Alamut
Once ibn Tahir had eaten his fill, his strength quickly returned. Yusuf gave him a good-natured pat on the back.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Soon you’ll get hardened, and then you’ll be able to hold out for a day or two without eating, however much you have to exert yourself. Fasting is nothing unusual for us. Abdul Malik sees to that.”
“What should we do with the donkey you arrived on?” Abu Soraka asked.
“Keep it here,” ibn Tahir answered. “My father won’t need it, and it could be useful here.”
“As you say,” the teacher responded. “And now don’t think about home anymore. You’ve broken your last tie to the outside world, and from now on your thoughts should turn entirely to the business of Alamut.”
After dinner the novices removed to their sleeping quarters for a short rest. They stretched out on their beds and talked. Even though ibn Tahir was exhausted, he still wanted explanations for many of the troubling things he didn’t yet understand.
“I’m curious what the relations between us and the soldiery are like,” he asked. “Also, what’s the relationship between the dais and Captain Manuchehr? And what are the ranks among the Ismailis at Alamut?”
Yusuf and Jafar were first to respond.
“For Ismailis every believer occupies a precisely defined place. The lasiqs are the society of ordinary followers. Next above them are the refiqs, conscious and militant believers who teach the lasiqs about the fundamental truths. Lasiqs who have been educated this way can become soldiers, while the refiqs who are in the fortress serve as their immediate superiors, the corporals and sergeants. We novices of the feday have our own special place. As long as we remain in training, we’re responsible to the officers immediately above us. But once we’re consecrated, we’ll only obey the orders of the supreme commander or his designated representative. Then come the dais, who know the higher truths and propagate our doctrine. Captain Manuchehr, who is the commander of the fortress, holds a rank equivalent to theirs. Then above him are the grand dais, or the dais of all dais, of whom there are currently three: ‘dai eldoat’ Abu Ali, who came to Alamut recently from Syria; ‘dai eldoat’ Buzurg Ummid, which means ‘great hope,’ who is the commander of the castle of Rudbar; and ‘dai eldoat’ Husein Alkeini, who seized the fortress of Gonbadan in Khuzestan in the name of Our Master. At the very top of the structure is the head of all Ismailis, Our Master, Hasan ibn Sabbah.”
“What an intelligent arrangement!” ibn Tahir exclaimed.
“But the differences within the ranks are more sharply drawn than that,” Suleiman said. “For instance, dai Abdul Malik is just barely beneath dai Ibrahim, but a bit above dai Abu Soraka, even though he’s younger. But he has a stronger record in fighting for the Ismaili cause, and that’s the decisive factor in determining rank. There are also differences between us. For instance, since you just arrived at the castle yesterday, you’re just a shade beneath any of your colleagues. But when you distinguish yourself for the Ismaili cause in any way, or if you do better than others at examinations, then you’ll have pushed your way forward to a position that’s more appropriate to your accomplishments and abilities.”
“Does all this precise differentiation of ranks have any special meaning?” ibn Tahir asked.
“Very much so,” Suleiman replied. “At the moment of truth every Ismaili knows his place. Everyone knows exactly whom he commands and whom he obeys, so that any confusion or misunderstanding is made impossible at the outset. Does it make sense now?”
“Yes, it does,” ibn Tahir replied.
The sound of the gong called them to duty. Since it was too hot on the roof during the afternoon, their lesson was held in the dining room.
This time dai Abu Soraka explained the origins of Islam and the history of Ismailism. To help the newcomer catch up, he first asked the novices some questions about the material he had already covered. Then he proceeded with the day’s new material.
“By giving his only daughter Fatima as wife to Ali, the Prophet designated Ali as the successor to his throne. But after his death his cunning father-in-law Abu Bakr shamelessly tricked the proper heir and assumed the throne of leader of the faithful himself. On that day the Prophet’s magnificent edifice was split in two. On the left side are those who recognize the treacherous Abu Bakr as legitimate heir. Their flag is black and their book is the Sunna, an oral tradition that is a heap of miserable lies and false witness about the Prophet. Their capital is Baghdad, which is now ruled by false caliphs from the Abbasid dynasty. Abbas was the criminal uncle who used flattery and lies to persuade the Prophet to accept him as a believer only after it became unmistakably clear that he would be victorious. The patron of the Abbasids is the sultan, Malik Shah, a Seljuk Turkish dog whose vagabond clan came from the land of Gog and Magog to seize the Iranian throne.
“On the right are those of us who recognize Ali as the only legitimate first imam, just as the Prophet commanded. Our flag is white, and our capital is Cairo in Egypt, for the caliph who rules there is descended from Ali and Fatima, the Prophet’s daughter.
“The usurper Abu Bakr was followed by two more false imams, Omar and Othman. When Othman died, the people demanded that Ali finally become the Prophet’s representative. He was so elected, but he soon bled to death from the knife of a hired killer. His son Hasan succeeded him, but soon had to cede his place to Moawiya. In the meantime the people demanded that Husein, another of Ali and Fatima’s sons, assume the throne. But Husein died a martyr’s death in the valley of Karbala. From that time on, the pureblooded descendants of the Prophet have lived in the deserts and mountains, persecuted and killed by the false imams and their criminal shield bearers. Truly! The fate that Allah holds in his hands is not something we have read in books, but it is noble for us to mourn for the martyrs.
“We have said that the legitimate representatives of Ali and Fatima’s dynasty came to rule in Cairo. We recognize them—this is true—but with certain reservations. These reservations are our secret, which we plan to reveal to you over time. For today, suffice it for us to recite the succession of imams who followed Husein, the Prophet’s third legitimate representative. The fourth was Husein’s son, Ali Zain al-Abidin, whose son Mohammed al-Bakir was the fifth. Jafar as-Sadiq was the sixth. A dispute arose over the seventh, because Jafar as-Sadiq had two sons, Musa al-Kazim and Ismail. Those who recognize Musa al-Kazim as the seventh imam have another five successors, the last of whom is Mohammed, destined to return someday as al-Mahdi. Indeed, al-Mahdi will come, but from the line of Ismail, not that of Musa al-Kazim. We believe in this because we know the real facts. Thus, we recognize only the seven known imams, the last and greatest of whom was Ismail. It is true, one branch of his line attained conspicuous power in Egypt. But where is the other, larger and more important branch? For the moment we know only that the branch in Cairo is simply preparing the way to victory over the usurpers and heretics, for the ultimate leadership of all Islam. For it has been said that the six great prophets—Adam, Noah, Ibrahim, Moses, Christ and Mohammed—will be followed by a seventh and greatest, al-Mahdi, who will come from the line of Ismail. It is him we await and him that we fight for. Truly, I tell you there are great mysteries afoot in the fortress of Alamut!”
For the first time ibn Tahir was hearing the essence of the Ismaili doctrine. It seemed mysterious to him, and he was anxious to hear more revelations.
Abu Soraka left and was followed in the classroom by the Islamicized Greek Theodoros, whom they called al-Hakim, or the Doctor. He was a pudgy little man with a pointed beard and a thin, black mustache. He had pink, plump cheeks, but a nose so straight and long that it nearly reached the level of his full, red, almost feminine lips. His chin was soft and padded. He had round, laughing eyes, and when he spoke you couldn’t tell whether he was serious or kidding. The novices called him dai, even though he hadn’t been consecrated. They knew that the supreme commander had brought him back with him from Egypt. He was a trained physician and ta
ught a variety of subjects, foremost among them the structure and functioning of the human body. He was considered a kind of sophos, or wise man, who had tried to reconcile the teachings of the Koran with Greek philosophy. During his lectures on diseases, poisons and varieties of death he would quote Greek thinkers, especially the skeptics, cynics and materialists. Listening to him, the novices would widen their eyes in amazement, and many of them thought his teachings were rather godless. For example, his explanation of the origin of man was part Koran, part Greek philosophy, and part his own creation.
“Allah created Adam from the four elements. First, he took hard material, but it was inelastic and fragile. He crumbled it into dust, and then he took another element—water. He mixed this with the dust and got clay, which he used to knead the form of man. But that form was soft and changed shape every time it was touched. Therefore, he created fire and used it to dry out the external surface of the human form. Now man had a skin which was elastic. But he was very heavy, so he removed some of the matter from his chest, and to keep the outer walls of the empty space that formed this way from collapsing, he filled the hollow with a fourth element, air. In this way the human body was completed, and to this day it consists of those four original elements—earth, water, fire and air.
“In order to bring man to life, Allah breathed a soul into him. Being of divine origin, the soul is exceptionally sensitive to the harmony of the elements in the human body. As soon as the equilibrium among them is disturbed, the soul departs the body and returns to its origin, which is Allah himself.
“Disturbances of the harmony among the elements can be of two kinds—natural or magical. Natural disturbances can result in one of four kinds of death. If, as the result of a wound, the body loses its blood, it is deprived of the element of water and the result is death. If we strangle someone by the throat or otherwise make breathing impossible, we’ve deprived him of the element of air, and he suffocates and dies. When a person freezes, he’s been deprived of the element of fire. And if a person is dashed against some object, his solid matter is shattered and death is inevitable.
“The magical causes of death, also referred to as medical, are far more intriguing. They are caused by the mysterious natural substances we call poisons. The object of natural science is to learn to recognize and also produce these substances. Every Ismaili can and should benefit from this knowledge …”
This subject was also a source of great amazement for ibn Tahir. It was new to him, and he couldn’t figure out why it was necessary to study it.
Bowing and smiling, the Greek left them, and dai Ibrahim appeared before the novices once again. A deathly silence prevailed, and ibn Tahir could sense that their next subject was an important one.
This time dai Ibrahim taught them Ismaili doctrine. He would pose a question and then point his finger at the novice who had to answer it. The questions and answers followed in rapid succession, short and abrupt.
Ibn Tahir listened intently.
“What are the peris?”
“The peris are evil female spirits who ruled the world before Zarathustra banished them to the underworld.”
“Who was Zarathustra?”
“Zarathustra was a false prophet and fire worshipper, banished by Mohammed to dwell among the demons.”
“Where do the demons dwell?”
“In Mount Demavend.”
“How do they show themselves?”
“By the smoke that comes out of the mountain.”
“How else?”
“And by the wailing voices we can hear coming from there.”
“Who are the Seljuks?”
“The Seljuks are Turks who came storming in from Gog and Magog to seize power over Iran.”
“What is their nature?”
“They have a dual nature—half human and half demon.”
“Why?”
“Dævas, or evil spirits, mated with human women, who then gave birth to the Seljuks.”
“Why did the Seljuks adopt Islam?”
“To disguise their true nature.”
“What are their intentions?”
“To obliterate Islam and establish the rule of demons on earth.”
“How do we know that?”
“Because they support the false caliph in Baghdad.”
“Who is the most bitter enemy of the Ismailis in Iran?”
“The sultan’s grand vizier, Nizam al-Mulk.”
“Why is he a sworn enemy of the one true teaching?”
“Because he is an apostate.”
“What is his most blasphemous crime?”
“His most blasphemous crime was to offer ten thousand gold pieces for the head of Our Master.”
Ibn Tahir shuddered. It was true, the grand vizier was a criminal who had ordered his grandfather Tahir beheaded. And now he had set his sights on the Ismaili supreme commander himself.
Through these questions and answers, dai Ibrahim reviewed the material he had presented so far. Then with a wave of his hand he gave the sign that he would now continue lecturing. Quickly the novices set their tablets on their knees and prepared their writing implements. Posing questions and then answering them himself, dai Ibrahim began dictating the nature of the power granted to the supreme commander of the Ismailis.
In amazement ibn Tahir wrote everything down.
“Who gave Sayyiduna power over the faithful? The Egyptian caliph Mustansir indirectly, and Allah directly.
“What is the nature of this power? This power is of a dual nature, natural and supernatural.
“What is his natural power? That he is the master over life and death of all Ismailis in Iran.
“What is his supernatural power? He has the ability and right to send anyone he wants to paradise.
“Why is Sayyiduna the most powerful of all men who have ever lived on earth? Because Allah has given him the key that unlocks the gate to paradise.”
The fourth prayer marked the end of the school day. The novices gathered on the roof to review what they had learned that day. A lively debate developed around ibn Tahir.
“What I saw and heard in Abdul Malik’s lesson is clear to me,” he said. “But I don’t understand what dai Ibrahim meant by the maxim that Allah had given Sayyiduna the key to the gate of paradise.”
“What is there to wonder about here?” Yusuf spoke up. “That’s what Sayyiduna teaches and our duty is to believe it.”
“Fine, but I just don’t understand whether we’re supposed to take it literally or see it as some kind of parable,” ibn Tahir continued to probe.
“A parable?!” Yusuf lost his temper. “That’s how it’s been said and how we’re supposed to take it.”
“Then that would mean a new miracle has taken place,” ibn Tahir persisted.
“Why shouldn’t it have?” Yusuf said.
“Why shouldn’t it have?” ibn Tahir replied. “Because the Prophet said explicitly that miracles occurred only in ancient times. He disallowed them during his own reign and afterwards.”
Yusuf didn’t know how to respond.
Then Jafar spoke. “We don’t need to see a miracle in the fact that Allah gave Sayyiduna the key to paradise. After all, even the Prophet didn’t view his journey to heaven with the archangel Gabriel as a miracle.”
“All right, then let’s assume that Sayyiduna was just the recipient of Allah’s special favor,” Ibn Tahir continued. “That still leaves the question of when, where and in what manner Allah granted Our Master the key to the gate of paradise.”
“Allah appeared to Sayyiduna in the form of a burning bush or a pillar of smoke,” Suleiman suggested, “the way he appeared to the earlier prophets. He could have given him the key that way, like he gave Moses the tables of the law on Mount Sinai.”
“I can picture all of that,” ibn Tahir said, growing more and more impassioned. “I just can’t accept that we live alongside such a glorious and powerful prophet.”
“Maybe you don’t feel worthy?” Suleiman said
with a smile. “In what way are we any worse than people of earlier times?”
Ibn Tahir glanced around him in distress. He saw faces that expressed extreme religious fervor. No, they couldn’t understand what was perplexing him so much and forcing him to doubt.
“I think what’s more likely than Suleiman’s conjecture,” Jafar offered, “is that Allah sent some angel to take Sayyiduna to heaven. There Allah could have easily handed him the key to paradise.”
“One way or the other,” ibn Tahir summarized, “the question now is what is the nature of this key. Because we have to assume that neither Allah, nor paradise, nor any of the things in it are made of the same substance as our world. So how is it possible that there is an object among us, here on earth, that’s made of the substance of the other world? Could we perceive it with our senses? And if we could, would it still be a heavenly object?”
“You ask an excellent question, grandson of Tahir,” Yusuf brightened, rubbing his hands in satisfaction.
“If you ask me, this discussion has gone beyond what’s allowed,” Naim warned.
“Who asked you, cricket?” said Suleiman, drowning him out. “As though we cared what you think.”
“In the Koran it’s written,” said Jafar, “that after death the righteous will partake of heaven and its joys in forms that are similar to those on earth. The blessed will have the same senses they had in this world, and the same pleasures. Seen that way, objects in the other world won’t differ much from objects here. And so the substance that the key to paradise is made of could resemble the substance of earthly things.”
Obeida had listened attentively and in silence the entire time and now was smiling slyly.
“I’ve got a good explanation that could clear up this whole riddle of Allah’s key,” he said. “We’ve heard that this key opens the gate to paradise and that it’s in the possession of Sayyiduna, who lives among us, on earth. So this key opens the gate to paradise from the outside, from earth’s side. That means that, regardless of the nature of paradise, Sayyiduna’s key opens the gate from earth, so it has to be made of an earthly substance.”