“THE HUSREV IS DEAD, THE HUSREV IS DEAD!”
The panicked cries of the crowd reached the ears of Gaidar. The news did not come as a surprise — he knew the Husrev’s days were numbered the moment the mob had formed around his home — but it was no less shocking. “May the One in Whose Hand is my soul curse the deceivers!” angrily mumbled the Son of Pardis. His mind raced with thoughts that circled in a seemingly endless loop, like a twisted zikr in praise of all things evil. Among these thoughts was one that soon found itself alone: what now of Pardis? The question touched the very depths of his soul. Never had blood like this been shed on Pardis, and never had its citizens turned on each other so savagely until now.
The dust from the earth rose and formed a cloud at the ruffling of feet. Gaidar heard their steps grow louder, sounding like the heavy beat of drums at a funeral procession, before they ceased. They were outside.
“Oh, Son of Pardis, your people stand in wait!”
My people? Gaidar cautiously emerged from his techno-yurt to a mixed gathering of Children and Emigrants. “Have you not yet scrubbed the blood off your garments?” he sternly asked, and he noted a peculiar look in their eyes. “What purpose drove you here?”
“Shura,” proclaimed the Emigrant Ruslan, and the others behind him repeated the call. “Pardis now finds itself without a ruler; a Shura’s been called…” he paused, waiting for Gaidar to interject. Gaidar stood silent. Ruslan continued, “We had our grievances with the Husrev, yes, but never did we think it’d come to this. Our planet now lies in disarray. Yet, amid all the strife and confusion, treachery and violence, and turmoil ahead, only one thought has kept us from total loss…” Ruslan stepped forward, and those behind him did too. The whole crowd plotted forward like an Old-World tank over a trench. Gaidar –– never one to fall back –– stood his ground and watched the crowd. He again noticed the peculiar look in their eye that reminded him of the tired faces of the last Emigrants. In a sudden movement, the mass of people dropped to their knees. Ruslan, stammering, raised his voice once more, “A Shura’s been called, and the matter’s been decided. There is no one who we can comfortably entrust ourselves to save you. Oh, Son of Pardis!
Oh, Last of the Emigrants and First of the Children! We pledge our loyalty to you! We pledge our loyalty to Gaidar, the Husrev of Pardis!”
A perfect silence dominated the scene. Gaidar, Husrev of Pardis? Gaidar darted his eyes around the crowd, wishing to spot each one of its members. He read only a single thing from their faces: hope. Why do they put their trust in me? Who do they think I am? He cleared his throat to speak, “Was this decision unanimous?”
“Not one dissenting voice among us,” Ruslan proudly replied. “I am not qualified for the role you ask of me.”
“You are the most qualified!” a random member of the assembly proclaimed, and scattered shouts from the others repeated the notion. Their eyes began to glisten with light, and a sense of exuberance began to take shape. Some even ceased kneeling and inched closer to Gaidar.
“The path ahead will be wrought with hardships the likes of which Pardis has never seen.” Gaidar continued, trying to stem the tide of the crowd but they pressed on further still. “Death may make itself an acquaintance.”
“And who else but you could guide us through it! Who else but you can help us welcome Death!” the crowd reached their Husrev and formed a circle around him. Gaidar’s body turned to catch the others that had made their way behind him, not out of fear that they’d attack but to see if they showed any signs of regret. They do not lie – their words reflect their hearts. If the mob that had slain the old Husrev was one charged with intense anger and frustration, this was a mob charged by immense love and devotion. Hands reached out and tightly grabbed different parts of Gaidar’s robes. Tears began to form then poured from their eyes. Some even dropped to the earth, dirtying their hands and staining their robes. The women wailed and the men shouted. Gaidar tried to step back but was met by a wall of people blocking his way. He felt uneasy.
“Any command I give, they’d follow. Any action I take, they’d support. Any person I condemn, they’d kill. Any evil I do, they’d justify. They are not my friends but my followers.”
Gaidar took a big gulp as a strange thought entered his head: what power can I gain with them at my bidding! He attempted to finally respond but could only open his mouth halfway before finding it frozen. His body stiffened. The people paused their wailing, shouting, grabbing, and praying to hear Gaidar’s words. The thought repeated, but the more he heard it, the more disgusted he became with himself. As his disgust grew so did their anticipation. Any word I speak will destroy them and me! He felt his body begin to loosen while his tongue remained locked, like a dangerous creature in a cage. A sudden burst of strength reached him, and he pushed his way out the circle.
The people looked confused as their Husrev vanished from sight.
The heart always finds a way to guide the body towards its utmost desires. A dirty heart compels the tongue to speak falsely, the hands to act unjustly, and the feet eager to stand with bad company, while a polished heart compels them to act only in goodness. Gaidar’s heart had forced him to retire from that crowd, and now it moved his every limb to act towards seizing the one thing he wanted above all else: peace. It was this desire for peace that led Gaidar to the one place that could grant him it: the Qaswa — his mother’s home, and the first ship to land on Pardis.
The massive oval-shaped structure and its surroundings were unusually barren — no doubt due to the turmoil of the past week — lacking the lively group of pilgrims chanting in their zikr circles or esteemed scholars moving in-and-out with data cubes and flanked by their students. Gaidar peered out starboard amid the rusting metal of the command center to make sure he wasn’t followed. He was alone. He made his way to the archives.
The archive room of the Qaswa was where all the collected knowledge of the Old World was stored in thematically organized data cubes. The other Old World space vessels also had their own digital archives, but the Qaswa’s was both the most celebrated and most studied given its role in helping to establish Pardis. Gaidar’s mother was one of its caretakers in the pre-Pardis era, and even after they’d disembarked, she always made sure to return with her son. There’d been calls from some of the Husrev’s men to close off the archives save for a select few persons, but Gaidar and others among the scholars, seekers, and wider populace had opposed the initiative.
As the sun set and the dust that permeated the room disappeared with the fading rays, Gaidar sat slouched and stared at the mountain of data cubes before him. He’d read as many entries as possible on history, power, and leadership that he could, but he found his head no clearer.
“Power corrupts all. I felt it today, and what did I taste of power? A crowd of desperate people calling my name is nothing compared to an army at my helm.
They understood this, the people of the Old World. But why weren’t they able to end it? Whether it was through a monarch or a senate, tyranny triumphed in the end. One is an honest tyrant while the other is a liar. See how they nominated themselves ‘for the sake of the people,’ all the while plotting against them in advance! But must Pardis go down this path? Must Pardis be the same? Did we not come here to start fresh, to learn from those mistakes? Yet, how many set out to do the same? And all failed. Why has no one ever succeeded? Is it even possible to build a world free of evil?”
Gaidar chuckled at the thought. “Is building this world the end-goal? The Husrev was apathetic towards them, but those scholars have been warning us since the beginning! ‘Fight for good but not for heaven; heaven cannot be reached in this life!’”
Gaidar pointed his finger upwards to mimic the scholars then chuckled once more. “‘Fight for good.’ If one must fight for good then one must either lead others or be led to fight. But how can one fight for good if power corrupts all, if all leaders share that same thirst and bloodlust? Well…not all leaders.”
Day had fully given to night, and Gaidar stood still in the darkness undisturbed. He rose up in his seat and felt a renewed strength.
“His sages and His friends! There was, among them, no ego and tyranny but selflessness and safety! There was, among them, only good and no bad, only strength and no weakness, and only wisdom and no foolishness! They were lights in moments of dark; they were magnifiers of light in moments of light! They were among the people and not above or against them. Power did not triumph over them, but they triumphed over power! They were an ornament for their positions, and the positions were not ornaments for them! They are the best and only examples!”
Suddenly, like the crash of a wave against firm rock, a gloomy feeling gripped Gaidar.
“And how do I know which one I’ll be: tyrant or friend? Did I not have lust when power was being given to me? Did I not see their trust in me and fawn over the ways I can abuse it? I am no friend or sage of His, that’s certain!” his hand crashed against the table in a fit of rage, causing the base of his palm to bruise from the impact.
“Oh, dear Gaidar, are you so certain?” A voice shouted out.
Gaidar’s eyes frantically darted around the archive room, his arms on his side and fists clenched, ready to fight. “Who goes there!” He replied.
“Would you flee at His call?” The voice shouted once more, this time with even more bass behind it. “He chooses His sages and friends, but tyrants are only chosen by themselves. Do you think yourself a tyrant?” The voice asked assertively. It held an authority beyond any known.
Completely dark and silent, the room betrayed Gaidar’s best judgment as he desperately tried to find his surprise interlocutor. “Show yourself so that I can better answer you!” Gaidar responded with excessive effort, trying to mask the tremor in his voice. He was deathly afraid.
Out of the corner of a row of shelves emerged a towering figure robed in a green garment that shone brightly in the night. His posture was firm, his skin smooth, and his beard light in a way that carried wisdom but not age. “I’ve shown myself,” He said with a smile, “Now answer.”
“Who are…”
“And who are you?” He responded, his face was still radiant with a smile. “Are you a tyrant?”
“I do not know.” Gaidar pointed his eyes to the floor in shame, pondering the question asked.
“Are you a friend?”
“Closer to a tyrant than a friend.”
“And what makes you think so?”
Gaidar paused a moment to take in what was being asked. He felt that same self-loathing from before his flight return with a vengeance. He found it hard to speak. “Because I…I saw in their eyes…a trust…a trust in me so strong, yet my only thought was…”
“Was to betray it.” The wise man in green finished his sentence. “And you see this as a weakness?” He stepped closer to Gaidar, still enveloped in light.
“How can I not?” Gaidar’s head was fully pointed down; his nails scratched the metal chair beside him. “Something as disgusting as that can only be a weakness.”
A fit of laughter erupted from his new companion that astonished Gaidar. His laughter reached every far corner of the room, holding more power than his first proclamations. “You think yourself special?”
“Why do you laugh?” asked Gaidar, still perplexed. Hand over stomach, he did his best to quell his laughter and respond in kind. “Every man and woman has this weakness, oh, Gaidar!” The last of the laughter subsided. “Every man and woman has this weakness, but how many would flee from it like you did? Yet you still think yourself a tyrant?” He lifted and placed his hand on the shoulder of Gaidar. “Tyrants do not run from such opportunities, but they embrace it. Only His sages and friends – when called upon to lead, guide, or teach – retreat from it out of fear of His judgment. And…” He pulled Gaidar even closer. The strength of him, thought the Son of Pardis. “And if you were truly a tyrant, then why have I found you here alone concerned with the fates of others and not at the head of a thousand men seated in the palace of the Husrev?” A trickle of dim light began to enter through the stained windows. Gaidar turned his head to see the cause. “And why do the people still rush to you in the dead of the night if they suspect anything but good in your heart?” The sight of torches outside was now clear.
Gaidar felt weight release from his shoulders and turned back to find the wise man in green completely gone. “Am I to accept their calls then? What does He have planned for me?” There was only the muffled sounds of the crowd marching outside.
Exiting from the archives, Gaidar made his way through the narrow corridors of the Qaswa. His step felt light, as if he was floating like the ship once did. But why me? He thought, but he swiftly answered himself. But why question His decree? Can He not raise any soul at any time? Did He not shelter the orphan, enrich the beggar, or free the slave? With the opening of each blast door, Gaidar heard the crowd growing louder; they were waiting for him at the base of the ship.
The entrance slid open to reveal a gathering much larger than before with Ruslan still at the front. “Oh, Son of Pardis, our hearts ached at your…” His speech was cut short by the outstretched hand of Gaidar. The torches blew in the wind like clouds passing during the day. The people stood frozen like statues. Their eyes held hope once more, this time more certain; their Husrev was here!
“By the One in Whose Hand is My Soul, by The First and The Last, no harm will come from my hand, and no lies will stain my speech! Pardis will not fall prey to the sins of old! Pardis will not fall prey to the tyrants of old! Pardis will not descend into chaos! Pardis will not be lost!”
As the crowd erupted at his words, the Husrev’s eyes caught a faint green light on the edge of the horizon that expanded for a second before vanishing completely.