MrT- Me too! Of course, I have odd ideas of the meaning of peace. As we're about to see in an update or two.
Finally, a new damn chapter in...
The Mother of Cities and the Last Jihad
March, 1438
Barakat glared diffidently at the man prostrate at his feet.
“And remind me why I should help you?”
“My Sultan, the traders of the Hedjaz now dominate the markets of Ishafan and Mascate, and range as far as Kutch-“
“I remember the part where your bad investments destroy the wealth of your family. I was paying close attention. The part where my recall grows fuzzy is where I must force the people of the entire nation to work for two years to repair the results of your incredibly bad judgment.” The sharif looked up.
“Sultan, my family holds important posts throughout our realm-“
“And I’m sure if I were to withhold help, their reports would suddenly show chaos and reduced tax revenue. Because they would be so distraught over your penury that they would be unable to do their jobs.” The sharif shifted uncomfortably. “Of course, to bluntly call this blackmail would be below a Muslim noble.” The Sultan swept his papers from a nearby table. “Get out. You’ll have no help. And no money.”
The sharif jumped to his feet, his face livid. “Sultan! This is-“ Barakat gestured to his guards, who took a step closer. Barakat sneered.
“You will not bleed my people. Stir up your nephews and your sons. In a few months, you’ll be forgotten. And I will be Sultan. And never think that I will forget this day.” The sharif backed out, trembling with fury and fear.
Nasruddin used to take his donkey across a frontier every day, with the panniers loaded with straw. Since he admitted to being a smuggler when he trudged home every night, the frontier guards searched him again and again. They searched his person, sifted the straw, steeped it in water, even burned it from time to time. Meanwhile he was visibly more and more prosperous.
Then he retired and went to live in another country. Here one of the customs officers met him, years later.
"You can tell me now, Nasruddin," he said. "Whatever was it that you were smuggling, when we could never catch you out?"
"Donkeys," said Nasruddin.
From Tales of the Sufi Masters
“Throughout the 1430s, Barakat was often in his Persian territories, quelling the revolts and feuds of the natives by diplomacy when he could, and by the sword when forced to it. It was in 1438 that he met Idris ibn-Idris, a local official in Tabriz with close ties to Persia’s flourishing Sufi communities. Idris journeyed with Barakat back to Mecca in 1439. It is unknown to this day what the two talked about, although they were often seen in deep conversation. It seems certain, however, that talking with Idris must have persuaded Barakat to make his fateful decision in 1441…”
From Barakat and the Muslim Renaissance, by Prof. Sir John Miffling-Hodgkins, Cambridge University Press, 1877
“Why would the Mamelukes attack Fez? It’s on the other side of Africa!” Idris shrugged.
“It’s certainly safer than attacking your neighbor.”
“Well, I have no intention of declaring war. But if I don’t, the damned nobles will claim I’m being perfidious again.” Idris nodded.
“Well, if you do have to get in a fight, it may as well be on your ground. There is an old story of Nasruddin-“
“Please skip to the moral.” Idris chuckled.
“If two fires need quenching, start with the one in your beard.” Barakat scratched his chin doubtfully.
“Well, then consider that the Sultan of Aden would look kindly upon an alliance should you disavow the Mamelukes. And he has no heir. Also, Oman would likely come to your rescue should the Mamelukes invade.”
“But I am a Sunni prince, and the Mamelukes are fellow Shi’ites-“
“Precisely.” Barakat thought for a moment and laughed. “I might as well knock down a few tariffs as well, just to drive the point home to the damnable sharifs.”
January, 1441
The feasts and celebrations were over, and with them Ramadan. The nobles were quiet and the people happy. It was time. Barakat nodded to Idris and patted his horse’s back. The beast snorted and tossed his proud head. Ali, Barakat’s son, stood nearby bewildered.
“Father? What is this? Why did I have to sneak down to the courtyard like a thief?” Barakat smiled.
“You will not steal anything, Ali. Rather, I need you to guard something.”
“What is that?”
“Mecca.” Ali sighed.
“Father, it’s far too late at night for me to answer a Sufi riddle.” Barakat laughed.
“Oh, no. It’s no Sufi riddle. At least, not for you.” Ali blinked and the meaning slowly dawned.
“You’re leaving to live with the Sufis. In Persia.” Barakat nodded.
“And while I am gone, you must watch over the people. You must remember that a Muslim prince serves Allah, and that Allah loves us all as his children.” Barakat glowered sternly. “I am leaving you in charge of your family. Your sisters and brothers, Arab and Persian, Sunni and Shia. Am I understood?” Ali bowed instantly.
“I will always remember what you have taught me, Father.” Barakat and Ali embraced. Idris pranced up on his stallion.
“Come, Barakat! Before some fat fool comes out here and thinks I’ve bewitched you!” Barakat laughed, and with that rode away into the desert.
Finally, a new damn chapter in...
The Mother of Cities and the Last Jihad
March, 1438
Barakat glared diffidently at the man prostrate at his feet.
“And remind me why I should help you?”
“My Sultan, the traders of the Hedjaz now dominate the markets of Ishafan and Mascate, and range as far as Kutch-“
“I remember the part where your bad investments destroy the wealth of your family. I was paying close attention. The part where my recall grows fuzzy is where I must force the people of the entire nation to work for two years to repair the results of your incredibly bad judgment.” The sharif looked up.
“Sultan, my family holds important posts throughout our realm-“
“And I’m sure if I were to withhold help, their reports would suddenly show chaos and reduced tax revenue. Because they would be so distraught over your penury that they would be unable to do their jobs.” The sharif shifted uncomfortably. “Of course, to bluntly call this blackmail would be below a Muslim noble.” The Sultan swept his papers from a nearby table. “Get out. You’ll have no help. And no money.”
The sharif jumped to his feet, his face livid. “Sultan! This is-“ Barakat gestured to his guards, who took a step closer. Barakat sneered.
“You will not bleed my people. Stir up your nephews and your sons. In a few months, you’ll be forgotten. And I will be Sultan. And never think that I will forget this day.” The sharif backed out, trembling with fury and fear.
Nasruddin used to take his donkey across a frontier every day, with the panniers loaded with straw. Since he admitted to being a smuggler when he trudged home every night, the frontier guards searched him again and again. They searched his person, sifted the straw, steeped it in water, even burned it from time to time. Meanwhile he was visibly more and more prosperous.
Then he retired and went to live in another country. Here one of the customs officers met him, years later.
"You can tell me now, Nasruddin," he said. "Whatever was it that you were smuggling, when we could never catch you out?"
"Donkeys," said Nasruddin.
From Tales of the Sufi Masters
“Throughout the 1430s, Barakat was often in his Persian territories, quelling the revolts and feuds of the natives by diplomacy when he could, and by the sword when forced to it. It was in 1438 that he met Idris ibn-Idris, a local official in Tabriz with close ties to Persia’s flourishing Sufi communities. Idris journeyed with Barakat back to Mecca in 1439. It is unknown to this day what the two talked about, although they were often seen in deep conversation. It seems certain, however, that talking with Idris must have persuaded Barakat to make his fateful decision in 1441…”
From Barakat and the Muslim Renaissance, by Prof. Sir John Miffling-Hodgkins, Cambridge University Press, 1877
“Why would the Mamelukes attack Fez? It’s on the other side of Africa!” Idris shrugged.
“It’s certainly safer than attacking your neighbor.”
“Well, I have no intention of declaring war. But if I don’t, the damned nobles will claim I’m being perfidious again.” Idris nodded.
“Well, if you do have to get in a fight, it may as well be on your ground. There is an old story of Nasruddin-“
“Please skip to the moral.” Idris chuckled.
“If two fires need quenching, start with the one in your beard.” Barakat scratched his chin doubtfully.
“Well, then consider that the Sultan of Aden would look kindly upon an alliance should you disavow the Mamelukes. And he has no heir. Also, Oman would likely come to your rescue should the Mamelukes invade.”
“But I am a Sunni prince, and the Mamelukes are fellow Shi’ites-“
“Precisely.” Barakat thought for a moment and laughed. “I might as well knock down a few tariffs as well, just to drive the point home to the damnable sharifs.”
January, 1441
The feasts and celebrations were over, and with them Ramadan. The nobles were quiet and the people happy. It was time. Barakat nodded to Idris and patted his horse’s back. The beast snorted and tossed his proud head. Ali, Barakat’s son, stood nearby bewildered.
“Father? What is this? Why did I have to sneak down to the courtyard like a thief?” Barakat smiled.
“You will not steal anything, Ali. Rather, I need you to guard something.”
“What is that?”
“Mecca.” Ali sighed.
“Father, it’s far too late at night for me to answer a Sufi riddle.” Barakat laughed.
“Oh, no. It’s no Sufi riddle. At least, not for you.” Ali blinked and the meaning slowly dawned.
“You’re leaving to live with the Sufis. In Persia.” Barakat nodded.
“And while I am gone, you must watch over the people. You must remember that a Muslim prince serves Allah, and that Allah loves us all as his children.” Barakat glowered sternly. “I am leaving you in charge of your family. Your sisters and brothers, Arab and Persian, Sunni and Shia. Am I understood?” Ali bowed instantly.
“I will always remember what you have taught me, Father.” Barakat and Ali embraced. Idris pranced up on his stallion.
“Come, Barakat! Before some fat fool comes out here and thinks I’ve bewitched you!” Barakat laughed, and with that rode away into the desert.
