Power games in a city of djinns

The legendary Persian polymath Omar Khayyam has influenced philosophers, writers and artists for more than a millennium. His reputation for hedonism — based on his disputed authorship of the Rubaiyat, that enduring work of Persian poetry more people have heard of than actually read— means that his brand also has a certain cachet in the food and drink industry. When I was growing up in Muscat, there was an Indian restaurant named after the great man — though bizarrely the name of the establishment, renowned for its tandoori fare, had an unnecessary definite article in the middle: Omar Al Khayyam.

He is also the main character in Lebanese author Amin Maalouf’s 1989 novel, Samarkand. Written originally in French and translated into English by Russell Harris, Samarkand brings alive a long-forgotten world. Maalouf’s astonishing skill in stitching together a narrative that spans centuries and continents and writing with conviction about the political machinations that animate both the Seljuk Empire in its 11th-century heyday and the early 20th-century power games between European colonial powers ensures you have a literary masterpiece that both enlightens and entertains in equal measure.

Samarkand starts with Khayyam landing in that Central Asian city in the summer of 1072. His reputation as a heretic has preceded him and he’s promptly arrested and taken before a judge. However, the judge admires Khayyam and gives him a blank book to record his thoughts and poetry instead of punishing him for questioning religious orthodoxies. In the fictional world of Maalouf’s novel, this is how the Rubaiyat is born.

The first half of Samarkand is thus a tale of Khayyam’s life and his desire to avoid being a pawn in the games of the Seljuk Sultan and his wily vizier, Nizam Al-Mulk. The Nizam tries to recruit Khayyam to become the head of his spy network and the scientist instead recommends his friend Hassan Sabbah, who’d establish the Order of the Assassins. Intricately plotted, this part of the novel takes the reader from the bazaars of Samarkand to Bukhara to the courtly politics of Isfahan.

The second half of the novel is concerned with the rediscovery of the original manuscript of the Rubaiyat that has apparently survived centuries of conflicts, sacking of cities and pillaging of forts as one empire after another falls. Taking place at the turn of the 20th century when the British, Russian and American empires jostle for dominance, this part of the story follows a young American named Benjamin Lesage as he tries to hunt down the manuscript. He does so with help from the likes of Jamaladin Al-Afghani and Mirza Reza — historical figures who played outsized roles in Persian politics and the evolution of political Islam. While the manuscript reappears, it doesn’t stay with Lesage long. Its fate is much like the city where Khayyam started composing his poetry. As a Russian archaeologist explains to Lesage towards the end, a city like Samarkand that has been fought over by despots through the ages hides its secrets so well that “…if you are searching for something from the period for which you have a fascination, you will only gather legends, stories of jinns and divs. This city cultivates them with delight.”

At the heart of Maalouf’s beautiful novel is this undeniable truth: everything comes to an end, whether it be the life of a poet, a sultan or an empire. Samarkand, as the Russian tells Lesage, “…is the symbol of the inescapable meeting between man and his destiny.”

The author is a writer and communications professional. When she’s not reading, writing or watching cat videos, she can be found on Instagram @saudha_k where she posts about reading, writing, and cats.

That One Book is a fortnightly column that does exactly what it says — it takes up one great classic and tells you why it is (still) great.