by Hugh Kennedy
Just as important as the contents of the Epistle is the nature of its publication. It was read out in public assemblies, copies were sent to the provinces and Qādir’s son and successor Qā’im reissued it under his own authority. No one could be in any doubt that the caliph claimed the right and obligation to decide on and communicate the basis of Sunni religious practice. This was something new and different in the development of his office.
This took place against the backdrop of a rapidly changing political situation. The death of Bahā al-Dawla in 1012 ushered in a period of chaos in the Buyid state as different members of the family tried to assert their leadership and win over the loyalty of the army. As short-lived and impoverished claimants succeeded each other, the balance between the caliph and his ‘protectors’ changed. Now it was not the case that caliphs were in the thrall of the Buyids, who could replace them and humiliate them at will, but the Buyid claimants increasingly needed Qādir’s support and Qādir found himself in the position of being the intermediary between the Buyids and their armies as they tried to find a stable basis for their government, without any real success. The caliph did not, at this stage, have an army to call his own, but he was increasingly influential in Baghdad politics.
THE ABBASIDS AND THE COURT OF THE GHAZNEVID SULTANS
In eastern Iran, more important changes were afoot. At the end of the tenth century, the Samanid emirate which had controlled eastern Iran and Transoxania (modern Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan) from its capital Bukhara for the best part of a hundred years began to disintegrate. The western part of their lands, in eastern Iran and the north of modern Afghanistan, were taken over by one of their ambitious slave soldiers, Sebuktagin, and his son Mahmūd. They founded a dynasty known from the name of its capital Ghazni, in eastern Afghanistan between Kabul and Qandahar, as the Ghaznevids. This new dynasty, now powerful monarchs but only one generation from slavery and paganism, needed a legitimizing discourse, a position among the patchwork of Islamic dynasts who surrounded them and something to impress the religious dignitaries of the great eastern Iranian cities, such as Nishapur and Balkh, of which they were now the lords.
It was Mahmūd who decided that an alliance with the Abbasid caliph would serve his interests best. There was a lot to be said for this policy. The Abbasids could endorse his titles as no one else could, but they were a long way away and needing support; their overlordship would not be burdensome. Furthermore, there was a religious justification. The Ghaznevid defined himself not just as a Muslim but as a Sunni Muslim. This meant that he was totally opposed to the Shiite Buyids but even more to the Rāfidis, the Isma’ilis and other Shii popular groups in Iran.
Mahmūd’s military power made him a formidable ally and enabled Qādir to appeal to him for support over the heads, as it were, of the Buyids. The alliance also introduced a major theme which would be important for the subsequent history of the caliphate: the connection between the Turks and the Sunni caliphate. It was with Mahmūd that this link first became established and to an extent the Seljuqs and Ottomans simply followed a pattern he had set. It is not easy to explain why Turkish dynasts were so drawn to these views and it may be that it was simply because the first Muslims the Turks came into contact with were Sunnis and they adopted their faith on conversion. Whatever the reason, Mahmūd made this connection with the reinvented Sunni Abbasid caliphate which was to be followed by the Turkish Seljuqs in the eleventh and twelfth centuries and the equally Turkish Mamluks in late medieval Egypt. The identification of the Turks with Sunni Islam has persisted to the present day: the modern Turkish republic and the Turkic-speaking areas of Central Asia—Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Khazakhstan and Kirghizstan—are firmly Sunni. Only in Iranian Azerbaijan do we find a substantial Turkish-speaking Shii population.
Qādir’s original heir apparent had died, of natural causes, long before his father. In 1030 the caliph, now a man in his eighties, appointed a new heir with the title of Qā’im. A description of the ceremony tells of the caliph, now almost too deaf to understand what was going on, receiving the prostration of some of his old enemies before the curtain which hid him in the first part of the audience was drawn apart to reveal the old man on his throne. No Buyid approval was needed for this, the then Buyid ruler in Baghdad was informed by letter and had no choice but to acquiesce; the caliph could make up his own mind.
Qādir eventually died in 1031 at the age of eighty-six after a reign of almost forty years. This in itself was remarkable and his son Qā’im was to continue this tradition of longevity: he died in 1075 after a reign of forty-four years. Such biological events had a more than random importance. None of the ‘great’ Abbasid caliphs of the earlier period had lived beyond their early sixties and many had died in their forties or earlier. Qādir and Qā’im both outlived almost all their political contemporaries and rivals: Buyid kings and Seljuq sultans followed each other in rapid succession. Only the caliphs lived on, increasingly venerable and increasingly respected. What accounts for this longevity is quite unclear. It is possible that a moderate lifestyle and abstinence from alcohol may have played their part, but we have no evidence for this. Certainly their largely static lifestyle—neither of them seems to have travelled far from Baghdad—does not suggest that fresh air and exercise were important factors. Be that as it may, the long lives and reigns of these two caliphs were central to the revival of caliphal power and prestige in this period.
Qā’im continued most of the policies of his father, including the alliance with the Ghaznevids. The importance of this relationship to both sides can be seen in the account of the reception at the Ghaznevid court in Balkh of the ambassador sent to announce the accession of Qā’im and to receive the baya from the new Ghaznevid sultan Masūd, who had succeeded his father the previous year. The reception, lasting from December 1031 to January 1032, is described in the Persian history of Bayhaqi, a courtier of the Ghaznevids and eyewitness, in which the importance of ceremonial in establishing legitimacy is described in fascinating detail.
At this time the Ghaznevids, ruled by Sultan Masūd (1030–41), son of the great Mahmūd, were the most powerful dynasty in eastern and central Iran and, from their base in Ghazni, controlled much of northern India. Furthermore, the dynasty had acquired huge prestige in the wider Muslim world because of their role in this jihād (the ‘Holy War’ of pillage and conquest) in the northern part of the subcontinent. With their powerful and well-organized army, which included many elephants, their core of experienced administrators and their resource base in the rich cities of Khurasan, the Ghaznevids seemed to have little need of the approval of the almost powerless caliph in distant, semi-ruined Baghdad.
This appearance of invincibility did, however, hide some significant weaknesses and anxieties. For all their military power and their starring role in the jihād in northern India, the Ghaznevids were still newcomers on the political scene. In 1031 the newly enthroned Masūd was the third generation to hold power, but there must have been many in Iran who remembered that his grandfather had been a slave from an obscure Turkish tribe in an out-of-the-way part of what is now Kirghizstan. Moreover, he was a first-generation convert to Islam. The family could claim no kinship with the Family of the Prophet or the heroes of the early Islamic state and they had no great pretensions to piety; indeed the public, formal consumption of wine in vast quantities at court was one of the defining features of their royal style. In these circumstances, it was very important to them to be granted the caliphal seal of approval. To be able to claim that they were servants of the Abbasid caliphs, who had appointed them to rule vast and populous areas of the eastern Islamic world, was of immense benefit. It gave them a recognizable position in the hierarchy of Muslim rulers, even if everyone knew that they had acquired their position by brute force and that the caliph had had little choice but to accept their position.
Mahmūd had forged close links with Caliph Qādir. They had mutual interests. The caliph, as we have seen, was intent on developing the religious and
ideological aspects of his office and needed to find powerful supporters to accept this. Mahmūd of Ghazna, now firmly established as a ruler, had seen his opportunity. He proclaimed himself a loyal servant and protector of the caliph against the ‘heretic’ Buyids and pledged his loyalty to what was now clearly a Sunni caliphate. It was no coincidence that he also had his eye on many of the rich lands of western Iran presently slipping from the hands of the increasingly feeble Buyid princes. Who knows, he might well have had aspirations to establish his control in Baghdad itself and rule as a powerful Sunni protector of the caliph. Any such aspirations he may have had were ended by his death in 1030, but Masūd, always his father’s son, was determined to pursue the alliance with the Abbasids.
There were other, more specific areas in which caliphal support could be of benefit to the new Ghaznevid ruler. Masūd’s own accession had not been uncontested. He had been in central Iran with much of the army when his father had died in distant Ghazna. His half-brother Muhammad had taken control in the capital and was making a bid to be the next sovereign. There was no undisputed hereditary succession, no primogeniture to decide which of the two should succeed or, indeed, whether the Ghaznevid realm should be divided between them. For the moment, Muhammad had been defeated and was confined to prison in a castle near Ghazna, but he still had influential supporters and may well have been planning a comeback. Caliphal investiture of Masūd might well have persuaded many waverers that he was the legitimate ruler.
But there was another problem too. When the Samanid state had disintegrated, the Ghaznevids had seized control of the western and southern areas, but Transoxania, including the old Samanid capital at Bukhara, had been taken by a Turkish nomadic group generally referred to as the Qara Khanids or Black Khans. They had converted to Islam and had claims to be powerful Muslim rulers. They were also powerful rivals and intent on expanding their influence to the west of the great river Oxus in the cities of Khurasan and especially the rich inland delta of the Oxus known as Khwarazm, which had its own lords, nominally vassals of the Ghaznevids but always careful to maintain their autonomy. If the Ghaznevids were to retain control of these areas, it was vital that they secured the caliphal investiture which would convince both citizens of the towns and local lords that they were the legitimate sovereigns. The new caliph, however, might take some persuading to put all his resources into the Ghaznevids.
Bayhaqi begins his account3 with the report that the caliph Qādir had died and that his son Qā’im had been chosen to succeed him. The oath of allegiance had been taken by both the Abbasids and the Alids and all the people of Baghdad. Envoys had been sent out to the various provinces of the caliphate to request their oaths of allegiance and one Muhammad Sulaymānī had come to Khurasan for this purpose. The sultan and his counsellors met to decide what to do. There had not been a new caliph in the whole time of the Ghaznevid dynasty and there was no obvious precedent or rule to follow. They were really inventing a tradition which could be developed to boost the prestige of caliph and sultan alike and they realized this was a great opportunity to request the caliph’s political support and to display the sultan’s power to his subjects. Masūd was staying at Balkh at the time. The Ghaznevid court was itinerant, like many contemporary monarchies in western Europe, and the ruler and his whole court moved between the cities and hunting grounds of his realm. Balkh, sometimes referred to as the ‘mother of cities’, had very ancient origins going back to Achaemenid times if not before. It consisted of an ancient citadel surrounded by a shahristan, an inner city roughly circular in shape. In the shahristan were the great mosque and the bazaars, while outside the walls there were gardens and the palaces of the elite. Masūd chose to stay in a garden palace where there was space to house his troops and set up temporary offices for the government departments.
On Friday 3 December 1031 news came that the envoy was very close and the sultan ordered a reception committee of the sharīfs (nobles) of the Alids and other prominent citizens to go out and escort him in. It was important to send some men who spoke Arabic because there is no indication that the envoy spoke Persian, while many at the Ghaznevid court, including the sultan himself, had little or no Arabic. On 10 December, escorted by the notables of the town and a guard of honour of 1,000 troops, the envoy entered the city and was taken to his lodgings in a palace in the Alley of the Basket Weavers where ‘much delicately prepared food was immediately brought in’.
The envoy was allowed three days to recover from the rigours of the journey and was lavishly entertained. The sultan then ordered that he be brought into his presence. Before he arrived, Masūd had another private meeting with his main advisers to discuss how this encounter was going to be organized and how the letter pledging allegiance had been drafted. Thursday 19 December was the first day of the new Muslim year (423). Already by dawn 4,000 troops were on parade, all in full military regalia, including belts, swords, quivers and bow cases, and each soldier was dressed in a brocaded coat from Tustar, a city in southern Iran well known for the production of fine textiles. They stood in two lines so that the envoy would pass between them and be left in no doubt as to the power of a state which could muster so many soldiers and equip them with such gorgeous uniforms. The procession which took him to the palace was accompanied by trumpets and various types of drums, including those which were carried on the backs of elephants—‘one would have said it was the Day of Resurrection’—and Muhammad Sulaymānī was much impressed, having never seen anything like this in the modest court of the caliph in Baghdad.
When Sulaymānī, dressed in Abbasid black, reached the palace, he found the sultan sitting on his throne surrounded by courtiers, the grand vizier standing by his side. He was invited to sit and the sultan asked him how the caliph was. This was the cue for him to announce the bad news of Qādir’s death and the good news of Qā’im’s accession. The grand vizier then requested that he present the letter he had brought and so he stood up and walked to the throne, taking the letter out of its black silk pouch. He then called on one of the courtiers to read out the latter in Arabic and then to translate it into Persian so that everyone (including the sultan himself) could understand. When this had been done, the envoy was escorted back to his lodgings with great ceremony.
The next day was to be the start of mourning for the dead caliph. The sultan wore a white headcloth and a white robe, white being the colour of mourning, and all his courtiers did the same. The bazaars were closed and people of all ranks came in groups to offer their condolences. After three days the mourning ended and drums were beaten to announce the reopening of the bazaars.
The next stage of the ceremonies was to acknowledge the new caliph. This was to take place at the great mosque in the centre of the city. The sultan summoned Alī b. Mikāl, a member of a well-known Persian family who held the office of chief of the notables of the city and who had been put in charge of the arrangements. Alī was ordered to decorate the street which led from the gate where the palace was situated to the great mosque. Ornamental arches were also to be erected on platforms. Alī summoned the leading citizens and for the whole week, Monday to Thursday, they transformed the street so that ‘no one could remember seeing Balkh like it’. They carried on working all Thursday night and by dawn on Friday everything was ready.
That morning the sultan held court and gave instructions that the people should come in an orderly fashion to witness the procession, should be careful not to damage the arches and other decorations and should not make any noise or indulge in any jollity or merrymaking until after he and the envoy had passed. The onlookers could do then as they pleased, for he intended to return to his palace by another route outside the walls. Black-robed attendants were appointed to make sure the populace behaved themselves and played their part in this dignified pageant.
At noon the sultan mounted his horse. The 4,000 troops who had served as the guard when the envoy had first come to the city led the procession with their commander in the rear. They were followed by the s
ultan’s personal guard, carrying his standard, the major dignitaries of the court and then the sultan himself. He in turn was followed by the grand vizier and Alī b. Mikāl escorting the envoy and the civilian elite of the city, the judges and learned ulama. It was all very sedate and disciplined, with not a sound to be heard apart from the drums and the attendants ordering people to stand back.
Once they reached the mosque they found the minbar covered from top to bottom with brocade woven with golden thread. The sultan and his courtiers sat at the foot of the pulpit while the khatīb, the official preacher, gave the sermon and formally invoked the name of the new caliph. After that the sultan’s treasurers came up and laid purses full of coins by the minbar, first in his name and then in the names of his sons and his courtiers, until a vast sum of money had been collected. All this was to be taken to Baghdad and given to Caliph Qā’im. After that the court dispersed: the sultan and his immediate entourage made their way back to the palace while Alī b. Mikāl escorted the envoy through the bazaars past the stalls in the market, now thronging with people, back to his lodgings where an elaborate reception had been prepared. Meanwhile the people of the city celebrated enthusiastically.
The next day was reserved for business. The grand vizier and other advisers were to draw up the formal agreement (ahd) which Sulaymānī was to take back to Baghdad for the caliph to sign. After the vizier had consulted with his colleagues, Sulaymānī was summoned. It looks as if there was some fairly hard bargaining. The sultan would accept the agreement which had been brought from Baghdad, subject to certain conditions. Masūd was to be invested with lands which were significantly more extensive than the ones he presently controlled. Among these were ‘all of Sind and Hind [India]’ and, more controversially, the whole of the western Iranian plateau as far as the pass of Hulwan. This would bring his forces to the edge of the Iraqi plain, only a short distance from Baghdad itself. The caliph was also to promise that he was not to enter into any direct correspondence with the Qara Khanids of Transoxania, nor to give them honorific titles or robes of honour, but was to use the Ghaznevids as intermediaries. This, the advisers claimed, had been the position under the great Mahmūd of Ghazna and they wanted it to be restored. In addition, the caliph was to give permission for Ghaznevid armies to attack Kirman in southern Iran and Oman on the other side of the Gulf. The Qarāmita heretics in Bahrayn were also to be annihilated. The sultan’s officials were frank about their motivations: ‘a vast army has been assembled and we need more territory. The army must be put to work.’ An army which did not bring in more resources was an intolerable burden on the state.
