ALIF
My life is by this time serene as a spring garden, and my soul awaits
only Allah's call.
My Lord and Master has asked me to write these papers so that a trace of
my humble life could remain, and, being a good and respectful servant I
obey and write, even if to narrate what concerns me, I have to tell also
about my Lord and Master, Allah bless Him in the Eternity.
My Lord will judge if what I am about to write has to be kept secret,
burned or conserved. In writing these papers I will tell with the spirit
of truth everything regarding me and all (it seemed to me) that
distinguished my Sovereign in the long years Allah gave me the grace to
spend in His service and at His side.
BAA
My name is Nadim ibn Yussuf el Saum, Grand Visir of the Shaikh Amin ibn
Hassam el Salil, fifth sovereign of this sweet and strong land, blessed
by Allah.
I was born during the Mulud of the year 1102 of the Ajirah, seventh
child of Yussuf, donkey breeder in the El Saum mountains, were we are
told that the Prophet slept one night in the period of His fast. From my
tender childhood I grazed my father's donkeys, so I spent long periods
with those humble but precious animals on the slopes of the mountain, in
perfect seclusion.
I passed my time observing the thousand marvellous creatures with which
Allah populated my land: from the tireless ant to the shrewd little
mountain mouse, to the powerful hawk with his sharp eyesight; from the
multiform leaves to the rare flowers, now delicate and now so intense
and intoxicating; to the changing color of the sky where invisible fly
the genii. From all of those I was drawing and obtaining unconscious
teachings that fed my soul.
Other times, on the contrary, to spend my time I found delight in
playing a coarse whistle I had made by myself, inventing tunes or
playing musics of my people's tradition. I liked very much to play,
especially when I was in a place where it was possible to hear a faint
far away echo. In that case it was to me like doing a duet with a
faithful, invisible mate capturing my notes and sending them back in a
delicate and gentle game.
Or else I sat or stretched on the grass and was lost in a thousand
thoughts... Or sometimes I spoke to my donkeys, particularly with one I
loved dearly: he was perhaps the eldest one of the flock and at times I
found myself thinking that probably that animal did have a soul, an
intellect and that he listened to me and really understood me.
In this way my childhood passed: thinking back on it I have to say that
was not so good nor so bad, but certainly serene.
When I was back in the village, I seldom joined other boys in play or
jokes: I normally preferred to go to the masjid where the muazzin, who
was once a good meddah, told me stories or read me a passage of the Al
Qur'an, teaching me little by little in this gentle way to read and to
understand.
In those years the source of all my culture, all my education, were
taken as a baby drinks - both from nature and my muazzin. When about
twelve I was able to read passably well, I had memorized several verses
of Al Qur'an and I knew all the animals and plants living in my land.
The muazzin, 'Omar, had a liking for me and some times, on my request,
he sang me one of the many wonderful tales he knew, thanks to his job as
a meddah he had carried out when young: so I listened to fascinating,
mysterious, amazing things and consequently I dreamed daydreams.
Little by little I started to dream of towns with slender minarets, more
numerous than our village's trees and with domes in pure gold, with
magnificent palaces built in white marble where lived wise shah with
their visirs and with their harems that were guarded by powerful
eunuchs, and I dreamed of wide, busy and lively streets, noisy and full
of smells, where wandered robbers and merchants, wise men and faqir,
soldiers and ulama.
In short, of my dreams was born in me desire, of my desire developed
dissatisfaction, of my dissatisfaction the plan to abandon everything:
family, village and donkeys, to go to the town, my dream town. To do
what, I did not know, but sure wonderful things as happened to the
protagonists of 'Omar's tales. So one day, now fourteen, I said to my
father I wanted to leave home, I wanted to leave the village to go to
the capital. Quite the opposite of what I had feared, he didn't oppose
me: he just told me to ask advice from our mullah. He gave me a few
coins, invoked on me Allah's blessings and gave me his farewells. On the
contrary my mother cried and the acute tone of her voice accompanied me
as I was going away from home towards the masjid, vanishing little by
little but remaining in my heart. The mullah listened to me nodding with
big movements of his head, then said:
"My boy, you want to go to the town: so it will be if this is also the
will of Allah. Town is beautiful and terrible, like a woman: she can
give you everything or become extremely jealous; she can ignore you or
betray you; she can give you delight or make you suffer. It is up to you
to be able to dominate her and not to be dominated by her. When you
arrive at the capital, go immediately to the Great Masjid that is in
front of our Shaikh's palace, be he blessed by Allah, and ask to be
received by the Imam, Abbas el Kuds. Tell him I am sending you - he was
my teacher. Probably he can help you to find honest and dignified work.
Never forget your daily prayers and never miss the common prayers in the
masjid on Fridays, and Allah will never abandon you. Now, go, and may
Allah accompany you, my boy."
Those were, more or less, his words.
I left, therefore, on foot, feeling full of happiness and hopes. New
skies, new times were waiting for me: the future belonged to me. I
walked and walked until the landscape started to be less familiar to me:
I never had moved so far away from my village before this time. The
valley was opening in front of me, extending in a wide plain that seemed
to be waiting for me in a boundless embrace. 'Omar had illustrated to me
the road to follow, tracing on the earth with a stick a sort of
essential map and now his explanations, accurate and precise, full of
details I had carefully memorized, were helping me at any crossroad to
choose the right way and to feel a little less lost and less a stranger
in those lands completely unknown to me.
Along the way, for a long while I didn't meet a soul, but the second day
I passed a caravan: by the banners I understood it was composed of
pilgrims doing their hajj to Mecca. Therefore I greeted them with the
traditional "Salla-llah alaih ua sallama." and carried on with my way,
followed by the blessings shouted to me by the pilgrims.
Now the road was flat, wide and straight, therefore I understood that
the capital couldn't be so far away, yet nothing yet was visible on the
horizon. I continued on my way with good stamina, but eventually fatigue
started to make grow in me, even though I stopped to rest every night in
a place protected by bushes or a small wall. But my desire not to waste
my time, to soon reach my goal, gave wings to my feet. I didn't pay so
much attention to the aching that was beginning to make heavy my legs
and proceeded to walk with determination. My heart full of dreams
soothed the fatigue in my young body.
At last, at dawn of the fourth day, I started to see something at the
horizon, a peculiar profile I guessed were the capital's buildings. That
gave me new energy. My eyes staring in that direction, I walked rapidly
and soon, as I was little by little approaching, I began to distinguish
the walls surrounding the town. I could see them more and more clearly
and started to grasp their grandiosity, strength, coarse beauty. Then,
from the compact mass of the ancient walls, I started to clearly
distinguish, and could also count, seven minarets standing lean and
straight like stalks of flowers near to bloom. I could distinguish two
of them that seemed twins: they were very tall, white, their tops
shining at the first sun. They had to have been those of the Great
Masjid, built by the great- grandfather of the Sheikh, that is by the
founder of the dynasty, the great Ali ibn el Ghazi, Dhimmi of the
Baghdad's Khalifa.
Also the road, by now, was more crowded: there was an incessant coming
and going of people of all kinds, of all ages, of all social conditions:
people dressed in fashions I never did see before, rich lords with
sumptuous and elegant attires, but also ragamuffins and beggars with a
miserable and wretched aspect I never before guessed could exist.
Finally I reached a town gate, the one called "The Crooked". Nowadays it
does no more exist, having been demolished when was rebuilt that part of
the walls that now enclose the capital in the north. It was wide open,
but guarded by several Shaikh soldiers observing carefully everybody
entering or going out. Sometimes they greeted with a nod somebody they
knew, sometimes they stopped some passerby to examine what he was
carrying, but the most of time they seemed to be almost indifferent to
the traffic. Only their attentive eyes, moving and alive, betrayed the
care with which they were carrying out their duty to protect the town
and all she contained. I passed under the huge arch of the gate feeling
almost frightened and I had a sensation as if I was penetrating a giant
- I hoped a good one - to go forward in his body. That gate was called
"The Crooked" because the street entering through it did two sharp bends
so that neither from outside was it possible to see the town houses, nor
from inside could you see the outside. I presumed it had been built that
way for defense reasons, but at that time I just got a sense of mystery
that, mixed with my desire to "discover" the city, while I was passing
in there, caused my heart to beat with unusual force.
I wandered in the town's streets: how many huge houses, how many
splendid buildings, how many strange and marvellous things and above
all, what a bustle! How many people! How many noises, smells, colours! I
was almost dazed. I arrived at the Bazaar and was likewise bewildered by
the confusion, by the quantity of people walking almost at elbow
contact, yelling, by the sing-song calls of vendors, by the thousand
merchandises exposed plentifully, by the penetrating smells of foods and
of goods, smells changing at every sidestreet of the Bazaar. I wandered
in it far and wide, all over, my eyes wide open from wonder, until I
lost completely my sense of direction and my sense of time. When my body
started to protest for the fatigue, I remembered my destination: I had
to ask several times what direction I had to walk to reach the Great
Masjid.
TAA
Out of the Bazaar, the streets now seemed to me, in contrast, almost
empty and silent. I followed the way shown to me, a slight slope and,
suddenly, I emerged on a wide, open, level space in whose center was
erected the masjid. Even if it was the back, I was stricken breathless.
It was completely built in pure white stone carved in bas-relief with
geometrical patterns and was decorated with colourful panels of blue
ceramic tiles with ornamental motifs in black, red and gold. There was a
narrow and long window, closed by a colorful stained glass. I entered
the precincts looking all around, open-mouthed, my eyes wide open,
feeling full of reverential awe and respect.
Arrived at the fountains I did the prescribed ritual purification, then
I climbed the stairs, left my slippers and entered the cool and mystic
dim light of the holy place: all the floor was entirely covered by soft
and beautiful carpets. It wasn't the prayer time so there were just a
few men praying here and there. I sat on the carpets and recited into my
heart all the prayers I knew. After a long while, by this time relaxed
by the atmosphere reigning in that marvellous place, re- tempered my
body, tired from the long journey, strengthened in my soul thank to the
prayers I had said, I stood up and went to look for the muazzim. When I
found him, I said respectfully who I was, on behalf of whom I was there,
and asked him if he could introduce me to the Imam.
The man listened to me with patience, than told me to wait. He was back
in a short time, told me to follow him and took me to the presence of
the holy man. This was an old man with a flowing and thick beard of the
color of melting silver, with a big aquiline nose, two amazingly black
and thick eyebrows, two penetrating eyes. He was wrapped up in a wide,
loose cloak made of soft cloth of the colour of wood charcoal and had a
turban of the same colour. He was saying a rosary and his lips barely
moved, and was reciting, without emitting any sound, the ninety-nine
perfections of Allah. The muazzim introduced me and left me alone in
presence of the venerable Imam. This one, that seemed he had not even
heard what my guide had just told, after a while signalled me to seat
near him and said:
"Yes, I remember very well your mullah: he was my pupil thirteen years
ago."
Then he again became silent - only his eyes scrutinized me carefully, as
if he was reading in the deepest secrets of my soul, then started to ask
questions. Some were direct, relevant and pertinent:
"How old are you... Why did you come to the city... What are you able to
do..."
but some made me perplexed:
"What is the colour of a fig tree flower... How many hairs are there in
a donkey's ear... How many dates can a man fasting for eight days
eat..."
I answered the best I could, respectfully, but I started to think that
perhaps his age had to have done some tricks to his brain. At last the
Imam said:
"Well, boy. You can stop at the school of this Masjid, in order to study
and become a good mullah. Now go to see the muazzim and tell him to
settle you in the school, with the first year students."
That said, he seemed to forget me and he started again to silently pray,
barely moving his lips, his vacant look lost in emptiness. So my life in
the school of the holy man started. His brain worked perfectly and he
was a man of a very wide culture, of a deep wisdom, and above all very
kind and patient. My life in the school was pleasurable; I was learning
many and many things and often the teachers complimented me on my
progress.
But my restless nature was source to not a few problems: one of the
things they had to forbid me was to climb. I climbed everywhere: once
they found me hanging from the big chandelier of the Masjid and the poor
muazzim almost fainted for fear, because he couldn't understand how I
had managed to go up there, and he was scared I could fall headlong in
any moment, probably even with the chandelier. Another time I was caught
while climbing a minaret from outside: I had yet to climb more than one
third, when I heard one of my teachers shouting and ordering me to come
back immediately.
Another point, I think, that posed not a little problem to my teachers:
my answers not serious enough to the problems they were submitting us.
Once they asked us to explain why women had to always have their faces
covered with a veil. None of us boys could find the right answer. So, I,
not succeeding in holding back what fluttered in my head, exclaimed:
"It must be because Allah, after the creation of the woman, did notice
how ugly she was, so said: 'From now on, you will hide your face,
otherwise...'"
I could not end the sentence, because I received a really strong slap on
my head and our teacher ordered me to refrain from speaking nonsense.
Another time, our teacher questioned us about the meaning of the fast. I
answered triumphantly:
"But, of course! Because if you do not fast, one becomes fat and ugly,
hence ruining Allah's work..."
The Imam, for a while, even if he was scolding me, defended me and kept
me in the school. But at last I think that even he could not do
anything for me: at that point all the teachers affirmed that from me it
was impossible to obtain even a mediocre mullah. So, one day, the Imam
summoned me to his presence and said:
"Nadim, you are a strong, nimble and agile boy, you have a sharp and
ready intelligence, Allah blessed you with not a few gifts, but you are
also too lively, restless and at times also not respectful. Probably I
made a mistake when I thought to make of you a mullah: probably this is
not your way. And yet, I feel you will do very well for yourself. I am
sorry I can no more keep you in our school... But where I am sending
you, they will be able to use at the best your exuberant energy, and
even without reining you in, they will be able to teach you the
discipline you are lacking. So, since our Sheikh is enlisting new guards
for the Prince, I decided to send you to the Palace to undertake the
soldier's tasks. You have a strong sense of honour and I believe that,
at least there, you will be appreciated. I have already spoken to the
Chief of the Guard, and he will send for you in a short time. Farewell,
my son."
To tell the truth, in the first moments I was hurt. But I also felt that
I must have passed all the limits and that the Imam could not possibly
do otherwise. I went to my dormitory, made a small bundle of my
belongings, farewelled my friends and went to see the muazzim waiting
for the soldiers to come take me. After all it would not be too bad to
be soldier in the guard of prince Amin: He was, at that time, ten years
old. At his birth the astrologer had predicted for him a wonderful
future, actually they said that he had the luck sign impressed in his
body: three moles each as big as a lentil, at the level of his liver,
close, joined to shape a kind of black clover. It was predicted also
that death would have brushed him several times but that would grasp him
only at a late age.
I was happy to become a guard of the prince, as much because the Palace
guards were dressed with rich, colorful and beautiful uniforms, had
shining swords and got admiration and respect from everybody. This, for
the kind of boy I was, was as important as possible in my eyes.
Everything considered, I said to myself while waiting while they came to
take me, the change wasn't so bad. On the contrary, I remember I thought
at a one point, perhaps it was for me real and true luck the Imam
decided not to keep me in the school. In fact, as can be seen in the
continuation of this story, my true luck started precisely that day.
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