What Is the Sultan For?

What Is the Sultan For?

Sultan Murad Han is in a strange mood that day. He looks restless.
It is as if he wants to say something and then changes his mind.
You couldn’t call him cheerful, and certainly not sad.
Grand Vizier Siyavuş Pasha asks:
– What is the matter, my lord, is something troubling you?
— Last night I had a strange dream.
– May it be a good sign?..
— We shall find out whether it is good or evil.
– What do you mean?
— Get ready, we are going out.
And the two set off disguised as mullahs. It seems that
the sultan is still under the spell of his dream and knows well where he is going. With quick, determined steps he goes up to Beyazıt, turns towards Vefa and strolls down from Zeyrek.
He stops to catch his breath around Unkapanı. He looks around more carefully. Just then, a body lying on the ground catches their eye, and they ask:
— Who is this?
The locals say: – Oh, hodja, don’t get involved.
He’s just some drunkard!..
— How do you know?
– Surely we would know. He has been our neighbour for forty years… Another goes into detail: – You know, he says, he is actually a fine craftsman. He works in the Azaplar market. He makes the finest clogs… But he spends what he earns on drink and debauchery. He carries bottle after bottle of wine home, and drags along every disreputable woman he can find.. One old man in particular is very angry.

– Ask the neighbours if you like, he says. Ask whether anyone has ever seen him at congregational prayer?.. In short, the neighbours turn their backs and leave. And our disguised mullahs are left standing there alone!..
Just as the vizier is about to gather himself up and leave, the sultan blocks his way:
— Where are you going?
– I don’t know, I thought you would prefer to keep away from this man.
— These people can just walk away. I cannot say anything to anyone…
But we cannot leave; one way or another, he is our subject.
The burial must be completed.
– Fine, then send a few hodjas from the palace, and we will be free of the responsibility.
— No, we have not yet solved the wisdom of the dream.
– Then what do you command me to do?
— We carry on as mullahs… At the very least, we must carry out the funeral.
– Oh, my lord, how can we do that?
— We just do it, plain and simple.
– Please don’t, my sultan, he has to be washed and purified. Then there is the shrouding, the final rites…
— Don’t worry, I can manage it.
But first we must find a place to wash the body.
– There is a neighbourhood masjid over there, but…
— No. If it were you who had died, where would you want your funeral to be held?
– I don’t know, at Hagia Sophia, at Süleymaniye, or at least at the Fatih Mosque…
— There are many state dignitaries at Hagia Sophia and Süleymaniye.
I don’t want to be recognised. But you were right about the Fatih Mosque. Let’s carry him… And they come to the mosque. The vizier runs here and there and finds a shroud and a coffin. The sultan puts the copper cauldrons on the fire… They wash the body properly, according to the rites, and the body
seems to become visibly beautiful. There is a light shining on his forehead. His face does not look like a drunkard’s. And a meaningful smile can be read on his lips. The sultan has warmed to this man, and so has the vizier… They shroud the unknown clog-maker, place him in the coffin
and lay him on the funeral stone. But there is still quite some time before prayer time… At one point the vizier approaches, looking troubled.
– My sultan, he says. I think we are making a mistake…
— What do you mean?..
– We got carried away and brought the body here without asking around. Who knows, perhaps he has a wife, perhaps orphans?..
— True, of course, well… You wait by him, and I will go round the neighbourhood and come back. The vizier returns to his Quran and prayer beads, and the sultan hurries back to where the strange adventure began. Sure enough, he asks around. He finds the clog-maker’s house. An old woman opens the door. She listens to what happened with composure. It is as if she had been expecting this death.
– God bless you, my son, she says. You are clearly very tired.
Then she sinks down on the threshold, clenches her fists and rests them on her temples…
Does she cry? No. But her eyes narrow, and perhaps she is lost in memories.
After a while she shakes herself out of her world of dreams…
– You know, my son? she says sorrowfully…
My husband was quite a character, I tell you… He would make clogs until evening… But if he saw a wine bottle in someone’s hand, he would give everything he had
to buy it. Then he would bring it home and pour it down the toilet!..
— Why?
– So that the community of Muhammad would not drink it…
— Amazing…
– Then he would pay those well-known women their fee and bring them home. Have I bought your time? Yes, I have, he would say. Then now you must listen… He would leave, and I would tell them stories of the saints… The Mızraklı İlmihal. I would read them the Hüccet-ül İslam…
— Well, I never! And yet what people think…
– He didn’t care what people thought. Mind you, he always went to distant mosques. One should stand behind an imam, he would say, who sees the Kaaba when he says the takbir…
— How many imams like that are left now?
– That is exactly why he would go all the way to Nişancı and Sofular… One day I even said to him: Look here, effendi. You do this and that, but the neighbours will think badly of you.
Believe me, your body will be left lying there…
— That’s true, isn’t it?..
– Saying he didn’t want to be a burden to anyone, he dug his own grave in the garden. But I insisted. Does it all end with the grave, I said. Who will wash you, who will carry you to your funeral?
— And what did he say?
– First he laughed for a long time, then:
– God is great, woman, he said. Besides, what is the sultan for?