The Sky Worshipers

by F. M. Deemyad

  Chapter Nine

  The Khaqan

  Ogodei noticed that his father left unsaid the earlier quarrel between his older brothers and did not bring up the cause of tensions that had led him to choose the third in succession as his heir. For a moment there was complete silence as everyone was probably expecting to hear the name of Jochi. Then all rose to chants of urra as both Jochi and Chaghatai, left with no alternative but to abide by their father’s command, humbly bowed before the future leader; an act that appeared to have pleased Genghis greatly.

  With Jochi’s birthright impugned and Chaghatai’s malicious self-interest exposed, the even-tempered Ogodei had ultimately won the coveted position. Ogodei, initially overwhelmed by the unexpected change in his status, soon began to smile broadly, exposing two rows of pearl white teeth. He lifted his goblet of wine and drank to his father’s health and long life.

  Following the announcement, a group of shamans began singing praises to the eternal sky. The soft, melodic tune of the two-stringed Mongolian lute accompanied the singing. After a while, Genghis Khan lifted his hand in a gesture that instantly quelled the noise. He took up his goblet of Shiraz wine and proclaimed, “There is another cause for celebration tonight. Ogodei is to marry the former princess of Persia, Reyhan of the Seljuk Dynasty, on this very night.”

  Reyhan blushed as what seemed like a thousand eyes suddenly turned toward her. The enormity of the situation, the marriage that she was being led to, left her mind racing. Golden embroidery covered the red bridal gown she was given. A tall, bejeweled headdress framed her face with strings of pearls. The headdress was a bit loose, and thus she had to avoid tilting her head too much, worried that it could easily fall. At least the material she wore, a mixture of lamb’s wool and silk, felt soft.

  From the way the Mongol officers stared at the bowl of pomegranates, she almost felt like her looks were competing with that of the bowl of fruit for the group’s attention. The harsh environment to which they belonged was not conducive to growing vegetation, she concluded.

  Borte, the Mongol Empress sitting next to Reyhan, spoke little. When Reyhan was offered pomegranates, she politely accepted her share and then turned and presented it to Borte, to the latter’s delight. Baako had told Reyhan that Borte was younger than Genghis when they married, but she looked older than him now. Reyhan pitied her and hoped to gradually gain her trust and to count on her support as Ogodei’s mother.

  An assortment of weapons, some of them recognizable as swords and daggers and other ominous-looking sharp objects quite unfamiliar to her hung from the walls. She tried not to stare, fearing that it would only arouse suspicion.

  Genghis looked happy, telling jokes and laughing heartily. He frequently looked at Ogodei sitting to his right and at Reyhan sitting at the far-left corner of the ger. The meal being over, Genghis Khan lifted his silver goblet of wine. As he drank the intoxicating liquid, holding the goblet with his right hand and placing his left hand on his knee, his gaze remained on his new daughter-in-law, so conveniently captured. He looked so approvingly at her in this moment, yet she wondered how at other times those eyes could be void of all human emotions. How else could one kill a man or maim fellow human beings, merely because they stood in one’s way?

  “So, tell me,” Genghis asked. “What form of communication have the wise kings of Persia devised for their armies? Although their late monarch, Khwarazm Shah, I must admit, was no favorite of mine.”

  Sounds of laughter echoed through the ger as those who knew the language explained to the others what the Khan had just said. Reyhan hesitated. She did not want to give away any clues that would help this warmonger in his military expeditions but quickly inferred that the Mongol Khan, although fully aware of Persia’s Chapar courier system, intended to test her forthrightness and honesty.

  Genghis appeared enthralled by Reyhan’s resourcefulness, as she tried to charm more than just the khan with her smile. She then began to speak describing in great detail the Chapar system devised by Cyrus the Great.

  “Couriers ride agile horses, carrying mail from one station to another, placed at regular intervals to be reached within one day on horseback,” she said, animating the explanation with her fingers. “Well-rested men on fresh horses then continue the journey to the next station to expedite the delivery of written messages. These stations are furnished with accommodations and are considered resting places for the mail carriers of the Shah. Refreshments of all sorts are provided for the relief of the courier who has arrived, and fresh horses are kept ready for the departure of those who are to continue the journey.”

  While she spoke, Reyhan registered the reactions of those present, particularly when she mentioned the name of the late Persian Monarch. For even those among them who were unfamiliar with the language, could identify the name of King Cyrus. She fancied she could perceive potential enemies and possible allies in their expressions. Reyhan hoped that by enlightening the emperor regarding the ingenuity of the Persian people, she could somehow gain his trust, winning her survival and the protection of her companions.

  “Ingenious indeed,” the Mongol Khan replied. His meaningful smile seemed to express both his approval of the girl’s tact upon this invisible chessboard and his awareness of her diplomacy. He mentioned to Ogodei that he would need exactly such a mate to rule over the empire and added, addressing the princess, “We shall follow suit. I will establish the same system throughout Mongol territories.” He paused for a moment then asked, “And what is the characteristic of the Seljuk that has made them so popular in Persia?”

  Reyhan explained that her family’s popularity stemmed from the fact that although Turkic in their origins, they promoted Persian language and culture. “My grandfather even encouraged us to speak Persian at home.” Reyhan knew she was crossing the line when she added, “A leader should never attempt to destroy the culture of the lands he invades.”

  A frown appeared on Genghis’s forehead as color ran to her cheeks, and she felt herself blush. She pledged to herself to be more careful next time, for she was jeopardizing more than her own life.

  Ogodei intervened in an obvious attempt to alleviate the situation. “What she means is that among the inhabitants of the lands we conquer, we should save the cultured people. Like the artisans and engineers, for they can enhance the greatness of our own civilization.”

  No one spoke their mind in Genghis’s presence unless invited to do so by the Great Khan, let alone lecturing him about the proper manner of treating his subjects. Fire flashed for a moment in Genghis’s eyes, but reason soon returned, allowing the wedding ceremony to take place. Shamans blessed the newlyweds, and a Muslim clergy recited the words that united Ogodei and Reyhan in accordance with the bride’s wishes.

  Chapter Ten

  A Treasure Chest

  A wedding ger in accordance with Mongol tradition was set up for Reyhan. She passed from among two large lit torches at the entrance of the ger. Flames from the torches almost touched the felt fabric of the enclosure and Reyhan feared she would be burned alive in it. The Mongol guards must have noticed her look of concern, for they quickly removed the torches as soon as she stepped inside. The smell of wood and musk coming from a fire pit greeted her upon entrance. Candles burned on small metal tables set up at different corners of the ger. Embroidered tapestries depicting the animals of the Steppes hung from the walls and a bedspread of red velvet covered a feather mattress in a corner. Ogodei was nowhere to be seen and Reyhan felt her heart beat in anticipation of the unknown.

  When Ogodei finally arrived, he was carrying a large wooden chest as a gift for his bride. He unlocked and laid open the heavy container. He then walked out of the ger abruptly, allowing Reyhan a chance to hunt for treasures in the chest. Reyhan surveyed the contents and found numerous pieces of Persian style silk garments and bejeweled pointed leather shoes of the best quality. The pieces shimmered in the light of candles, revealin
g the hand-woven fabrics made with gold and silver thread. There were also embroidered outfits in shades of sapphire, emerald, and ruby.

  Reyhan pulled the pieces out of the chest like jewelry and examined with great astonishment the two-piece garments with long flowing skirts and intricately sewn tops that had pleats at their lower edges. When she finally looked up, she noticed that Ogodei had only pretended to have left. He stood at the entry to the ger, wearing a mischievous smile.

  “You bought these for me?” she asked, embarrassed that she had shown so much interest in them without knowing he was watching her every move.

  “Plundered,” he replied bluntly without mincing words.

  “Plundered? Where from?” He never failed to surprise her.

  “Right out of the palace of the Shah!” Ogodei proclaimed triumphantly.

  Reyhan immediately dropped the deep violet skirt she was holding and rose in protest, but when Ogodei suggested that Mongol ladies would appreciate such garments, she pulled the chest toward herself defiantly, to her husband’s great amusement.

  He laughed as he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her toward him. His loving embrace melted any resistance left in Reyhan as she succumbed to the joys of marriage.

  The next morning Ogodei left for the fronts. Not long after his departure, Reyhan asked for tea and Baako brought in a tray. She excitedly told Baako about Ogodei’s gift and went through the entire contents of the chest, holding each piece out for Baako’s opinion. The latter’s mind, however, seemed preoccupied with distressful thoughts.

  “I hate to upset you at this time of joy, my lady, but I fear that you will learn about the devastation in your homeland by those who might disclose such accounts in much harsher ways.”

  Reyhan dropped the dress and suddenly felt submerged in a pool of icy water.

  “They showed no mercy. I wish I had better news, my lady. Many died, young and old, homes left in ruin, places of worship faring no better. One can hardly recognize Samarkand today.”

  The news instantly made Reyhan melancholy, and it was obvious that Baako regretted his minimal disclosure that very moment. Days of tears followed with chambermaids asking Reyhan what was wrong, while she refused to disclose the mountain of pain she felt weighing upon her soul. Even after Ogodei returned, her husband’s loving attention did little to soothe her and only made the burden of guilt heavier upon her young heart. Ogodei had not taken part in the raids on Persia, but even if he had, he would have considered it the right of the Mongols to destroy all that stood in their way.

  Reyhan knew that Baako had been holding back the most gruesome parts, and her imagination ran wild. Baako had told her how Chaka’s countenance turned white as death when news of Mongol atrocities against Chinese territories reached her. He must have feared a repeat of those moments. He had said that from that point onward Chaka’s communication with Genghis often turned into bitter arguments. Baako certainly wanted to discourage an outburst, like the one which ended Chaka’s life. But she was bound to hear about the horrors inflicted upon her nation through palace gossip anyway. When she asked for details, Baako clothed cruel facts with heartwarming stories of survival in an obvious attempt not to further disturb her troubled mind.

  After days of living with visions of the devastation of her country, Reyhan finally took to the pen and dipped the sharpened tip of a feather in a pot of black ink. Making sure not to waste the precious space on the paper, she began to write her version of events, taking Baako’s hopeful slant as her own. Always reluctant to divulge her true feelings and disinclined to further explore the massive destruction and loss of life in her homeland, Reyhan penned fables, half-truths. The whole truth was more than she could bear, let alone describe, and she hoped others would discern the deeper reality of destruction between the lines.

  Entry by Reyhan:

  The Coppersmith’s Tale

  The village of Behesht, meaning heaven, was located in the outskirts of the city of Marv, one of the most magnificent cities in Persia. But while the latter boasted impressive buildings, cultural centers, white brick walls, rose gardens, and a great library filled with numerous volumes of handwritten manuscripts, the former didn’t have much to show for it. In fact, it had little resemblance to the paradise described in holy books and looked quite commonplace indeed. The population fared a little worse, one might say, than those of neighboring areas. Poverty was rampant and the well-off, if you could call them that, could only claim that they owned a domestic animal or two.

  “Try to find a better heaven,” was the common expression the locals used to ward off any potential newcomer to the village, for what little they had could not be shared.

  Life in the village did indeed have some advantages. In the lazy afternoons, freshly watered roses in their tiny gardens became home to singing nightingales. Benches covered in thick carpets, as brightly colored as the flowers would be set up in backyards. Men smoked hookahs, enjoying the scenery as women chatted over hot tea and bits of caramelized sugar.

  Majeed, the coppersmith, owned the smallest house in the village. He had built a shelter for himself and his wife next to a small hill and almost as an extension of it. Although it had a rather sizeable room, it appeared more like a basement of a house with no top floors. The roof, covered with a compact mixture of mud and straw, was at a level with the adjacent road, making the dwelling nearly invisible to outsiders. It was also located at a considerable distance from the nearest collection of dwellings, which were equally dilapidated. Majeed considered himself a happy man though, until something horrible happened one day.

  The coppersmith always took pride in his small suburban shop, despite the long commute from home to work. In his shop, he displayed a collection of his artwork which included embossed trays, pots, and jars covered in animal shapes, floral designs and human figures. The sight always brought a smile to his face. One day he would open his shop in Marv, he had told his wife on more than one occasion, where he might attract wealthier customers.

  It was almost noon on that spring day. Majeed picked up the copper tray that he had finished engraving and took a final look at it. A frequent customer to his shop would receive the tray the following day. He had embossed intricate designs of birds and beasts onto its shiny surface.

  He tilted the tray toward the light for a closer inspection. As he did so, his eyes drifted from the flawless artwork to the dark trousers of a man standing before him, apparently admiring Majeed’s skill. But when his eyes settled on the stranger’s penetrating gaze, he realized the predicament he was in. That sinister half-smile brought back memories he had fought hard to forget. He got up, almost shaking. “What are you doing here?” he asked, stuttering a bit.

  “I have been pursuing you for the past several years,” the man said with a thick Arabic accent, “I have not forgotten what you did.”

  The coppersmith looked up. The sun, like an ever-watchful eye, stood in the middle of the sky. The call for prayer was heard. “It is time for noon prayers. I have to close shop and go to the mosque,” he said as fast as he could before shoving the finished copper tray into the man’s hands. He then threw aside the piece of cloth meant for wiping his instruments, locked up his shop and ran as fast as he could toward his humble dwelling.

  “You have to go to the mosque,” the stranger repeated sarcastically, as he watched the coppersmith run, “make sure you don’t murder anybody on your way there!”

  This encounter happened when Majeed was at the peak of his career and had grown from being a mere apprentice to be the master. He had married the prettiest girl in the neighborhood, Golnaar which means pomegranate flower, and now when all was going well for him, disaster had struck from the most unlikely quarter.

  The next morning and the one after, he stayed in bed. Golnaar was hesitant at first to bring up the matter, for she must have noticed the utterly dejected look on her husband’s face. Finally, on the thir
d day, she served him some tea from a coal-burning samovar and then asked, “What happened the day before yesterday that troubles you so? What is it that ails you? Pray tell me.”

  Reluctantly he began, “I lived in Baghdad before I married you. You remember?”

  “Yes, I know that,” Golnaar replied, filling her glass as well.

  “There was a Persian metalwork master in Baghdad that I worked for as an apprentice. Early one morning I went to his workshop to begin my work. I found my master stabbed to death with his body resting on the very table where he did his craft. The shop appeared emptied of its treasures, which included containers made of copper, silver, and gold. Thus, it occurred to me that the murderer must have been a thief. Knowing that I would probably be the one to be accused of murder, I tried to flee the scene. Only one man, a former customer of the shop, saw me. ‘I am innocent,’ I told him, but the sinister smile on his face told me that he did not believe me, nor cared to think otherwise.”

  Golnaar’s pretty eyes widened in disbelief but her hands were visibly shaking when she picked up her glass of tea.

  “The wicked man even accused me of having plotted this in advance,” Majeed went on to say. “He concocted this tale that he had seen me the other day, quarreling with the shop owner over money. I was left with no choice but to point the finger of accusation back at him. This enraged him further, and he made up tales about my character that began to sound fearfully convincing. That vulture then tried to blackmail me. I refused payment, of course, but he said he would testify against me in the Mahkameh. Before he could take the case to the authorities, and before they could arrest me, I left Baghdad.”

  Here he stopped and began staring blankly, his dark past recurring anew before his eyes.

  “What grief, what shame, how could I ever face my family again?” she said. “If this is disclosed, we will be castigated, blamed for deceiving the people; your business would be in ruins. We have to flee. We can go to Damascus and start anew.”