in paradox…

Note: A while back someone sent this to me to read and enjoy. Please share if you know the name of the author…

In paradox with his barbaric character, Taimur also possessed the ability to appreciate beauty and refinement, a tendency which matured unhampered by his savage nature. It is said that when he came to Shiraz, he summoned the legendary Persian poet, Hafiz and questioned him about his famous couplet:

Agar aan Turk-e-Shirazi badast arad dil-e-maa ra
Bakhal-e-Hinduash bakhsham, Samarakand-e-Bukhara ra.

(If my heart could lay its hand upon that Turk from Shiraz, I would give away Samarkand and Bukhara over his dark mole).

“I have spent the wealth of nations to beautify Smarkand,” said Taimur angrily, in response to the couplet. “How dare you say you will give it away over some harlot of Shiraz!” To which Hafiz replied with his proverbial wit, “It is due to such extravagance that I have to live in abject poverty.” And appreciating the poet’s rejoinder, sent him away with gifts. Taimur even brought other poets and men of art from Persia to live in Samarkand and enrich the culture.

There is a less reliable tradition which declares that in Damascus, Taimur held a discourse with the famous historian and sociologist, Ibne Khuldun. If that ever happened, one wonders if the scholar had a chance to share with the conqueror his famous theory about the fate of dynasties. Khuldun had propounded that the glory of a dynasty seldom lasted beyond four generations. The first generation is inclined towards conquest, the second towards administration. The third generation, being free from the necessity to conquer or administer, is left with the pleasurable task of spending the wealth of its ancestors on cultural pursuits. Consequently, by the fourth generation, a dynasty has usually spent its wealth as well as human energy. Hence, the downfall of each royal house is embedded in the very process of its rising. According to Khuldun, it was a natural phenomenon and couldn’t be avoided. If so, then the House of Taimur was going to prove him wrong.

Taimur’s most deadly battle was fought against the Ottoman ruler, Bayazid. It started with a skirmish about a certain border territory. Bayazid, who had started a wave of conquests across Christian Europe, didn’t pay much heed to the barbarian and when Taimur persisted he wrote a derogatory reply, which Taimur’s historians consider too offensive to copy. Some believe that the Ottoman had challenged Taimur’s virility while others suspect that he had threatened to rape Taimur’s wife, Sirai Khanum (whom Taimur had married after killing her husband, the brother of Oljai). Whatever may be the case, Taimur defeated the Ottoman ruler at the Battle of Angura and captured all the women in his harem, including Bayazid’s favourite wife, Despina. She had to serve as a naked waitress while Bayazid was forced to watch this as a ‘guest’ during the feast of victory. Despina was later returned to Bayazid, who died of grief soon afterwards. The Ottomans couldn’t recover from this trauma, and the kings of that dynasty never married again, so that no future enemy could humiliate an Ottoman queen. The heirs to the Ottoman throne were begotten from slave girls.

Taimur could have invaded Europe after the defeat of Bayazid, but did not. Maybe he was pleased with the Christian kings who had congratulated him on his victory over the Ottoman giant. Or maybe he wasn’t interested in Europe because Genghis Khan had also never paid attention to that territory. Whatever the reason, he turned instead to China and, just as his armies were about to embark towards the Great Wall, Taimur died at the age of seventy on February 9, 1405.

The House of Taimur had its first brush with civil war soon after his death. Taimur had nominated his grandson, Pir Muhammad as successor. Pir was the son of Taimur’s favourite son Jehangir, now dead for a long time, but Taimur’s will was soon overruled by many generals who asserted their tribal right to choose their own chief from the house of the dead lord. Pir was away in India, and could not come home before the defecting generals had enthroned another grandson of Taimur in Samarkand. This was Khalil, who was begotten when Taimur’s spoilt son, Meeran Shah raped Jehangir’s widow, the Princess Khanzadeh.

Pir returned, but lost his battle. Khalil married a dancing girl and commenced a series of orgies that enraged the generals. They threw him into prison while his queen was subjected to public humiliation – the soldiers’ revenge upon a dancing girl for daring to marry a prince!

The last remaining choice was Shahrukh, a peace-loving son whom Taimur used to hold dear, but didn’t think him capable of running an empire. Shahrukh emerged an excellent ruler. He was known for avoiding warfare as far as possible, but also proved an effective general if waging war was a necessity. His scholarly traits were magnified in his son, Ulugh Beg, who became famous as an outstanding intellectual of his day. Accomplished in mathematics, astronomy and poetry, Ulugh Beg built an observatory in Samarkand and compiled an ephemeris that was to remain the standard instrument for casting horoscopes for more than a century.

Taimur cannot be compared with Alexander, Caesar or Napoleon. He can best be compared with a huge devastating earthquake – something like a beast of nature working on a scale larger than that which is humanly possible, and without motives that can be completely understood in terms of human ambition. When he came, Asia was a graceful cradle for many civilizations. When he left, it was reduced to rubble, but from this debris was to spring a world. The credit for this rebirth doesn’t go to Taimur. It goes to all those who displayed human courage and started over again just like people do after an earthquake or holocaust. Or after a ruler like Tamerlane has wrecked their world.

angst

deep inside the house the girls are laughing. peal after peal of their lovely laughter. they are playing house. one is pretending to be mama and the other one is baba – the father and they are also their own children. i am sitting in the patio. in fact i am sitting in the back and they are in the front portion of the house. i am waiting for the namaz time and after that – i don’t know what i would like to do. watch ‘lost’ ? no, we always record our favorite program to watch later on without the commercials.

watch the news? which is always the same. one trying to outdo the other, exaggerated expressions high pitched voices, know alls feeding people on their masala – dish.

or read the magazine ‘vegetarian’ i received in the mail today. we are trying to change our eating habits. no red meat at all. lots of vegetables and fruits. beans and lentils are my favorite. i can eat a bowl of rice with beans and lentils and a little bit of hot chutney on the side, any day. but … i think i am not yet ready to check this magazine out. the truth is i am not ready for anything. i just want to sit here an relax, watch the planes flying low to land or soaring in the evening sky, on to their faraway destinations.

little girls are playing house. they have all their future ahead of them. everything is new, so interesting and amazing. so much to know to have to give to share! they are playing house and learning. time flies. before they know it, they’ll be in the midst of it.
i know it. because i was also there once. we all start the same way and we all go to the back patio to rest and relax with angst nibbling at our hearts.

visitation

Why did you leave me? Asked my son
I looked at him and saw the pain
Sitting heavy like a granite slab
On a sad little chest

I wanted to say something but found the words missing
He looked at me and I at him, and still there were no words.
I was the one to look away, to look far outside the window
Wishing for a guide, a consumer report for some ready answers

But it was cold in the ice cream bar and cold outside the window
The rain was falling, smudging the edges; mist was all around.
All in all, it was a sad afternoon hushing every sound.
There are no words for heartache,
Come rain or mist or sunshine.

Why did I leave her? Or did I?
When did we stop loving each other? why love went sour between us?
Why visions blurred and silences sat down like heavy dust
Stifling every channel
Why empty spaces crept in.

I did not know what to tell my son
I had no ready answers.

I killed the love that once was; and killed a little boy’s dreams

karbala calling

This is Karbala, the same Karbala where some fourteen hundred years ago Hussein fought the last battle of Islam against Yazid. Yazid, hated by Shias and Sunnis alike. It’s the same Karbala where seventy-two companions of Hussein laid their lives down for an ideology, a faith that the last messenger of Allah gave to humanity. It’s the same Karbala where Ali’s son Hussein fought valiantly. He was the last man standing, facing Yazid’s army. He had lost his sons, his nephews, his half brother and friends in the battle. Now it was his turn. He knew he was going to die… they were not going to spare his life; and for what? His friends were gone. The male members of his family were gone. There was no turning back.

His sword in his hands the lion charged , ran straight into the lines of the enemy;
you killed my six months old Asghar?
you killed my Akbar- my eighteen years old Akbar? You did’t see how much he resembled his grandfather, the messenger of Allah? you killed him. And my brother too? A brother like Abbas! He was just getting some water for his niece and you cut both his shoulders? You killed him? Here take this, and this, and this one is for my nephews. You think you will get away with your injustice, your blood thirsty impure hearts? Here, I will show you … you cannot. You killed my brother Hasan’s son and I let you go? NO. (MAQTAL)

And now it’s the same Karbala where Sunnis and Shias are killing each other, not realizing that Yazid is still alive. Right there in the heart of their world he is alive and breathing fire.

You think Al Sadr and Maliki are good people? They might have been so if they had not created a wider and deeper schism between Shias and Sunnis. If they are trying to resolve existing problems then they have selected a bad mode. If they are settling some old feud, even then it is bad timing. Divided they will never get what they want. Divided they are weak and easily trampled upon. And once fallen, it is hard to gain strength and stand up on your own feet.

I see death and destruction where once, long ago, there were rows of nice and clean houses, pink houses with green awnings and heavy iron gates. Rosy cheeked little children playing in front of the houses. Old men sitting in the souq, talking and discussing world politics or playing chessboard games, drinking Qahwa and exuding peace and tranquility. Young couples walking the blooming gardens, and lush green fields growing the sweetest corn. … rows of date palm trees bearing fruit in abundance. Now there is carnage and rot and no one to take care of this wounded country.

Karbala, where once a battle between ‘haq’ and ‘batil’- right and wrong was fought is quietly watching and listening and waiting. “Hal-min Nasir…” is there any one who would help?