Tariq Ali - Shadows of the Pomegranate Tree

The bandit leader chuckled, and was about to respond when his daughter, carrying an earthenware jug full of coffee, and followed by three of her five brothers, interrupted his thoughts. The aroma of the brew, which had been freshly boiled with cardamoms, filled the tent and reminded Zuhayr of the home which he had left only an hour ago. The new entrants settled down cross-legged on the rug as Fatima poured out the coffee.

‘I do not think,’ Abu Zaid informed the assembled company, ‘that our young friend will join our ranks. He is a caballero, a knight who believes in the rules of chivalry. Am I not correct?’

Zuhayr was embarrassed at being discovered so quickly.

‘How can you talk like that, Abu Zaid al-Ma’ari? Have I not just told you that I will think before I make up my mind?’

‘My father is a good judge of people,’ Fatima broke in. ‘His instinct can tell him in a flash whether you are the sort of person who plays chess with an extra piece. It is obvious even to me that you are not such a man.’

‘Should I be?’ Zuhayr asked her plaintively.

‘What is good for the liver is often bad for the spleen,’ she replied.

Her brother, who could not have been more than eighteen years of age, felt that Fatima had been far too diplomatic.

‘My father has always taught us that people are like metal. Gold, silver or copper.’

‘Yes, that is true,’ roared Abu Zaid, ‘but a knight might think, and with good reason from his own point of view, that he is the gold, while a bandit is the copper. Since we are discussing the relative values of metals, let me put another point to our young guest from al-Hudayl. Would he agree with us that nothing cuts iron, but iron?’

‘Why of course!’ said Zuhayr, pleased that the discussion had taken a new course. ‘How could it be otherwise?’

‘If we agree on that, Zuhayr al-Fahl, then how can you resist my argument regarding the war against the occupiers of Gharnata? Our Sultan was built of straw, whereas Ximenes de Cisneros is a man of iron! The old style of war ended on the night the Christians destroyed al-Hama. If we want to win, we must learn from them. I know that al-Zindiq thinks it is too late, but he may be wrong. Al-Andalus could have been saved a long time ago if only our wretched rulers had understood the teachings of Abu’l Ala al-Ma’ari. That could have made them self-reliant, but no, they preferred to send messages to the North Africans pleading for help.’

‘The North Africans did save us from the Christians more than once, did they not?’

‘True. The only way they could save us was to destroy the foundations of what we had built. They saved us as the lion saves the deer from the clutches of the tiger. The Islam of which they spoke was neither better nor worse than Christianity.

‘Our preachers are stumbling, Christians have gone astray,

Jews are bewildered. Magians far on error’s way.

Humanity is composed of but two schools.

Enlightened knaves or religious fools.’

‘Al-Ma’ari?’ asked Zuhayr.

Everyone nodded.

‘You sound like al-Zindiq,’ commented Zuhayr. ‘You must pardon my ignorance, but I have not read his work.’

Abu Zaid’s outrage was genuine. ‘Did not al-Zindiq educate you?’

‘He did, but he never once lent me an actual book of al-Ma’ari. Simply recited his poetry, which I agree is a stronger stimulant than your date wine! Are you, by any chance, descended from him?’

‘Before he died,’ Fatima explained, ‘he left instructions that a verse should be inscribed on his grave:

This wrong was by my father done

To me, but ne’er by me to one .

‘He was so unhappy about the state of the world that he thought procreation was unwise. The species was incapable of curing itself. So you see we decided to act as though we were his children, and live by his teachings alone.’

Zuhayr was confused. Till this moment he had been sure that the path he had chosen was the only honourable course for a Muslim warrior, but these strange bandits and the philosopher who commanded them had succeeded in implanting a seed of doubt in his mind. He was only half-listening to Abu Zaid al-Ma’ari and his followers as they recounted the greatness of the freethinking poet and philosopher whom they had adopted as their collective father.

Zuhayr was floundering, his mind in turmoil. He felt on the edge of an abyss and in danger of losing his balance. He was overcome by an overwhelming urge to return to al-Hudayl. Perhaps the date wine had gone to his head. Perhaps a few more cups of coffee followed by a couple of hours in the hammam in Gharnata and everything would have become clarified once again. We shall never know, for in the midst of the intellectual haze which had overpowered him, Zuhayr heard them mock the al-koran, and this was something which he knew he could never accept. The blood rose to his head. Perhaps he had misheard the words. He asked Abu Zaid to repeat what he said a few minutes ago.

‘What is Religion?

A maid kept hidden so that no eye may view her;

The price of her wedding gifts and dowries baffles the wooer.

Of all the goodly doctrine that from the pulpit I have heard

My heart has never accepted so much as a single word.’

‘No! No!’ Zuhayr shouted in frustration. ‘Not his poetry. I’ve heard this one already. You mentioned the al-koran, did you not?’

Fatima looked him straight in the eye.

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I did. Sometimes, but not always, Abu’l Ala al-Ma’ari could not stop himself from doubting whether it really was the word of God. But he truly loved the style in which the al-koran was composed. One day he sat down and produced his own version, which he called al-Fusul wa-’l-Ghayat. ’

‘Blasphemy!’ roared Zuhayr.

‘The faqihs certainly called it heresy,’ explained Abu Zaid calmly and with the tiny glimmer of a smile, ‘and it was a parody of the sacred book, but even our great teacher’s friends declared that it was inferior in every way to the al-koran.’

‘To which charge,’ continued Fatima, ‘our master responded by saying that unlike the al-koran, his work had not yet been polished by the tongues of reciters over four centuries.’

This gem from the master’s treasury was greeted with applause and laughter. Abu Zaid was disturbed by the sombre expression on Zuhayr’s face and decided to reduce the temperature.

‘When he was charged with heresy he merely looked his accuser in the eye and said:

I lift my voice to utter lies absurd ,

But when I speak the truth, my hushed tones are barely heard.

‘Tell me, Abu Zaid,’ Zuhayr asked. ‘Do you believe in our faith?’

‘All religions are a dark labyrinth. Men are religious through force of habit. They never pause to ask whether what they believe is true. Divine revelation is deeply ingrained in our mind. After all it was the ancients who invented fables and called them a religion. Musa, Isa and our own Prophet Mohammed were great leaders of their people in times of trouble. More than that I do not believe.’

It was this exchange that decided Zuhayr on his course of action. These people were impious rogues. How could they possibly hope to remove the Christians from Gharnata if they themselves were unbelievers? Once again he was irritated by Abu Zaid’s voice, which indicated that his thoughts had been read.

‘You are wondering how people like us can ever defeat the Christians, but ask yourself once again how it has come to pass that the most ardent defenders of the faith have failed in this very task.’

‘I won’t argue any more,’ replied Zuhayr. ‘My mind is decided. I will take my leave now and join my friends who await me in Gharnata.’