by Ahmet Altan
What made him religious, a believer, a man of true faith was neither his anger at the infidels nor the jihad he was preparing in order to walk on the path to God nor his great admiration for the Sheikh; what made him religious was that sound, the strange sorrow he felt when he heard this ney playing all by itself.
What made him a true believer was his desire at that moment to be in the presence of God, to thank God for having been created, to express the joy he felt at surrendering with the pure and unique obedience of a slave, and the pain he felt at not being able to fulfill this desire. Because he would only be in God’s presence when he died, it gave him peace to feel he loved death more than life, to feel he was prepared to die, indeed to feel that he yearned for death.
When the sound of the ney stopped suddenly, he muttered quietly, and as if he believed he would be heard, “Holy God.” When he raised his head he saw the Sheikh standing by the door, he too had been listening to the sound of the ney. They both realized that they felt the same thing.
When Hasan Efendi moved into the garden as if he hadn’t seen the Sheikh, he heard the Sheikh call to him.
“Do you understand now what I was saying to you?”
Hasan Efendi nodded even though he knew he couldn’t be seen in the darkness, but he didn’t answer.
When he’d moved further away he heard the Sheikh call out again.
“Don’t forget to tell Ragıp Bey.”
He moved away into the garden without making a sound to confirm he’d heard this command. At that moment he didn’t want to talk to a person, not even the Sheikh, he didn’t want a mortal to hear his voice; he felt as if he was alone with his God, could not emerge from the feeling that the music had brought him into God’s presence. This feeling was not like the fervor, ecstasy, and abandon he felt during the rituals, it was different, quieter, slower, deeper, almost as if it wasn’t a feeling, it was a peculiar state that made him something other than what he was, a tree, a leaf, water, that united him with the soil, that caused him to see everything created by God as part of himself, that united him with everything that had been created. He felt this not with his emotions or his thoughts but with his entire body, with his flesh; his emotions were incapable of feeling this, his thoughts were incapable of understanding it, in order to experience this state he needed his flesh, his body, everything he was composed of, his body was lightened as if it was being buffeted by a strong wind, scattering him throughout the world and making him part of a great and infinite whole.
He spent that night sitting under a tree in the garden; perhaps his soul, wearied by the experiences of the day, suddenly found the tranquility it sought in the sound of the ney, abruptly released him from this world that seemed so meaningless and low, and gave him the strong feeling that he was part of a great power that had no beginning or end.
That night he did not recite any prayers; no verses came to his mind, he didn’t force himself to find a sura that he’d memorized; the melancholy sound of the ney had opened the path leading to God, and he set out body and soul on this path that had opened before him, scattered to the birds, fish, insects, seas, and algae, he remained all night under the tree, feeling and thinking nothing just like a tree; he needed neither thoughts nor feelings. Later he told Osman, “I discovered true worship that night, that night I discovered the power and love of the true God, I felt as if there was no difference between my body and the tree I was leaning against.”
Nobody but the Sheikh saw or understood the miracle that had occurred to this simple man who could turn even his faith in God into the most ordinary and vulgar rage, into a worthless shelter where he nursed his regrets in life.
Had his thoughts and emotions been more developed, what he felt that night would have changed him completely and brought him to terms with himself and with life, would have led him to realize how wrong it was to turn heavenly faith into worldly anger, but this was impossible for him; he would have been lost and out of his depth in a place where feelings and thoughts moved past anger.
He’d seen that there was such a place, he’d been mesmerized by what he saw, but he was unable to stay in this place, and he returned.
After morning prayers he left the tekke with the joyful feeling of having been purified, but by the time he arrived at the barracks he was once again himself, and a slave to anger.
At the barracks gate, a private, whose hand, holding his rifle, was red and swollen as if it had been in the cold for hours, stopped him and asked him in an indifferent tone:
“Who are you looking for, haji?”
“I’m here to see Major Ragıp Bey.”
“Which Ragıp Bey is this?”
Hasan Efendi became irritated.
“If he comes out here and hits you over the head with a gannet you’ll see which Ragıp Bey, just call in and let someone who knows him look for Major Ragıp Bey.”
The soldier, who heard the authoritative tone that had remained with Hasan Efendi from his days as a soldier, didn’t hesitate to call in and say there was someone looking for Major Ragıp Bey, and soon a private shuffled wearily up to the gate.
“Are you the one who’s looking for the Major?”
“Yes I am, what’s it to you?”
“It’s nothing to me, if you follow me I’ll take you to him.”
“Good lord, son, you’ve turned the core of the army into a village coffeehouse.”
They went a little way into the main barracks and he heard the sentry who’d asked him who Ragıp Bey was call to a sergeant standing nearby without feeling the need to lower his voice.
“Sergeant Hüssam, what could this mullah possibly want with that infidel Ragıp Bey?”
“How should I know, if he’s come to see Ragıp Bey he must be one of those Committee spies who have a secret religion.”
He struggled to hold back the anger that rose in him and grumbled through his teeth as he followed the soldier.
When he entered the office marked “officer on duty” he saw Ragıp Bey hurriedly put the gun on the desk into its holster and noticed the flintlock leaning against the closet behind the desk; he also noticed the joyful light of seeing a friend spread across Ragıp Bey’s weary face.
“Hey, Hasan Efendi, I hope nothing’s wrong, what brings you here so early in the morning?”
“Only the Lord knows whether it’s good or evil, Ragıp Bey. His Excellency the sheikh sent me. Order some coffee so we can pull ourselves together.”
As they waited for the coffee they talked about the tekke, Sheikh Efendi, “the mother-in-law Hanım,” and at one point Hasan Efendi said, “Something strange happened last night.”
When he saw that Ragıp Bey had stopped talking and was listening to him, he repeated:
“Something very strange . . . ”
Then, not because he was reluctant to talk about his experience but because he didn’t know how to describe it, he gave up on finishing what he was going to say and took a sip of the coffee that had been brought by a private with greyish blue eyes and nodded. “Anyway, that’s not what I came here to talk about, I have important news for you, His Excellency the sheikh admonished me to tell you.”
Stressing for the second time that he’d come on Sheikh Efendi’s behalf, Hasan Efendi wanted Ragıp Bey, who he felt looked down on him, to pay attention to what he said and also to ease his conscience by blaming the Sheikh, at least in his own heart, for informing to a member of the Committee, to which he was in fact opposed.
Ragıp Bey had realized he was going to receive important news and had been listening attentively from the start.
Hasan Efendi remained silent for a moment, thinking about how he could say what he’d come to say without giving Ragıp Bey too much information.
“Sheikh Efendi says that you should stay away from the barracks for a few days, and even leave the city if possible.”
“OK, did Sheikh Ef
endi say why? Or should I resort to geomancy to find out?”
Hasan Efendi made a face.
“The way it is . . . ”
In the end he realized he wouldn’t be able to do this without telling everything.
“The way it is, in a few days there’ll be a mutiny in the army, they say there will be a massacre, they’re going to kill the officers from the Committee.”
“What do they want, why are they going to mutiny?”
“They want sharia, they want the Ottoman Empire to be restored to the correct religion, they don’t want women walking the streets uncovered, they don’t want honor to be trampled on, they will restore the people these freemason officers led astray to sharia.”
Hasan Efendi suddenly lost control of himself, he was speaking not like a friend who was giving a warning but like a spokesman for the mutineers. Ragıp Bey squinted his eyes and looked at him.
“So, what do you have to say about what’s going to happen?”
Hasan Efendi took Ragıp Bey’s hand, they’d had many adventures together, they’d got married together to two sisters and had become relatives, he’d always liked him but he disagreed with his ideas.
“Go, Ragıp Bey, stay away from this place for a while.”
When he saw that Ragıp Bey wasn’t going to say anything, he insisted.
“Go, for God’s sake, this time it won’t be like anything you’ve ever seen, there’s going to be a lot of bloodshed, there’s nothing you can do, there’s nothing anyone can do, in a day or two this city is going to rise up and put on its shroud.”
“I don’t understand, Hasan Efendi, you say they want sharia but sharia is where it always was, if you’re talking about His Excellency the Caliph, he’s in his palace, he’s healthy and wealthy, why is there a need for a mutiny?”
“Don’t, for God’s sake, is it sharia when women paint their hands and faces like monkeys and sit in pudding shops like window displays? If there is fear of God, how could a Muslim son allow the woman who belongs to him to show herself to everyone like this, you know this better than I do. I’m not talking about you, but the officers who came from Salonika have turned Beyoğlu into a brothel, there is prostitution, adultery, and sin everywhere; men who couldn’t recite a verse of the Koran if you asked them to don’t know how to shut up when they hear the Charleston. In addition, Ragıp Bey, what is this about making mullahs serve in the army? Is it sharia to oppress these holy men whose prayers lift up the world, to purge all religious officers from the army saying they didn’t study at the academy, is this religion, is this Islam?”
Ragıp Bey leaned back.
“Come on, Hasan Efendi, don’t talk as if you don’t know, as if you’d never been in the army, look at the state of our army, look at the armies of those you call infidels, is it Islam to be defeated in every war, is it sharia to try to fight with a bayonet while foreigners exterminate Muslim children with machine guns? What you say is nonsense, don’t be offended, I’m being honest. It’s true that our young officers have gone astray to a degree, but the officers you call religious are opposed to any modernization of the army, my dear brother. The Sultan is secretly agitating them, he gets the mullahs to shout, ‘Our religion has been lost.’ Now tell the truth as your religion dictates, you were in the army, are you happy with the state the army is in, one day soon when the bad Bulgarians and Greeks form an alliance and reach the gates of the capital, will this army be able to protect you?”
Both of them had forgotten the purpose of their meeting, the danger waiting just outside the door, and continued talking about what Ottoman men most liked talking about.
Hasan Efendi stirred in his seat.
“You sum it up well, Ragıp Bey, but what happened to the army that made the infidels tremble for centuries, that led them to be trampled beneath Sultan Süleyman’s feet, tell me that . . . I don’t have the gift of the gab, but didn’t ignoring the dictates of the Koran lead to this? Didn’t the nation’s prosperity decrease when Selim the Sot ascended to the throne? Does it help to give rifles to an army that has lost its faith, does it help to give cannon to an army like this, does it do any good when the hand that pulls the trigger trembles; what can an army that does not fear God and refuses to serve the Caliph do against infidels except run away? The state of the army is clear to see, even you complain. Why? Because the army relies on Enver rather than on God.”
Just as Ragıp Bey was about to answer they heard the sounds of the changing of the guard outside, shuffling feet, rattling rifles, and barked commands, both of them shuddered and turned toward the window as they were reminded of the reason Hasan Efendi had come.
“Whatever,” said Ragıp Bey, “God willing, we’ll be able to talk about this at a better time. Does His Excellency the sheikh know when this mutiny will occur, did he give you a date?”
“No, but it will happen in the next day or two. He wants you to stay away from the barracks.”
“That’s not going to happen . . . ”
Ragıp Bey thought as he chewed at his moustache.
“Look, Hasan Efendi, this is the best thing we can do, first we bring my wife and my mother to the tekke, they shouldn’t be alone in that big mansion. Sure, there’s the Albanian gardener, but you can’t trust anyone in times like these. We’ll think about what we’re going to do once they’re safe.”
Hasan Efendi suddenly smiled the way he used to in the old days when they were young. This large-framed man dressed as a mullah had an innocent and childish smile.
“Shame on you, Ragıp Bey, this morning I sent a carriage to the mansion to fetch the ladies, a suite has been prepared for them at the tekke, don’t worry about them. Let us get you out of town as soon as possible, and stay away for a few days.”
The person he’d been angry at a few moments ago and who he’d seen as an enemy had taken precautions to protect his mother and his wife without having been asked to do so; this brotherly friendship suddenly made Ragıp Bey feel happy and surprisingly secure.
“Thank you, Hasan Efendi, we’ll get through this with your help. You keep the tekke safe, I’ll take care of myself. Give Sheikh Efendi my respectful greeting and my thanks. I’ll come by the first chance I get.”
They embraced and gave each other their blessings, Hasan Efendi moved toward the door slowly like someone who wasn’t able to say everything he should, dragged his feet as if he might turn back at any moment to say something more, he reached the door, paused for a moment as he was opening it, then, whatever he was thinking, opened it quickly and left. When he left the barracks he had the surprising and painful realization that Ragıp Bey’s death would sadden him. The guard at the barracks had changed, he looked for the private who’d been at the gate when he arrived, there were a few things he wanted to say to him, but the private had completed his sentry duty and had left.
As for Ragıp Bey, as soon as Hasan Efendi was gone he put on his greatcoat and left. Despite the seriousness of the information he’d just received, he felt a strange joy that made him restless. As he was looking for a carriage to take him to the Committee headquarters in Cağaloğlu, he tried to figure out what this joy was about and was almost angry with himself for feeling this senseless joy at a time like this.
In the square there was a harsh wind that stung whatever it touched, black, lilac, deep pink, green, and purple abiyas filled like balloons with gusts from the ground, men tried to walk sideways as they held on to their fezzes to keep them from flying away. There wasn’t a single carriage to be seen. Ragıp Bey raised his coat collar and lowered his head as he strode toward Beyoğlu. He decided to go to Cağaloğlu by way of Karaköy.
It bothered him that his brother had not yet returned from Berlin. If Cevat Bey had been there it would have been easier for him to explain what was going on, he would have been able to convince him of the gravity of the approaching danger, but other Committee members would have trouble beli
eving news that came from a sheikh, they would look for a trap or some kind of intrigue simply because the news came from a man of religion, and they’d laugh at Ragıp Bey for being naïve enough to believe a man of religion.
Later Ragıp Bey, whose anger would not die even after he did, told Osman, “They wouldn’t believe anyone except themselves, they didn’t even believe themselves, they’d even lost faith in the organization’s leaders, each of them followed a different leader and was suspicious of all the others, power had corrupted them.” Of course Cevat Bey’s comment was deeper: He told Osman, “Because it wasn’t nourished by any idea that could control it, the fire of the mutiny got out of control and burned up all beliefs, leaving behind only anger and ambition, for years we experienced that passion of a riot that fed like an opium addict on a constant diet of suspicion and anger, when there was no one left to rebel against, we rebelled against life and embraced death.”
Ragıp Bey, who had to wrap himself in his greatcoat when he encountered sudden, swirling winds where the avenue was intersected by narrow streets as he walked past grey buildings with marble statues on their facades and ornamental carvings on their pediments, reached Yüksekkaldırım, passing apartment buildings whose doors were shut tightly as if they sought protection from the wind, beer houses whose windows were frosted with condensation from the breath of the customers, and shops with perfume advertisements in their windows; as he descended to Karaköy, ignoring the weak shouts, dispersed by the wind, of the peddlers who sheltered under overhanging roofs, he suddenly caught the smell of seaweed coming from the sea and felt the cold damp from the water on his face.
There were no carriages in Karaköy either, the street leading to the bridge was deserted except for a few people struggling against the wind and holding their coats and fezzes, and a few steamboats anchored by the shore. He listened to the wind and the roaring of the Golden Horn as he made his way to the bridge, then crossed it, trying to ignore the wind that stung his ears and cheeks like a whip. He wanted to drink tea and smoke a cigarette in a warm room, and while his anger at being obliged to walk through these streets and at the people he was going to talk to, and who would not believe him, continued to grow, the unaccountable and disquieting joy beneath this anger remained.