Omar Khayyam - a life (27 page)
"He would not have fallen," Omar answered absently, "if he had not thought the tower was turning round."
"Do not go to the academy. It may be written that calamity awaits thee there."
"If the moving pen hath written it—it will not be rubbed out for thee or me."
Rumors crept out of Nisapur. In the bazaar it was related how the King's astronomer had summoned the Proof of Islam to a meeting, to test their powers.
By using his magical art, the tale ran, Omar Khayyam nearly succeeded in rendering the beloved Ghazali unconscious. But by invoking the Koran, Ghazali's power was restored and in the end Omar was reduced to shame and silence. Some men maintained that Omar had wrestled bodily with Ghazali and had cast him to his knees. Others were equally certain that Ghazali had discovered an infernal machine built secretly within the tower.
Ishak the gatekeeper heard the tidings from a passing caravan of wool merchants bound for Balkh. One of the camelmen leaned down to spit within the gateposts.
"Dirt-eater!" roared Ishak, asserting his dignity. "May dogs litter on thy father's grave."
"This house is full of such dogs. Ay, the master here is a blood-drinking infidel.
Wah
, his name is dirt."
"What is upon thee?" demanded Ishak, too astonished to retort fittingly. Always the caravan men had stared admiringly into the gate of the Master of the Stars, and sometimes they had left gifts with the keeper of the gate—hence Ishak's appearance at that moment.
"Hast thou not heard?" The camelman checked his donkey with a jerk and sat sideways to watch Ishak the better. "First, this unbeliever, thy master, dug a pitfall in his accursed tower.
Hai
—it was to catch and impale men alive, this pitfall. But a certain holy man—I forget his name, but he is a veritable living saint—cast the blessed Koran into the pit and destroyed its power for evil. Then I heard from the daughter of the serai keeper how this ill-omened one, thy master, made a talk for a day and a night in the college of the long-beards. Such a talk! May Allah never cause the like to be again."
The camelman paused to take a pomegranate out of his girdle and pry the skin from it.
"He said the stars had ceased moving."
Ishak stared, unbelieving.
"Moreover——" the bringer of tidings munched the crimson heart of the fruit—"
umh
, he said that the sun did not move. Now I have heard the talk of Samarkand where the Chinese are, ay, and the talk of the House of Allah in Mecca, and much wisdom hath passed into my ears. But never have I heard doctor or dervish say that the sun did not rise and set. May the dogs bite thee, and the curse of the death of Kerbala be upon this house."
With this parthian shaft, he kicked his donkey's ribs and departed. Ishak rose to go and complain to Zuleika of the bad news.
"Did I not say," the stout mistress of the kitchen observed, "that no good fortune would come out of the talk about Cos-ology and Capulation?"
"
Wallahi
, what is that?"
"Well, perhaps it is Cal-cupation—'tis all the same. Ay, me, why did the master try to measure time?"
From the kitchen Ishak went to the lattice screen of the harem—Ayesha having been sent to Kasr Kuchik to escape the heat of the city. Not without malice, he explained to her how the master had roused all Nisapur to anger. Ayesha thought it over, with misgivings.
"If our lord says that the sun stands still," she observed finally, "it is still. Who should know if he does not?"
This quarrel with the learned men might be unfortunate, she decided, but so long as Omar enjoyed the favor of the Sultan, his enemies could do no more than bark at his heels like dogs.
Ishak went back to his gate sorely perplexed. Attentively he watched the red ball of the sun as it set beyond the distant plain. There was no doubt about it; the sun had not altered its habits. It was sinking out of sight just as it did that night when Omar's new calendar began, years ago—Ishak counted the years on his crooked fingers, and found there were thirteen. What had the mullahs said about a bad omen, in the first hour of that new calendar?
The banners of death had been in the sky, even as they were this evening, in their scarlet shrouds. No, the sun had not changed.
Ishak took to waiting outside the gate, to pick up more news from Nisapur. He heard from a slave merchant that Khwaja Omar was at work in the House of the Stars with his mathematicians, and that the academy still buzzed with his preposterous talk. The merchant, who was a kindly man, thought that perhaps Omar had been drunk at the time, and that by making a pilgrimage to the shrine of the blessed Imam at Meshed he could expiate his heresy.
Then, in swirling dust, a courier from the Court galloped by, shouting to peasants and shepherds to clear the road, as he was riding to Samarkand.
"With what news?" Ishak called.
Over his shoulder the courier flung an answer. "Bad. Sultan Malikshah is dead."
From Balkh to Baghdad the word of Malikshah's end was carried as swiftly as hard-ridden horses could travel. The Sultan had been taken ill while hunting, and, although his physicians had let blood copiously, he had died within a few days, naming no successor.
The bazaars were closed in Nisapur and Isfahan, and the larger caravans turned back from the road, while armed forces gathered under the powerful amirs at different places. The division besieging Alamut withdrew because its commander hastened at once to join the camp of Barkiyaruk, a son of Malikshah who was supported by the sons of the slain Nizam al Mulk.
At the same time Muhammad, another son of the Sultan, was acknowledged successor to the throne by the Kalif of Baghdad. As the days passed, the fighting men of the empire gathered in two rival camps, and civil war began.
Hassan ibn Sabah, once Alamut was free from capture, retired unnoticed to Cairo to take counsel with the leaders of the Assassins in Egypt. It suited his plans to have civil war devastating Persia, while his followers spread their propaganda unmolested in the growing confusion. Whether Barkiyaruk or Muhammad gained the throne, Hassan would be the gainer by the strife. Meanwhile, there were castle sites to be acquired in Syria—already his followers had cast aside their disguise and were fortifying the Dizh Koh at Isfahan—and plans for a world empire to be perfected with the masters of the Assassins in Cairo.
It was years before his hand was seen in events in Persia, and then his followers failed in an attempt to assassinate Barkiyaruk, who was gaining ascendancy over his rival.
At the first tidings of Malikshah's death, Ayesha had made Ishak take her back to the small Nisapur palace by the park, and the Street of the Booksellers. Here she could be near Omar, who spent most of his time at the House of the Stars at work upon a revision of the geometry of Euclid.
Ayesha had gathered together a number of armed retainers, mostly Arabs—lean and reckless men who cared little what the Persians did, so long as they were well paid and fed. Ayesha also bought swift-paced horses and baggage camels from the bazaar. Now that Omar's protector had passed to the mercy of Allah, she thought it best to have swords of their own to guard their backs, and horses in readiness to carry them from Nisapur at any moment. She did not trust the Persians who acted after the manner of sheep, now flocking here, now rushing off there.
Except that crowds no longer gathered at Omar's gate to beseech his patronage, Ayesha did not notice any great change in the people of Nisapur. Now that civil war had begun, the nobles naturally were seeking new alliances, and the crowds in in the mosques talked of nothing but the armies on the march from Baghdad, or Ray. At night the gates were closed, and mounted patrols rode through the streets.
True, after a time, the imperial treasurer ceased paying the salary of the Kings astronomer. But when Omar needed money for his followers he sent his steward to borrow in the bazaar, and there was always plenty of gold in the chest Ayesha guarded jealously.
Once she tried to persuade Omar to travel to the camp of Barkiyaruk who had just defeated the Baghdad army. It seemed to her a splendid chance to make new prophecies—had not the King's poet, Mu'izzi, written an ode celebrating the victory, at the same time sending secretly to the defeated party a poem of consolation? Especially now, when Omar assured her an eclipse of the moon was at hand, and that it would be visible from Nisapur.
But Omar wore the white of mourning for Malikshah. The young Sultan—Malikshah had been only thirty-nine at his death—had been his companion since boyhood. Now he had joined Rahim and Yasmi and Jafarak—and where were they?
He did write a quatrain that aroused no enthusiasm in Ayesha.
The friends who drank life's draught with me have gone.
Content with less than I, they one by one
Laid down their cups to take Death's waiting handIn silence, ere the Feast was well begun.
"But it says nothing in praise of Barkiyaruk," she pointed out. "You should not think so often about the dead. They are in their shrouds and they can do nothing more. You are little more than forty years in age, and I for one," she added tenderly, "know well that your strength is no whit diminished. Why do you not ride with the nobles instead of sitting in that everlasting tower making marks on paper?"
"Once I rode with Malikshah. It is enough. Nay, tonight thou'lt see the moon vanish, Ayesha."
"Will Satan eat it all?" She shivered in pleasant anticipation.
"Watch, and you will know."
That night Omar spent on the summit of his observatory. Ayesha lay on her roof in Nisapur, staring at the crowds in mingled excitement and dread. It was a full moon, and when the shadow began to creep across its face, a murmur went through the multitude.
Straightway horns began to blare and the saddle-drums reverberated. Cymbals clashed and women wailed on the housetops. They all understood, as did Ayesha, that the Devil with evil intent was trying to devour the moon.
The shadow deepened, and groups of mullahs came forth with torches to recite, loud voiced, the ninety and nine holy names of Allah, to take power away from the Devil.
Still the light failed. A cold breeze came in from the desert, and the wailing increased. The most zealous Moslems hurried forth to beat brass basins and shout, to frighten away the evil power in the sky. In spite of their efforts, the shadow covered the moon and before long the city was utterly dark except for the dancing torches.
Then—and Ayesha cried out with joy—a rim of light appeared, like a scimitar in the sky. The drums and cymbals beat with new vehemence and slowly, slowly, the Devil was forced to disgorge the moon that he had swallowed.
Not until the full moon was restored did the tumult cease. Ayesha curled up and went to sleep satiated with excitement. She wondered if Omar in his tower had beaten a drum, but she thought that probably he had done nothing of the kind.
The religious fervor roused by the moon's eclipse lasted for some time, and the
kadis
, the judges of Islam, sat in consultation. They sent a message to Omar bidding him appear before them the following day. And the guards who brought the message remained sitting within sight of the House of the Stars until the hour when he was to be escorted before the judges.
Strangely, no one had warned Omar that he would be summoned. His friends all seemed to be occupied with their own affairs—although his assistants besought him to say nothing to anger the
kadis
. After all, they were the judges of Islam, and it would be best to assent to any complaint they might make, until he had secured the favor of a new Sultan, or perhaps of the Kalif himself.
When Omar entered the
divan
a glance showed him that the whole council of the academy was ranged upon the seat about the wall, with the heads of the departments of philosophy and theology. Facing him sat the
kadis
in their white turbans, with Ghazali the mystic, and a
mufti
or maker-of-decisions from the Ulema itself. So crowded was the room that only a small space had been left for him to kneel before the judges.
He had often come there to lecture to the professors, or to advise the council, and most of the faces were familiar. Now, however, they gave no sign of recognition, and Omar understood that he was to be tried, even before the oldest of the judges spoke the first words— "
Bismallah ar rahman ar rahim
—in the name of Allah the Merciful, the Pitying."
While he listened, his mind became alert, weighing not the formal words but the feelings of this council of judgment. Had Malikshah been alive they would not have dared call him to judgment. Now in the eyes of mullahs and professors of the Law he read an old hatred, no longer concealed.
One of the mullahs recited the charges against Omar the Tentmaker, son of Ibrahim, once astronomer to the King, upon whom be blessings.
The mullah said that first the books of Omar must be judged, since those books had been taken into the schools throughout Islam.
It was charged against the books—which had been written without question according to teachings of the infidel Greeks—that their author was
mulhid
—an unbeliever.
He was manifestly a heretic, on many counts. First, he had prevailed upon the late Sultan to set aside the proper calendar of Islam and to measure time anew in accordance with infidel ideas.
Then, he had established his work-place near a cemetery, so that he could walk among the graves and hold unhallowed commerce with the dead.
Also, he had blasphemed against the word of God, saying that the earth was not the center of the universe, and that the stars which Muhammad had declared to rise and set in fact did not move. Most of those who were present—faithful followers of the road of God—had heard this
mulhid
speak these very words. That, in itself, was sufficient cause for a judgment. In fact, the mullah concluded, there could be no argument. All these circumstances were known beyond doubt. Hundreds of witnesses could testify to every point. The only question for the council to decide was—what punishment should be measured out to the books of Omar Khayyam, and what to the author of the books.
When the mullah was silent, a doctor of the academy spoke. He agreed that the facts already related were beyond need of testimony. The hand of Omar Khayyam had, however, committed another offense not so generally known.
From time to time Omar Khayyam had written
rubais
which, although never gathered together in a book, were repeated in all quarters. The Sufis, especially, quoted these quatrains, and impious souls voiced them in challenge to the Koran and the Traditions of Islam. The speaker, a humble servant of the Ulema had collected several of these quatrains written down by various hands in Persia, yet composed by Omar Khayyam.
If the doctors and learned kadis would permit he, the speaker, would read aloud these impious verses, asking their forgiveness for uttering words so evil in meaning.
There was a stir of interest, and heads craned forward. Not every one had known of the quatrains. And here the maker of the verses would be condemned by his own words.
"Read, and fear not," said the oldest judge.
Slowly, the doctor of the Law read the verses, and Omar smiled faintly in recollection . . . with Yasmi beside him, how could he spare a thought to paradise . . . indeed, wine had eased his grieving ... a hawk uptossed, to seize the book of human Fate. . . .
"That is sacrilege," the doctor said, "but here is one clear line of blasphemy.
'O Thou to Whom we cry, "Forgive!"—Say, where wilt Thou forgiveness find?'
"
Omar looked up, surprised. "I did not write that."
No one answered. The bearded faces beneath the white turbans were stern. Ghazali rose, avoiding Omar's eyes, and made his way to the nearest door. As clearly as if written on paper before him, Omar could read their judgment—that he was condemned.
He also rose to his feet and as he did so something relaxed in his mind. He did not want to struggle any more with these intent doctors and judges.
"Wilt thou speak to us, Omar Khayyam?" the
mufti
asked.
"Yes. That verse is not mine. But here is one that has not been read: