Omar Khayyam - a life Read online

  "Now," said Omar without raising his voice, "do not move, or step aside. There is no harm—only the thing to be seen. For now the whole tower will revolve about thee." And he clapped his hands once.

  Half smiling, Ghazali waited—knowing that such a thing would not happen. It was a jest—he drew in his breath sharply. The lighted band was turning.

  Something creaked and strained beneath his feet. His muscles contracted, and he cried out involuntarily. With a distant rumble and rush the tower revolved, the signs on the parchment swept past his eyes. Then, with a slight jar it stopped, and he fell to his knees.

  "Aiwallah! What——in God's name——" he sought for words. What, indeed, could turn a massive tower on its foundations? "I saw it turn."

  Omar waited without speaking, as he raised Ghazali to his feet, and the mystic's disciples hurried forward.

  "Master," one said, "surely this tower did not move. We——we saw thee turn slowly at first and then swiftly upon thy feet."

  "Nay, I moved not."

  "You moved not," Omar assured him, and the confused babble of voices quieted, "but you turned once around. Verily, such a mass as this building could not be moved like a wheel."

  "But how——"

  "This pillar head can be turned from below like any mill post. When I clapped my hands my servants walked once about it thrusting the handles before them."

  "And why," Ghazali gathered his robe about him, lifting his head, "was this child's trick played upon me?"

  "Because thou art one of the wisest of us, and I wished to hear thy word tell what thine eyes beheld. Listen now! The first time thou didst turn upon thy feet, the second time thou wert turned—thine eyes beheld the same lights and signs in the same manner. But the second time it seemed to thee that the tower turned. Why was that?"

  "Because I moved not—I was deluded by a trick. Is this what the infidels taught thee?"

  "Every night——" and Omar's voice rang out urgently—"thou seest the real band of the constellations, the great band of the starry zodiac, pass over thy head, and thou sayest 'Because I move not, these stars revolve about me.' Yet the stars move not. The delusion is in thy mind." Ghazali was silent, frowning, and the disciples stared, unbelieving.

  "It is the earth that turns, as this round pillar turned, once in a day and night. Think, Ghazali, how for uncounted ages men have thought that the sphere of the heavens revolved. Some must have seen the truth, opening their eyes to it. Perhaps children, new-born, feel that they are in motion beneath the far, fixed world of the stars—whirling through space. They see with open eyes, but they cannot make clear to us what they see."

  "Nay," cried the mystic, "Allah caused the world to be as it is, motionless in the center of the universe."

  His disciples murmured assent, and the boldest of them exclaimed, "This was no more than a trick, O Master of the Stars, to make the Proof of Islam fall to his knees before thee. What is it but lights and evil, painted signs? Where is the proof that the stars move not?"

  "Ay the proof," the others echoed.

  "It is clear," Omar answered gravely.

  "Then reveal it."

  Briefly, almost impatiently, Omar explained. The planets were nearer to the earth than the fixed stars—Mars, Venus and Mercury very near, and the moon also. The sun as well. That was manifest during an eclipse, when the moon passed between the earth and the sun, or the earth passed between the sun and the moon. But the stars themselves were far distant in the sphere of the heavens.

  "And where," asked someone, "is the proof of that?"

  A man, Omar explained, standing at Cairo at night could see almost all the stars, among the thousands, that a watcher could see in Nisapur. A great distance on the surface of the earth revealed only a slight fraction more and less of the vast sky sphere. So the size of the earth must be infinitesimal compared to the universe.

  He was speaking now with assurance, knowing that it was the truth. But, while some of the mathematicians became thoughtful, the men of the academy waited in hostile silence.

  "Some of the stars," he said, "must be a thousand times a thousand leagues distant. They appear small because they are remote, as the sun seems large to us because it is near and blinding."

  "If that were true," a listener cried, "where is even a shred of proof in that? Small or large, the stars revolve about us, as Allah willed."

  "They could not," said Omar quietly. "Because to circle the earth at such a distance they would have to move through infinite space at such a speed that they would disappear in flames, as we see a star that falls from its place vanish in flames."

  "What blasphemy!" cried a disciple. "O, believers—hath not Allah power to turn stone into fire, or fire into stone?"

  "Yea," Omar said. "The power that moves our earth upon its orbit! The power that hath set worlds beyond worlds in outermost space! That same power moves us through our tiny lives." He turned impulsively to Ghazali. "And we will not understand."

  "All knowledge," Ghazali answered, "is from Allah. Verily, Allah is our sun, and all other intelligence no more than the sunlight."

  "Yek zarra az hukm-i-tu jahan khali nist —no particle of the universe is outside his power. The sun? The sun rests as impotently in its place as thou or I—and we were created when Eternity was. What can the sun teach us, if we will not see it as it is?" Omar stretched out his hand appealingly.

  Suddenly the mystic called for one of his disciples to bring water in a jar from the well. Then he bade the man pour the water upon his hands, and feet. When he had cleansed himself, Ghazali gathered his robe about him and stepped to the door.

  "Omar Khayyam," he said, "take heed of thy words, for this is blasphemy. I dispute not thy proof of the distance of the stars, or of eclipses. But it is written in the Book-To-Be-Read, 'God is the LIGHT of the Heaven! and of the Earth. . . . He guideth whom He will.' What hath measurement or time itself to do with human souls? Be warned!"

  "I have been warned." Omar could not help laughing as he remembered. "A writing came that bade me keep my tongue between my teeth. So, tomorrow I shall go to the divan of the academy, to explain to the teachers the result of my life's study."

  Ghazali considered him curiously. "Art mad, Tentmaker?"

  "No. But a man can not live for ever—and the thread of my life may be cut any hour. I would like to speak while I am still alive."

  "A jest! Guard thy tongue, Tentmaker—for only a poet or jester may speak as thou hast spoken. I shall pray that the enlightenment of God will come to thee, in time."

  Omar stared disconsolately after the mystic and his followers—who made no secret of their anger. He had not meant to jest.

  "Master," one of his assistants observed, "it was ill done, to make the Proof of Islam fall to his knees before thee. The tale will spread through Nisapur."

  "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 hand

  In 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, Ayesh
a."

  "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.