The Mongol and the Sheikh

The great Berke Khan rode with his usual horde, dust swirling around them like a mist. The domes of the old Muslim buildings gazed at the new Mongol structures that rose like pillars. Berke was well-versed in the history of Muslim empires. His ears still rang with the tales of Baghdad that he had heard as a child. He wondered if a new empire would emerge, as others had, and sweep across the lands. But he shook his head. How could the grandson of the great Chinggis Khan himself think such a thing?

Lost in thought, he spotted a caravan. Its people were so different from his own. Their black and white beards were as thick as logs. They walked the land with such peace, that no wrinkles of stress marked their faces. He envied them, for though he owned the land they walked, his horse breathed like a bull, restless and strained. The same restlessness pinched his heart as if stopping would mean death.

"From where do you come?" he asked as he approached them.

An old man looked up at him. "Peace be upon you, son. I am Sheikh Sayf. And who are you? May Allah have mercy on you."

"He's your master, dog!" one of Berke’s soldiers shouted.

"Silence!" Berke roared like thunder. "I am Berke Khan, son of Juchi."

"We are from Bukhara," the sheikh replied.

Berke stared into his eyes. "I’ve heard that you consider us a punishment from your god," he chuckled. "Who is this god who can command the Mongols?" His soldiers laughed like wolves howling.

"It was not us, but your grandfather who declared himself the wrath of God. But our God is the Almighty; no other god's wrath can harm His servants."

"You think your god is greater than ours?" Berke's eyes turned red with anger as he drew his sword. But unlike others, who would flee or scream for their lives, the sheikh and his disciples remained calm. Berke smiled. "Where are you going?"

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The sheikh answered, and Berke spurred his horse. "We will accompany you," he said.

They arrived at a small market. While his soldiers ogled the majestic Arabian horses, the sheikh bought books.

"A strange man," Berke muttered to himself.

One night, Berke woke up to find Sheikh Sayf standing beside him, his eyes locked on the ground as if in a trance. His shadow loomed large over Berke. Berke took deep breaths as though a boulder were pressing on his chest. He stood between the heavens and the earth. The grim expression on the sheikh’s face cut through Berke like a sword, yet his eyes shone with the humility of a beggar—or perhaps even less.

"What a great contradiction," Berke whispered to himself. "He is both a king and a slave." Yet he couldn't deny the beauty of it all.

He followed him to a masjid once and his eyes popped at Slaves standing shoulder to shoulder with the rich of the community. One god? He questioned himself, and it became plausible each time.

One day, when the others went to get food, Berke stayed behind with Sheikh Sayf. "Why do you worship?" he asked.

"Why are you the son of Juchi?" the sheikh responded.

"What kind of question is that?" Berke frowned.

"You asked first."

"I asked you a sincere question."

"And there is no malice in mine. Should I not worship the one who created me and you? The one who created the world and gave your family dominance over it?"

"So, you do think we are a punishment?"

"I said dominance, but to what end?" The sheikh pointed at Berke’s chest. "That is what you must decide."

"I have seen you worship. You are awfully quiet. You do not dance or beat drums. You stand up like Christians, then sit down like the Buddhists. But then you rub your face in the dirt. What kind of worship is that?"

"Who do you worship, Berke?"

He scoffed. "I'm not much of a worshiper."

"You worship yourself. That is why you find it so offensive to rub your face on the ground."

"What will people think? The grandson of the Universal Ruler, rubbing his face on the ground like some common peasant?"

Sheikh Sayf chuckled. "You think yourself so great, yet you are afraid of what people will think? Be honest with yourself, Berke. Do you not want to follow the truth?"

"Yes, but—"

"But what?"

Berke sighed. "I am afraid."

"It will not be easy," Sheikh Sayf smiled. "But why live a life of lies?"

For the first time in his life, the storm within his heart stilled. The restless beats that had driven him through war and conquest finally quieted, as if, in the presence of truth, the thunder of his soul had found its peace.

Berke would go on to become the first Muslim Mongol ruler, avenging the death of the Abbasid Caliph and forever cementing his place in history.