By Barry Parker

BAGHDAD, Mar 19, 2009 (AFP) - Between the bullrushes growing thickly along the banks of the Tigris river that flows through the Iraqi capital, Sabeans are taking a baptismal dip to mark the creation of the world.

The scene is Biblical.

Dozens of men and women dressed in five pieces of fine white cloth inch their way barefoot into the muddy waters in ancient rites of purification.

They are joyously celebrating the "five white days" when Al-Rab or God created earth -- the biggest festival in the Sabean religious calendar.

Also known as Mandaeans, the Sabeans traditionally speak a variety of Aramaic, the language of Christ.

They call Adam their prophet and revere John the Baptist -- "saba" is Aramaic for baptise, "manda" means knowledge.

They trace their roots to pre-Christian times and some scholars believe the sect was a heretical branch of Judaism that spread south through the land of the two rivers or Mesopotamia in the second century AD.

However today the reality is post-invasion modern Baghdad and a fight to survive persecution, war and hardship.

The Sabeans are a dying community in Iraq. Their numbers have dwindled from 35,000 before the US-led war of 2003 to just 7,000-8,000, says the sect's leader Sheikh Sattar Jabbar al-Hulu.

"It has been a disaster for the community," the "rais" or chief tells AFP. While many have been killed in the sectarian bloodshed that swept the country, most have fled into exile. The diaspora today numbers between 32,000 and 33,000.

Even Hulu's own seven children have gone to Syria for safety.

"We don't have anyone to protect us. We wish the government would take care of the community and grant us our rights," he says.

The Sabeans have no militia to defend them, no schools to teach Aramaic and want to be able to practise their religion freely without fear.

Contacts with the US authorities in Iraq and the United Nations have proved fruitless, Hulu adds.

He says the security situation has improved in Baghdad but is still not safe enough for him to issue an appeal for exiles to return home and help the Sabean sect to survive in Iraq.

Seena Kassem, 23, is waiting for her husband Sinan to return from Sweden where he sought sanctuary more than a year ago.

"They threatened my husband because he was a Sabean," Seena says.

"The situation is better now but we still have a little bit of fear. The situation is not that good but there is hope," she says before entering the Tigris.

Hulu says that certain Islamic clerics still issue fatwas, or religious decrees, against the Sabeans accusing them of not believing in God, although officially the sect is classified as part of the Christian minority. And in Iraq, such a fatwa can be as good as a death sentence.

Ghazwan Yahiya, 25, represents the Sabeans at the Iraqi human rights ministry, but bemoans the lack of influence in government.

"Our message is that we want to have our religious rights," he says, adding that after centuries of standing aloof from politics, the community now needs to get involved if it is to ensure its future.

Yassin al-Nashi, a retired English teacher, heads cultural affairs for the Sabeans, who are spread thinly across five cities -- Arbil in the north, Diwaniya in the centre, and Amara and Basra in the south, as well as Baghdad.

"We contribute fully to Iraqi society, our community has doctors, engineers, scientists, teachers," Nashi says. "Yet our language is under threat, our culture is under threat."

However, this year hundreds of Sabeans have turned out for the baptism ritual for the first time since the invasion.

"This gives us confidence because, if a large number of people have come today, this means the security situation is getting better," he says.

Sixty-year-old Mayson Oda says she comes to the river every year to cleanse her sins and take part in the simple ceremonies that provide the rhythm of her life as they have for her Sabean forbears over countless centuries.

A retired seamstress, Oda clutches a collection of scriptures taken from the faith's holy book, the Ginza, which places water at the centre of the community's spiritual life.

Behind her, teenagers dressed in trendy clothes sip fizzy drinks from cans, chattering in Arabic and largely ignoring their elders.

bp/mar/kir/har

Copyright AFP 2009.