Alamut

  They returned to the castle in time for second prayers. Ibn Tahir was so exhausted he could barely stay upright in his saddle. When they dismounted and returned the horses to their stable, he asked Suleiman, “Do you have military exercises every day?”

  Suleiman, who was as fresh and serene as if he’d just returned from a pleasant walk, laughed and replied, “This is just the beginning, friend. Wait until dai Abdul Malik gets hold of you. That’s when it really starts to come at you fast and furious.”

  “I’m so hungry I can’t see straight,” ibn Tahir complained. “Can’t you get me something to eat?”

  “Be patient. We’re allowed to eat three times a day, no more. If they caught you eating outside of set mealtimes, they’d lash you to the pillar, like you saw happen to that soldier who drank wine.”

  Back in their quarters they stowed their weapons, washed, fetched writing implements from the shelves, and went up onto the roof.

  A tall, thin man in a winding cloak appeared before them. His cheeks were sunken and his eyes hollow. His gaze was gloomy, and his nose was thin and hooked like a hawk’s beak. His sparse, graying beard reached almost to his chest. His thin, bony fingers clutched at a stack of papers like the claws of a bird of prey. This was dai Ibrahim, the old and venerable missionary and good friend of the supreme commander. To begin, he performed second prayers with the novices. He pronounced the words half-audibly in a dull mutter, but when he came to invoke the Mahdi, his voice boomed wild and hollow, as though he were beating a drum.

  Then he began the lesson. He explained Arabic grammar, tediously citing its strict rules, which he illustrated with examples from the Koran. The pencils squeaked obediently across the writing tablets. At most, one of the students would dare now and then to draw an audible breath.

  Ibn Tahir found the lesson relaxing. His command of grammar was good, and it was a relief to know that this subject wasn’t going to cause him trouble.

  Dai Ibrahim bowed grimly when he had finished. With great dignity he lifted the hem of his roomy cloak in order not to trip on it, then he vanished through the steep passageway downstairs.

  A whisper rose up among the novices. They waited a while longer so as not to run into dai Ibrahim, then they rushed out into the courtyard. There they assembled in two rows according to height.

  Suleiman said to ibn Tahir, “Now you get to meet dai Abdul Malik. Here’s my advice: grit your teeth and focus your will. One fellow dropped dead during these exercises once. Trust in Allah and in the wisdom of Our Master.”

  Yusuf stood at the head of the first row. Somewhere toward the middle was Suleiman, and at the end was ibn Tahir. At the head of the second row was Obeida, and Naim was at its far end.

  A gaunt giant stepped before them with an impetuous stride. He had an angular face and a hard, piercing gaze. When he noticed ibn Tahir among the novices, he asked him, “What’s your name, hero?”

  “I’m Avani, grandson of Tahir of Sava.”

  “Good. I’ve already heard. I hope you prove worthy of your famous grandfather.”

  He stepped back several paces and called out, “Footwear off, then over the wall!”

  In an instant the sandals dropped from their feet. The novices sprinted toward the ramparts and began scaling the wall. Their hands reached into crevices and apertures and held onto stony prominences.

  At the sight of the steep wall ibn Tahir felt his courage fade. He didn’t know how or where to start.

  Above him he heard a voice whispering, “Give me your hand.”

  He looked up and saw Suleiman, who was holding onto an opening in the wall with one hand while offering the other.

  Ibn Tahir took hold of it. With iron strength Suleiman pulled him up.

  “There. Now follow me.”

  And he did. Suddenly he found himself atop the wall.

  The others were already crawling down the other side into an abyss. At the foot of the wall Shah Rud was frothing. Ibn Tahir looked down into it and felt his head spin.

  “I’m going to crash,” he said fearfully.

  “Stay right behind me,” Suleiman whispered to him. His voice was firm and commanding.

  He began his descent. Each time he found a firm foothold, he offered a hand and then a shoulder to ibn Tahir. They worked their way down the wall into the abyss, carefully and with clenched teeth. It seemed an eternity to ibn Tahir before they reached the rocks bounding the river.

  Ibn Tahir caught his breath. He looked up horror-struck. The wall rose straight up before him. He couldn’t believe he had scaled it.

  Abdul Malik appeared on top of the wall. He planted his feet far apart and called out, “Back to your places!”

  They began climbing back up. Ibn Tahir kept close to Suleiman. He followed him foothold by foothold until finally, having traversed the wall’s inner face once again, he felt level ground beneath his feet.

  The novices were catching their breath. Ibn Tahir tried to thank Suleiman but was abruptly shrugged off.

  They put their sandals on and resumed their places in formation.

  “Next time we’ll use a rope,” he whispered, “and that will have to go lightning fast.”

  Abdul Malik smiled sarcastically and said, “What was wrong with you today that you didn’t finish first as usual, Suleiman? Feeling a bit lazy, perhaps? Or just a shade short of courage? Or maybe the newcomer seduced you with his example? The two of you were holding onto each other like ticks. Now show him you’re a hero. Step forward and hold your breath.”

  Suleiman stepped in front of ibn Tahir and compressed his lips. He looked straight ahead, but with an indeterminate gaze, as if fixed on the far distance. Ibn Tahir grew fearful when he realized that Suleiman had stopped breathing. His face became more and more flushed and his eyes, dull and expressionless, began to widen strangely in their sockets. Ibn Tahir feared for him. He was, after all, at fault for this cruel punishment befalling his companion.

  Abdul Malik stood face to face with Suleiman. He folded his arms on his chest and observed the young novice with expert attentiveness. Suleiman was beginning to suffocate, his neck swollen and his eyes horrifically bulging out of their sockets. Suddenly he staggered, as though standing on a ship’s deck, then dropped to the ground like felled timber.

  “Outstanding,” Abdul Malik approved.

  Suleiman’s breaths could be heard again, and his eyes came back to life. Slowly he lifted himself off the ground and returned to his place.

  “All right. Obeida! Let’s have you show us how much progress you’ve made with your willpower,” Abdul Malik ordered next.

  Obeida’s dark face turned ashen gray. He looked around in desperation and hesitantly stepped forward.

  He held his breath. His facial color turned bright brown, and he quickly began to show signs of suffocation.

  Abdul Malik watched him coolly. Ibn Tahir thought he was quietly mocking him. Obeida staggered and gently fell to the ground.

  Abu Malik grinned meanly. Secretly, the novices standing in formation also laughed. The dai prodded the youth with his foot and said with mock kindness, “Up now, get up, little dove. Did something bad happen to you?” Then he added severely, “What was it like?”

  Obeida rose to his feet. He smiled, half timidly and half at a loss.

  “I passed out, reverend dai.”

  “How do the Ismailis punish a lie?”

  Obeida flinched.

  “I couldn’t take it anymore, reverend dai.”

  “Fine. Take the whip and punish yourself.”

  From the stack of equipment that the teacher had brought with him, Obeida took a short leather whip. He unfastened the buttons on his long coat at the chest and bared himself to the waist. He then tied the sleeves together to keep the clothes from slipping off his body. His brown shoulders were full and muscular. He swung the whip over his head and lashed at his back. There was a snap and a red stripe appeared etched in the dark skin. He yelped, then resumed flogging himself.

  “
What a delicate boy,” Abdul Malik sneered. “Lay into it, hero!”

  Obeida began lashing his back from the sides. The blows became sharper and more frequent. Finally he passed into a state of frenzied self-laceration. The whip sliced into inflamed areas and his skin began to rip in places. Blood ran down his back and trickled onto his white trousers and cloak. He beat himself mercilessly, as though he were his own worst enemy.

  Finally Abdul Malik raised a hand and called out, “Enough!”

  Obeida let go of the whip and dropped to the ground moaning. Abdul Malik ordered Suleiman to take his companion to the washroom to clean and dress his wounds. Then, turning to the novices and looking at ibn Tahir, he spoke.

  “I’ve often explained to you the meaning and purpose of our exercises. Today there’s a newcomer in your ranks, so it makes sense for me to do so once again. The spirit, mind and passion of man could fly like an eagle, if only a great obstacle hadn’t been put in their way. That obstacle is our body, with all its weaknesses. Show me a youth who doesn’t have high-flying aims! And yet only one in a thousand of them is ever realized. Why is that? Our body, which is inclined to sloth and cheap comfort, fears the difficulties that the realization of our lofty goals would pose. Its base passions cripple our will and our nobler desires. Overcoming those passions and freeing the spirit of their bonds is the purpose of our exercises. Strengthening the will and channeling it toward a definite and suitable goal. For that is the only way we become capable of great feats and efforts of self-sacrifice. Not, then, by becoming like those thousands who are imprisoned by their own body and its weaknesses, but by aspiring to the level of that chosen one among them who is the master of his body and its weaknesses. That is our goal! That is how we will be able to serve Our Master and carry out his commands.”

  Ibn Tahir listened to him eagerly. Yes, this was what he had unconsciously always wanted: to overcome his weaknesses and serve a greater purpose. Nothing that he had just experienced seemed frightening to him anymore. It was with utter conviction that he now responded when Abdul Malik asked him if he had understood.

  “I understand, reverend dai.”

  “Step forward and hold your breath!”

  Ibn Tahir obeyed without a second thought. He gazed ahead into the distance, as he had seen Suleiman do earlier, and he drew a deep breath. It seemed as though everything around and within him became suddenly quiet. His vision began to blur. He could feel his veins straining, and he wanted to breathe again, but he controlled himself. An odd buzzing started in his ears and his legs felt unusually weak. He regained consciousness for a brief moment, then surrendered to dimness, but with the last glimmer of a thought he still knew—I have to, have to hold out!—until total darkness engulfed him. He swayed and pitched to the ground, exhaling as he fell.

  “How was it?” Abdul Malik asked him, laughing.

  Ibn Tahir rose to his feet.

  “Fine, reverend dai.”

  “This boy has potential,” he said. Then, turning to ibn Tahir, he added, “That was just an introduction to breathing exercises, a test to see how much command a person has over his body. The real lessons have yet to begin. We’ve already made substantial progress.”

  Obeida and Suleiman rejoined the group.

  Abdul Malik gave a new order. Some of the novices began quickly digging at a certain place in the ground. They dug out a ditch that must have been made ready beforehand and then filled in with lightly packed sand. It was rectangular and not particularly deep. In the meantime, some of the others had retrieved a pan filled with glowing coals from a nearby building and dumped them into the pit. They fanned the coals, then Abdul Malik spoke.

  “With sustained practice, mastery of the body and force of will can attain a level where they don’t just overcome a person’s weaknesses but even nature itself and its laws … New boy! Open your eyes and see the truth of my words!”

  He stepped out of his sandals, lifted his cloak so it reached his knees, and belted it at that level. Then he rolled up his tapered pant legs and stood in front of the pit of glowing coals, staring ahead.

  “He’s focusing his thoughts and mustering his will,” ibn Tahir’s neighbor whispered to him.

  Ibn Tahir held his breath. Something said to him, “You’re experiencing great things now, grandson of Tahir. Things that people on the outside don’t even dream about.”

  Suddenly Abdul Malik began to move. Slowly, probingly, he stepped a foot out onto the glowing coals, then quickly and as straight as a cypress waded across them. He came to a stop on the other side, gently shaking his head as if waking up from a dream. Then he returned to the novices and, with a pleased look on his face, showed them his feet. There wasn’t a trace of a burn on them.

  “This is what a person can achieve if he trains his will properly,” he said. “Who would like to repeat the experiment after me?”

  Suleiman volunteered.

  “Always the same one,” Abdul Malik complained irritably.

  “Then I’ll try,” Yusuf spoke up. There was a slight hesitation in his voice.

  “Over live coals?” Abdul Malik asked, with a barely perceptible smile.

  Yusuf anxiously looked around.

  “Wait until we heat up the plate,” the dai said indulgently.

  Just then Jafar said that he’d like to try.

  “Good show,” Abdul Malik praised him. “But first tell me what you have to think about in order to focus your will.”

  “Allah, great and all-powerful, keep me from being burnt. And I won’t be,” Jafar responded.

  “Good. But do you have the necessary confidence?”

  “I do, reverend dai.”

  “Then go in the name of Allah.”

  Jafar stood in front of the rectangular pit and began to focus his thoughts and his will. The novices noticed that several times he decided to start across the fire but then reconsidered.

  Abdul Malik said to him, “Free yourself, shake off the convulsions and go in confidence. Allah is master of our fate.”

  Then Jafar set off from the edge like a boat sets off from the shore, and he walked briskly and safely over the embers. Once on the opposite side he stood still for a while, as if dazed, then he slowly looked back over his shoulder. Behind him he saw the glowing, smoking coals, and a blissful smile came over his pale face. He visibly caught his breath.

  “Truly, a brave young man,” Abdul Malik exclaimed.

  A whisper of acclaim also passed among the two ranks of novices.

  “All right, Suleiman! Now you show your mettle too, though we’ve already seen before that you’ve got it.”

  Abdul Malik was in a good mood. Suleiman obeyed him with obvious relish. He collected himself and then walked over the embers as though he were long since used to it.

  “Now let me try too,” Yusuf said, growing angry. He thrust his chest out, tightened his muscles, and stepped up to the pit. He tried to focus, quietly murmuring the prescribed words, while at the same time flinching at the thought that he still might get burned. He was on the verge of stepping onto the embers, but when he looked at what lay ahead, he started waving his arms like a swimmer who wants to dive into cold water but doesn’t quite trust himself, and he lurched backwards.

  Abdul Malik smiled.

  “Think of Allah and his help and forget everything else,” he advised him. “What do you need to fear if he’s with you?”

  Finally, when he’d lost patience with his own hesitation, Yusuf gently approached the embers with one foot. But he instantly yowled and jumped back in fright.

  A suppressed snigger coursed through the ranks.

  “You’ve got courage, but your will is weak,” the dai said.

  Yusuf hung his head and returned to his place.

  “Could I try?” ibn Tahir asked shyly.

  “The time hasn’t come for you yet, grandson of Tahir,” Abdul Malik replied. “But I have confidence that some day you’ll be among the first.”

  The novices dragged a heavy m
etal plate out of a barrack. They fanned the embers again and then set the plate over them.

  Abdul Malik called on them to walk over it. They did so in a single file, twice, three times, four times in succession. The plate got hotter and hotter and burnt their soles worse each time. When it was red hot, Yusuf hopped around on it like a madman, frying and burning himself as if in punishment for his earlier failure.

  Ibn Tahir’s soles were also getting burnt. He gritted his teeth and told himself that it didn’t hurt, but to no avail. He couldn’t focus enough. The unwonted exertion wore him out, and he was afraid that he might faint.

  Finally Abdul Malik called out that the exercise was over and that they should put the equipment away. Then the two rows formed for one last time. He stepped before them, sternly sized the novices up, and told them to think about everything they had seen and heard. Then he bowed slightly and walked away with the same long, impetuous stride as when he had first appeared.

  The novices returned to the rooftop, where dai Abu Soraka instructed them in poetry, in their native language of Pahlavi. Ibn Tahir immediately shone in this subject. For each genre of poem he knew examples from Firdausi, Ansari and other older poets. Abu Soraka practically glowed with satisfaction. He praised him in front of all the others.

  “Indeed, the military arts and training in force of will are indispensable to any fighting Ismaili. But it is equally as important that he train his spirit in the word, so he can become agile and learn to express his thoughts precisely and accurately. I am delighted to have found a bright student in you, grandson of Tahir.”

  The time of the third prayers arrived and Abu Soraka led the youths in performing them on the spot. He hadn’t yet finished the invocation of Ali and Ismail when ibn Tahir, unused to so much exertion, passed out. Naim, who was next to him, noticed that he remained prostrate when the rest of them had risen. He bent over him and saw that his face was as yellow as desert sand. He called to Yusuf and Suleiman, and the novices immediately surrounded their comrade. Someone quickly brought water, and with its help they soon brought ibn Tahir back to consciousness. Yusuf and Suleiman led him into the dining room. It was already time for dinner.