The Ports and Portals of the Zelaznids (10 page)

     “His reprieve came at last upon the hour of his fort
ie
-second year.  Destitute and shunned, Abd-al-Hazred rejoined his wife, but the man she had known was gone.  One year they
shared
together
before
the coming of his death, an end too
t
errible to recount
.
[45]

     “Left to her own devices, his wife fled the cittie with her three young sons, returning to
the home of her birth, the familiar
comfort of
Sanaá.  But, while her relations yet remained in the cittie, she
was startled to find
few
holding to the
philosophies
of
the Zelaznids, for most of this group had fled into the mountains some months previous, never to be seen again.

     “N
ot to be undone, this strong woman
settled
amongst what
remained of her tribe and raise
d
her sons to have respect for their misunderstood father
.  Hazred, she explained, had not been
mad
; he had merelie
suffered
from an
inabilitie to
relate
,
in the words of men
,
all of the things that he had seen.

     “From this fount
I
spr
u
ng
,” concluded the traveler Abdul Hazred.  “
N
amed for my great ancestor,
I
learn
ed
the ways of
both
Abd-al-Hazred and Zelazn
u
.
 
And
f
ollowing this
, I
went in
to the desert in search of that
cittie
which
my ancestor
had seen. 
But
this I did not find. 
At last,
I
walked to the land of Kush
,
in hopes that I might encounter the lost
Zelaznids
.  This is
how I
came to
be
at the gates
of Kabul.”

T

o all of this, Qutughai had listened with rapt attention.
Once
Abdul Hazred completed his tale, the governor-general spoke to the
strange
Arab with some measure of excitement.

     “And have you discovered where the Zelaznid peoples have gone?”

     “They live not seven days journie west of this place, in the village of Sang-e,
upon a high
hill.  This I learned from
a band of Hindus who stayed for
some
time with
the Zelaznids,
in a friendlie
comparison of philosophies.  Yet
, I have
learn
ed
that the warlords of Kabul oppos
e
the Zelaznids of Sang-e and seek to push them from their hilltop village.  This is why I tell you
to guard your speech whil
st you are
in these environs.
”

     “Your guidance is most welcome, my friend,” replied Qutughai. “What is it that you mean to do?”

     “I shall enter Kabul with the dawn and outfit myself for the journie.  Then
I
will quit the partie of fellows with whom I have travelled
for some few months
and set myself on the road to Sang-e.
  Will you lead your people down this same path
?”

    
Qutughai
stated his intention to do
so
, but would not commit his Salabadi followers without first putting the matter before them.
  The Mongol leader agreed to
meet the Arab beyond the western gate
once he knew the minds of
his people,
though
he felt
certain that none
would object to
seeking out the Zelaznids of
Sang-e.

    
Returning to his encampment, the governor-general related to his excited people all that he had learned from Abdul Hazred.  As expected, all assented to make the journie to Sang-e.  Much relieved in his heart, Qutughai sought
rest,
for
his fever had grown worse in the excitement.

     With the coming of
dawn
Abdul
Hazred
entered Kabul and equip
ped
himself for ten days
of
travel,
thus
allowing for
possible
delay
s
.  Once in preparation, the Arab took himself to the western gate to meet Qutughai and those Zelaznid kin who would accompanie them to Sang-e.

    
But
Qutughai did not appear as arranged, leading Abdul to fear that spies had learned of the presence of these traveling Zelaznids and
had moved
against them somehow.  The Arab ma
d
e his way to the lake encampment, where he found the Zelaznids gathered in sorrow around the bed of Qutughai, for the great governor-general
could not be roused
from his sleep.

     It was soon determined that the train of Zelaznids must, with Abdul Hazred as their guide, make their way to Sang-e, carrying
the ailing
Qutughai in a litter.  This they did, after equipping their part
ie
as best they could for the journie
.  Fol
lowing the river west out of
Kabul and into the hills for ten days
,
they came
at last
upon the village
of
S
a
ng-e.

     After the passing of countless centuries,
these two
groups
of
Zelaznids stood together as one, and
did much rejoice to be reunited one with the other. 
But
their
joy
was muted, for Qutughai had not awakened since some four days past and all believed that he w
as
not long
for
the world.

    
Then
those S
a
ng-e residents
whose business took them throughout the
district
brought word
that soldiers from Kabul were two days hence and bound for the village
with no good purpose
.  To this, the followers of Qutughai responded with despair, for they had traveled long and suffered much
, yet it seemed that
their would-be home and their long-time leader
would both
soon to be taken from them.

     Yet the people of Sang-e rallie
d
their
kinsmen
, encouraging them to take heart. 
Using
the strength of all, the people pack
ed
what
food and valuables they could salvage
in the space of a day and a night
.  Then they t
oo
k the path out of the village, not to the river and hence away from the soldiers, but further up the hill
.  The f
ollowers of Qutughai
feared that they might be trapped by the soldiers in such a place, b
ut
the people of Sang-e
assured
the
Salabadi that this was not so
;
and so they climbed.

     At last, the leader of the Sang-e people, who
was called
Lakku,
called for
the people
to assemble
near the peak of the hill, and addressing them
said
:

     “
Do not f
ear
those who wish to
destroy us.  We shall escape them now
just
as we have escaped them before
, and
just
as Zelaznu himself did for the salvation of our people.”

    
Having said this,
Lakku spoke words into the
air which
flit
ted
about the ears of the assembled without settling in them, so that none could later say
what words he had
uttered.  At the conclusion of this strange speech, there appeared in the sheer face of a rock wall an open door, through which the assembled could see
a field of
green grass
;
and
beyond that, a golden beach; and beyond that, a
blue sea.  Through this
door
they walked and the Zelaznid
s
,
no longer
divi
ded by
miles and centuries, left the village of Sang-e.
[46]

     Three sunrises passed before the armie of the warlords
reached
Sang-e
, whereupon the
soldiers
marvel
ed
to
find the village emptie
.  For several
days
the
y
stayed in the village, searching the area for some
indication
of where the people had gone. 
F
inding no
such
sign, the
soldiers
returned to tell the warlords that the Zelaznids
were gone
and would not again trouble those who contended for power in Persia.
 
Couched in a lie, there was yet an element of truth
;
for
the Zelaznids would not
trouble the world for more than three hundred years.

~
168
~

Chapter 5

The Enlightened

T

he united Zelaznid tribe did not vanish from the world
for all time,
though they were gone for
long enough that t
he armie of the warlords report
ed
it so.  In
fact
the
residents of the
village of Sang-e
,
and the Zelaznid visitors who had traveled there
,
reappear
ed of a sudden,
just as
they had
dis
appeared, one year and one day from the
hour on which
they had
fled
.
 
The storie of where they went from there
,
and how they arrived in the valley of Quiqanyu to make their final
home on
Earth
,
leads me to how I
came to learn of the Zelaznids.

    
I
n my youth, I had the great fortune of accompanying my father as he carried out th
e
business entrusted to him by Selim.
[47]
 
Varied
were the places we visited,
varied
the peoples we
met
.  Amongst our fellows in Armenia, I
met
and came
to know Baba Hamparsum,
[48]
that man of great
fame
.  From him I first learn
ed
of the Zelaznid peoples, though it
must be said
that Baba Hamparsum did no
t call them by this
name. 

   
A student of the music of the D
ervish,
[49]
Baba Hamparsum revered their ways and delight
ed to
tell me stories of their people, a
nd of
the founder of their order, Rumi.
[50]
  I
heard from
Hamparsum, who
heard it from the
D
ervishes themselves, that Rumi
had once become separated
from his partie
and found himself lost
in the mountains
of
Khorasan.  On the edge of death, he
had been discovered and cared for by a band of strange villagers
.  While nursing Rumi from his delirium, the leader of the village
spoke much of
philosphie, including the notion that there were worlds beside and beyond th
e one
in which we live
.  Moreover, the man claimed t
hat a person
who
possess
ed
the
proper wisdom
could, if he chose, travel
at once
from one
world
to another.  Rumi later awakened
from a deep sleep
, s
ecured
to the back of a camel, with no idea how he had come to be there or
if
his encounter had
been real
or imagined
.
[51]

     Hearing
this
tale, I could not help but wonder if such a people
existed and, if so, what had become of them
.  It was never in my mind to go looking for them, yet th
at
tantalizing tale
remained
in the back of my mind. 
Perhaps that is why I have so much affection for peoples who find themselves out of the
reach
of the world.
  How lovelie they
seem
to me.  To think of the villages I have seen, each one looking much the same as the one that came before
-
yet each
is
special in its own way.  I marveled to pass through each set of gates, to see
how such simple people live their lives, pe
ople who
might
know nothing
of those living
bu
t two day’s journie from them.  I marveled at their ignorance, borne of a beautiful simplicitie.  I came to expect each village to be just as
unspoiled
. 
I was, therefore, quite s
tartl
ed
when I
f
ou
nd the Zelaznids
.

I

t was meant to be a swift trip through the north countrie, an excursion of some few weeks
so that I might
hear the truth
of life from
the mouths of the residents of that region, so that I might capture the voice of the people. 
A
s had happened to the great Rumi,
however,
and as happens so often in
such
tales, I found myself separated from my partie and soon was lost in the rugged mountains to the north and east of Astrábád.

    
For a full day I
walked along
the narrow winding path along the river Attuk, seeing no other souls on my journie and feeling as though I traveled through another world altogether.  After some time, the path left the river and wound through the rising brown hills until I had little idea where I was or how I might find my way back
.
  It
looked as though the coming of
night would find me
placing
my bedroll down amidst the hills
and
praying that God would preserve me in my hour of need.

    
I prepared to do
so
,
with
the deep
colours of dusk dipp
ing
beyond the hills, leaving me in darkness.  Just
then
I spotted a faint light in the east.  It was
the briefest
flash,
one
which
made me think that
a door or curtain had
been opened or drawn aside for a moment, thus allowing
some interior light
to reach
out
into the
night
.  Yet, the light was
of
such
a
level of
brightness that
I wondered what its source could be.

     I had but little time to
determine what it might be
for
;
being but a flash, it was there and gone, leaving
my eyes to adjust to the darkness
anew
.  Yet, from the direction of the
brightness
I
could
hear
the
light tread of a single
soul
, approaching with caution rather than malice
,
I hoped.  I kept myself calm with the thought that this unknown person was no
more
aware of my motives than I could be of
his
.

     The voice, when it came, was
aged
and measured in tone. “Who is it that climbs our mountain in the darkness?”

     Having no simple response to this question, and having a playful spirit, I responded with a question of my own. “Who is it that claims ownership of one of God’s mountains?”

     I thought I
heard a
slight
chuckle then, though
I cannot be sure.

     “Come,” said the man, “You
must not
sleep in the hills. 
W
olves do not often reach these heights, but why tempt them with
such
easie
prey?  Follow.”

     Without another
word
he turned
and walked away
,
his shadow visible against the starrie sky
;
and
I followed out of necessitie, for I had no desire to sleep under the stars in the chill heights of the mountains, wolves or no
. 
I w
ondered w
hat
manner of man
made his home in such a place
.

     For a hundred paces or so, we trudged up
a steep
path. 
Then I saw
a curtained doorway, faintlie illumined by a yellow light from within.  This light grew brighter as the old man drew back the curtain and swept his hand forward
, bidding
me enter.

    
It was a modest hovel, not altogether different from those I had seen in a dozen poor villages
.
  In size, I calculated that its length matched the heights of four men, and it
s
width, three men. 
The floor was hard-packed dirt, covered with reeds, atop which were various blankets and cushions.  The curved walls were
made of
tanned
hide.  In the
centre
of th
is
single room -
a
rather incongruous
addition
given the
humble
s
urroundings -
was a cast-iron stove
, its
metal pipe extending through the peaked roof.  The light in the room came from a small oil
lamp on a low table
, though it did not seem possible to me that the light
that
I had seen
in the darkness
could
have
come
from
this
diminutive source.

     “
Welcome to
my home.”

     “Where are the others?” I asked him.

     “Did I speak of others?” he smiled.

     “You did indeed when you called this ‘our mountain’.”

     The old man nodded, “Yes, there are others, but you need not concern yourself with the
m
.  Now is the time for you to rest.”

     “But how,” I asked, “do you survive in such a place?”

     He did not at first answer, but met my gaze with his dark and weathered face, the weak yellow glow of the lamp deepening the lines
up
on
it
.

     “Let us first,” he whispered, “
discuss
what you seek in
these
mountains.”

    
B
ecause he was my
host
, I told him
of my travels
, sparing no detail.  I spoke of my desire to hear the voice of the people, to record their stories,
and
to
take
something of them with me so that I might show their hearts and souls to
a
world that
otherwise would never
know them.
  As I spoke,
he
looked at me and nodded, though whether this was from understanding or habit I could not say.

 
   “And what if you could not show
these things to the world, as you say?”

     “I do not understand what you mean.”

    “I mean,” he explained, “if you knew that you might never tell others of the voices you have heard
, or
the stories you have learned, would you then be so anxious to hear and learn such things?”

     I
considered t
his a moment then shrugged, “I sought such knowledge long before I
thought
to write of it.  If I was unable to write or speak, I
would
yet endeavor
to learn all that I might
.”

     Here the old man’s eyes closed and his head bowed.  When he looked up at me, it seemed as though he had sh
ed decades of age, looking everie
inch a man of vigour and intelligence.

     “Learn all that you may? 
And so
you shall.  I am called Father Hooshyar, and I am the leader of the Zelaznids.”

T

hey lived, the Zelaznid peoples, in the mountains high above the cit
tie
of Astrábád, where the deep brown hills meet the river Attuk, in th
e
valley
that
the
y
called Quiqanyu.  As I have said, this was not a great and fertile land,
but
it served the needs of the people,
even
though the
y numbered in the
hundreds.  I
t
would
be some time before I
learned
how
they
accomplished
this
;
first
I needed to earn their
trust.