The Theocrat: A Modern Arabic Novel (Modern Arabic Literature)

by Bensalem Himmich

  “How could I do that when your life is worth more to me than anything?”

  “It’ll be better for you to sell me to your master alive,” said Abu Rakwa, his mouth stuffed with dates, “than to throw my corpse at his feet. You’re even more worried about me than I am. You’re afraid I might take away al-Hakim’s privilege by taking my own life. But you can relax ! Rest assured that I have no intention of wresting my own allotted time from Him who has all lives and times in His hands. Tell me what kudos and benefit you’ll get when you hand me over to your master as he so desires.”

  “I beseech you, by God, revered imam,” replied al-Fadl, “do not think ill of me nor of my master. al-Hakim bi-Amr Illah. You may have hated the Commander of the Faithful, but perhaps he will come to love you. While you have shunned him, he may still decide to befriend you; even though you’ve waged war against him, he may still bestow his bounty on you.”

  “If indeed your master is willing to treat me kindly even though I have done him ill, then he may also do you harm even though you have given him the great boon of victory.”

  “What do you mean, Imam?” asked al-Fadl in alarm.

  “I’ll answer you when you’ve told me how much money al-Hakim has spent on mercenaries in order to defeat me.”

  “He’s spent everything. He’s exhausted the state treasury, then emptied his own coffers and those of his family and retinue—untold quantities of money, gold, silver, and jewels. But how could he do otherwise, Abu Rakwa, when you came within an ace of destroying his throne? You forced him to make a dire bet, something he had never experienced before: either behave like a ruler or perish. When you confronted him with images of imminent perdition, he was forced to hire mercenaries from east and west, Arabs, Slavs, Sudanese, Byzantines, Turks, and others. He had to lavish presents and gifts on them and provide enough to satisfy the most voracious appetites. This unstemmed flow of expenditures would all have been in vain if your army had not entered that marshy terrain and become enmired in its bogs and impenetrable forests. Today you might well utter a curse on money and ambushes alike!”

  “A curse on the enormous sums you spent on agents and mercenaries of every conceivable color! A curse on soldiers whose only religion is greed and gain and whose life consists of one long contravention of God’s laws! What you have just told me, Fadl, responds to the question you asked me earlier.”

  “Explain what you mean, Abu Rakwa.”

  “There’s no particular divination or prophecy involved. I am simply deducing from what we both know about your master that he won’t give you the chance to celebrate and boast about your victory over me. He’ll spare no effort to insure that you do not gain any prominence at his expense, especially since he believes that credit for the victory doesn’t belong to you but rather to all the money and gifts he had to lavish on troops. That’s the way all cursed tyrants behave.”

  “Once you have been disposed of, death may well await me too. But what’s the point of accepting your prediction when I’m surrounded by al-Hakim’s most loyal slave soldiers whose never sleeping eyes watch me night and day?”

  “Then let us go where God wills. He alone has the power and the might. He is sufficient for us, and good is the Trustee!”

  Al-Fadl stood up in response to Abu Rakwa’s invitation and ordered the formation of an escort to return to Cairo. The order was carried out, and the journey started. The pace was slow, since al-Fadl wanted to show off his prisoner in both cities and countryside and to vaunt his own pride and sell-importance. After some three months of travel the procession neared Cairo, with al-Fadl at the head on his horse, Abu Rakwa behind on his camel, and slaves bringing up the rear with shouts and threats.

  On that unique day in the middle of Jumada al-Akhira A.M. 397 Abu Rakwa rode into the city of Cairo. As he made his way through the streets, his eyes could not take in the full horror of what he was witnessing: thousands of heads in every alley and square: an endless succession of prisoners being killed after being subjected to “all sorts of torture at the hands of the populace who clubbed their necks, tore out their beards, and beat them so hard that many of them had fractured shoulder blades. The whole thing was dreadful to behold.”16

  Abu Rakwa leaned over to talk to al-Fadl. “So, al-Fadl,” he yelled in a coarse voice tinged with fury, “is this the way your master treats Maghribi prisoners? I tell you, sooner or later, through God’s great power, the end of this ill-starred regime of al-Hakim will come about at their hands!”

  “This is the way,” yelled al-Fadl at the top of his voice, “that my master is punishing your followers for the outrages they have committed. They are to serve as a warning to all deviants and pretenders.”

  With that he took an enormous swipe at Abu Rakwa that knocked him off his camel and broke his nose. He ordered slaves to grab him, clap him in irons, and put him in the line of people to be tortured,

  While they were carrying out his orders, Abu Rakwa managed to surprise al-Fadl by spitting in his face.

  “You’ve changed your spots, you son of a bitch!” he roared defiantly. “By God, you’ll be killed too, and by the very person you’re trying to serve by killing me. Both of you have set up a legal system based on murder and destruction. You will inevitably get everything you deserve, just as God has promised.”

  The columns of prisoners awaiting execution passed by one after another. Abu Rakwa, dispirited and utterly exhausted, his face splattered with his own blood, joined one of them. In his moments of consciousness, he managed to recognize many of his followers and tried to touch and talk to them, but he was pushed away in a hail of blows and cuffs. He happened to spot Shaykh Zaydan stumbling along behind him, with blood pouring from his head and soiling his ample beard. When Abu Rakwa realized the shaykh was now blind, he yelled out to him.

  “Are we to be blamed, Shaykh Zaydan, because we decided to wage war against evil? What we didn’t realize was that the forces of evil are more powerful than we imagined!”

  “No, no, Abu Rakwa,” replied Shaykh Zaydan with all the voice he could muster, “we will earn a handsome reward; the boons we will receive last longer. It’s merely our earthly bodies that these enemies of God’s truth are subjecting to ruin. Our souls will wing their way to the paradise of God Almighty.”

  “To the Pious One we go on the Day of Resurrection,” chanted Abu Rakwa. “It is with God that all grievances are gathered.”

  “If I die a believing Muslim, I don’t care,” chanted Shaykh Zaydan in response. “From any side my death was for God.”

  Shaykh Zaydan was hit so hard that he fell to the ground. He let out a groan. Abu Rakwa paused to berate the slaves. “You sons of bitches,” he yelled, “how dare you hit this revered shaykh? You can see he’s old and infirm. A pox on you and your master!” With that he was subjected to a hail of blows that cracked his shoulder bone. When al-Fadl realized what was happening, he told the slaves to keep Abu Rakwa alive till they could exhibit him to al-Hakim the Fatimid close by his palace in Cairo. Even though Abu Rakwa had been subjected to such punishment, he still managed to grab opportunities to talk to the people of Cairo who clustered around in places. As al-Maqrizi describes, “He would ask the people he met what their name was, then recite the Qur’an and call down God’s mercy on his forebears.”17

  By midday all the devices of terror and defamation were in place for Abu Rakwa and the heads of his companions to be paraded in front of al-Hakim the Fatimid’s balcony.

  “Cairo had been completely decked out for the occasion. There was an old man named al-Abzari who, whenever a renegade was brought out, used to make a clown’s cap tor him and decorate it with colored tassels. He had a monkey that he had trained to take a whip and scourge the renegade from behind. For that he would be given a hundred dinars and ten pieces of velvet. As soon as Abu Rakwa had passed through al-Giza, al-Hakim ordered him to be brought in. Abu Rakwa was put on a two-humped camel, and al-Abrazi put the clown’s hat on him and then rode the camel behind him. Surrou
nded by soldiers and preceded by fifteen decorated elephants, the procession set off with al-Abrazi’s monkey whipping Abu Rakwa from behind. This is how Abu Rakwa entered Cairo, preceded by the heads of his companions impaled on stakes and poles. Al-Hakim was seated on his balcony by the Gate of Gold, while Abu Rakwa was surrounded by Turkish and Daylami mercenaries riding caparisoned horses and fully armed. It was a memorable day….”18

  During this amazing spectacle, al-Fadl stayed close to Abu Rakwa, thinking all the while about the dire prediction that the latter had given him earlier, something that made him feel extremely depressed. Then he got the idea of secretly killing the imam before he ever reached the presence of al-Hakim, as the latter had demanded that he do. If the two of them engaged in a debate, he reasoned, there might well be some surprises; previous understandings might well be cancelled. He kept chewing the whole thing over, then reached a decision. “It’s holier for me to kill Abu Rakwa now,” he told himself. “I must kill him before he reaches al-Hakim’s threshold.” With that he ordered one of his retinue to deliver the fatal blow, and the command was carried out. lie grabbed the perpetrator and killed him too. When Abu Rakwa was carried to the palace, he had already breathed his last. Al-Hakim was furious and asked al-Fadl what had happened. The commander informed him that a young soldier had treacherously murdered Abu Rakwa; the culprit had already been caught and killed.

  “I had promised myself,” said al-Hakim with a sigh, “that I would first argue with him. then kill him. One of the two is now impossible, but the second is that much easier. Come close, al-Fadl, and give me your dagger.”

  “But he’s already dead, my Lord. There’s no point in killing him again.”

  Without uttering a word al-Hakim took al-Fadl’s dagger, leaned over Abu Rakwa’s body, and slit his throat so that blood oozed out. Standing up again, he wiped his hands on al-Fadl’s uniform, and gave him back his dagger. “Your weapon is blunt, al-Fadl,” he said. “Don’t rely on it in a crisis. Either get it sharpened, or else get another one.” With that, al-Hakim departed, intoning as he did so, “Let this be a lesson for all worthless imposters and opportunists. When they angered us, we took revenge on them; Verily humanity oversteps its reach by thinking itself sufficient.—my Lord, He who has designated me his agent among mankind, has spoken the truth.” Before leaving, he issued orders to the slaves. “Take the rebel’s body,” he said, “and hang it from the ear of the Sphinx, so the changing seasons can turn it into chaff to be blown away by the winds.”

  Al-Fadl remained riveted to the spot, silent and morose like a statue. Then he collapsed. “O Abu Rakwa,” he muttered, “how right your prediction was.” With that his slaves carried him to his home, where, as historians all agree, “he fell ill. Al-Hakim visited him two or three times and gave him many estates. He recovered, but a few days later al-Hakim had him arrested and gruesomely murdered.”19

  Just a few hours after Abu Rakwa’s death the news reached Barqa. A week’s mourning was decreed. Everyone, men and women, young and old, was in a state of alert. They all gathered in mosques and public squares to pray for the souls of their martyrs, and listened in humble contemplation as the contents of their imam’s will were read and interpreted by Shihab al-Din and Hammu.

  “At the very moment,” it said, “when I set myself to speak in praise of God for all his benefits and trials, then the world collapses in my eyes and I prostrate myself. My children from Barqa and all oppressed lands, I shall rise again and tell you the truth, your sole heritage from me.

  “You dear folk, apple of my eye! If you witness the violence of tyranny in your time and wander through the gloomy hollows of darkness, if you see people in oppressed territories being transferred from one prison to another and the poor and rebellious being murdered, do not despair. You are the promise, so you cannot give up! Never will you trammel yourselves on the paths of despair and surrender, nor amid the legions of mayhem and tyranny.

  “Go forth into the world and flourish among the weak and hungry. It is among such folk that sorrow grows in heart and body, and anger along with them. They are family and support, your primary cause in this world and the next.

  “Dear children of mine, I am not the last martyr. Take my place, and make my life a part of your own. Turn your lives into a weapon with which to confront the enemies of love and knowledge. Never submit or throw down your arms, Keep yourselves forever alert and ready for action. Resist, and victory will be yours; resist and resist again with all your might. Should you lose the battle and should chance betray you, you are still the source of inspiration and wonder. You will be the leaders for campaigns yet to come. For your offspring and those of the poor, certain victory is guaranteed. Peace be upon them and you!”

  chapter four

  Signs of Refutation and Merciful Rain

  1. Between Humor and Revenge: Cairo Burns

  [Al-Hakim] summoned commanders and sergeants. He ordered them to proceed to old Cairo [Fustat] and set it on fire. Anyone they captured was to be killed. … The fighting between slaves and populace lasted for three whole days. Each day al-Hakim used to ride out to the Muqattam Hills, climb the mountain, and look down. From there he could watch the fire and listen to the noise. When he asked about it, he would be told that the slaves were burning and sacking old Cairo. A pained expression would show on his face. “God curse them!” he would say. “Who told them to do that?”

  IbnTaghribirdi,

  Bright Stars Concerning the Rulers of Egypt and Cairo

  In the final months of al-Hakim’s life, his mental breakdowns kept recurring. That forced him to stay within the confines of his own private domain of solitude and depression. “It’s not a throne I’m sitting on,” he kept saying to himself, “but rather a volcano, one that keeps spewing hatred, resentment, and anger.”

  During this same period the people’s own volcano was itself spewing out manifestos and pamphlets of wide variety, all of which ridiculed al-Hakim and cast aspersions on his origins, lineage, and deeds. He used to spend long nights either in the Muqattam Hills or perched in the minaret of his mosque, perusing them over ant] over again. The ones with the biggest impact on his frayed nerves were those that had been widely copied and distributed, petitions that had already been forwarded either to him or to his father, a!-’Aziz, before him. He focused on two of them in particular, confronting their scandalous contents with feverish eyes and stricken heart. The first was a placard that had once been placed right in front of al-’Aziz when he mounted the pulpit in a mosque:

  To tyranny and oppression we are inured,

  but not to heresy and stupidity.

  If you are so gifted with knowledge of the unseen,

  pray tell us who wrote this placard.

  The second was the famous decree that the ‘Abbasid caliph, al-Qadir, had issued, signed by a number of judges and religious leaders, including some well-known Shi’ites. It cast aspersions on the lineage and doctrine of the Fatimid caliphs. Its key section has this to say:

  They trace their descent back to Daysan ibn Sa‘id al-Khuram. They are all colleagues of heretics and sperm of devils. Their doctrine is one whereby they seek access to God, believing themselves to be following God’s injunction to the ulama’, namely to serve as a conduit to people at large. They all believe the current ruler in Egypt, Mansur ibn Nizar (known by the name al-Hakim—may God subject him to perdition, disgrace, and exemplary punishment!), to be the son of Mu‘add ibn Isma’il ibn ‘Abd al-Rahman ibn Sa‘id—may God grant him no aid!—who. when he came to Tunis was called ‘Ubaydallah and took the title al-Mahdi. He and his vile forebears—God’s curse on him and them!—are pseudo-kharijis; they have no claims to descent from the line of ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib. The claim is totally false. They do not even realize that the true descendants of ‘Ali have always maintained that those Kharijis are all imposters. While the Fatimid pretenders were still in Tunis; this information was already so widely acknowledged in Mecca and Medina that no one could have been taken in by
their lies. The current ruler of Egypt and his forebears are infidels, fornicators, liars, and heretics. They believe in the dualist doctrine of the Zoroastrians; they have abrogated legal penalties and legitimized prostitution; they have shed blood and cursed prophets; they have insulted forebears and claimed divine attributes. Written in Rabi‘ al-Akhir 402. This text is signed by a number of people.”20

  These texts, with their widely variant length and level of vitriol, had a dire effect on al-Hakim’s entire mental state; they triggered a sordid retrospective beset by the foulest of memories and a sense of sheer panic. A savage whirlwind took control and dragged him inexorably down to self-destruction. While he was in such a frame of mind, his memory would take him back to a period a quarter of a century earlier when Egyptian humor at his expense had reached some sort of zenith. During a tour of Fustat, people had rigged up a female mummy in his path and covered it with a shawl and veil; in her outstretched hand they put a sealed letter which looked just like a petition requesting redress for some wrongdoing done to her. When al-Hakim took the letter and read it, he almost fell off his donkey, so foul was the abuse directed at him—disgusting language of a kind he had never heard in his life before. He was furious and ordered the woman to be tortured, then burned alive. They told him that she was actually a statue made out of strips of paper. That made him even angrier, but he decided to bide his time before taking revenge on the people of old Cairo for the way they had insulted and poked fun at him.

  Had that long awaited opportunity finally come today, I wonder? By now, Egyptians were using houses and rooftops to send each other thousands of letters every day. They filled walls and gateways with slogans and placards, all of them trying to outdo each other in vituperative eloquence as they reviled al-Hakim’s name.

  The people in old Cairo dubbed their campaign against al-Hakim’s tyranny “resistance by sarcasm”; their revolt was called the “papers revolt.” These two tags were widely used; young and old adopted them as a means of expressing their desire for freedom and confrontation.