Who can dispel these troubling mysteries?
Oh, what a wretched Farhad I’ve become, parted from
My dearest Shirin. What sort of powerful master is it
Who’s set a boundary between her and me?
Is this the Mahdi, Prophet, perhaps Allah?
Insane with love, am I to hew her image
Out of rock? Or, mad from longing, plant
A hatchet in my heart?
Who gave you the power, Sayyiduna,
To let the living into heaven?
Do you perhaps have access too?
Do you know Miriam? (I’m wildly jealous!)
Do you perhaps have secret knowledge
Of the mysteries our ancestors’ priests performed,
The ones the Prophet banished to endure
Hell’s torments inside Demavend?
If that’s true, then Miriam, my beloved moonbeam,
Would be nothing but a loathsome brew
Of some black substance and your magic.
No, that can’t be. The Dævas still sleep
In the mountain undisturbed. It would take a villain
To deny your miracle’s sweet and perfect truth.
Why won’t you show the way that leads me
Back to Miriam, O Sayyiduna,
Kind uniter, cruel divider?
If it takes death to buy my passage back
To join her, say the word,
And I’ll leap from the highest rock.
My smile will testify how much I love her.
Or do I need to shove a knife into my heart
To live beside my Miriam forever?
Command! Perhaps I need to leap through fire
And join the Dævas? Just no more waiting,
No more pangs of separation,
Splitting me from paradise like Adam!
Send me back to Miriam! Take me to her
Before cruel longing rips my heart in two.
In the evening Hasan had ibn Tahir summoned to him.
“Is your faith solid now?”
“It is, Sayyiduna.”
“Do you believe I can open to gates to paradise for you whenever I want?”
“I do, Sayyiduna.”
They were alone in the room. Hasan inspected ibn Tahir closely. What a change since that evening when he sent him to the gardens! He had grown thinner, his cheeks had sunken, and his eyes were deep set. A feverish, doleful fire shone in them. He could see it: his machine worked with a fearsome dependability.
“Do you want to earn eternal joy for yourself?”
Ibn Tahir trembled. He looked at Hasan brightly, imploringly.
“Oh, … Sayyiduna!”
Hasan lowered his eyes. He could almost feel his heart drop. Now he realized why he had always been reluctant to get to know the fedayeen better.
“It wasn’t for nothing that I opened the gates of paradise to you. I wanted your faith to be firm. I wanted you to be aware always of what awaits you once you carry out your assignment … Do you know who al-Ghazali is?”
“Surely you mean the Sufi, Sayyiduna?”
“Yes. The one who attacked our faith so meanly in the book On the Mustansirites. Over a year ago the grand vizier appointed him as a teacher at the university in Baghdad. Your assignment is to pretend to be his student. Here is a copy of his work ‘O, Child!’ It’s short. You have a quick mind and can read and absorb it in one night. Come visit me again tomorrow. You’re in my personal service now. Not a word to anyone about this. Do you understand?”
“I understand, Sayyiduna.”
He dismissed him. Agitated and half-crazy with happiness, ibn Tahir left the room.
On the stairway ibn Tahir ran into Abu Ali and Buzurg Ummid, who, out of breath and flushed with agitation, were dragging a man behind them. By his appearance, he must have just completed a difficult and strenuous journey. He was covered in dirt from head to foot. Streams of sweat sluiced long passages down his mud-caked face. He was gasping heavily. Ibn Tahir pressed up against the wall and let the three of them pass. Something told him that great and difficult days were approaching for Alamut.
A guard uncovered the doorway to let the man and the grand dais in to see Hasan.
“A messenger from Khuzestan,” Abu Ali forced out amid gasps.
“What happened?”
Hasan gained control over himself. From the faces of his visitors he immediately sensed bad news.
The messenger fell to his knees before him.
“O master! Husein Alkeini is dead. Murdered!”
Hasan went as pale as a corpse.
“Who is the perpetrator?”
“Forgive me, Sayyiduna! Hosein, your son.”
Hasan shuddered as though struck by an arrow. His arms waved as though grabbing for someone invisible. He wavered, turned in a half-circle, and crashed to the floor like a felled tree.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The son of the supreme commander had murdered the dai of Khuzestan! The next day all of Alamut was talking about it. No one quite knew how the news had spread. The messenger had first entrusted it to the grand dais, who immediately took him to see Hasan. Perhaps one of the dais standing nearby had caught wind of it, or perhaps the grand dais themselves had let it slip to someone. Everyone knew about it, and it would have been pointless to try to hide it in any way from the faithful.
Ibn Tahir had to wait a long time for Hasan to receive him. The supreme commander wanted to know all the details of the murder, so he questioned the messenger in detail.
“The carrier pigeon brought your order to Gonbadan, Sayyiduna. Kizil Sarik had us under siege for ten days at that point. He had destroyed all the lesser fortresses and then encamped outside of ours with his twenty thousand men. He offered us safe passage, but the grand dai refused. But Hosein, your son, insisted that he surrender the castle. That’s when Alkeini asked for your instructions as to what to do with him. You ordered him clapped into chains. Alkeini relayed this to him and insisted that he give himself up. Hosein went wild with rage. ‘You’ve betrayed me to my father, you dog!’ he shrieked at him. He drew his saber and cut down our commander.”
“What did you do with the murderer?”
“We put him in chains and locked him in a cellar. Sheik Abdul Malik ibn Atash assumed command of the fortress.”
“What’s the situation there?”
“Difficult, master. There’s not much water, and soon the faithful will run out of food too. There’s more than three thousand of them in the fortress. The entire population of Khuzestan is with us. But that damned Kizil Sarik is cruel, and they’re afraid of him. We can’t count on much help from them.”
Hasan dismissed him.
Now he was steady and focused again.
“What do you plan to do with your son, ibn Sabbah?” Buzurg Ummid asked him.
“We’ll judge him according to our laws.”
He dismissed the grand dais and had ibn Tahir summoned.
“How is it coming with al-Ghazali?”
“I spent practically the whole night with it, Sayyiduna.”
“Good. Have you heard what has happened in Khuzestan?”
Ibn Tahir looked at him. He saw new furrows in his face.
“I have, Sayyiduna.”
“What would you do if you were in my place?”
Ibn Tahir looked at him with clear, bright eyes.
“I would do what the law commands.”
“And you’re right … Do you know who Iblis is?”
“Iblis is the evil spirit that tempted the first human beings.”
“Iblis is more than that. Iblis is a traitor to his own master, his sworn enemy.”
Ibn Tahir nodded.
“Whoever is a traitor to the true faith and becomes its enemy is related to Iblis. Because the true faith is Allah’s faith. And only one faith is true.”
“Yes. The Ismaili faith.”
“Correct. Do you know anyone who has betrayed our faith and become its sworn enem
y?”
Ibn Tahir looked in his eyes, trying to guess what he was thinking.
“Perhaps you mean the grand vizier?”
“Yes, the same man who murdered your grandfather for professing our faith. He is our Iblis, our evil spirit. You be our archangel and your grandfather’s avenger. Get your sword ready.”
Ibn Tahir clenched his fists. He stood before Hasan as straight as a cypress.
“My sword is ready, Sayyiduna.”
“Do you know the road from Rai to Baghdad?”
“I do. I’m from the town of Sava, which lies on that road.”
“Then listen. You’re to set out along that road. You’ll go to Rai and from there through Sava and Hamadan to Nehavend. But avoid your father’s home! The whole time you have to be thinking about one thing—how to reach your goal. Be on the lookout everywhere and find out where the grand vizier is and what he’s planning to do. I’ve received a report that he’s assembling a large army in Nehavend that he plans to lead against us and his rival in Isfahan, Taj al-Mulk. Are you following all of this? Al-Ghazali is his friend. From now on you’re going to be al-Ghazali’s student Othman, bringing him a message from your teacher. So take his book along with you. Here’s the black garb of a Sunni seminarian for you, here’s a coin purse with money for the road, and here’s a letter for the grand vizier. The seal you see on it will clear the way for you.”
Ibn Tahir took the black clothing from him and examined it with a kind of happy excitement. He fixed the coin purse to his belt and put the envelope under his robe.
“You’ve learned from Hakim how to behave in the presence of the grand vizier. When you ride out from Alamut, you’ll take along everything I’ve given you in a bag. Once you’re away from the fortress you’ll find a concealed place to change clothes in and get rid of anything that might give you away. I know Nizam al-Mulk. When he hears that al-Ghazali has sent you, he’ll welcome you with open arms. Now listen carefully! There is a long, sharp dagger hidden in that sealed letter. Before you hand the envelope to the vizier, secretly take the dagger out of it. While the vizier is opening the letter, you thrust it hard into his neck. If you notice just a drop of blood, you can know that you’ve succeeded. But be careful not to injure yourself with it first—the tip of the dagger has been tempered in a terrible poison. If you even graze yourself with it, you won’t be able to complete your task and the paradise you want so much will be lost to you forever.”
Pale, but with eyes shining, ibn Tahir listened to him.
“And … what do I do then?”
Hasan gave him an abrupt glance.
“Then … then commend yourself to Allah. The gate to your paradise will be open to you. No one will be able to take that away from you at that point. The soft pillows are already spread out over the carpets. Miriam is waiting for you on them, surrounded by her and your servants. If you fall, you’ll go flying straight into her embrace. Do you understand me?”
“I understand, Sayyiduna.”
He bowed and quickly kissed Hasan’s hand.
Hasan shuddered. Ibn Tahir was too preoccupied with himself to notice this. Then the commander uncovered a shelf and took down from it the gold chest that ibn Tahir already knew. He opened it and shook several pellets out of it onto a linen cloth.
“One for each evening. They’ll bring you closer and closer to paradise. But be sure to save the last one for just before your audience with the grand vizier. Take good care of them, because they’re the key that will unlock the gates to paradise for you.”
He put his arm around his shoulders.
“Now off with you, my son.”
Dazed, pale, proud and strangely moved, ibn Tahir left him. Hasan watched until he disappeared behind the curtain. Then he grabbed at his heart. He needed air. He rushed to the top of the tower, where he took deep breaths.
“There’s still time,” he told himself.
It would be good to die now, he thought. Just one firm decision to throw himself over the battlements, and everything would be over. But God knows where he would awaken after that.
The night before, when he had learned about the murder of Alkeini, he had been unbelievably close to this state. It took the grand dais a long time to bring him back to consciousness. When he came to, his first thought was that he had died and was now in some different world. A crazed fear overcame him. “So there is something after death,” he told himself. He felt horrified by his whole life. He was conscious that he had done everything as though there were just a great nothing waiting after death. It was only the voices of his two friends that had summoned him back to reality.
Within a moment he had felt steady again. Praise be to Allah, the weakness had passed. He dismissed the grand dais. Husein Alkeini, his right hand, dead, murdered by his own son! He would execute the law mercilessly. Ibn Tahir would have to set out on his mission. He wrote a few words of a letter and sealed it. He took a sharp, awl-like dagger that looked just like a writing instrument and dipped it in poison. He let it dry. Then he threw himself on his bed and slept the sleep of the dead.
The dais and other commanders discussed the murder in Khuzestan passionately. What was Hasan going to do? Would he really observe the law? Would he sign his own son’s death warrant?
“Ibn Sabbah is in a difficult place,” Abdul Malik observed. “Husein Alkeini was his best associate, but the murderer is his own son.”
“The law is above everything,” Ibrahim said.
“Go on! One crow doesn’t attack the other.”
The Greek laughed. Ibrahim cast an ill-tempered glance at him.
“He has no small responsibility.”
“I know, dai Ibrahim. But it’s hard for me to imagine a father leading his son to the block.”
“Hosein is a member of the Ismaili brotherhood.”
“It’s true,” Abu Soraka commented. “He wrote the law and now he’s caught in it himself.”
“It’s easy for us to talk,” Manuchehr said. “But he’s facing the moment when he’ll have to pass sentence on his son.”
“It’s easier to pronounce them over other men’s sons,” the Greek muttered.
“It’s easy to mete out justice to others,” Abu Soraka added.
“I wouldn’t want to be in the commander’s skin,” Abdul Malik said. “Alkeini was more than a son to him. He owes half his success to him.”
“Fathers aren’t always responsible for the actions of their sons,” Ibrahim said.
“But if he condemns his son, people will say, ‘What a cruel father!’ He has the power to change the law, and he hasn’t used it.”
So spoke Abu Soraka.
The Greek added, “Strangers are going to laugh at him. Idiot! they’ll say. Could he really not find a way to sidestep the law?”
Ibrahim took a turn. “The faithful would rebel if the law weren’t carried out to the letter. The purpose of every law is to have universal applicability.”
“It’s true, our commander is in a mean vice,” the Greek suggested. “He’s lost his most trusted shield-bearer at the most critical moment. Who’s going to collect taxes for him in Khuzestan now? Who’s going to ambush and plunder infidel caravans? He may very well not have any option but to carry out the full measure of the law.”
Yusuf and Suleiman had returned from their morning maneuvers with the novices. The sun bore down on the courtyard relentlessly. They lay on their beds lazily and inertly, chewing on dried fruit and exchanging a few words now and then.
The passions awakened in them, but no longer satisfied, had utterly crippled them. Their heads felt heavy and their eyes were sunken and swollen with blood.
Suddenly Naim burst in on them.
“Ibn Tahir has been to see Sayyiduna. He’s going on a trip.”
This news was like an explosion.
“Where to?”
“Who told you that?”
“I saw him as he was leaving the tower. He didn’t even notice me. It was like he’d gone strange in the h
ead. He looked lost and he was smiling to himself. Then he ordered a soldier to saddle up a horse for him.”
“Is he going to paradise?”
Suleiman jumped off his bed.
“Let’s go see him, Yusuf!”
In the meantime ibn Tahir had cleared out all his possessions. He destroyed the wax cast of Miriam’s bite. He wrapped up his poems in an envelope. When Jafar came, he gave them to him.
“Keep this envelope for me until I return. If I don’t come back within a month, give it to Sayyiduna.”
Jafar promised to do this.
Suleiman and Yusuf rushed into the room. Naim lingered at the door. “You’ve been to see Sayyiduna!”
Suleiman grabbed ibn Tahir by the shoulders and gazed searchingly into his eyes.
“You know?”
“Sure. Naim told us.”
“Then you also know what my duty is.”
He shook loose of his grip. He picked up the bag holding the items Hasan had given him.
Yusuf and Suleiman looked at him woefully.
Jafar nodded to Naim. The two of them withdrew from the room.
“It’s hard, but I have to keep silent,” ibn Tahir said when they were alone.
“At least tell us if we’re going back to paradise.”
Suleiman’s voice was imploring and helpless.
“Be patient. Do everything Sayyiduna orders you to do. He’s looking out for all of us.”
He said goodbye to them both.
“We’re fedayeen,” he added, “the ones who sacrifice themselves. We’ve seen the reward, so we’re not afraid of death.”
He would have liked to embrace them one more time. But he mastered himself, waved to them in farewell, and hurried off toward his horse. He leapt up onto it and ordered the bridge lowered. He said the password and the guard let him leave the fortress. From the canyon he turned around to take one last look. Just as he had several months ago, now he saw the two imposing towers that ruled over their surroundings. That was Alamut, the eagle’s nest, where miracles took place and the fate of the world was forged. Would he see it again? A strange melancholy came over him. At this farewell he felt as though he could cry.
He found a concealed location and changed clothes there. He put everything he didn’t plan to take with him in the bag, which he placed in a hollow and covered with stones.