly, my father stood next to me. Without a word he lifted me to his shoulder and walked along parallel to the garden fence. 

'This is an Arabian from Hungary,' Father said. 'The King has bought him for his royal stable.'

I gazed after the Arabian horse, from my father's shoulders, until the animal disappeared under a big chestnut tree with pink candelabra of sweet blossoms.

I scrambled down his back; tears of chagrin filled my eyes. 'Oh, Father!' I cried, 'this horse is more beautiful than Phili!'

Father smiled. 'Yes, he is. The Arabian is the king of all horses."

Years later, Raswan sees the same horse again, in a surprising encounter that not only underscores all that his father had said but also, reveals the intelligence of the breed:

"One day Prince Ernst came riding on the Arabian stallion which his father had bought in Hungary years ago-the one I had seen prancing along the old country road. The horse was almost white with age, though he had been a dapple-grey.

Anxiously, I watched the Prince as he rode his horse into the pool, and I remembered my father's words, that above all, the Arab is the King of horses. I shall never forget when he splashed into the water. He recognized his image at once, though the disturbed water rippled, and the stallion's image trembled on the opal surface. It seemed animated with life, swaying back and forth, and the handsome steed played with his image, tossing his feet with light touches upon the surface of the pool, keeping the ripples vibrating, and enjoying the picture dancing so vividly before his eyes." 

One thing about Raswan becomes clear, especially in the formative years of  Raswan's life and that is the signicant impact that Raswan's father had in the development of his son. It reminds me of my own father, who was not a horseman but nevertheless told me stories of a fictional character he named 'the great Sabu', who would ride across the desert on his sparkling white Arabian horse. Those stories took the love that I already possessed for all horses and redirected it towards the Arabian. It is common ground that I share with Raswan, despite the questions and challenges that stand in the way of fully embracing this man.  

In reading Drinkers of the Wind as many times as I have, I clearly understood that Carl Raswan deeply loved the Arabian horse, from an early age. In writing a book like Drinkers of the Wind, he hoped to increase the overall understanding for the breed and thereby, create admiration for all of the horse's special qualities, as bred by the Bedouin people. 

As I read through my "new" (old) book, I couldn't help thinking that this time, much of the story is missing. I couldn't put my finger on it but either I had become a "faster" reader than humanly possible or the story was much shorter than I remembered. Maybe I was thinking of parts of another story, that somehow, I had confused with Drinkers of the Wind? This feeling continued to nag at me and one night, I learned that in the early 1960's, Ariel Books, an imprint of the publishing company, Farrar, Strauss & Giroux, had taken the original story and adapted it for a juvenile audience (see above photo of the book). The original story, at 292 pages, was shortened to 160 pages and this is the edition that I had purchased, a 2nd Raswan, written in a voice that children may find easier to understand!

The main essence of the story remains the same, whether the book is 160 or 292 pages, however, its the voice of Carl Raswan himself and the details  within many of the stories he tells, that you will miss fully savoring. If you are seriously contemplating the purchase of Drinkers of the Wind for your library, make sure that you are purchasing the Creative Age Press edition, published in 1942, which is 292 pages long!