Bensalem Himmich - The Polymath

I could no longer manage to keep my worries hidden inside my own home; the clashes were simply too intense. Throughout the cycles of history there have always been episodes and crises during which it has been at least difficult, if not outright impossible, for one to simply stay out of the way and devote one’s attention to scholarship and the delights provided by the good things of this earth. That applies especially to me, since I have regularly plunged feet first into the welter of politics and reluctantly set myself along a path where I can now see that, if things go to pieces and collapse, then so do I. The only difference has been when I’ve changed one allegiance for another and made adjustments in order to fit in with the dictates of temporary necessity and the shadows of victorious swords. Were I to be asked now why I choose to be buffeted by such storms, I would reply that it is because of the mother of my child, Umm al-Banin — God grant her peace. Our blessed little daughter, al-Batul, is now my prime resort, my antidote against the cruel whims of fate and events. Within the haven she provides I have found an abundance of ways to calm the soul and rid the body of its aches and pains. My most enjoyable times are those I spend receiving her tender care and attention and listening to her simple comments on the current events I share with her. Were it not for my worries about being the target of sudden surprises, I would cheerfully let things go their own way and retreat to the serenity of my own home. Then I could steer clear of all the news and concentrate instead on writing and reading, with only my gentle wife and smiling daughter for company.

In the second half of 791, I could no longer pretend to be out of the loop concerning the second chapter of the tragedy involving the Citadel and the Ablaq Palace. This time the tragedy’s plot involved the previous rulers, since they disagreed as to whether Barquq should be killed or kept alive. It turned out that Mintash, who vigorously advocate the former solution, managed to outwit his opponents and had his two rivals, Alaldayn al-Nasiri and al-Jubani, imprisoned in Alexandria. To all appearances he had managed to grab control and was now running the government by himself.

I had never met the victorious amir, the former viceroy of Malatya, but the few tidbits I collected all depicted him as a man with a very short temper who had people killed without mercy and bolstered his arguments with the edge of a sword, a supreme master at the arts of intrigue and duplicity. It was my ill-fortune to witness these traits when I was forcibly taken from my home and family and conducted to the palace. Once there, I found myself face to face with the new puppet caliph, al-Mansur, along with judges representing all the schools of law, a few jurists, and senior army officers. While we were all standing there exchanging Smalltalk, in marched Mintash armed to the teeth, followed by his dawadar and jundar . He gave us all a gruff greeting and then ordered one of the jurists to read out the text of a fatwa which posed the question: “Is it lawful to kill al-Zahir Barquq? The grounds are that he gave aid to the Christians by severing their allegiance to the caliph and sultan, and made war on Muslim armies.”

Without resorting to any preliminaries, I gathered my resources and took the initiative in addressing Mintash.

“Giving judgment by fatwa, Amir, is a legal matter that demands serious thought. In order to reach a decision, we judges need tangible proof and eyewitnesses.”

“Tangible proof and eyewitnesses, you say, man of law?” Mintah responded in a dry, arrogant tone. “Just ask the senior army officers here. If you’re not convinced, then you can leave your books and the cosy environment of your house and enter the theater of war so you can see for yourself the way Barquq has favored the Christians over his Muslim brothers. If you’re still not convinced, then Egypt has no more need of you or your legal opinions. After all, you weren’t born here.”

I said nothing, not because the man’s words had silenced me but rather because I had assessed the dangers involved in responding, orders that I be imprisoned, or banished, or even killed. The chief judge, Badr al-Din ibn Abi al-Baqa’ of the Shafi‘i school, took advantage of a moment when Mintash went over to talk to his aides and came over. “Don’t complicate matters, pilgrim judge,” he whispered in my ear. “We’d better keep our real feelings to ourselves, or else we’ll all be destroyed.” He then took a pen from the dawadar and signed the document. All the secular and army judges did likewise. When my turn came, all I could do was to add my own signature, suppressing a choking sensation as I did so.

Everyone rushed out and went their own way, while Mintash watched people leave with a look of total disdain.

I must confess that all the way home from the palace I was afraid of being ambushed or shot at. I kept urging my mule to go faster and cover the distance involved as soon as possible.

“Cover me up, Umm al-Batul,” I shouted, “please cover me up. I keep feeling feverish, then cold again. Prepare whatever potions you can and help me get better so I can remain alive and gauge what the future has in store for me. I’m enveloped in dark clouds; whether they’re thick or scattered, it’s all the same. In the end, I’m going to pay the price either for signing that document or for being reluctant to do so. It may mean prison or dismissal from my posts. All options remain open. How is the baby and how are you? For me, you two — so help me God — are the only things that are keeping me alive and fending off the fevers life brings. I feel as though I’m back at the early stage of my life. If it hadn’t been for you, Umm al-Batul, and the fact that I met you, I would have given up. ‘Here’s my splayed out wreck of a body,’ I would have told the impinging fates, ‘pounce on it, destroy it, tear it to pieces, till only a thread of smoke remains — the thread of the spirit as it willingly and contentedly returns to its Lord.’”

From bedroom to kitchen my wife went to and fro preparing potions, listening to some of what I said and ignoring the rest. Sitting down beside me with her boxes and bottles, she started making me swallow concoctions and wiping my face and limbs with a cloth. She then placed a dampened band over my forehead and eyes.

“Now, ‘Abd al-Rahman,” she said, “you’ll be able to sleep and stop your ravings.”

“Those ravings, my dear, are the result of drawn swords and rivers of blood.”

Go to sleep, I told you, and recite Surat al-Nas that you told me to memorize.”

“I hear and obey, my dear. I will indeed recite Surat al-Nas as many times as possible. And I will go to sleep, even though I’m still scared I’ll be snatched out of bed by the Mamluks of either Barquq or Mintash. One group will drag me out into the desert. ‘You can stay out here in the boiling sun, you fair-weather signer, you half-baked supporter,’ they’ll yell in my face, ‘You can stay out here till you fry.’ The other group will take me to their master who will vent his furious revenge on me: ‘You can spend your days in the remotest of prisons, you endorser of false documents, you half-baked supporter.”’

From that infamous day, the twenty-fifth of Dhu al-Qa‘da, when I signed the false fatwa, until the end of the month, I stayed at home. I kept praying and reciting the Qur’an as a way of counteracting the effects of a mental breakdown. With the beginning of Dhu al-Hijja I allowed myself to be tempted by the satanic desire for news and information. As the weeks went by, I started getting news from Shaykh al-Rikraki, the Shafi‘i judge whom I’ve mentioned earlier, and some students of mine who had political contacts. Everything pointed to the fact that things were moving in Barquq’s favor and that the noose was tightening around Mintash and his friends. The reason seems to have been — and God knows best — that the governor and people of Kerak remembered everything Barquq had done for them, so they sided with him and gave him their support. To their company were added some of Barquq’s own Mamluks and some Bedouin troops as well. The deposed sultan was thus able to muster an army and march on Gaza. After capturing the city, he then proceeded to Damascus and laid siege to the city. Thereafter, days passed without any confirmable information, until the time when, like everyone else, I heard about the Battle of Shaqhab just outside Damascus, where Barquq’s forces defeated the army of Amir Hajji and Mintash who had put him on the throne. It was confirmed that Barquq was solidifying his control over Syria prior to returning to Egypt where he would once again ascend the throne and resume his rulership of the country.