Bensalem Himmich - The Theocrat

Ibn Dawwas fell to the ground again, kissing Sitt al-Mulk’s leg, clinging to her garment and begging to be relieved of such a risky task.

“This is a daunting charge, my lady!” he stammered. “I am even more afraid of failure. These days al-Hakim has managed to tyrannize and cow everyone to such a degree that you won’t find anyone who’d dare strike a blow against him, even from a distance with a bow and arrow or catapult.”

“Come now, Sayf al-Dawla!” Sitt al-Mulk retorted as she leaned over and wrapped his head in her garment, “do you imagine I haven’t taken your fears into account? I don’t want your hands to be besmirched by al-Hakim’s blood; you don’t even have to be there when he’s killed. All I’m asking you to do is select two of your slaves who have never set eyes on al-Hakim, men whose strength and courage yon trust implicitly. Just convince them that a traitor is bent on harming their master the caliph. Tell them that tomorrow night this nefarious criminal will be lurking in the Muqattam Hills; he’ll be riding a gray donkey and imitating the caliph’s own dress and habits. Promise them money, estates, and high positions if they bring you the head and guts of this traitor in a bag. They should bury the rest of his corpse along with that of the donkey and any companions he may have with him. If they succeed, you must do away with them, so this secret stays between just the two of us. Keep it firmly locked away inside your heart, and you’ll enjoy every possible blessing. You’ll be given charge of government affairs for al-Hakim’s successor whom I shall appoint. For my part, I shall remain what I am, a woman behind a veil.”

Sitt al-Mulk had allowed no leeway for expressions of fear or objections. In fact Ibn Dawwas started extolling her wondrous intelligence; as he saw it, the plan she had devised was flawless. When she was sure he understood it in every detail, she planted a kiss on his ear. She then took two sharp knives out of her sleeve and handed them to him.

“These are Tunisian-made,” she told him. “I have complete faith in their efficacy.”

With that she stood up and left. Ibn Dawwas followed her to the door, uttering expressions of obedience to her wishes. He promised to bring her the bag the next night, just before daybreak.

That very night, while Sitt al-Mulk was hatching her plan and giving Sayf al-Dawla ibn Dawwas the task of carrying it out, al-Hakim himself rode out to the water reservoir in the northeast of Cairo. There he inquired after the latest pilgrim caravan that he had sent on its way months earlier but had not yet returned. He was told that they had sought refuge at the Ka’ba in Mecca and were still there. When he asked about the presents and pilgrim dues he had sent with them, he was informed that Qarmatian robbers had waylaid them and stolen the holy Kiswa, as well as wheat, flour, oil, and even candles and perfume.

“There was a time,” he said slapping his thigh, “when I used to prevent Egyptians from performing the pilgrimage. But then I cancelled the order. Today however I’m going to reimpose it, and there’ll be no appeals.”

Just at that moment al-Hakim felt a sudden stab of pain. He dismissed his servants and guards, then turned his mount toward the Lu’lu’ Palace gardens where he planned to lie down for a while. However no sooner had he arrived than he started feeling even worse. Trees loomed in front of his eyes like soldiers; the branches were drawn swords, each one ready and eager to tear him limb from limb. He headed back to the palace by way of the Tarma stables where he insisted on moving all the horses and other animals out so he could spent the night in the company of his faithful donkey, al-Qamar. It was here in the pitch darkness that al-Hakim started uttering strange phrases, the audible parts of which sounded weird and obscure; his only accompaniment was the neighing of his donkey spreadeagled on the ground, coupled with the stench of straw and animal droppings.

The following morning found al-Hakim still ensconced at al-Tarma. His guards came in and asked if he wished to be taken back to his own bed. He agreed, but once installed there, he continued talking in riddles. He kept shivering uncontrollably, but eventually fell into a deep, yet fitful slumber. When he woke up, his final night on earth had already-begun. He got up and summoned his astrologers. He was reminded that he had banished most of them and murdered the ones who were most skilled. There was only one left, and he was blind and crazy; no one knew his whereabouts. Al-Hakim looked up at the heavens.

“So there you are, O ill-omened star!” he said.

After contemplating the sky for a while, al-Hakim went to see his mother. Lady ‘Aziza. He kissed her head and hands and told her about the unlucky star. His mother wept bitterly. She begged her son to break his normal routine just for this one night and not go out to the desert by the Muqattam Hills.

Al-Hakim responded to her pleadings, shivering as he did so. “This very night and early tomorrow,” he said meekly, “I have much to do. My dear mother, I have led you to perdition, and now my own sister is out to destroy me. But you’re the one I’m worried about, far more than whatever she may decide to do. Take this key, it’s the one to the safe; in it you’ll find boxes containing three hundred thousand dinars. Take the money back to your palace to keep as a reserve.”[25] Now I see you kissing the ground and begging me to dispense with my nighttime ride, yet my restless soul tells me otherwise. Either I’ll go out and come back unscathed, or else I’ll die. If it’s the latter, then farewell. We all belong to God, and to Him do we return.”

Only the last third of the night still remained when al-Hakim left his palace, as though drawn by some invisible force. He got on his donkey and rode off toward the Muqattam Hills, instructing his guards not to come with him; all except for a single boy who brought inkwell, pen, and paper with him. Sitt al-Mulk was following his every move from her own palace. No sooner did he reach the hilltop and go down into the hollow than he started shouting over and over again, “Now you’ll be rid of me! Now you’ll be rid of me!” Coming to himself again, he kept on talking, loudly at times and then muttering, “This is a night like no other. It is the infinite abyss whose overwhelming beauty draws me onward. As I follow the stars and planets of this night sky, I see myself longing for my own demise and the totality that is indivisible. This night is the never-sleeping eye that lures me, pulling me toward the treasure-trove of eternity and the blessings of the world to come.

“On this night that remains unsullied in spite of your vigilance and efforts, my body disintegrates and my cells evanesce, and yet I no longer value them.

“I now belittle this earth of mine where I was welcomed before this dark firmament studded with lustrous pearls!

“Were my soul to fly away and quit the havens of corruption in order to blend with the elements, then my death would be so easy and pleasant!

“Yet what distresses me and kindles my ire is that I am to meet my fate after being betrayed, cut down, and torn apart by the weapons of scum.

“My unlucky star reveals to me how my own end has come about as a result of the scheming of a woman who is closest to my heart, and using a Tunisian knife. This woman will order me killed, then will kill my murderer, and all those who know about it.

“Woe then to the chief of the Kutama! And woe to all those who plot against me!”

The murder of al-Hakim bi-Amr lllah took place on the 27 thof Shawwal 411. At the time he was thirty-six years old, and he had reigned for twenty-five years and one month. If the killers had not forgotten to bury the crippled carcass of the donkey, Sitt al-Mulk’s plan would have worked perfectly. As it was, rumors were rife in every town and leaders started asking questions. But Sitt al-Mulk managed to brush aside this conspicuous error by responding to the rising tide of questions with a serene demeanor, “Al-Hakim informed me,” she said, “that he would be absent for a while. Everything is fine. Al-Qamar, his donkey, either died of exhaustion from carrying too heavy a load or else al-Hakim killed it himself, something he’s threatened to do many tunes.”