“I will tell you. 1369, I think. Yes.”
“How fortunate to live so close to the tomb of such a great man!” I said, finding it prudent to join in my host’s happiness.
“Here, here, I have a map, come and see,” he beckoned and I clambered across the floor on all fours. He smoothened out a very old map of the world. It was grimy and torn at many places, with coffee stains and many markings. But it was clear enough.
“Here you see? This is Tangier. Now we see how he travelled to Cairo, Damascus, Medina, Mecca, Sanaa, then we see Persia, Delhi, and then he came down to Calicut, then Maldives, then here Chittagong—“
I stopped him. “Calicut, did you say?”
“Yes. Very famous place for trading. He visited Calicut many times, yes many times!”
“Exactly when?”
“I think 1341. I am not sure, but he speaks well of Calicut in Al-Rihla and he says that it was a very rich and wonderful city. You must read the book!”
“Oh I must!” I said. I recalled that Marco Polo had died in 1324 when Ibn Batuta was about twenty. And both had travelled to Calicut in the span of some fifty years! Surely…
“I see you are very interested in Ibn Batuta! I am very happy” said Haji Ahmad Bouabid, beaming. He shouted again and the smiling young boy rushed in with fresh supplies of coffee and dates. “Have some, and then let me show you the tomb!”
I stood up with some difficulty and emerged into the street to bright sunshine and fresh air. Haji Ahmad Bouabid followed me and we walked across to the tomb.
He described various aspects of the tomb, the inscriptions, the shape, the angles, the directions, the scrolls on the walls and so on.
“His mother is also buried in Tangier. I can show it to you someday if you like Monsieur!” he said.
“I would be very happy,” I said. “You must be so proud of Ibn Batuta.”
“Oh yes! There are many people who love him! There are secret societies too!”
I was intrigued.
“There are men who swear to safeguard the secrets of Ibn Batuta! Many in Tangier!”
“What secrets?”
“How can I tell you? Then it would not be a secret!”
We had a hearty laugh, and, as it happens with two men who laugh at the same joke at the same time, became closer in seconds.
I invited him to the Catholic prefecture church to continue our discussion. He knew the place, and promised to come at seven-thirty p.m. “I will bring you more information about Ibn Batuta!” he said proudly. “These days so many people are showing interest in him. A few months ago, there was a man who came from India to inquire. I wonder what happened to him.”
I knew I was on the edge of discovering something.
I picked up a copy of the English translation of Al-Rihla from a bookstore along the way. I also bought the latest copy of The Times, which was from two days prior. There was continued debate on the tragic death of Sherlock Holmes at Reichenbach Falls and an interview with my good friend Dr. John Watson, whose affinity for hyperbole, I noticed with amusement, seemed to increase with each interview.
***
At about a quarter to eight, Haji Ahmad Bouabid reached the church and I escorted him to my accommodation inside. My rooms were quite spacious, but did not, quite obviously, have the warm and cosy feeling I had enjoyed at the Haji’s home. I had consulted the cook and he prepared mint tea and a few Moroccan delicacies such as aubergine fritters and brochettes for my guest.
“You must say ‘As-Salaam-Alaikum’ when you meet someone in an Arab country, Father Bąkiewicz!” advised a smiling Haji Bouabid, as we settled down.
“I certainly shall! Thank you for your suggestion!”
“And when someone says ‘As-Salaam-Alaikum’ to you first, you must respond ‘Wa-Alaikum-Salaam.’”
I practised a couple of times to the delight of Haji Bouabid.
“Excellent! A wise traveller knows that he must learn the customs of the land! Ibn Batuta would have been happy with you!
“Look, I have got you a gift. This is a French translation of Al-Rihla!”
I was gratified and expressed my appreciation. I glanced through the book in Haji Bouabid’s presence. I did not find it necessary to share with him that I already had a copy in English that I had started reading.
“I also got you a new map and I have written the dates of his travels to various cities as well!” said my new friend.
“That is very generous of you!”
“Not at all! We are proud of Ibn Batuta and wish to spread his story around the world!” Haji Bouabid beamed.
“Admirable! Tell me, Haji Bouabid, did Ibn Batuta have a son?”
Haji Bouabid laughed uproariously. “A son? Ah, he must have had many! Wherever he went, he married someone and divorced her! Who can say how many descendants he now has?”
“What about here in Morocco?”
“I am aware that he had one son in Tangier, who died early. He was very fond of him. After that, we have no idea.”
“You say ‘we.’”
“Yes, I belong to a group of people who study Al-Rihla and propagate his story. Of course, we know many things about him which we cannot share!” His eyes twinkled.
He saw my disappointment. “Ah, do not feel sad! Study the book and ask me questions! If your interest continues, I can take you with me to attend a meeting of my group.”
“What is your group called?” I asked.
He hesitated. “Well, I am not supposed to tell you. But since you are a man of God, I can do so without fear. We call ourselves the Ibn Batuta Society of Tangier. My society’s objectives are purely academic. We have no religious or social desire. We just wish to ensure that Ibn Batuta’s memory is honoured.
“You see, Al-Rihla is only the publicly known chronicles of Ibn Batuta. A young man, Ibn Juzayy, was appointed by the king to be Ibn Batuta’s secretary and take notes of all his stories. He certainly took many notes and did not include everything in Al-Rihla. There may have been many reasons. Perhaps Ibn Batuta wanted to see the notes and reconfirm what he had said in certain matters. Perhaps Ibn Batuta decided against including the material. Maybe he felt he would like to write another book to add to Al-Rihla. But I am talking too much. I shall give you one month to read and understand Al-Rihla, and we shall talk about this again.”
“I agree, Haji Bouabid. I know very little. But I am interested.” I put down my coffee cup carefully.
“Recently, many people have shown interest in the matter, Father. That is nice! This is a town of tourists and most of the interest is limited. It is sad that people are not interested in reading and learning about history.” He clicked his tongue. “Therefore I am very glad to have met you.”
My senses were on alert.
“Will you help me to learn Arabic, Haji Bouabid?” I asked.
He was delighted. “Of course, of course! I am very happy. If you learn, you can read Al-Rihla in Arabic! But it will take time and patience!”
“I have both in abundance,” I said.
And so for the next several weeks, I started learning the language and practising. I explored Tangier on foot and dropped by little museums and mosques. Very soon, I was quite familiar with the town.
One morning, Bishop Landel complimented me on my efforts, quite unexpectedly.
“I see that you are trying your best to assimilate. That is a very good thing. I do not see that in many priests.”
“I like this place and the people. They seem very friendly and helpful. That can be useful for the church’s efforts too.”
“That is right. By the way, I will have a guest today from the continent. So I will not be able to meet you to review the accounts as we had planned. Can we do so tomorrow?”
“Of course! Is he from the Holy See?”
“No. He comes with a le
tter of introduction from my brother in Brussels. Someone called Colonel Sebastian Moran. He sounds like an Englishman. Now I wonder why he wishes to meet me. What can I do for him?”
***
I broached the topic of Ibn Batuta again the next time I met Haji Bouabid.
“Such a wonderful book, Al-Rihla! I am so grateful that you introduced him to me. I almost feel as though I travelled the world with him! I must have read the book ten times now!”
“I am very happy that you have liked the book. Yes, many people express similar feelings about it!” Haji Bouabid smiled.
I probed further. “Did you say that Ibn Juzayy had many notes that were not included in Al-Rihla”?
“Yes, Father, yes! That is what scholars believe. I do, too.”
“Why did he not include them?”
“You see, Ibn Batuta dictated to Ibn Juzayy for a very, very long time. It is inconceivable that anyone could maintain the same energy and keep the same routine for so long. If you look at the later chapters of Al-Rihla, you will observe that the flow has changed. Ibn Batuta compressed many events in single sentences and small paragraphs. In fact, some of what he says is actually wrong and suggests carelessness or some desire to finish as soon as possible. We think there are many possibilities. Shall we go and visit my friend Abdelaziz El-Kahina? He can tell you more about this.”
We visited Abdelaziz El-Kahina, who was an old friend of Haji Bouabid and lived fairly close by. The gentleman was younger and quite strongly built. While he was helpful and spoke in detail, he kept looking at me in a queer way and twirled his moustache constantly. A lesser man would have become nervous.
We sipped mint tea at a café outside. It was a beautiful day.
“Yes, it is true,” said Abdelaziz. “Ibn Batuta got restless after a while and did not give as much attention to the last part of his dictation to Ibn Juzayy. We really do not have proof he went up the Volga or that he visited Sanaa. He did not really write anything down while he was travelling and much came from his memory. And in some cases, he probably thought that it simply made sense to copy material from the work of others who may have written in far greater details. And look at his description of China! For such an important destination, he has written very little! Almost nothing! So the quality of those sections is not very reliable. We accept it.”
“Why did he do that? I read that the king had given him Ibn Juzayy to capture all details for as long as he wished.”
“We think there are some possibilities. One, Ibn Batuta was impatient and accelerated his dictation to stop the activity. Perhaps he lost his enthusiasm. Perhaps he was already restless and wanted to travel again and the king refused to give him permission.”
“Possible,” said I.
“Two, he did tell Ibn Juzayy everything in great detail but considered some sections ‘drafts’ and proposed to revisit the sections later and maybe write an addendum. He did not, ultimately, for some unknown reason. In the meanwhile, Ibn Juzayy suddenly passed away after the publication of Al-Rihla and Ibn Batuta continued with his duties as a Qadi. Perhaps there are some drafts here and there, who can say.”
Abdelaziz El-Kahina looked elsewhere when he spoke and I realized he was hiding something.
He spoke to Haji Bouabid in Arabic in a low undertone. He was unaware that I had already picked up some Arabic in three months.
“Should I continue?”
“Yes, don’t worry. He is a good man.” Haji Bouabid made some deprecating gestures and urged him on.
Abdelaziz El-Kahina continued slowly. “Three, he halted the dictation for a while and sent Ibn Juzayy on a mission to verify facts. He then resumed the dictation. He was unhappy about the results of Ibn Juzayy’s mission.”
I raised a quizzical eyebrow.
Haji Bouabid laughed at length. “Father, do not be confused. These are things that happened hundreds of years ago! They are only of academic interest!”
“But how is the third different from the first? Where is the proof that Ibn Juzayy went on a mission and Ibn Batuta was unhappy with the results? “
Abdelaziz El-Kahina sat back heavily and adjusted his fez.
“Since Haji Bouabid is vouching for you, I can reveal a few things. But in case I find you have used this information in an incorrect way, I will have to order your death.”
I nodded. “My interest is purely academic. I am a man of God. I do not seek to profit from this information. I can only give you my word as a great admirer of Ibn Batuta. You do not have to tell me anything if you prefer not.”
He smiled in a satisfied way. “Very well. Let me then correct the information you have read in your books.
“We have Ibn Juzayy’s notes. Some in the Moroccan archives and some with local families, like mine. I do not know why it happened. But here is the story.
“In those days frequent marrying and divorcing was routine. Ibn Batuta had relations with a number of women, some wives and some concubines. He therefore had many children, most of whom he did not know—because he did not get the time to live with them.
“There were two sons in particular that he was very fond of. One lived here in Tangier and one in Maldives. When he returned from his travels, he found that his son in Tangier had passed away. He was griefstricken.
“But his thoughts went to his son in the Maldives. Strangely we do not have his name but since Ibn Batuta was well known there, it probably did not matter. So to simply say that one was looking for the son of Ibn Batuta was perhaps enough.
“In any case, Ibn Batuta dictated a letter addressed to his son in the Maldives to Ibn Juzayy, asking him to come immediately to Tangier and be with him in his old age. He was overcome with emotion and asked Ibn Juzayy to take the letter and travel to the Maldives. The king gave a six-month leave of absence and Ibn Juzayy reached the Maldives very rapidly. He was able to find that son and handed over the letter. We do not know its actual contents.
“Unfortunately, the son, while happy to receive the letter and desirous of travelling back to Tangier with Ibn Juzayy, became fatally ill, possibly with malaria. Ibn Juzayy left Maldives with a heavy heart and returned to give Ibn Batuta the sad news. Ibn Batuta reacted predictably and became very depressed. He lost interest in the Al-Rihla project but continued the dictation in a mechanical way, perhaps deliberately adding misinformation. He was no longer interested in life. Al-Rihla was published in 1355. And in 1357, the young scholar, Ibn Juzayy himself passed away.
“However, before Ibn Juzayy left, he had extracted a promise from Ibn Batuta’s dying son, who was an adult then, and had a young son, that he would ensure that the directive in the letter would be honoured by some subsequent generation. So he left the letter behind. Ibn Batuta waited for more than thirteen years and then passed away in 1369.
“Now in Morocco, you should know that, just like us, there are many who are very possessive about the heritage of Ibn Batuta. For example, many enemies of Ibn Batuta have accused him of being a liar. We disagree very strongly. We believe that we must defend his honour and do whatever is needed to keep his memory exalted. We do it with scholarship, reading, writing, and debating. But others have more zeal.
“In 1368, Ibn Batuta formed a secret society. Its name I cannot tell you. You can guess what the objective was. Ibn Batuta felt that there was some unfinished business tied to the letter and swore the men to complete secrecy. They were to pass on the secret to their descendants and would wait for something to happen.”
“What would that be?”
Abdelaziz El-Kahina paused. Then he said, very slowly, in a low voice, “The arrival of the descendant of Ibn Batuta.”
“I see. Very, very interesting.”
“Generations have passed waiting and waiting. The members know, roughly, what the letter contains. And they believe that they are obliged to help Ibn Batuta’s descendant—whoever arrives with the letter in Tangie
r—to fulfil the promise within the letter.
“It may seem like a fruitless wait. But several months ago, something happened.
“A young man arrived from India. Much like you, he made inquiries about the Tomb of Ibn Batuta. And Haji Bouabid here extended his courtesy to him as well.
“But when he asked specifically for the secret society, our friend brought him to me. I know many people and often assist them in an informal way. That is why I was contacted.
“Suffice to say that I was soon convinced that this man was indeed the descendant. He had the letter. He had the seal. He had some very old coins. His Arabic was not very good, but he could read and write. He actually produced a letter in Ibn Batuta’s hand asking him to search for the secret society.
“I introduced him to a member of the society, who happens to live nearby. They tested him and were convinced that his ancestor was indeed Ibn Batuta. I was told bluntly that any further interest from me was not welcome and there were things to be done. They thanked me, of course. After that, everyone disappeared. It is almost as if nothing happened. My friend vanished. As did the Indian.
“I was happy to be part of a historic moment. Now I wonder what the letter’s revelations mean. Is it about wealth? Is it magic? We have no idea. But we learn not to get involved.
“I hope this satisfies you.”
I listened to this fascinating narrative carefully. I did not interrupt Abdelaziz El-Kahina.
Haji Bouabid spoke with restrained passion. “We are possibly witnesses to history. The smallest thing is ordained by Allah. Even our meeting, Father, is Allah’s will.”
I bowed in appreciation. “Yes, thank you. You have been very trusting.”
We asked for some more tea.
The writings of the
descendant of Ibn Batuta
My name is Thalassery Vatoot Mohammad Koya and I am a descendant of the great traveller Ibn Batuta.
How do I know?
I shall explain.
There was always a story in my family that we were somehow related to a famous traveller whose name was Ibn Batuta, and that we had moved to Thalassery in India from Maldives several hundred years ago. All families have such interesting stories about famous ancestors. We did not know much more, except that he was from a country beyond Misr (Egypt) and had visited the Maldives during his trips and that we were his descendants. There was no real proof. My father was a little fairer than most and his nose was very sharp, but that hardly meant anything. It was a nice story that amused us and we would tease our relatives that the Vatoots were actually wealthy Arabs. We boasted that Vatoot was just a corruption of Batuta and this pleased us. But no one really knew who he was.
Sherlock Holmes, The Missing Years: Timbuktu Page 7