"Ibn Sab'in," he said without further ado, "you are accused of major crimes, among them that the day before yesterday you caused the death of a man, maybe without intending to do so. This noble jurist, Qutb al-din al-Qastalani, will tell you about this tragedy and read you the text of the accusations."
This jurist's "ringing" name was by no means unknown to me already, he being-along with Al-Sukuni in Tunis, Abu al-Hamalat in Murcia, and still others in Sabta and other cities-a practitioner of intrigue and dirty tricks. They were all very willing to pollute themselves with the muddy waters of secular life and its ephemeral fripperies.
"My lord," I heard him say, "the evil repute of this man precedes him wherever he goes and stays. God protect us all, it reeks of evil and plays on the strings of misguidance and obstinacy. What he has to say about the One Existent is outright heresy and blasphemy. The way he is able to corrupt people who are naive and minimally pious is both devilish and extraordinary. He uses magic and symbols to hoodwink people, using lengthy diatribes and erroneous heresies to lead them astray. Just to cite one example among many, he talks about self-denial and demands of his followers that they indulge in prolonged periods of asceticism, habitual recalcitrance, and outright denial of the rights of rulers and religious authorities. Indeed he takes it as far as complete stupidity and dangerous behavior. That is precisely what happened the day before yesterday. A poor student from Upper Egypt rejected his entire family and his profession and insulted a wretched, innocent young girl by breaking off his engagement to her. What is even worse than that is that one dark night he started taking all his furniture and possessions out of his room on to the roof and throwing them off. One heavy item happened to hit a poor believer who was on his way home from the evening prayer; he died instantly. When the police brought the culprit in for questioning, he was only wearing a loincloth. Asked why he had behaved this way, he replied, `I wanted to deny myself, so I threw it all away.' He went on to say that, when he was throwing things off the roof, he was not doing it of his own volition, but under compulsion. As evidence, he cited the Qur'anic verse `When you aimed at them, it was not you who did so, but God' [Sura 8, v. 17]. But God is surely far above such interpretations. When he was asked who had incited him to such acts of self-denial, he mentioned the name of the person now before us, `Abd al-Haqq ibn Sabin from the Maghrib (and people also say, from Spain)."
The judge sat there in his chair muttering to the other judges. He fixed me with a provocative stare. "So, you," he said, "what do you have to say by way of response?"
How was I supposed to respond to such an evil piece of sheer drivel? I decided that my response would be terse and to the point.
"Judge," I responded, "I categorically refuse to respond to such a tissue of nonsense; I see no point in debating a subject that has neither meaning nor benefit. Instead I seek refuge in God, the Lofty, the Protector, from corrupt and evilintentioned jurists."
Al-Qastalani's features quivered, and he looked furious.
"Listen, you!" the chief judge boomed. "You have a choice: either you're going to spend a long time in prison, or else you're going to leave Egypt forthwith!"
"Don't worry, judge," I interrupted. "My horse and baggage are outside your door waiting for me. I clearly cannot return to this good land of Egypt again until such time as it can be rescued from the clutches of evil rulers and tyrants."
I did not even ask the judge for permission to leave, but simply turned my back on him, made my way swiftly out of the residence, and rode my horse to Giza. However, once I got there, another horseman who looked as though he was a soldier came rushing up. He told me that Shaykh al-Shushtari was waiting for me at Abu al-Naja's place. He then disappeared as swiftly as an arrow from a bow. I had no doubt that he was telling me the truth, so I quickly turned around and headed back to Abu al-Naja's, my thoughts full of premonitions of bad news. Once I got there, I found my beloved friend, Abu al-Hasan, laid out on his back, surrounded by a cluster of men who were doing their best to help him and staunch the blood flowing out of wounds to his stomach and legs. I leaned over to embrace him; all I wanted to know was what exactly had happened to him. So that he would not tire himself, his companions responded for him. While he was serving in the Muslim infantry fighting against the Crusaders in Damietta, he had been wounded. The whole account amazed me; it seemed almost unbelievable. When I asked about Shaykh Abu al-Naja, they told me that he had gone rushing off to the front to take his wounded shaykh's place.
Among the people gathered around was a distinguished-looking man who took me aside and told me he was both a soldier and a doctor. He complimented me and told me that Al-Shushtari had said wonderful things about my talents and medical skill. He then gave me his diagnosis of Abu al-Hasan's condition and asked me to treat him. If I did so, he and his companions could return to the battlefront and help the war-wounded in Damietta. No sooner had I agreed than he handed me implements and medications, gave me advice and instructions, and then indicated to his companions that they should leave. With thanks they said their farewells.
I sat next to the injured man and checked on his condition. I took his temperature and checked his eyes and the color of his tongue. I noticed that he was extremely weak and tended to doze off. When he opened his eyes, he signaled to me that he recognized who I was. He tried to talk, but all that came out was a few isolated phrases. I made him stop so that he could give his heaving chest a rest and I could feed him some fluids. While I waited for him to recover some of his strength, I spent time praying and beseeching God on his behalf. From time to time I welcomed some of his students and disciples who came to visit him, but I did my best to make sure he was not unduly disturbed.
After three days he was showing more than usual signs of recovery, so I seized the opportunity to clean his wounds and treat his cuts and bruises. For that purpose I was helped by one of his disciples, who insisted on serving him both inside and outside the house. After a whole week, the holy man was once more able to converse fairly easily.
He started to sit up so he could pray, eat, and brush up. For my part, I seized the opportunity offered by the recovery of his vocal powers.
"So, Abu al-Hasan," I said by way of gentle rebuke, "you go off to fight the Crusaders, but you don't take me with you!"
He gave me a big smile, and his eyes gleamed. "My dear source of guidance after God himself," he replied, "everyone has to do what he is best made for. In a dream I felt summoned to perform a lesser jihad, so I responded. You on the other hand are involved in the much greater jihad, one involving the Mighty One God. Those who aspire in that direction are required by you to seek the loftiest heights and the elixir of blessed perfection."
Faced with the humility of this wonderful man, all I could do was to hug him and seek the perfumed blessings of his holy presence. I tried to cajole him into providing some details of the events in the battle in which he had participated, but he would only speak in short, image-laden phrases. The gist of what he told me was that, while he himself had been able to make a few penetrating thrusts, he himself had been hit twice, a glancing blow to his stomach and a much more serious one in the thigh. He finished by repeating the phrase "Reliance is on God alone and all praise is rightly due to Him."