“So, Mukhtar, are trying to leave without my permission? Aren’t you capable of sharing my insomnia and gloom with me? God disgrace you for running away like that!”
“Forgive me, my lord. I’d noticed how melancholy you looked and how much the misery seemed to be weighing down on you.”
“Then write that down. You know my penchant for innovation and putting a cover on the past.”
“You were lost in a profound silence …”
“So record my silence then! You will see how my deeds ferment and my innovations fare in their labor pains.”
“But, my lord, so gifted and splendid, I myself cannot take on such a complex, indeed impossible task.”
“If you can’t do it well now, then learn how to do so. It will be the same as learning astronomy and the interpretation of esoteric words and stars. Are we created for any other purpose than learning and searching for light? Mukhtar, how long shall I see you only at my banquets and receptions, as part of the procession to open the Canal in Cairo, or at the dedication of my buildings and other ceremonial occasions? Till when will your loyal pens only follow me during my nocturnal councils and affairs of state? Do you define history as simply weddings, ceremonies, ribbons to be cut, records and decrees to be recorded and sealed? That type of history has already covered all caliphs and sultans; they dominate the entire scene. Don’t you think your opus could be expanded to include one of the weakest Buwayhi sultans like Bakhtiyari who turned his meetings with ministers and generals into a chain of weeping and wailing, and all because he had fallen in love with a young boy and lost him? Isn’t what I’m asking you the truth?”
“Certainly, my lord.”
“So then, where have you left my unique and splendid qualities? How can you manage to encrust the memory of time and future generations with the jewels of my era?”
“My lord, my own share of knowledge is very small. Over every knowledgeable person is One who knows.”
“This knowledge you have is less than it should be; it lacks profundity and interpretive power. It could prove very harmful, indeed useless.”
“So how can I raise it to a higher level in order to satisfy my lord?”
“Mukhtar, you have to work hard and never flag. Interpret till you’re sweating out of sheer exhaustion. Open up your senses so you can penetrate beyond the outer shell and reach the very essence of things. There you’ll encounter useful ideas and wonderful proofs. But, if you don’t go through those doors, you’ll be like all other normal people who live in the visible world, and never move beyond the passage of time or cultivate anything beyond rust and dross.”
“Just supposing, my lord, that I were to make the necessary effort till my veins stick out and my face turns pale, but still fail to uncover anything more than what I’ve already mentioned. In such a case I’d have no choice but revert to the things I’ve always relished writing about, the coterie of government and panoply of kingly power. Those are the things I’ve asked people about, and they in turn have directed me to the capital of your rule. I have questioned the inhabitants of your capital, and they have directed me to your court, my lord. It is in this prosperous court of yours that I have found my desired goal, the focus of those interests in matters of administration, warfare, and finance, all combined in the decision-making process and in creating events. Every person can find ease in the particular situation for which he was created. My lord, I have found my own ease in your service, just as I found it with your illustrious forebears. I recount your doings and relate everything to you. That’s why you’ll never find me consorting with the plebs nor bothering about their livelihood, plants, and paltry minerals. No, I have concentrated instead on precious stones, costly horses and livestock, and rare plants that are good for your health, my lord.”
“Mukhtar, my court has attracted you and given you enthusiasms. But at the same time it’s made your head spin so much that you’ve ignored everything else.”
“But, dear patron, the attraction that I feel for the court and all the benefits connected with its firmament don’t prevent me from alluding to other people as well. I can do that in marginal comments about revolts and major calamities like earthquakes, fires, droughts, and plagues.”
“What you want is for the people’s memory to vaunt my name; wherever they turn, my face is the only one they’ll see.”
“How could I wish for anything else, when you’ve afforded your humble servants throughout your widespread dominions a positive flood of your personal radiance and enveloped them in your cogent proofs?”
“But, Mukhtar, today people are in a very different mood from the one I’m used to or desire. Their lese majesty has reached the level of outright slander and censure. They’re busy erasing me from their memory. Haven’t you noticed the increase in pamphlets and the petitions plastered all over the city walls and gates? I’ve come to expect all kinds of unpleasantness from my people, but not lampoons and sarcasm.”
“Pamphlets and petitions are never used, my lord, to write history. It is not bothered with people’s fairytales. History is whatever I write, the things you tell me to record under the inspiration of Him who has made you His caliph to mankind on earth.”
“Those very pamphlets scoff at your history, Mukhtar. They will take revenge on both you and me. They write another kind of history, one that will only recall my name with guffaws and curses. Had you read any of them, you’d realize what I’m afraid of: one traces my ancestry back to a donkey; another claims that I regularly seduce my own sister; a third announces that I stare at the private parts of young boys and palace pages, then accuses me of pederasty.”
Every time al-Hakim talked about the content of a pamphlet, he leaned over and whispered things in al-Misbahi’s ear. The historian squirmed in his place and asked God for mercy.
“And those pamphlets,” al-Hakim went on, “don’t even include others that invoke a malevolent eloquence to portray the way I have shed blood and ruined reputations. If only you could take a look at the disgusting pamphlets that Muzaffar brings to me under his parasol, you’d drown yourself in the Nile or else join me in thinking how to take revenge.”
“But my lord,” the historian replied, “such populist rubbish just goes back where it came from. Before long such obscenities are completely forgotten. That’s what history has taught us, and it can serve as the most accurate teacher and guide.”
“My current predicament has nothing to do with history, Mukhtar, but with my own depression. I feel slighted and demeaned. Inside I’m suppressing a scream, loud enough to shake palace and neighborhood, I am contemplating an idea that, if implemented, will put an end to old Cairo and everybody in it.”
“My lord, I have already inserted the following passage in my history, referring to your actions in Rabi’ al-Awwal of A.H. 395: ‘You ordered a storehouse to be built at the foot of the mountain and to be filled with sanat wood, reeds, and alfa. Everyone—governors, generals, and secretaries in government service—was scared, not to mention the rest of the populace. Petitions increased, and there was much distress. All secretaries and administrators, Muslim and Christian alike, gathered on the fifth of the month and went out to the Rayahin in Cairo, kissing the ground all the way till their reached the palace. Once there, they stood by the gates, praying and begging forgiveness. They brought with them a document penned on behalf of all of them. When they entered the palace, they repeated their pleas for forgiveness, but no one bothered to pay any attention. They handed over the document to the senior general, and he sent it on to the caliph himself. With that, they were all pardoned and, by order of the senior general, told to leave and come back early the next morning in order to hear their pardon read out. So they all left in the afternoon, Next morning they heard read out separate decrees for Muslims, Christians, and Jews, in each one of which there was a pardon and guarantee of safety.’”21
Al-Hakim looked insanely happy. “How well you have memorialized me, Mukhtar!” he said acidly. “And you remind th
at I ordered the storehouse burned so that I could enjoy the lire. On those days the whole thing was a bit of fun, a kind of joke. But the fire I have in mind now is intended to wreak deadly vengeance on the people who make those pamphlets.”
“Start your fires, my lord, and I’ll be there beside you to write the proper description and justification.”
“The people of old Cairo, whose attachment to life is their sickness, can try crawling to me on their bellies like lowly reptiles, but this time there will be no pardon and no safety for them. Night is almost over now. Mukhtar, so go home to your family. Tomorrow night look for me in the dome of the sky, in the desert by the Pyramids. Bring Hamid al-Din al-Kirmani with you. I will need him to explain certain ideas precisely.”
No sooner had al-Hakim issued his command than al-Misbahi gave a bow and left as fast as he could. The caliph stretched out in a corner and snoozed for a little while guards outside kept watch in a desultory fashion.
Next evening, al-Misbahi and al-Kinnani went to their rendezvous in the desert by the Pyramids and sat inside a tent opposite al-Hakim. The caliph looked relaxed and serene; he seemed in a contemplative mood. These symptoms were the result of not only the clement weather and soft breezes, but also the awe inspired by al-Kirmani’s large frame, radiant visage, and profound words.
Al-Hakim took a deep breath and rocked back and forth. “Greetings to the great authority of the Iraqis and eminent philosopher of our cause,” he said. “How is it that you have been absent for so long? I have been in urgent need of someone knowledgeable in the highest and lowest degrees, thirstier than sand itself for the fresh water of truth.”
Al-Kirmani placed his hand on his heart and gave his interrogator a sad, yet affectionate look. “My lord,” he said, “I have only turned my attention from you in order to focus on your needs. My only concern and preoccupation has been the blessed calling and the reformation of whatever of it has been dissipated. Truth to tell, regions and islands still seem to me to be as I described them to Your Majesty more than two years ago:
“The heavens are shrouded in a blanket of clouds. People are suffering an enormous trial. The covenant recorded in former decrees has been broken; the works of the holy men of our religion have been cast aside; the ceremony of holding a council of wisdom in accordance with their past practice has been rejected. The lofty has been abased, and the lowly exalted. With my own eyes I have watched as holy and devout men of faith—may God extend their light!—men who have been fostered within the arms of the cause, have stood perplexed in the face of these circumstances that are enough to turn hair white. They have found themselves utterly bewildered by the kind of innovations that normally only send hypocrites and heretics to perdition. These days they are killing each other and charging their colleagues with fornication and criminality. They let evil notions and destructive rumors get the better of them, and seem totally unaware of the clear smoke that protects them and the fearsome trial they will face. Some have taken excess to its limits, others have renounced the bonds that tie them to their faith. A minority have totally shaken off the religion and devotions that were their choice and habit. They face a grim future of moral decline and dissipation beset by devils all too eager to snatch them away and rob them of their beliefs. Some people among them are content with their personal credo, in that their spirits are delivered through belief in God Almighty’s own statement; Those who go astray cannot hurt you if you are rightly guided.”22
“Don’t rub salt in the wound, Hamid al-Din,” al-Hakim reacted, making no attempt to hide his exasperation. “You bring up such things about times past, when my remaining time is limited. How can I possibly embark on a campaign against my own adepts when I am totally involved in quelling my own conflicts and anxieties? Haven’t you noticed how I’ve let notables and grandees strut about, using my titles and decorations? I no longer strip them of such things, just so that they can buy them back. Haven’t you read my safety guarantee for non-Muslims where I allow them to rebuild the churches I’ve destroyed and celebrate their feasts and liturgies again? Eminent sage, I am tired and on edge. The things being said by the people of Fustat sicken me.”
Al-Misbahi now broke his silence. “My lord,” he said with a stutter, “exhaustion and disillusion are conditions suffered by all great leaders and overseers of peoples’ destinies.”
“Ah,” al-Hakim went on, ignoring what al-Misbahi had just said, “how I long to live another life, not in order to be a ruler, but to write! Can you even imagine, Hamid al-Din, the things I want to write? Everything that historians do not see or appreciate, all the secret cries, rifts, and verities that are missing from their weighty tomes. For example, return with me to my youth and join me in watching this picture: In the Lu’lu’a Gardens there stands a lofty and eternal oak tree, one that allegedly goes back to Pharaonic times. When I was not yet ten, I used to climb it and spend hours daubing the leaves with glue mixed with seeds. Then I used to hide amid the leaves and wait. It was well before noon when my sticky leaves would be covered with the birds and insects I caught. I used to grab the nearest ones and either strangle them or slit their throats; the ones out of reach I used to get with a stick. The palace cats rushed to congregate under the tree to enjoy the feast I brought them. I’d often kill any cat that was too vicious or greedy. I kept on doing this till one day Burjuwan came along, made me come down, and told me that my father had died. With that, he placed the crown on my head, kissed the ground in front of me, and, along with everyone else, acknowledged me as caliph. As I submitted to the ceremonies of installation, I was also saying farewell to birds and insects. It was only with the greatest reluctance that I descended sadly from their realm, hoping to find the same consolation and serenity in the concerns and pleasures that would come with my new throne and control over people’s lives. My historian has only included the barest skeleton of this particular story, and I wish to write about it myself since it is the origin of all the nightmares and horrible visions that have beset me, things I’ve had to carry inside me during dealings with my subjects—warding them off in good times and applying them in bad ones.”
Al-Kirmani was upset by what he heard, but managed to recover his poise and equanimity. “‘My lord,” he commented, “from my perspective the only conclusion to be drawn from this recollection is that you are indeed the imam indicated in God’s noble words: So wait for a day when the heavens will bring a manifest smoke to cover people. This is a dire punishment. Like prophets and imams before you, you have been sent to baffle human minds with your deeds and to use them thereafter to test the secret intentions of mankind.”
“Like all philosophers, Hamid al-Din,” al-Hakim responded, “your words arrive when the sun is already setting and it is too late. Where are we now with our highest and lowest degrees? What of our creatures, our minds, our firmaments; our symbolic words, our integers, our alphabetic computations? The entire edifice is cracked, great sage, and our corporeal world is crumbling on our heads like so many specters and bubbles that vanish into thin air.”
“In the name of Him who has no like or contrary and who cannot be sensed or comprehended,” al-Kirmani replied, “it’s only advocates of excess, ambition, and greed who keep sapping the strength of the mission. Such people seek shelter in the light of your divine presence, yet they still manage to distort things. As they tour countries and provinces, they deliberately and maliciously misuse the words of our imam. Ja’far al-Sadiq: ‘Whoever spends a year without providing us with a portion of his goods, small or great, will not see God—praised be He and exalted!—on the Day of Resurrection.” They omit to mention these other words of his: ‘Anyone who discloses our secret and then comes to us with a mountain of gold will find himself only further distanced from us.’ So who are these people, other than purveyors of impossible idiocies, who have revealed our secrets and displayed them on walks and streets? Who else has exposed our divine calling to all kinds of calumny, something to be trampled underfoot by men and beasts? Up hill a
nd down dale you’ll find them yelling about how our lord’s very hair is a manifest sign of divine revelation, his woolen garment is possessed of exegetical authority, and his donkey is living proof of the fact that he is empowered to speak. These are just some of the varieties of nonsense that Egyptians-treat with such sarcasm.”
Al-Hakim looked distracted and was clearly annoyed by what he was hearing. “Don’t tell me,” he interrupted, “about things that cannot be corrected. Al-Akhram has been murdered. Hamzah and al-Druzi have fled together, carrying word of our beliefs to the Syrian mountains. So there’s no crisis. All that concerns me now is my own total self, and yet it keeps torturing me with questions: ‘You who are close to relinquishing power, during your reign have you really exercised authority in accordance with stars and heavenly bodies? Or rather was it the case that one day your eyes overflowed with tears and a joy to make you smile? Have you experienced moments when you started trembling and fluttering enough to attract doves to you, or were you rather like someone who experiences orgasm during sex and then proceeds to spread the word of peace?’ Great sage, how can I respond to such questions other than with absolute sincerity? So, the total unvarnished truth is that, throughout my troubled life, I’ve found myself transporting the onus of the heavenly coffin inside my head and suffering exhaustion and bleeding as I shouldered the seasons’ dizzying succession. Anyone who aspires to delve deep into such mysteries should neither rule nor have authority. Indeed such a person should never be involved in ephemeralities or even in tangential dealings with people. The truth is that I have involved myself in contradictions, so I now see myself brought so low that I am a mere part of things rather than being master. I have plastered my people with signs, and they have hurled double them back at me. I have celebrated my feasts and celebrations, and they have always done precisely the opposite. I buried al-Akhram with all due ceremony, and they proceeded to bury his murderer with even more. We both watch each other. They greet all my serious initiatives with guffaws and my decrees with leaflets.”
The Theocrat: A Modern Arabic Novel (Modern Arabic Literature) Page 19
