As my strength returned and stamina increased, my lessons were often conducted outside the walls of the amir's palace. Mahmoud took me into the city where we wandered the streets and talked about what we saw. This allowed me the opportunity to question him on the things I found puzzling about Arab ways. We always had much to discuss.
Oddly, the more I questioned, the less I understood; I came to suspect that my questions only served to expose the vast chasm of difference between the Eastern and Western mind that could not be observed from a distance. The life Mahmoud revealed to me was strange in many hundreds of ways, and I began to believe that any similarities between East and West were purely accidental, and not an affirmation of a common humanity. Certain resemblances or affinities of thought I might perceive in the Eastern races were likely to be my own invention; for upon closer scrutiny the imagined similarity was sure to alter beyond recognition, or disappear altogether.
This conclusion, however, was long in coming. I did not hold this view when wandering the streets with Mahmoud. It is always my fate to arrive at a thing too late. To think of the suffering I might have saved shames me now. Still, if I was ignorant-and, oh, I was-at least I was innocent in my ignorance. Pray, remember this.
My first impression of Ja'fariya was of immense wealth; the place was less a city than a congregation of palaces, each more ostentatious than the last. It had been built on the banks of the Tigris river by Caliph al'Mutawakkil to escape the closeness and squalor of Samarra, which itself had been built by Caliph al'Mutasim to escape the closeness and squalor of Baghdat, a few days' journey down river. Samarra, mere shouting distance to the south of its lavish neighbour, was larger and only slightly less extravagant and, save for housing the caliphs and their noblemen, served in every other respect as the official centre of government.
Clearly, no expense had been spared by the caliphs on their pleasure homes, or on those works they deemed best able to bring them credit in the eyes of men and Allah. The Great Mosq of Samarra, for example, had been conceived with an eye toward dwarfing all other rivals. From what Mahmoud told me, I reckoned that it had achieved the aim of its patron admirably well. He took me to the mosq on one of our rambles.
"Behold!" he cried, raising a hand to the edifice upon our approach. "The walls you see before you are eight hundred paces long and five hundred wide; they sit on foundations thick as ten men standing shoulder to shoulder. Forty towers crown the wall-top, and the inner yard alone can contain a hundred thousand faithful and fifty thousand can pray inside! The minaret is unique in all the world. Come, A'dan, I will show you."
With that, we stepped through a huge wooden door set in an even greater timber door which formed half of the pair which made an absolutely gigantic gate. There were two men in white turbans standing just inside the door; they wore long white robes with wide belts of red cloth wrapped around their waists many times. Into their belts were thrust the curious curved thin swords of the Arabs. They regarded us impassively, and allowed us to pass without a word.
"Since the rebellion began," Mahmoud whispered as we moved away quickly, "the mosqs are guarded at all times."
He led me into the immense inner yard: a vast and virtually empty square within the many-towered walls enclosing only the hall of prayer and the minaret which, as he said, was certainly exceptional. "The khalifa was inordinately fond of Babylon's ancient artifacts," Mahmoud informed me. Indicating the steps spiralling up the outside of the prayer tower, he said, "Al'Mutasim copied his design for the prayer tower from the ruins of ziggurats which abound in the south." Mahmoud gazed in admiration at the towering minaret, then added, in a tone that left no doubt regarding the caliph's madness, "He liked to ride to the top of his tower on the back of a white donkey. He kept a herd of white donkeys solely for this purpose."
Turning away from the minaret, we moved towards a low stone basin standing in the centre of the yard; this basin, though shallow, was fully large enough to hold the entire population of Ja'fariya, and was filled with water which swirled about the stone rim where people sat washing their hands and feet before going into the prayer hall.
"The pool," explained Mahmoud, dipping his hands into the running water, "is continually replenished by fresh water from the river in such a way as to make it flow. Washing is sacred to Islam, and standing water is unclean. Therefore, the water in the pool must flow."
A large circular plinth sat near the basin, a bronze spike projecting from its surface. Though its prominence suggested some importance, I could perceive no use for the massive object. "This is the Divider of the Hours," he said when I asked what it could be. "I will show you."
Stepping to the plinth, I saw that the face of the thing was uniformly flat, and inscribed with a bewildering array of lines both straight and curved which had been etched into the stone. "Heaven's light strikes the marker;" Mahmoud touched the bronze spike, "the shadow falls upon the line," he indicated one of the series of lines, "and as the sun moves the shadow moves, dividing out the hours of the day. By this the muezzin knows when it is time to mount the minaret and make the call to prayer."
"A sun dial," I murmured. I had heard of them, but I had never seen one-not even in Constantinople. The Christian monks in sunny climes could make good use of such a device to reckon the times of prayer, regularly spacing them throughout the day, summer or winter. But then, I reflected, I was no longer a monk and held no interest in the problems of abbey governance and the daily round.
"Come, I will take you into the prayer hall now."
"Is it permitted?" I was still finding the intricate assortment of prohibitions and allowances entirely baffling; it was impossible to guess what might be permitted or denied.
"Certainly," Mahmoud assured me. "All men are welcome in the house of prayer, Muslim and Christian alike. The same God hears our prayers, does he not?"
Mahmoud led me back to the basin where we washed our hands and feet, then proceeded to the hall where we were met by more white-turbaned guards, who regarded us closely, but made no move to hinder us in any way. We lay our sandals alongside those of many others on grass mats provided for the purpose at the doorway. The entrance to the hall was closed, not by a wooden door, but by a heavy green cloth with an Arabic word sewn in yellow.
Mahmoud took hold of the edge of the cloth and drew it back, beckoning me to enter. I stooped under the cloth and found myself in a cavernous dark space, the darkness pierced by shafts of blue light from small round windholes high in the upper reaches of the hall.
The air was still and cool, and I could hear the murmur of voices like the insect drone in an orchard. Owing to the brightness of the sun outside, it was some moments before my eyes adjusted and I could see properly, but the impression of a grove only deepened; before me marched row upon row of slender pillars, like gently tapering trees, their boles illumined by moonlight.
I took a few hesitant steps and felt as if I were walking on cushions; looking down, I saw that the great expanse of floor was spread with carpets-thousands of them-from one wall to the other, thick like moss grown deep on a forest floor.
Soon I was able to make out the forms of people kneeling or standing here and there. A low wooden beam, like a ship's rail, provided a boundary to the right and left. "Go in, go in," urged Mahmoud softly. "Only women must stay behind the rail."
Indeed, there were, I noticed, a few women kneeling in the area provided for them; they wore their shawls over their heads and knelt low so as to disappear. Mahmoud and I passed deeper into the hall, and proceeded towards the place where, in a Christian church, the altar would have been. Here there was no altar, however, nor any other sort of furniture; the only feature to distinguish the place from the rest of the hall was an empty niche, the qiblah, Mahmoud told me. "Kneeling thus," he indicated the niche, "we set our faces towards Makka, the holy city."