At long last, I found the opportunity to meet with the Alim, whom I encountered on occasion. He was a man of the caravan, those wanderers who, like the seasons, inevitably return to familiar grounds, yet their arrival remains veiled in the mists of time. One knows the season will turn, but the precise moment of its unfolding is a mystery.
News arrived from the market of the caravan’s return, signaling my pursuit of this Alim. Those who seek nourishment in knowledge inevitably trace the path of the learned. After repeated journeys to the bazaar, I chanced upon him in a humble coffeehouse. He did not greet me with unbridled joy, for Alims often retreat from the persistent inquiries of men. I waited patiently until his affairs were concluded. As we departed, we exchanged salutations. After brief discourse on his travels and the weather, I broached my quest. “Many tomes pass through your hands, Alim,” I began, “and I seek a certain book, one you would surely know.” I continued, “I have searched far and wide, yet found no trace of it.” “And what is this subject?” he inquired. “Iblis,” I replied. The Alim paused, a shadow crossing his countenance. “Azazil, the Prince of Shadows?” he asked. “Yes, indeed,” I affirmed. “And what purpose do you have for this book?” he demanded. “Look, Alim,” I responded, “the Quran speaks of Allah ninety-nine times, and yet, Iblis is mentioned with a similar frequency. The Holy Book itself appears to hold these two in a delicate equilibrium, yet where is the book that illuminates his tale?” The Alim grew uneasy, “Speak softly,” he cautioned, “let us move to yonder corner.” We walked beneath the shade of a fig tree. “I have seen four such books,” he confided, “though their fate remains unknown. Three reside within Sufi lodges, hidden from the eyes of men. One was penned by a man who was either slain or, by some accounts, martyred.” “Who was this man?” I asked. “Hallaj-i Mansur,” he replied.
“I must now depart,” he said. “Wait,” I implored, “do not leave.” “What is it you desire?” I asked. “Look,” he said, “I am an Alim, and worldly riches hold no sway over me. Yet, I see a spark within you, for none have inquired about these books for many years. I shall bring them to you, but you did not receive them from me.”
“May your path be clear,” I said. “And yours,” he replied, “traveler on the path of truth.”