Bensalem Himmich - A Muslim Suicide

"My dear brother," he replied, doing his best to keep his alarm under control, "in times such as ours, politics is the art of caution and circumspection, a quest for something better. War is a contest; sometimes you win, sometimes you lose."

"When people in quest of something better are actually looking for something worse, then it's simply called debauchery and cowardice. Your companions have corrupted political life by distorting it, transforming it into something cheap and nasty for barter. When it comes to warfare, any sensible person can tell that it's the populace that ends up suffering hardships. Don't you hear about the way the enemy keeps on disrupting life in their quarters and houses by launching raids and house searches? They take women away and orphan children. Men are forced either to convert to Christianity or else to refuse and leave…"

"But, my dear brother, the enemy is stronger than we are; there's no way that our weapons can blunt theirs. The only way we can behave toward the kings of Castile, Aragon, and Leon is to grin and bear it and adopt effective stratagems. Today we're in the process of negotiating with the most powerful and reliable of them, Alfonso of Castile.* But when it comes to fighting them, all we can hope for is that God Almighty will grant us victory by means of an army in His control."

"Are you seriously talking about our rulers, our puny set of kings, utterly discredited and dissipated as they are? Wineskins and songstresses, those are their gods. Their arrogance and squabbling have brought them so low that they now believe that their Christian enemies are the most powerful factor this side of God Himself. Whenever, if ever, they decide to confront that enemy, it is not with the benefit of a united front but rather a series of severed, fragmented ranks and a total lack of willpower. As a result, when they have to negotiate with the enemy, they come back to us with their faces slapped liked a buffoon. They get exactly what they deserve. God will never change the situation in which they find themselves until they themselves change their own posture."

All of a sudden my brother frowned and gave a deep sigh, as though he was about to tell me something really serious.

"Amir Baha' al-dawla Muhammad ibn Hud and his aides are displeased with you, my brother," he told me nervously. "They dislike you heartily. As far as they're concerned, you're inciting your colleagues and people in general against them and fomenting rebellion. If we were not both products of the same womb, I would not have agreed to try to mediate between you and them. That is what I've been doing here, all in an attempt to avoid their getting you involved in something that can only turn out very badly for you…"

"Go back and remind those tyrants that no human being owes allegiance to any ruler who disobeys the Creator Himself. Through my belief in God I'm not scared of blame directed at me by any scoundrel or of the trickery of blackguards…"

"So there's no way for us to reach some mutual understanding and be reconciled?"

"Only if your companions were to agree to move beyond the current impasse, rid themselves forever of their sinful, debauched ways, and purify themselves in the clear waters of glory and virtue, untrammeled truth, and the common good. But they're utterly incapable of doing such things."

"Some senior advisers of the amir want to see you and begin negotiations..'

"Not before they purge themselves. I find myself constrained by the command of my Lord: `Address me not regarding those who have done wrong, for they shall be drowned' [Sura 11, v. 37]."

I have no idea why it happened that at this precise moment a wonderfully apposite phrase flashed into my mind, one that, no doubt, was part of my missing manuscript. It concerned those blind idiots whose description I was endeavoring to approximate by saying, "people in whose eyes the sun, stars, and natural and unnatural lights have grown dark, whether inside or outside their own minds; they operate within the wide-open spaces of their own folly; they purge all thoughts of surrounding conflict and suppress it completely, preferring to remain within the confines of their own insanity." The fact that I had remembered that phrase overjoyed me. I yelled to Salman to bring my brother, Abu Talib, some simple Sufi food or a tray of sweetmeats and fruit. My brother declined, claiming that he was not eating at night in an attempt to lose weight and restore his corpulent frame to a more reasonable size.

Truth to tell, my poor brother, my mirror image in appearance if not in essence, was only getting himself involved in politics because he wanted to rid himself of his bodily and sexual urges-as was the case with his colleagues and masters. Just like them, he was totally unwilling to contemplate the terrible state of his country and its people. Questions of fate and destiny failed to disturb him. He lived his life as though in a permanently drugged condition and was never going to pay any attention even though death might be just around the corner. Where he was concerned, I felt nothing but bitter contempt, although deep down I did also have some residual sympathy.

It was only when my guest gave another deep sigh that I emerged from my trance. He asked me one last time the question I had been anticipating about my response to the task he had been given. In response I told him that what I had already said was surely answer enough. With that, he stood up. It was as if he had suddenly woken up to the fact that he was actually a key member of the corridors of power and authority, someone who had undertaken an embassy on behalf of the Banu Hud to Pope Innocent, a role of which he was enormously proud.

"Very well then," he said in his new tone of authority, "the state authorities hereby order you to leave for the south or even farther. In exchange they will free `Amr of Cordoba and stop harassing your disciples."

"Your bosses are relentlessly imposing a stranglehold on defenseless Muslims," I responded, controlling my feelings as best I could, "just like the Crusaders, or even worse. Go back and tell them that living in their shadow is demeaning and bitter. If I am now to be forced to leave my native city, then I have a model in Muhammad, the Lord of Prophets and Emigrants. Tell them to release 'Amr and stop harassing my colleagues first, then they can have whatever they want."

There was nothing more for my brother to say, other than to agree to pass on my comments and then bid me farewell.

With that I put out the lamp and curled up in bed, hoping to get some of the sleep that had been eluding me for some time. I allowed my mind to wander where it willed, and it headed toward a contemplation of this poor country of ours, wounded and bleeding, and its wretched inhabitants, panicked and suffering all kinds of abuse. I myself was still one of them, even though the people throwing me out were my own kith and kin (heaven help us all!).

It was so dark outside that I thought about taking a trip outside under cover of darkness so I could look at the River Segura and the gardens on its banks-a kind of farewell gesture. But a voice inside me told me not to do it, but to stay in bed. "We're living in dangerous times," it told me, "and people are harboring nasty ideas about you and slandering your name. Leave Murcia and head south. The Maghrib is your spiritual home; it can serve as a more useful base for your activities. Go to the Maghrib, and you'll be a winner."

SO IT CAME ABOUT that at noon on the first day of the month Rabi' al-Akhir I asked Salman to collect all my books and papers and put them in a box. I did not tell him I was intending to depart so as not to alarm him. I told him that I was leaving him in charge of the house for a few days while I went to Raquta. I mounted my mule and headed for my destination with a view to seeing my family and bidding them farewell in a spot that was less conspicuous. I used back streets to get there so as to avoid contact with the Christian soldiers in the suburbs of Murcia. The only people I encountered were Muslims heading out of town either alone or in groups. Between hills and vales I encountered beggars and itinerant clowns asking me for money, which I gave them to the extent possible. The weather was oppressive, almost as though it too felt the same degree of sorrow and fear as I did. Animals in their pens and fields looked lifeless and indolent, while even birds flying high or perched on tree branches seemed downcast and melancholy!