One bright, moonlit spring night during this period when he used to go out for walks to his favorite spots, ‘Abd al-Rahman decided to go down to the river like a new visitor to the city. He hired a boat and sat down in the back; his servant, Sha‘ban, whom he had brought with him, was a good rower and steersman. Before too long, he had wrapped himself up in his burnous and stretched out. The serenity of the night and the lapping of the waves made him feel that the boat was moving of its own accord and his silent servant had somehow vanished beyond the oars. Relaxing in the back of the boat, ‘Abd al-Rahman spent a fair amount of time half awake; those moments seemed for all the world like glimpses of eternity, when the entire creation was at hand. He felt as though he himself had bathed in the blood of martyrdom and taken root by the stone of truth along with the Prophet’s Companions from Islam’s earliest days and the messengers of purity and justice.
Just as dawn was breaking and first light appeared, ‘Abd al-Rahman woke up to find his servant staring at him, eyes twinkling. Sha‘ban, with his ruddy complexion, cheerful face, and modest demeanor, kept uttering prayers of thanksgiving and devotions, as he told his master, “You dozed off. While you were asleep, you kept repeating some holy phrases, some of which I’ve memorized. ‘Lord,’ you said, ‘how can I hold the scales of justice in one hand and a sharp sword in the other? Now my bones are feeble and my anger is at its peak. Lord, shower this country with Your mercy, or else cauterize the wound.’”
With that ‘Abd al-Rahman sat up. He asked his servant what else he had said, but Sha‘ban excused himself, saying that he had not heard anything else clearly.
‘Abd al-Rahman continued his questions. “How long have you been in my service, Sha‘ban?” he asked.
“Almost two years, Master. When I first came to you, it was with an angry heart and eyes filled with despair. You took one look at me, gave me the keys of your house, and put me in charge of your domestic affairs.”
“All that I remember, Sha‘ban. But do you realize I know almost nothing about you? All I can recognize is your name and face. Why have you never told me anything about yourself?”
“Because people like me are the plebeians, simply not worth bothering about. You, Master, have more than enough to worry about, without my burdening you with the details of my life. In any case, it’s one long catalogue of misery.”
“In the heart of every true Muslim, Sha‘ban, there should be room for the tribulations of other people. So tell me about the things that trouble you. It may well help relieve some of your distress.”
The servant stopped rowing and sat up in his seat. “I have just one major concern, one that towers over everything else. I don’t want to go on about it or stir up painful memories, Master, so I’ll tell it to you in brief. I opened my eyes on this world of ours in the house of the Shafi‘i jurist, Siraj al-Din al-Fayyumi, who was as well known among folk as my own Master is for his proper administration of God’s holy laws. I grew up in his house in Fustat and was fully honored and respected till I reached adolescence. At this point my master informed me that he had in fact purchased me from a slave trader when I was just four years old; he knew nothing about my father or family. He manumitted me, then told me I could either remain in his service or go to work for someone else. I begged him to allow me to remain in his household, especially since he had recently become a widower and had no children of his own. When he felt that his own end was fast approaching, he wrote a clause into his will in which he gave me half an acre of land in Upper Egypt, fully a third of what he owned there. However, I was never to benefit from that inheritance and for reasons that are repeated day by day in your court here in Cairo.”
“Various heirs appeared from every conceivable direction,” ‘Abd al-Rahman commented, “and either challenged the will or else simply grabbed it with the cooperation of corrupt judges. So you simply acknowledged reality and entered your period of suppressed, silent rage.”
“That’s exactly what happened, Master. But, compared with the dreadful things that happen every day to the property of orphans, it’s trivial. But I won’t pretend, Master, that when I realized that my rights had been denied me, I spent many hours in cafés or houses of God, muttering to myself things like, ‘Barquq and Baraka have set a trap for the world,’ ‘They’re eating chicken, while the rest of us cluster by the gates,’ and other things that I don’t dare repeat. And I won’t deny either having vivid dreams in which I was sometimes transformed into heroes like ‘Antara or Sayf ibn Dhi Yazan or in others into ‘Umar ibn al-Khattab — the drawn sword of early Islam — and launched a savage attack on iniquity and wrongdoing. I would leave them all dead on the battlefield or else rouse every oppressed person to fight them to the end. When I woke up, I would find myself pounding my pillow and coverlet, then burst into bitter tears because of my sheer weakness.”
Sha‘ban suddenly fell silent and rowed toward the embarkation point on the shore. ‘Abd al-Rahman was reciting some verses from the Qur’an, among which were: God will never oppress even a tiny atom, or Faces will be submissive to the Living, the Eternal; and whoever brings injustice will have failed. It was as though he were trying to erase from his memory images that were so disarmingly close to his own, while realizing that, when matters of injustice and extortion were involved, the anger that his servant was keeping suppressed was considerably greater than his own.
When the two men left the Nile and returned to the house, they both performed the morning prayer and, for the first time, ate breakfast together from a single plate. That finished, ‘Abd al-Rahman poured over some accounts of Sufi divines and told Sha‘ban to get some of the sleep he had missed. Close to the reader’s eye were The Path to Eloquence, The Epistle of Qushayri, and Sufi Categories. Stretching himself out on his bed, he started flitting from one snippet and tale to another. As he continued with the process, he kept culling fascinating and delightful details and relishing the impact they had on his heart and mind. Little by little, he felt himself being drawn in by the relentless onward momentum. As he read, he felt as though he were turning into a hallowed vessel, putting to sea on a voyage toward the port of his dearest wishes, to have the time to devote himself entirely to higher learning. However, it was only a short while before the vessel came to a halt; the passenger had placed the book over his forehead and eyes and surrendered to memories of the retreat that he had spent with devotees at the monastery of Wali Abu Madyan, the renowned Spanish mystic. At the time, he had been escaping continuous harassment from Sultan ‘Abd al-’Aziz and rulers in general. This was before the Marini sultan had released him from his oversight and charged him with the task of establishing friendly relations with the Riyah tribes. ‘Abd al-Rahman recalled that during his retreat he had experienced some truly extraordinary times, moments of genuine independence and illumination. By then, ‘Abd al-Rahman had come to regard the Maghrib as a source of scholarly learning. Its valleys, plateaus, and mountains all provided direct, visible evidence of the presence of God’s devotees and holy men. The snow-white domes scattered across the landscape radiated a sense of the luster to be found in the more glorious world beyond; around what looked like enduring flights of the spirit, they hung small segments of the hard lives people led, an ongoing record of their dismal suffering and copious aspirations. The person entranced by the spell of such visions would see before him the faces of gifted and generous people, those who kept at a distance this world’s political leaders and others who indulged in speculative or denominational subjects. Before his eyes ‘Abd al-Rahman could see the image of Abu Madyan standing in front of his cave amid the ruins, accompanied only by a tame gazelle and other friendly animals. Even before this particular ascetic, ‘Abd al-Rahman could recall another illiterate hermit, named Abu Ya‘za, who could tame lions, walk on water, and perform wonders in curing illness and removing distress. Then ‘Abd al-Rahman called to mind his contemporary, Ibn ‘Ashir, the wali who lived in Sale and whose heart was filled with the concerns of that city’s inhabitants. It was he who had pointed out the huge abyss separating Sultan Abu ‘Inan from Sale’s citizens. The wali had refused to meet the sultan, taking to his heels on a famous day when the latter had come chasing after him on foot.