Al-Hakim gave a yawn. “My devotees,” he chanted, “plant me and give me roots! Talk about me as the books of the prophets do in the Bible. In calling people to me, urge them to make me unique, to weave all around me the threads of their wanderings in dark realms of absence and return. For all those people who stretch out their necks to me in prayer and glorification, I am indeed one who sees.
“My devotees, call to me those who are barefoot and naked. Chain their hearts to my garments. Anyone who dies in my cause will enter paradise in all its glory, strolling through all its parts and relishing what he loves and desires.”
A prolonged silence now came over al-Hakim. He looked completely exhausted and feverish. Al-Druzi hurried over, used a cloth moistened with rosewater to wipe his forehead, and then returned to his place.
“Any deity,” al-Hakim resumed, “who renounces his absence, disappearance, and total transcendence is no deity, but merely an idol or totem. Anyone who comes and talks to people, gets close to them and involves himself” in their mundane squabbles is no deity either, but simply a wizened old woman. Such a person deserves to be defamed and stoned.
“So, my devotees, do not emphasize my deification to excess while I am still alive, ruling the people, determining their fates in this world and the next, and keeping a watchful eye on their every move. Once I have gone, once I have disappeared, urge people to weave from the ashes of my extinction whatever fancies and delusions appeal to them in the firmaments of absence and divinity.”
Al-Hakim’s fever steadily intensified, and he kept feeling boiling hot and then shivering with cold. He began to lose touch, but in his lucid moments he could still talk: “l’m like a deity with broken limbs, the kind that you can only find in pieces in rocky fields or desert sands. Oh, my devotees, how often I pass by, and so do my own funeral and wedding! How often in the wake of night I will vanish from my subjects, and all so that the sea may remain!
“These then are my words and my teeth, both collapsing inside my mouth. It will be for those who come after me to kindle the fire in my locations and corners and to toss my commands and covenant into the recesses of oblivion, all so that the sea will remain.
“O servants of God! Be like the sea, vast and giving. It is promise and menace, thunder in quest of soul’s repose and happy outset. At every moment ask the sea for opinions, not the dead. …”
Al-Hakim continued to mumble some unintelligible words, but then lay down on the ground shivering with fever, He asked for some paper so he could record his last will and testament. The devotees rushed over to cover him with blankets. They refused his request and decided instead to move him back to the palace and hand him over to his private doctor. That is what they did. Each one of them then left to begin the process of interpreting the sayings and visions of al-Hakim that they had just heard and then of making a selection based on their own instincts and the provision of proofs, all with the goal of gathering souls to the cause.
Chapter Three. The Earthquake Caused by Abu Rakwa, Revolutionary in the Name of Allah
Abu Rakwa lived in Barqa. His cohorts frequently conducted forays into the lands of Upper Egypt. That upset al-Hakim, who fell into despair and came to regret his past deeds. However, the army and doyens of Egypt all rejoiced at this news. When al-Hakim came to hear about it, he became even more worried and started apologizing for his former behavior. Many people, including al-Husayn ibn Jawhar, the Commander-in-Chief, sent messages inviting Abu Rakwa to invade Egypt. So Abu Rakwa moved from Barqa into Upper Egypt. When al-Hakim heard the news, he became still more panicked, and his state of mind went from bad to worse.
The desert region of Barqa was inured to a life of poverty and hardship, with sparse, sandy terrain stretching away to the south. The tribal oases were sparse and widely scattered — Jafra, Awjila, Jaghbub, and others. Palms only produced dates. Grass only grew thanks to the scant off-flow from a watercourse fed by springs and inaccessible subterranean wells (something that only happened on average every other winter). The tribes of the region, among them the Banu Qurra, had learned to endure this hard existence. With considerable fortitude they would withstand the lethal desert sand storms and the unbearable lack of sustenance, not to mention the destructive attacks launched against them by Fatimid armies. The Banu Qurra only managed to survive and parry the blows of fate because of periodically successful raids launched against their tribal neighbors, the Luwata, Mizana, and Zanata; the spoils from these raids enabled them to eke out the leanest of livings. Each member of the tribe was used to enduring a life of hardship. Peace would only come in the form of a blend of risks and precautions. One conflict was barely over before another started; that was the pattern that furnished their only lifestyle and solutions. However many motives and causes may have been involved — attack, revenge, or defense, war was always war, a universal law governing humanity. In all this war was the only victor!
One day in the month of Muharram in A.H. 395 a strange-looking man in Sufi garb appeared at the Banu Qurra oasis. I le was grasping a thick stick and carried a coffeepot on his back that he used to wash himself before praying. He used to pray, go into seclusion, and meditate a great deal. People described him as a man in his thirties, tall and thin, with olive-brown complexion, a flowing beard, and prominent eyebrows. His expression suggested vigor, seriousness, and piety. During the first days of his stay in the tribe’s guesthouse he was much honored and respected, but he only spoke in gestures and signs. When he did compose sentences, it was only to curse all tyrants, beg for mercy on his forebears, and ask for God’s forgiveness. For a long time the tribe remained puzzled by their guest’s identity, origin, and purpose, but then their shaykh, named Abu al-Mahasin, chose a quiet, moonlit night to sit down with his guest and join him in his ruminations and protestations. It took a great deal of patience and much effort, but eventually the shaykh managed to get his guest to talk and give him some information. As morning was almost breaking, he emerged with praises and thanksgiving and spoke to his tribesmen as follows.
“Good news, fellow tribesmen! This man is a gift to us from God. His nickname is Abu Rakwa, but his real name is al-Walid. He is a descendant of Hisham ibn ‘Abd al-Malik ibn ‘Abd al-Rahman al-Nasir, scion of the Umawi family. He was exiled from Spain when the tyrant courtier, al-Mansur ibn Abi ‘Amir, placed the young heir-apparent, al-Mu‘ayyad Hisham, under guardianship and married the boy’s mother, Subh. He then set about killing the other members of the ruling dynasty in Cordoba. Many of them were murdered, but others managed to escape. One of them was our honored guest, Abu Rakwa, who at the time was twenty years old. Since then he has spent an entire decade of his life travelling to Egypt, Syria, Yemen, and holy Mecca, seeking knowledge and teaching the young the word of God and His Prophet — peace be upon him! It is indeed good news that he has joined our company after being ejected from Kinana territory by their governor.”
No sooner had the shaykh finished speaking than Abu Rakwa appeared at his side. Kissing Abu al-Mahasin on the forehead, he proceeded to address the awe-struck tribesmen in a quavering, emotional tone: “Hail to you, proud Arabs of the Banu Qurra! What your revered shaykh has divulged to you about me is the truth. Furthermore, since you are all keen to know every detail about me, I will not conceal from you the secret particulars of my situation. Before I depart at sunset today, you shall know everything …”