The Forty Rules of Love (21 page)

Baybars the Warrior

KONYA, JULY 10, 1245

“Baybars, my son, trust no one,” my uncle says, “because the world is getting more corrupt each day.” He claims that the only time when things were different was during the Golden Age, when the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, was duly in charge. Since his death everything has been going downhill. But if you ask me, anyplace where there are more than two people is bound to become a battleground. Even at the time of the Prophet, people had their share of hostilities, didn’t they? War is the core of life. The lion eats the deer, and vultures reduce to bare bones what remains of the carcass. Nature is cruel. On land, in sea or air, for every creature without exception, there is only one way to survive: to be shrewder and stronger than your worst enemy. To stay alive you need to fight. It’s as simple as that.

And fight we must. Even the most naïve can see there is no other way in this day and age. Things took a nasty turn five years ago when a hundred Mongol diplomats sent out by Genghis Khan to negotiate for peace were all slaughtered. After that, Genghis Khan turned into a fireball of fury, declaring war against Islam. How and why the diplomats were killed, nobody could say. Some people suspected that it was Genghis Khan himself who had his own diplomats killed, so that he could start this massive war campaign in the first place. It could be true. One never knows. But I
do
know that in five years the Mongols devastated the whole Khorasan area, causing destruction and death everywhere they galloped. And two years ago they defeated the Seljuk forces at Kosedag, turning the sultan into a tribute-paying vassal. The only reason the Mongols didn’t wipe us out is that it is more profitable for them to keep us under their yoke.

Wars might be present since time immemorial, at least since Cain killed his brother Abel, but the Mongol army is like nothing we have seen before. Specialized in more ways than one, they use a vast array of weapons, each designed for a specific purpose. Every Mongol soldier is heavily armored, with a mace, an ax, a saber, and a spear. On top of that, they have arrows that can penetrate armor, set whole villages ablaze, poison their victims, or pierce the hardest bones in the human body. They even have whistling arrows, which they use to send signals from one battalion to another. With such well-developed warfare skills and no God to fear, the Mongols attack and annihilate every city, town, and village on their way. Even ancient cities like Bukhara have been turned into heaps of rubble. And it is not only the Mongols. We need to get Jerusalem back from the Crusaders, not to mention the pressure from the Byzantines and the rivalry between Shiites and Sunnis. When surrounded by cold-blooded enemies on all sides, how can we afford to be peaceful?

This is why people like Rumi get on my nerves. I don’t care how highly everyone thinks of him. For me he is a coward who spreads nothing but cowardice. He might have been a good scholar in the past, but nowadays he is clearly under the influence of that heretic Shams. At a time when the enemies of Islam are looming large, what does Rumi preach? Peace! Passivity! Submission!

Brother, stand the pain. Escape the poison

Of your impulses. The sky will bow to your beauty

If you do.… That way a thorn expands to a rose.

A particular glows with the universal.

Rumi preaches submissiveness, turning Muslims into a flock of sheep, meek and timid. He says for every prophet there is a community of followers and for every community there is an appointed time. Other than “love,” his favorite words seem to be “patience,” “balance,” and “tolerance.” If it were up to him, we would all just sit in our houses and wait to be slaughtered by our enemies or be stricken by some other calamity. And I am sure he would then come and briefly examine the wreck, calling it
baraqa
.
There are people who have heard him say, “When school and mosque and minaret get torn down, then dervishes can begin their community.” Now, what kind of talk is that?

And when you come to think of it, the only reason Rumi ended up in this city is that decades ago his family left Afghanistan seeking refuge in Anatolia. Many other powerful and wealthy people at the time had received an open invitation from the sultan of Seljuks, among them Rumi’s father. Thus sheltered and privileged and always showered with attention and approval, Rumi’s family left the bedlam of Afghanistan for the tranquil orchards of Konya. It’s easy to preach tolerance when you have a history like that!

The other day I heard a story that Shams of Tabriz told a group of people in the bazaar. He said that Ali, the Prophet’s successor and companion, was fighting with an infidel on a battlefield. Ali was about to thrust his sword into the other man’s heart when all of a sudden the infidel raised his head and spit at him. Ali immediately dropped his sword, took a deep breath, and walked away. The infidel was stunned. He ran after Ali and asked him why he was letting him go.

“Because I’m very angry at you,” said Ali.

“Then why don’t you kill me?” the infidel asked. “I don’t understand.”

Ali explained, “When you spit in my face, I got very angry. My ego was provoked, yearning for revenge. If I kill you now, I’ll be following my ego. And that would be a huge mistake.”

So Ali set the man free. The infidel was so touched that he became Ali’s friend and follower, and in time he converted to Islam of his own free will.

This, apparently, is the kind of story Shams of Tabriz likes to tell. And what is his message? Let the infidels spit in your face! I say, over my dead body! Infidel or not, nobody can spit in the face of Baybars the Warrior.

Ella

NORTHAMPTON, JUNE 13, 2008

Beloved Aziz,

You’re going to think I’m crazy, but there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you: Are you Shams?

Or is it the other way round? Is Shams you?

Yours sincerely,

Ella

Dear Ella,

Shams is the person who was responsible for the transformation of Rumi from a local cleric to a world-famous poet and mystic.

Master Sameed used to say to me, “Even if there might be a Shams equivalent in some people, what matters is, where are the Rumis to see it?”

Warm regards,

Aziz

Dear Aziz,

Who is Master Sameed?

Best,

Ella

Beloved Ella,

It’s a long story. Do you really want to know?

Warmly,

Aziz

Dear Aziz,

I have plenty of time.

Love,

Ella

Rumi

KONYA, AUGUST 2, 1245

Bountiful is your life, full and complete. Or so you think, until someone comes along and makes you realize what you have been missing all this time. Like a mirror that reflects what is absent rather than present, he shows you the void in your soul—the void you have resisted seeing. That person can be a lover, a friend, or a spiritual master. Sometimes it can be a child to look after. What matters is to find the soul that will complete yours. All the prophets have given the same advice: Find the one who will be your mirror! For me that mirror is Shams of Tabriz. Until he came and forced me to look deep into the crannies of my soul, I had not faced the fundamental truth about myself: that though successful and prosperous outside, I was lonely and unfulfilled inside.

It’s as if for years on end you compile a personal dictionary. In it you give your definition of every concept that matters to you, such as “truth,” “happiness,” or “beauty.” At every major turning point in life, you refer to this dictionary, hardly ever feeling the need to question its premises. Then one day a stranger comes and snatches your precious dictionary and throws it away.

“All your definitions need to be redefined,” he says. “It’s time for you to unlearn everything you know.”

And you, for some reason unbeknownst to your mind but obvious to your heart, instead of raising objections or getting cross with him, gladly comply. This is what Shams has done to me. Our friendship has taught me so much. But more than that, he has taught me to unlearn everything I knew.

When you love someone this much, you expect everyone around you to feel the same way, sharing your joy and euphoria. And when that doesn’t happen, you feel surprised, then offended and betrayed.

How could I possibly make my family and friends see what I see? How could I describe the indescribable? Shams is my Sea of Mercy and Grace. He is my Sun of Truth and Faith. I call him the King of Kings of Spirit. He is my fountain of life and my tall cypress tree, majestic and evergreen. His companionship is like the fourth reading of the Qur’an—a journey that can only be experienced from within but never grasped from the outside.

Unfortunately, most people make their evaluations based on images and hearsay. To them Shams is an eccentric dervish. They think he behaves bizarrely and speaks blasphemy, that he is utterly unpredictable and unreliable. To me, however, he is the epitome of Love that moves the whole universe, at times retreating into the background and holding every piece together, at times exploding in bursts. An encounter of this kind happens once in a lifetime. Once in thirty-eight years.

Ever since Shams came into our lives, people have been asking me what it is in him that I find so special. But there is no way I can answer them. At the end of the day, those who ask this question are the ones who won’t understand it, and as for those who
do
understand, they don’t ask such things.

The quandary I find myself in reminds me of the story of Layla and Harun ar-Rashid, the famous Abbasid emperor. Upon hearing that a Bedouin poet named Qays had fallen hopelessly in love with Layla and lost his mind for her, and was therefore named Majnun—the madman—the emperor became very curious about the woman who had caused such misery.

This Layla must be a very special creature,
he thought.
A woman far superior to all other women.Perhaps she is an enchantress unequaled in beauty and charm.

Excited, intrigued, he played every trick in the book to find a way to see Layla with his own eyes.

Finally one day they brought Layla to the emperor’s palace. When she took off her veil, Harun ar-Rashid was disillusioned. Not that Layla was ugly, crippled, or old. But she wasn’t extraordinarily attractive either. She was a human being with ordinary human needs and several defects, a simple woman, like countless others.

The emperor did not hide his disappointment. “Are you the one Majnun has been crazy about? Why, you look so ordinary. What is so special about you?”

Layla broke into a smile. “Yes, I am Layla. But you are not Majnun,” she answered. “You have to see me with the eyes of Majnun. Otherwise you could never solve this mystery called love.”

How can I explain the same mystery to my family, friends, or students? How can I make them understand that for them to grasp what is so special about Shams of Tabriz, they have to start looking at him with the eyes of Majnun?

Is there a way to grasp what love means without becoming a lover first?

Love cannot be explained. It can only be experienced.

Love cannot be explained, yet it explains all.