Bidding goodbye to Guljan, Hodja Nasreddin walked on so quickly that the moneylender could not keep up and soon lost him in the maze of narrow streets. “That means I will not receive a reward for his capture,” Jafar thought with regret. “But instead… beware, Hodja Nasreddin, I have prepared you a terrible revenge!”
Chapter 18
The emir’s treasury bore a heavy loss. The collections from the tomb of the holy Bogaeddin totaled less than one tenth of the profits of previous years. Moreover, the seeds of insolent freethinking had been sown once more among the people. Spies reported that the rumors of the events near the tomb had reached the most distant corners of the country and had already elicited a response: in three kishlaks [12], the inhabitants refused to finish building their mosques, while in a fourth, they expelled their mullah in disgrace.
The emir ordered Grand Vizier Bakhtiyar to assemble the divan – the state council. The divan assembled in the palace garden. It was an excellent garden, one of the most beautiful in the world. Exotic fruit ripened here on luxurious, branchy trees – apricots of the camphor, almond, and Horasan varieties, plums, figs, wild oranges, and many other fruits, too many to list. Clumps of roses, violets, gillyflowers, anemones, and lavender grew in the garden, filling the air with heavenly fragrance. The chamomiles laughed under the loving gazes of the narcissuses, the fountains babbled, schools of goldfish swam in marble pools, and silver cages were hanging everywhere, filled with the ringing, whistling, and twittering of exotic birds. But the viziers, officials, sages, and poets passed by with indifference, untouched by the magical beauty, without hearing or seeing anything, for all their thoughts were preoccupied with concerns about further elevating themselves, about fending off the attacks of their enemies and, in turn, carrying out similar attacks against them. There was no room for anything else in their callous, withered hearts, and if all the flowers in the world were to wilt and all the birds to fall silent, they would not have noticed it, consumed by ambitious and greedy designs. Their eyes devoid of spark and their lips pursed and bloodless, they walked, shuffling, along the sandy paths, entered the pavilion, which was braided with dark, luxurious basilica leaves, and, leaning their turquoise-encrusted staffs against the wall, occupied their spots on the silken pillows. Bowing their heads, burdened with enormous white turbans, they waited in silence for their sovereign. When he entered in a heavy gait, looking at no one, grim pensiveness stamped on his face, everyone rose and bowed almost to the ground. Thus they stood without rising until he gave them a brief signal with his hand. Then they got down on their knees, as required by palace custom, and leaned all the way back on their feet, touching the rugs with the fingers of their lowered hands. Everyone was trying to guess on whose head the emir’s wrath would fall today, and what gain could be obtained from this.
The court poets gathered behind the emir’s back in a semicircle, as usual, clearing their throats with quiet coughs. The most skillful among them, titled King of the Poets, recalled the verses he had composed earlier in the day and prepared to recite them before the emir, as if in a burst of supernatural inspiration.
The palace flyswatter and hookah-bearer took their assigned spots.
“Who is the ruler of Bukhara?” the emir began in a quiet voice, which made everyone shudder. “Who is the ruler of Bukhara, we ask you, us or him – that accursed blasphemer Hodja Nasreddin?!”
He choked for a moment and then, taking control of his rage, concluded menacingly:
“The emir is listening! Speak.”
A horsehair fan was swaying over his head; the retinue was silent, gripped with fear. The viziers prodded each other with their elbows imperceptibly.
“He has stirred up the entire country!” the emir began once more. “Thrice already he has managed to disturb the peace in our capital! He has robbed us of peace and quiet, and our treasury of lawful profits! He openly calls the people to insurrection and mutiny! What should be done with such a criminal? We await answers.”
The viziers, officials, and sages answered in a single voice:
“He undoubtedly deserves the most brutal execution, o focus of the universe and sanctuary of the world!”
“Then why is he still alive?” asked the emir. “Or perhaps we, your sovereign, whose very name you must pronounce with trepidation and awe, prostrated on the ground – which, by the way, you fail to do because of your laziness, insolence, and negligence – perhaps we should go to the bazaar and catch him ourselves, while you indulge in idle gluttony and perversion in your harems and recall your duties only on the day you receive your wages? What will you say to us, Bakhtiyar?”
Hearing Bakhtiyar’s name, everyone else sighed in relief. A gloating smile appeared on the lips of Arslanbek, who had a long-running feud with Bakhtiyar. Folding his arms on his stomach, Bakhtiyar bowed down low before the emir.
“May Allah guard the great emir from all manner of troubles and misfortunes!” he began. “The loyalty and the merits of this lowly slave, who is but a speck of dust in the emir’s rays of glory, are known to the emir. Until my appointment as grand vizier, the treasury was always empty. But I instituted many duties, introduced fees for appointments and offices, I taxed everything in Bukhara, and now a man may not so much as sneeze without paying something to the treasury. Moreover, I have cut in half the salaries of all minor officials, soldiers, and guards, leaving their care to the inhabitants of Bukhara, which has saved a substantial amount for the treasury, o sovereign. But I have more to say about my merits: through my efforts, I arranged for miracles to be performed once again near the tomb of the most holy Sheikh Bogaeddin, which has attracted many thousands of pilgrims to the tomb, while the treasury of our ruler, who makes all the other sovereigns of the world look like mere dust, was filled with donations every year, and the profits increased many fold…”
“Where are these profits?” the emir interrupted. “Hodja Nasreddin took them away from us. And we did not ask you about your merits – we have heard about them many times. Tell us instead: how do we catch Hodja Nasreddin?”
“O sovereign!” Bakhtiyar replied. “The capture of criminals is not one of the duties of the grand vizier. In our state, such matters are entrusted to the esteemed Arslanbek, head of the palace guard and the troops.”
With these words he bowed low once more before the emir, glancing at Arslanbek with gloating triumph.
“Speak!” the emir commanded.
Arslanbek rose and cast a malicious glance at Bakhtiyar. He sighed deeply, and his black beard shifted on his belly.
“May Allah keep our sun-like ruler from troubles and woes, from illness and sadness! My merits are known to the emir. When the Khivian khan waged war on Bukhara, the emir, who is the focus of the universe and Allah’s shadow on earth, deigned to place me in command of Bukharian troops. I arranged it so that we repelled the enemy victoriously and without bloodshed, and the entire affair ended to our benefit. Namely: by my order, all the towns and villages starting at the Khivian border and stretching deep into our land, over many days of travel, were reduced to ruins; the crops and gardens were wiped out, and the roads and bridges were destroyed. And when the Khivians entered our land and saw only desert, devoid of gardens or any life, they said to themselves: ‘Let us not go to Bukhara, for there is nothing to eat there and nothing to plunder.’ They turned around and left, ridiculed and profaned! And our ruler the emir deigned to acknowledge that the destruction of a country by its own troops is such a wise and useful deed that he ordered not to fix anything and leave the towns, settlements, fields, and roads in the same ruined state, so that foreign tribes would not dare enter our land in the future. This is how I defeated the Khivians. Moreover, I introduced many thousands of spies in Bukhara…”