A Calamity Walking
Some entries in this book take ten pages. This one takes four lines. And somehow it says more about human nature than the ten-page ones.
Al-Damiri opens with the definition, blunt as a slap: al-baqi'a — الداهية — “the calamity.” A man is called a baqi'a, the book says, when he is a man of daha' — cunning, craftiness, the kind of cleverness that makes rooms go quiet when he walks in.
In English we say someone is “a handful” or “trouble.” The Arabs went bigger: the man himself is the disaster. Not the cause of it — the event. If you ever met someone so sharp that negotiating with him felt like surviving a storm, you know exactly what word his Arabic-speaking contemporaries would have handed him.
Then comes a twist I didn't see coming. The same word is also a bird.
The Bird That Never Stops Moving
Al-Harawi — transmitted from Abu 'Amr — reports that the baqi'a is also a wary bird, a ta'ir hadhir, with one unforgettable habit: when it drinks water, it flies right and left. Yatiiru yamnatan wa yasratan.
It doesn't land, drink, and fly away. It drinks while darting — sip, dart left, sip, dart right. The most vulnerable moment in any animal's day is the moment its head goes down to the water. Predators know this. Prey knows this. And this little bird's solution is paranoia as a lifestyle: never present a still target, not even for a drink.
I have to admit, I love this bird. There's something deeply relatable about refusing to relax even at the watering hole.
One Word, One Philosophy of Watchfulness
But one word covers both the cunning man and the paranoid bird because both survive by never being where you expect. The baqi'a-man is the one you can't trap, can't outmaneuver, can't read — his mind is always one sip ahead of yours. The baqi'a-bird is the one you can't catch — its body is always one dart ahead of the hawk. Watchfulness is the common thread: one watches with his mind, the other with its wings.
The entry closes with two old reports, and they're the best part. In what the book calls “the hadith of the tribes,” 'Ali says to Abu Bakr: “You have come across a baqi'a among the Bedouins.” No name, no description — just the word, and the warning inside it. Whoever this Bedouin was, 'Ali's message was clear: careful. This one is clever. He is a calamity walking.
And in another report: “So I opened conversation with him — and behold, he was a baqi'a.” I love that little scene. Someone sits down for a chat, starts talking, and mid-conversation realizes who he's dealing with. You can almost see the mental recalculation: oh. Oh. This is one of those.
Four lines: a calamity, a cunning man, a paranoid bird, and a conversation that changed tone halfway through. Al-Damiri filed an entire philosophy of watchfulness under a single word — and seven centuries later, it still works. We all know a baqi'a. Some of us are married to one.
Frequently Asked Questions
What does baqi'a mean?
Al-baqi'a (الباقعة) is an Arabic word meaning “the calamity” or “the disaster.” In Hayat al-Hayawan it's defined as a man of exceptional cunning (daha') — someone so clever and dangerous to cross that the language treats him as a walking disaster, not just a clever person.
Is the baqi'a also a bird?
Yes — the entry records, via al-Harawi from Abu 'Amr, that the baqi'a is also a wary bird whose habit is to fly right and left while drinking water. It never drinks standing still, darting sideways mid-sip as if avoiding enemies at the water's edge.
Who called someone a baqi'a?
The book preserves two old reports: in “the hadith of the tribes,” 'Ali warns Abu Bakr that he has “come across a baqi'a among the Bedouins” — a dangerously clever man — and in another report someone says, “I opened conversation with him, and behold, he was a baqi'a,” realizing mid-chat how sharp his company was.

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