Readers might recognize an oft-printed stanza from What Remains Unseen, the concluding lines of his stunning poem, “Burning Wings”, an epic and detailed depiction of the Battle of Navarino (1827):
So flared the points of dæmon light,
Their smokie eyes far-gazing,
Upon the sea that fateful night,
A western fire blazing;
Making ash of all we know,
For today and for tomorrow.
This haunting 134-line poem, apparently written from a sickroom overlooking the famous naval skirmish, was Huda’s last creative effort. Suffering from cholera, the poet succumbed to his illness four days after the defeat of the Turkish navy at Navarino.[3] Huda’s death created a minor sensation in Turkey. However, while the newspapers of the day covered the poet’s passing in great detail, there is no record of his burial.
“Burning Wings” established Huda’s reputation (posthumously) as an eloquent observer of life. The work accurately depicts the historic battle while also painting a somewhat prophetic portrait of the changing world of the Ottoman Empire. In particular, Huda recognized the rising dominance of western culture, an influence that would sweep across Turkey with the establishment in 1839 of Sultan Mahmud II’s Tanzimat reforms, through which European-style government, industry, and dress became the laws of the land.
Interestingly, with the exception of “Burning Wings,” which has been re-printed widely in Arabic, few examples of Huda’s work appear outside of Earlie Days in the Light, Verses, and What Remains Unseen. Even more telling, none of these three volumes have been found in any language other than English; each was published by the unidentified “R.C. Pubs.”
The text of The Ports and Portals of the Zelaznids offers other clues which point to Ikraam Huda as its author. In particular, material in Chapters 5 and 10 indicate that the writer of the manuscript – who is a poet according to his own words – spent five years among the Zelaznids in what is now northern Iran. The official record shows no known activity for Huda between 1808 and 1816, leaving plenty of time for a five-year stint with the Zelaznids.
The resulting facts are these: 1) every known volume containing the works of Ikraam Huda was published by the same publisher as The Ports and Portals of the Zelaznids; 2) Ikraam Huda’s career fits within the time period of the material covered in Ports and Portals, including the five years the author claims to have spent with the Zelaznids; 3) the form and focus of Ports and Portals corresponds to the style and interests of Ikraam Huda. Conclusion: although he does not use the abbreviation “Ikhu” in any other known work, Ikraam Huda is almost certainly the primary author of The Ports and Portals of the Zelaznids.
As to why Huda used this pseudonym for Ports and Portals but no other works, we can only speculate. Certainly the subject matter was controversial in its day, if the material in the text is to be believed, with the Zelaznids constantly hounded by various authorities. Chapter 10, for instance, indicates that Ottoman officials knew of the existence of the Zelaznids and specifically sought to either arrest or destroy them. It is, therefore, possible that Huda used the pseudonym as insulation against either ridicule or arrest.
If we assume that Huda is the author of The Ports and Portals of the Zelaznids, then, based on internal references and what we know about the poet, Parts I and II of the text must have been completed between 1821 (Napoleon’s death) and 1827 (Huda’s death). Part III, however, cannot be dated accurately, for this final section – consisting of snippets of oral accounts and legends – was likely pieced together after the poet’s death, by a complier or compliers as yet unknown; hence the jarring and sometimes confused nature of this material.
As for the strange and potentially dangerous second volume of Ports and Portals: authentication of the authorship of that text will have to wait until a copy surfaces, assuming it ever existed.
Time will tell.
Paul-Thomas Ferguson
Illinois (June 2009)
THE
PORTS AND PORTALS OF
THE ZELAZNIDS
Introduction
The Valley of Hope
I
n a narrow valley in the mountains, high above the Persian cittie of Astrábád, where the deep brown hills meet the river Attuk, the people known as the Zelaznids did settle. The valley of Quiqanyu,[4] for such it was called by the newcomers, was not a great and fertile land, though it served their needs insofar as God did will it. Neither was it a place for the conduct of vigourous trade, for laden vessels could not venture so far up the Attuk, nor were there roads worthie of speech. In truth, no one traveled to Quiqanyu and this is why the Zelaznids so desired it; for that wise and ancient people, who had wandered the length and breadth of the land for more than one thousand years, had no wish to be found.
Since their emergence in the ancient and mysterious East, the Zelaznids had good cause to run. And run they did, pursued always by those who would destroy them, for Gaia seemed to hold nothing but wrath for the Zelaznids, those bearers of knowledge as deep as the sea, as ancient as the heavens, desirous of naught but to be left to their own truth. Oh, Fate! How this wending world might have fared if the wisest, even in their unbelief, had but harkened to the call of the Wanderers. Yet this was not to be, for a man might glorie in his own beliefs even as he scorns those of his neighbour. It is a rare sect, indeed, that will, in peace, long endure the faith of another.
For this reason the Zelaznids ran from the frozen heights of the Himalay[5] to the great green grasses of the northern steppes; from the heart of Hindu-Kush to Kashmir; and through perilous Persia, bearing with them the honour of their fathers, the centuries strewn behind them, scattered to the winds until such time as Quiqanyu became their hope, their home, and their sepulcre.
Few now remain who hold the truth in their hearts. But the voice of time enjoins me to speak. For those who have fallen, for the valourous Zelaznids, I must tell what I know.
- - Ikhu[6]
~ 23 ~
Part I
The Origins of the Zelaznids
Chapter 1
The Children of the Sun
T
o the west of the eternal Nile, the distant and dust-veiled dunes shift and slough their varied forms against the horizon, careless of those who choose to scale their soft and treacherous slopes. Gaze upon those unfaithful hills when the sun sinks to greet the sands and you might well see the silhouettes of myriad herdsmen making their camps for the evening. It is a necessarie and welcome rest between the toil of the desert and the reward of the marketplace.
There are few who could, without complaint, live for a day as do these heartie folk; fewer still could imagine the joy a man might feel while living in this fashion, though his life be simple. The modern man looks upon the herdsmen with great pittie, believing these tribal nomads to be altogether backward, as ignorant of chromium[7] as of Christmas.[8] Yet the herdsmen labour on, near Giza and el-Amarna and storied Thebes,[9] stronger than the terrible heat and deeper than the great storms of sand that engulf them time and time again.
Oh! How the cittie folk despise them; for men of this age cannot condone a people who have no use for the locomotive; cannot understand why the same herdsman who responds with disinterest upon hearing of the fall of Bonaparte can yet speak with the eloquence of a sage on the subject of a rain storm more than ten years gone.
Look, as I have, and you will find these wanderers throughout Egypt, the empire, and the world beyond. I have seen them on the road to Damascus, in the plains of Baghdad, and amongst the pilgrims bound for Mecca. They are the beating heart of the Earth, for they are, as they shall always be, a living part of all that we have ever known.
W
hen I think of the people who became the Zelaznids, I do so with the Egyptian herdsmen in my mind; for the primæval Zelaznids, if the ancients are to be believed, were themselves a nomadic people who made their homes at the edge of a vast and angrie desert: the great Gobi in the land of the Qin.[10] In this mystica
l place, where each grain of sand rivals the circumference of the kursh,[11] were borne those who would one day call themselves the Zelaznids.
Life, such as it was, came upon them in alternate waves of toil and rest, weariness and contentment. The Gobi had no great bountie to yield to the people, for she is a wicked mistress, that infamous land wherein brave Lange[12] discovered scorching winds and bitter snows. The ancient tribesmen, who called themselves the Ginyu, lived in solitude along the southern reaches of the Gobi, out of the reach of the empire of the Shanyu.[13] Here, left alone but for occasional raids, the people struggled with their hands and their hearts to make good works, meeting the terrible powers of nature with their uncommon strength.
But, even for the Ginyu, time could not pass eternallie in such a fashion. Came a spring when the rain did not fall, a summer when the wells dried up, a time when both man and beast sucked upon the rocks for their nourishment.[14] At each turn, the spectre of Death stretched out his barren hand, stealing from all and sundrie the lives for which they had so long fought.
At long last the tribal elders, seeing that the people had become wearie down to their bones, summoned all of the Ginyu to the meeting place – an assemblie to discuss what might be done to appease the gods who had taken it into their celestial heads to heap ill favour upon these faithful tribesmen. Seventie-seven men stood before the elders, but none dared speak in their ignorant shame, for none believed that Man could alter the will of the gods.
Yet, into this silent circle stepped a lone herdsman. If he possessed a given name, there were none who knew it. The children of the Ginyu called him Majumin,[15] for he was a solitarie fellow who toiled in distant pastures. This same Majumin stood boldlie before the elders at the meeting place - this herdsman who in his life had spoken rarelie to the people of the Ginyu. Now he spoke with simple strength, so that all might hear and understand.
“Is it fitting that we should die whilst we have legs to take us from this place?”
“What else can be done?” a voice called out.
“Let us rather leave this place and find another,” replied the herdsman.
“And where would you have us go?” cried another voice, “For we know nothing of the world beyond.”
“You believe that we know nothing?” replied Majumin. “Yet, each day of our lives we have waited in hope for the coming of the rains. And where do we look for this great miracle?”
“The rains come from the south and the west.”
“This is so. The ancients say that the rains are a gift, sent to the Ginyu from the gods who dwell atop the great mountains. Can you doubt that the gods have now grown angrie with us? Is this not why we are made to suffer?”
“But why should the gods despise us so?” came the voice of an elder.
Majumin shrugged, “I am but a herdsman; I am ignorant of such things. But, while I am in nowise worthie, I shall yet venture to the great mountains and plead with the gods to free us from this hardship.”
The elders all chided him to remain where he was, warning him that the home of the gods was no place for a Ginyu. But the herdsman was unpracticed at heeding the admonitions of the elders. With the coming of dawn, Majumin, bearing naught but those belongings that his back could support, set himself on the road toward the great mountains.[16] But this brave herdsman did not venture forth in solitude. Serving as his escort, there followed thirtie-three men with their wives and children, souls who would no longer stand rooted while Death sought them out.
And so they went, traveling ever southward and westward, with the days stretching into weeks, and the weeks into months. They traveled in the earlie morning and at dusk, hiding from the scorching heat of the sun and huddling close in the chill of the darkness. In the midst of autumn, with the nights growing ever colder, the travelers crested a hill to discover a woeful sight, a vast and barren sea of yellow sand. This image tore the hearts out of the Ginyu, for Majumin had been so stout and sure of his path that none had questioned his leadership, thinking that the Fates had thus far guided his feet.
Oh! How cruel the absence of life can be, for it reminds a man of his own mortal nature. Faced with this new obstacle, the people of the Ginyu, one after the next, fell into doubt, fearing that they had been misled. And some withdrew from Majumin, thinking him no longer a rightlie-guided soul.
“How much farther must we go? How much must we suffer before we find that which we seek?” they cried. “We are wearie of this journie.”
Majumin had no words to succor them. “I will yet continue on to the mountains.”
“But you have brought us to the Takla Makan. Do you intend that we should follow you into that place from which no one may return?”[17]
“It is a difficult thing, this dutie,” answered the herdsman, “but attending to me is your own doing. I have not asked this of you.”
At this, nine men, with their wives and children, left the assemblie, intent on returning the way that they had come, no longer concerned about the hardships of home. But Majumin, true to his word, continued on, skirting the edge of the vast wasteland, showing his companions how they might use the meagre plants and the small creatures of the desert for their sustenance in times of need.
At long last, they entered a region where the signs of life were not quite so rare, where patches of green dotted the spaces between the dunes. To this, the Ginyu responded with lightened hearts, no longer doubting the guidance of the herdsman. To this great fortune, Majumin responded not at all, but remained upon the path in silence.
Then, all of a bright sunnie day in the earlie winter, they reached the first large settlement they had yet seen, a sizable village huddled along the banks of a wide, shallow river. Here the travelers found aid and were treated with respect by the residents, who called their home Ergyan.[18] The Ginyu were glad for the rest, for the Ergyanni invited them to stay. And so they did for a time.
C
ome the following spring, Majumin prepared to continue his journie, but most of the Ginyu wished to remain amongst the Ergyanni, whose river, it was said, was the source of the nectar of life.
“Why venture onward?” they pleaded. “All that we require exists in this place.”
Yet the herdsman vowed to continue on, tracing that river to its source in the great mountains. And so, once more the Ginyu divided themselves, with but eleven men now following Majumin, along with seven women and five children. Months of hardship followed as the travelers traced the course of the river, that winding blue snake that ever widened the nearer they drew to the mountains.[19] At last, their path brought them to Salabad,[20] an ancient cittie perched in the hills between the great mountains and the marshlands at the edge of the desert.
Here, at last, Majumin encouraged his people to settle, declaring that he would henceforth travel alone to seek the favour of the gods for the benefit of the Ginyu. But there was one amongst them, a young stone worker called Zelaznu, who would not hear of the herdsman traveling alone. Having little familie to speak of, his sister being well married to a fine man, Zelaznu declared that he would follow Majumin wheresoever he might lead.
And so these two humble men, with no other escort to speak of, left Salabad of a morning in the late summer, with courage steeling their sturdie limbs, and ascended the slopes of the great mountains, uncertain if they would ever again return to their kinsmen.
~ 23 ~
Chapter 2
The Teachings of Zelaznu
F
or a time, as would be expected of such a loyal and concerned people, the Ginyu kept close watch upon the paths that descended from the mountains, waiting for the day on which Majumin and Zelaznu would return from their journie, though with what stories or messages none could guess.
Among the Ginyu, few thought that the brave travelers would uncover the location of the gods; fewer believed that Majumin and Zelaznu would receive a positive response even if they managed to reach the celestial realm. In large measure, the people kept vigil with the simple ho
pe that their kinsmen would return unharmed.
But Man is a fickle creature and the burdens of the world often press more firmlie on his mind than do the workings of philosophie. With each week that passed, the Ginyu watched the mountains with less and less frequencie. The unsaid but common notion growing amongst them all was that the travelers, their dear kinsman, would never return.
In time, Majumin and Zelaznu assumed a new place in the hearts and minds of the Ginyu, that of distant legends. This was true for the other residents of Salabad as well, for they heard tell of the journie from the Gobi out of the mouths of the Ginyu. Yet, while the Ginyu kept faith with the memorie of their kinsmen, they soon turned their thoughts away from the past so as to build lives in their new cittie.
There was much toil for the Ginyu in those earlie days in Salabad. Having little to speak of, they fared poorlie at first, struggling to survive on the strength of their hands and their hearts and through the charitie of others. But the Ginyu were a herding people by nature, and this is where they turned their labours at last.
High up in hills above Salabad there lived a great number of wild goats, which roamed through the mountainous lands south and west of the cittie. With the blessing of King Xinh, the ruler of Salabad, the Ginyu ventured high up among the stonie peaks, ascending to greater heights than other men of the cittie had dared. In this way, the Ginyu captured a large number of beasts and collected them into herds, from which they would henceforth draw their sustenance.
Thus the Ginyu and the people of the Salabad passed a twelvemonth together in comfort and in health. And then the white men came.
The Ports and Portals of the Zelaznids Page 2
