The Pen- Sultan's Wisdom

by Dennis Galloway

  “Do these things daily, and by doing so, the barriers preventing you from achieving your dreams will fall, and Allah will shine a light on your path to achievement.”

  Abbas fell silent. I sat back in silence, absorbing his words. My heart leaped with the joy of learning this wisdom.

  “Thank you, my father. I understand now what I am to do. I will follow the emerald of wisdom and achieve my dreams.”

  And so it was.

  Harold listened very closely to what Al-Hamid was told. He decided to apply Abbas’ wisdom to his life too. As the narration ceased, his vision began to fade to white. Harold knew he was continuing in the dream travel.

  Passing the Torch

  Harold’s vision cleared and he found he was standing near Al-Hamid, watching a small fire burning, as men sat around it eating their evening meal.

  It was late in the season when my father Abbas grew ill and became weak.

  I was out with an advance scouting team, looking at the route ahead to ensure no trouble was coming when I heard. We had stopped for the night and made camp when a rider approached. It was Ansha.

  Ansha slowed his horse and dismounted near the fire. We greeted him. He acknowledged the greeting, and then walked over to me.

  “Greetings, Al-Hamid. I bring you ill news of your father.”

  I looked up from my meal and saw great sadness in his eyes.

  “What is it? What is the ill news of my father that you bring me?” I asked.

  “He grows weaker; he is not recovering as we had hoped. We fear the worst, and so, I was sent to bring you back quickly.”

  “Then let us go tonight.” I got up from the fire and readied my belongings. “Kahee, you and the others continue as planned. We do not need any surprises. I shall be with my father.”

  “Yes, Zaeem,” he said.

  I mounted my horse, and with Ansha, rode out into the dark. My mind was racing. I feared for Abbas and thought hard about what I could do to help him.

  When I arrived early in the morning, I could see a crowd assembled around my father’s tent. Several women were wailing and men were chanting prayers.

  I dismounted near the tent and quickly went inside. Ansha stayed outside with the others. It was dim and cool, but the vapors of a burning herb drifted in the air. Lamps were lit, offering dim light. Family had gathered around my father, who lay on a carpet of woven reds and greens. His head was upon a small pillow, and he had a covering of Damascus silk draped over him.

  “Husband, I am so glad you have come quickly,” Tara said as she took my hand and hugged me tightly. “He is not doing well. He is barely breathing. He seems to be waiting for something. Holding on until he can do something.”

  I released Tara and went to my father’s side. His face was pale and his cheeks were sunken. I knelt down, kissed his forehead, and held his hand in mine. His hand was cold, and he did not respond to my grip.

  “I am here, my father,” I whispered.

  For a moment, there was no response. Then, slowly, he opened his eyes and turned his head toward me. His eyes were dim and very red.

  “Al-Hamid, my son,” he said in a shallow, soft voice. “You have come.”

  “Yes, my father, as soon as I heard of your illness,” I whispered.

  “Then it is good. My time is done. I have done my best to do as Allah commanded in guiding our tribe and watching over them. Now it is up to you to do the same,” he said, looking into my eyes.

  “Of course, my father. I am here to walk by your side as you recover,” I said. “I will always serve you along with the tribe.”

  “No, I shall pass this day. I have talked to the council and they agree. You shall, from this day forth, be our leader, our chief,” he said in a louder voice, and with a still weak but stronger grip on my hand.

  Then he turned his head away from me and had a fit of coughing. He could no longer speak.

  “What? No, my father, you shall not pass today, but many years from now. We need you. We need your wisdom! I need you!” I said, almost shouting as tears welled up in my eyes.

  I was pushed aside as women gathered around him to help with his coughing and administer a healing drink of some kind. I dropped his hand and stood back, watching. Others in the tent simply looked on helplessly.

  The coughing stopped, but his breathing became labored.

  And then he became calm and looked up at the tent above. He took in his last breath and then let out a long sigh. His eyes never closed, but he smiled contentedly.

  He had passed on.

  I sat down and just looked at him. Tears were rolling down my face. Others in the tent began to cry. Outside the tent, the wailing grew to a crescendo of grief. The whole tribe was crying and shouting his name.

  Harold also began to weep quietly. His view fogged, but he could still hear Al-Hamid’s narration.

  When my father died, he passed the responsibility of leading the tribe on to me, anointing me his true and rightful heir. His remaining sons agreed and submitted to my rule. The tribal council agreed with Abbas’ wishes and soon began teaching me what it was to lead a tribe. I had a lot to learn. While I did feel honored and I appreciated being made leader, I was not sure it was what I wanted.

  I made agreements with other tribes to join with us and create a large, powerful organization within which all could benefit and few could challenge. We secured trade routes across vast distances and even across the seas. We gained wealth by creating agreements that benefited many people. I did what I could for my people while waiting to determine what it was I yet wanted for myself.

  The Master Returns

  Harold found himself standing on top of a sand dune, looking down at a caravan surrounded by attacking men on horseback. Then he heard Al-Hamid’s voice in his head.

  One time, while traveling through the Adualamar Valley, my scouts came across a caravan under attack by the Hishmar Bedouins. The besieged were not of our tribe. Word was sent back to me about this situation. In the territory I controlled, all caravans were given safe passage. I immediately came to the caravan’s aid. I assembled some of my best fighters and galloped off to the rescue.

  Arriving on top of some dunes, looking down at the besieged caravan, I gave commands to my men.

  “Ansha, take your men and ride down on this battle from the east. The others and I will attack from the west. We will end this, now!”

  I waited until I saw the signal that Ansha was in position. I signaled back to attack, then turned to my men. “Ahhhheeeeee! Attack, attack, attack!” I yelled as I held my sword high above my head and twirled it.

  Harold’s heart raced. He grabbed the back of Al-Hamid’s saddle and swung up onto the horse.

  Then I spurred my horse into a gallop and descended down the slope of the dune and into the fray.

  The Hishmar were taken by surprise. Swords flashed in the sun; blood was shed, staining the sand. The Hishmar in black who had surrounded the caravan turned to fight us. My sword was red with their blood as I slashed and stabbed at every black robe I could.

  Harold held on. Swords swished over his head as he ducked instinctively. Blood splattered on him as Al-Hamid thrust his sword into a Hishmar warrior. He did not seem to feel Harold’s grip on his robe as Harold desperately tried to stay in the saddle.

  Hitting the Hishmar from both sides caused confusion, and they soon broke and scattered to the wind with their few remaining men.

  “Marha! Marha!” A joyful shout rose from my men and the men in the besieged caravan, as they waved red swords in the air and watched the attackers gallop away.

  We were tired from the battle and thirsty. The men of the caravan asked us to sit with them and eat to celebrate the victory. We gladly accepted their invitation. They made camp and started the cooking fires. I posted a few of my men on the surrounding hills to warn us if the Hishmar ret
urned. They did not.

  Harold was also exhausted from the battle. He washed his hands in a bowl of water being used by another, surprising the man and causing his eyes to grow wide when the water splashed up out of the bowl, seemingly onto nothing. The man shook his head, thinking he was just tired, and it was really nothing.

  Harold grabbed some bread and dried dates to eat when no one was looking. One man, while talking, reached into a bowl and found that the date he had just seen was no longer there. He accused another man of taking the last date and just laughed.

  As we sat around the fires, the leader came to thank us for saving the caravan.

  “Sir, this is our leader who wishes to thank you for your rescue,” said a man, bowing and extending his arm into the dark beyond the fire’s light.

  As the leader came into the light, I was shocked.

  It was none other than my old merchant master, Karim. I stood up and swiftly walked toward him.

  “Karim, it has been a very long time since my eyes looked upon you.”

  Karim stopped. He was a little taken aback, but then looked closely into my face. His eyes grew wide and a big smile crossed his old face.

  “Al-Hamid! It is you!” he said as he opened his arms wide to embrace me. Others in the camp were surprised at our greeting. Eyes were wide all around.

  Harold recognized Karim, but he was startled by how much older he looked.

  We greeted each other warmly. After addressing the group, expressing his gratitude, and sharing some bread, sharbat, and figs, Karim led me to his tent.

  Ducking under the tent flap, we walked over to some cushions set on a carpet. Food and sharbat were brought in to us as we talked.

  Harold sat down near them, but he bumped into a small table that fell over. Al-Hamid looked at the fallen table and just shrugged his shoulders.

  “So, Al-Hamid, tell me what became of you after you went to the market that day,” said Karim while he ate.

  I told him of running from the Nubian warrior, jumping into the Nile, nearly drowning, and being found by Abbas’ tribe. I told him of my growth in the tribe and of being made the tribe’s leader. I told him of the love of my life, Tara, and how we were raising a family of our own. And of many more things.

  “Karim,” I said, “it is so good to see you again. I never thought I would. Tell me how it has been with you since my unfortunate departure.”

  He told me how he had wondered what had happened to me. He had sent out inquiries about my whereabouts but with no results. He feared I had been captured by slavers and traded off to some foreign land. He was truly saddened by my departure. He had hired another in my place, but he was very disappointed with the new apprentice and soon let him go. Thereafter, he did not take on another apprentice, but instead, only used assistants to help him. His business had flourished over the years, and he had expanded to other cities. He had amassed wealth and connections along the major trade routes, and this trip was to be his last.

  He felt too worn out to do another.

  Karim’s Legacy

  Harold felt his vision fade to white, but he heard Al-Hamid continue to tell the story.

  We stayed with the caravan for the rest of the week while they traveled through the area under my control. My appearance lifted Karim’s spirits and put him into a thoughtful mood.

  All of a sudden, Harold’s vision cleared and he found himself sitting next to Al-Hamid and Karim.

  One evening, we were sitting around a large fire, with others, eating and talking late in the evening.

  “Al-Hamid, I appreciate how you have traveled with us to ensure our safety,” said Karim quietly, “and I am much indebted to you. If you would indulge an old man for a few more minutes before you rest your eyes, I would be grateful if you would follow me to my tent for a brief private talk?” Others around us were in quiet talk or had already gone to sleep.

  “Of course, my friend. Lead the way,” I said as we got up and left the group.

  As we entered his tent, Karim looked around to ensure it was empty save for us. He motioned for me to sit on the cushions arranged on the carpet near a dimly glowing lamp. He sat down next to me.

  “Al-Hamid, I have to confide in you that my health is not what it once was. The herbalists and others I have consulted have told me my days grow short, that I will not live to see the end of the year.”

  I sat there and truly looked at him. He had aged considerably, and his skin was paler than most who live in the sun. His body was small and frailer than I remembered.

  “Have you considered what you want to do?” My eyes held concern for my old master.

  “I have. I have watched you lead your men and seen the respect they have for you. In these short few days we have been together, I have noticed how even my men seem to respond to your direction and personality. Those are all signs of a good leader. My question to you is: Is your life plan always to follow the poor life of a Bedouin? You are raising a family; have you considered what’s best for them, especially your children?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

  I had asked myself these same questions, but I had no answers, only worry.

  “I have, indeed, asked myself those very questions, but as of yet, I have not found my path. I am living only in the now. Tomorrow always seems too far away.”

  Harold felt much the same way. He listened closer to what Karim was saying.

  “Then perhaps I can help you. I still have no heirs upon whom to bestow my wisdom or my wealth. On my passing, I wish to give to those who have served me well a fair portion of my wealth based on their years of service. But as to my business, I have no one whom I trust to give it to.

  “Would you consider giving up the life of a wandering Bedouin for the life of a merchant? It will provide a future for your children, and you may shed the dust of the desert.” He grew silent. His eyes glowed in the dim light of the lamp as they focused on mine.

  I was shocked at the offer, confused how to answer.

  “But, my master,” I said, shrugging, “how can I take on a business such as yours when I have the responsibility of leading my tribe? I truly appreciate the offer and the blessings that come with it, but I am not sure if I can, or even if I know what to do with a business such as yours so that it survives and thrives.”

  “Sometimes in life,” Karim replied, “you have to take a different path to obtain what you want. Do you know what you want? Have you taken the time to think about how you want your life to be? We all get old, my son; you can count on that. Do you see yourself riding on horseback, traveling constantly, fighting often when you are old? Or do you see yourself surrounded by a happy family, living in a good home, surrounded by the pleasantries of life? What sings to your heart?” He was watching me.

  Harold had not asked himself that question. He had always just looked forward to the next day. Not really planning or deciding what he would do to achieve his life’s goals.

  “Your offer is a generous one,” I told Karim, “and I thank you for it. You have brought a good question to me. What do I want for my life? I must think about this before I give you an answer, for to do otherwise would be an injustice to you and to me.”

  My voice dropped off, and I hung my head low.

  “Then,” said Karim, “I hope you can give me an answer in the next few days, for we are almost at the end of this route. Besides, I don’t know how many more days I have ahead of me, and I will need to make other arrangements if you choose not to take up my offer. Either way, I respect you and whatever decision you make. Now I am tired and will need my sleep if we are to continue on our journey tomorrow.” He lay his head down on a pillow and drew a blanket over him. He turned his face to the tent wall and was soon asleep.

  I sat there next to him, a hundred thoughts flying through my mind.

  Eventually, I left his tent and retired to sleep next to my men under the
stars. Over the next few days, I thought about what I wanted for my life and for my family. I thought about the emerald of wisdom I had learned from Abbas and applied every day since. I knew what I wanted for my life, but I had not known how to achieve it—until now. I decided to take him up on his offer.

  Harold thought that was fine for Al-Hamid, but he was confused about his own path. What did he want for his future? His vision soon faded to black. He knew his dream travel had come to an end for now.

  Harold Makes Up His Mind

  Harold awoke to find sand in his shoes and hair. He felt tired, but he got up and walked to his bath to wash. A curved knife fell out of his inside coat pocket and clattered to the floor.

  Harold looked down at it and smiled. He reached down, picked it up, and placed it on the top of his desk as he shuffled off to the bath.

  To confirm his dream-travel experience and recall what Karim said to Al-Hamid, Harold decided to continue to translate the latest writing. That way, he would have a written record he could easily understand and not depend entirely on his memory of the experiences he had had.

  Harold studied the translation about achieving dreams and read it over several times to be sure he had it right. He saw the wisdom of this way of thinking. It was like drawing the things he wanted, but in a way where he really lived or experienced his dreams of what he wanted his life to be. He knew it worked for items in the drawings; he now wanted to see if following these steps would really make his dreams come true.

  Harold had always wanted to be a writer, and now he wrote articles for a living. But more than that, he wanted to write a novel and get it published. He wanted the novel to be popular and sell well so he could obtain a bit of wealth. Beyond that, he wanted to own a publishing company and be respected as an entrepreneur in the community. He just did not know how he was going to achieve his dreams.