The Pen- Sultan's Wisdom

by Dennis Galloway

  He placed the list of what he wanted next to the drawings he had on the wall near his bed. Every morning he would sit quietly as he read the steps out loud. Then, closing his eyes, he would let the words sink in until he felt them become part of him. He felt the swell of pride that being a novelist brought, of being an owner of a publishing house, of being wealthy, of being happy. He believed if he could experience in his mind that he was living these things even before they were a reality, he would achieve his future desires.

  Harold’s behavior changed. He felt more confident, more sure of what he was striving for. He could thus easily avoid steps that did not take him in the direction he wanted to go. Now he had a destination he could believe in. He knew his future.

  He gave thanks every day and was grateful for the good fortune he enjoyed. He made a donation every Sunday to a local church to express his gratitude.

  Harold realized how valuable the gift was that the translations were giving him, so, each evening, he retired to his study to see if the pen would reveal more to him. And it did.

  Al-Hamid, Merchant

  When we reached the small town of Awasi, where Jomana Karim was to do some trading, my men and I planned to return to our tribe. Karim’s caravan stopped outside of the town to unload his goods and set up camp. When this was completed, late in the day, I came to his tent, where he was resting from the heat of the day.

  Harold found himself outside of Karim’s tent as Al-Hamid arrived. He followed Al-Hamid inside.

  As I entered the tent, the glare of the day softened. I saw Karim resting on one elbow, eating olives and cheese.

  “Sit, my son. Eat. Rest. I am glad to see you,” he said.

  “Thank you. I will. It has been a long day.” I sat down next to him. “Karim, I have considered your offer and decided to accept.”

  His eyes shined, and he sat straight up. He clasped his hands together and gave me a big hug.

  “Oh, you have made a wise decision, my son. I am so happy for you! I must notify my officers and hold a meeting right away!”

  He got up from his cushions and, for an old man, departed very swiftly.

  Soon his officers were gathered in his tent. He explained that he wanted me to take over his business upon his passing. This was witnessed by his officers and acknowledged in writing by his scribes.

  Harold watched all of this as if in a theater watching a play. He felt he was witnessing the transformation of Al-Hamid’s life from wandering Bedouin to merchant

  A celebration was held that night with the best sharbat and food. We left the next day to return to our tribe. I had much to do to prepare for becoming a merchant. Maybe there was a way to be both a merchant and a Bedouin? I decided to try.

  About six months later, a messenger arrived at our camp and sought me out. He was brought to my tent, where I was holding a council meeting.

  “My zaeem, this messenger has arrived with a package for you,” said Hamal, one of my trusted men. I acknowledged Hamal and motioned for him to come to me. He walked in and bent a knee, bowed his head, and opened his pack. He pulled out a wrapped package that looked like documents. On the top was one addressed specifically to me. I took the package and placed it before me.

  “Hamal, feed this man and find him a cool place to rest while he awaits my response.”

  “Yes, my zaeem,” said Hamal, bowing and backing out of the tent with the messenger in tow.

  “My friends,” I told the council, “it appears I have something important to look at now. Please excuse me for closing the meeting so abruptly so I may attend to this matter.”

  All of the council members nodded their heads, got up, and left me alone in the tent. I looked down at the package and knew instinctively what it was. I took the document addressed to me and opened it. It read:

  May the blessings of Allah be with you on this sad day. Your master Karim has passed on to the hands of Allah to dwell with his ancestors. This letter is to inform you that you are now the sole owner of his business, Karim Trade, and its assets, which will be revealed to you in the accompanying documents. As part of his last wishes, you will be educated by his officers in the operation of the business and the plans he had in place for it. It is, of course, yours to maintain or alter as you see fit. Please find all appropriate documents necessary for ownership of his business and wealth.

  Your humble servant,

  Hishmal-al-kalal

  So, there it was. I was the owner of a trade business and the chief of my tribe. I read through the rest of the documents and found maps of the trade routes Karim frequented. There was a list of possessions, employees, and other important items related to his business. I decided if I was going to run this business, or at least try, I needed to travel at least a couple of the trade routes to assess if this life would work for me.

  Harold’s vision changed, and he found himself standing side by side with Al-Hamid as he was tutored in the trade business. Harold was fascinated.

  I began my training in earnest in the business’ operation with the men employed by Karim. I was told that along one of the trade routes we avoided was a particularly cruel sultan who demanded taxes from any caravan that passed by. Since I wanted this business to succeed, I was interested in having as many trade routes as possible. I wanted to negotiate with this sultan to pay no taxes on my trade goods in exchange for favorable prices for him. I decided to travel with the next caravan on that route to meet with this sultan.

  Harold’s vision shifted. He was standing on sand next to a horse Al-Hamid was sitting on.

  It was in the fifth month of the year, when our caravan came upon the sultan’s city. “There it is, Zaeem,” said one of my men. We were sitting on our horses, overlooking the city in the early evening. The setting sun draped the city’s domes and spires with a golden glow. A slow, meandering river, hidden in tall reeds, green grass fields, and banked by tall palm trees, marked its passage by the city.

  The beauty of the scene caused a smile to cross Harold’s face. It indeed was a sight to behold.

  “Ishmar, bring the caravan over to the fields and set up camp. On the morrow, I shall seek audience with this sultan and begin my negotiations,” I said.

  “Yes, Zaeem,” Ishmar said as he bowed his head and rode back to the caravan slowly winding its way toward the city.

  I sat on my horse and watched as the caravan came down into the fields and began to settle in. I started to ride down to meet them, then stopped, astounded. Horsemen suddenly galloped from the city, brandishing swords and flags.

  They rode toward my caravan and surrounded it. Soldiers were posted by our tents and the camels. It did not look like there would be a negotiation—more like they were being captured by an enemy.

  I waited until dark, and then made my way cautiously toward the camp.

  Harold ran down the hill behind Al-Hamid, following him closely to not lose him in the dark. The only thing he could see was the small campfires and Al-Hamid’s dark figure as it passed between him and them.

  I dismounted in the reeds by the river and walked quietly toward Ishmar’s tent. Once there, I twice gave the soft whistle of a desert bird. Ishmar emerged from his tent next to the guard.

  “Ah, my friend, nature calls, and I must answer,” he said to the guard.

  “Fine, but be quick about it, or I shall come find you and cut off your ears,” the guard said with a sneer.

  “You are so kind. I thank you,” said Ishmar as he left the guard and walked toward the reeds where I was hiding.

  Ishmar went right past me and made the bird whistle twice in answer to my call. I approached him from behind and wrapped my hand across his mouth while I pulled him down. His eyes were wide with fright, but he did not yell out.

  Ishmar twisted his head around and saw me there, while I held my fingers to my lips to signal him to be quiet. We both quietly distanced ours
elves from his tent before we talked in whispers.

  Harold followed, but he tripped over a shrub and stumbled in the dark. Al-Hamid and Ishmar stopped and quickly looked about, thinking it may have been a guard following them. Not seeing anyone, they continued on until they were a safe distance away. Harold cursed himself under his breath for being so careless.

  “Ah, my master,” said Ishmar, “I am so pleased with Allah that you are yet free. We have been taken hostage and our goods confiscated until the sultan receives his outrageously high taxes from us. He insisted he talk with our master for payment or we shall not be set free.”

  “Ah, so it seems I shall have to pay this sultan to secure our release,” I said.

  “Master,” Ishmar replied, his eyes betraying fear, “do not let yourself be seen. For surely, he will hold you personally in captivity until you relent.”

  “Do not worry, Ishmar. I have a plan. Send Ansha to me. You better go now before the guard becomes suspicious,” I said as I pushed him back toward his tent.

  Harold could not get out of Ishmar’s way fast enough, so he stumbled over Harold and landed in the sand face down. Al-Hamid reached over, helped him get back up, and sent him on his way, shaking his head.

  I waited where I was until Ansha appeared. I quickly told him my plan. He returned to the camp and I to my horse.

  Harold followed Al-Hamid’s horse toward the camp since the horse was going slowly down the dune.

  I rode around the camp and then came down a sand dune toward it. Being dark, the guards did not see my approach. All of a sudden, I appeared, startling them.

  “Ahhh eee!” cried one in surprise.

  “Stop!” shouted another.

  “Captain, a stranger arrives!” yelled one of the guards behind him.

  “What is this?” I asked aloud and with anger.

  “Who are you?” one of them asked, while others with swords drawn and bows nocked with arrows watched me nervously because of my sudden appearance.

  “I am Al-Hamid Akbar, master of this caravan. Why have you surrounded it with arms? What is going on?” I demanded.

  The captain of the guards arrived and stood in front of his men. He told them to lower their arms.

  “My apologies, Master Al-Hamid Akbar. My men were startled at your sudden appearance and thought you a ghost of the desert. Please follow me, and I will tell all to you.” He waved an arm toward a large fire in the center of the camp.

  Harold followed them closely, but a guard, watching them go, stepped in front of him, so Harold bumped him. The guard yelled over his shoulder, “Idiot, don’t stand so close!”

  The other guards who were also watching their captain and Al-Hamid enter the camp just stared at the back of the man, surprised at his comment.

  As I rode into the camp, the soldiers closed the path behind me. I dismounted and walked with the captain to his tent, which was set up by the fire. The captain bade me enter the tent as he held the flap open. His tent was bare except for a few cushions. He politely offered me a seat and ordered a slave to pour us some sharbat.

  “Again, I wish to apologize to you, Master, as I am under orders from my sultan to encircle your camp for your protection.” He paused.

  “Yes, that is kind of your master. And there is no other reason?” I asked casually, as I drank.

  “Yes. To trade here, or to pass though the sultan’s lands, you must pay taxes. We are also here to ensure an accurate count of your goods so we may levy the appropriate tax,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

  “Well then, when can I talk with your sultan to see if I can correct this misunderstanding?” I asked.

  “I am afraid not until the end of this week, as the sultan is celebrating his twenty-fifth year of rule and has much to do.”

  “But that is five days away. I must be on my way, for I am expected in other cities where my goods are needed!” Outraged, I stood up.

  “I cannot allow you to leave until your taxes are paid, whether you trade here or not,” said the captain, still seated, drinking his sharbat.

  “This is outrageous!” I said in disbelief. “I have never heard of such treatment, especially for merchants who provide your city with goods they need!”

  “You are welcome to visit our fair city, purchase goods you need such as food or water, but no trading,” he said. “Again, I apologize, for it is not my will. I am just a soldier who carries out his master’s wishes.”

  I stormed out of his tent in a huff and passed soldiers standing about. I went to my tent, which had been erected. Once inside, I was by myself.

  “Perfect,” I said to myself. “That should give me the time I need.”

  Meet the Sultan

  The rest of the week was peaceful, except for me occasionally throwing a public fit about our situation for all to see. Finally, I was given an audience with the sultan.

  I was escorted to the palace and admitted into a large chamber.

  Harold followed and barely made it into the chamber because the guards quickly closed the doors behind Al-Hamid and his escort.

  The walls were adorned with richly woven fabrics depicting various scenes of hunting, celebrating, and more. In the room’s center was a raised platform on which large cushions of silk or some other fine fabric were placed. On the very top of the cushions, in the center of the platform, sat a large, fat man wearing a giant turban and draped in the finest clothes, shining with gold and silver threads. He was casually smoking a hookah, while being fanned with large palms held by slave women. I was brought before this sultan, where I bowed respectfully, though I was seething at the treatment he had inflicted upon my caravan and men.

  “Your highness, great sultan, I greet you respectfully this day,” I said as I bowed. “Thank you for this audience. I hope we may resolve any misunderstandings about my peaceful caravan. Be assured, our only intention is to bring to your beautiful city all manner of trade goods at reasonable prices.”

  The sultan looked up from his hookah, puffed a few more times, and then said, “There is no misunderstanding. You must pay me taxes or you may not leave. If you refuse to pay my taxes, then I will confiscate your goods, and you will have no trade at all.”

  “I see. Then your highness is unwilling to considering lowering the tax in exchange for more favorable prices on my goods?” I said with raised eyebrows.

  He responded with venomous malice.

  “There will be no negotiation. The taxes must be paid!”

  “But, your highness, this is very unusual. Taxes are normally taken out of the profit from our trades, not before. How then can an honest merchant make a living?”

  “Have you not ears to hear? Think wisely on this. Return to me by the end of the week and pay me the taxes due or be imprisoned and have your goods confiscated.”

  With that, the sultan dismissed me, and I was led out of the chamber.

  I made my way back to my camp and called upon my trusted officers to gather with me for a meeting. I told them we had only a week to decide between paying the taxes and losing everything.

  Later that evening, I heard the desert bird call that told me a messenger was waiting for me in the bushes behind the camp. I snuck out in the dark and made my way to a place previously agreed upon for such meetings.

  Harold followed.

  “Ansha, it is good to see you again,” I whispered. “Did my brethren heed my call for assistance?”

  “They did, indeed, my zaeem. They are hidden in the desert beyond sight, awaiting your instructions.”

  “Good. Then here is what I want the others to do.”

  I whispered my plan to Ansha.

  Harold was unsure he heard clearly what Al-Hamid told Ansha.

  I then left him and returned to my tent.

  Harold went ahead of Al-Hamid on his return to his tent and saw a guard coming in the
opposite direction toward them. He knew if he did not do something, Al-Hamid would be caught outside of his tent, arrested, and imprisoned.

  As the guard came toward them, he had not yet seen Al-Hamid, but Al-Hamid saw him and stopped. He was clearly caught out in the open, with nothing to hide behind. Harold quickly reached down at his feet and grabbed some sand. He threw the sand into the man’s face.

  “Ahh, oh, ahh!” the guard screeched as he dropped his sword and put both of his hands to his face to wipe the sand out of his eyes.

  Al-Hamid was startled at what he had just witnessed. Sand had flown up from the ground and been tossed into the guard’s face. There was nothing to explain it, but Al-Hamid did not wait. He passed the yelling guard and made it to his tent unseen.

  Harold entered the tent behind Al-Hamid and came up to him quietly as he sat down and grabbed some sharbat, taking a deep drink, his eyes still wide.

  Harold whispered into Al-Hamid’s ear, “It was Allah’s will.”

  He nodded yes. “I am grateful for Allah’s will. Thank you,” he said in all humility, then drank more sharbat.

  A New Sultan

  Harold’s vision again faded to white and then cleared as Al-Hamid’s voice continued to narrate the story. He was still in Al-Hamid’s tent, but it was a new day.

  On the very next morning, I told the guards to summon the captain to me.

  The captain quickly arrived in my tent. “You wish to see me?” he asked.

  “Yes, Captain. Your sultan drives a hard bargain. Please tell him I am ready to talk to him about the taxes he demands,” I said with my head hung low.

  “I will, indeed, inform him, though I regret it has come to this,” he said. He then left my tent and immediately reported to the sultan.

  In a few hours, I was summoned to the palace and brought before the sultan.