First Fitna: The Tape Recorder Trilogy - S3E04

(656 - 662 CE · Egypt, Palestine, Arabia, & Iraq) 

The Narrator discusses both the first civil war between Muslims, and the part Amr ibn Al-As played in both ending the struggle and driving deep divisions into the Islamic world in exchange for becoming the ruler of Egypt again. 

Based on Chapter 4 of End by Geoff Micks.

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Credits: 

Voice Acting - Geoff Micks

Editing - Geoff Micks

Music - Dimitri Kovalchuk (MokuseiNoMaguro) through Pixabay

Additional Music - Aleksey Voronin (Amaksi) through Pixabay 

Transcript

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SPEAKER_00 0:00

In 2015, a man who has been alive since the last ice age bought a tape recorder, and over the course of three days he dictated his life story as fast as he could while waiting for a woman to visit who he believes will finally be the death of him. Hello again. My name is Jeff Mix, and you are listening to season three, episode four of the Tape Recorder Trilogy Podcast. Enjoy. Where those displaced commanders had the support of their Arab soldiers, they refused to step down, or they stepped down, but their supporters refused to recognize the authority of the new men coming in to replace them. Justice for Uthman first was the popular complaint to Ali. How can you rule in peace while murderers of a caliph go free? How can we think you innocent while you are advised by guilty men? Dear listeners, it is time for me to introduce another name new to many of you. Muawiyah. Muawiyah was born the son of two of the most dedicated enemies of Muhammad, peace be upon him. His father led the armies of pagan Mecca against the early Muslims, and his mother once ate the liver of a close friend of the Messenger of God in an act of vengeance during a family blood feud. With those crimes against the faith said, After Muhammad, peace be upon him, led the faithful on the first pilgrimage to Mecca since the Hijra, Muawiyah's parents converted to Islam, and they were forgiven all the sins they committed as nonbelievers. Their bright, well educated son was given to the Prophet as a personal secretary, in much the same way as I would later serve Amr ibn El As, and young Muawiyah's pen would go on to record much of what would eventually become the Holy Quran. In the wars shortly after the Prophet's death, Muawiyah distinguished himself in battles throughout Palestine and Syria, and when an outbreak of plague wiped out many of the Arabs in Damascus, Caliph Umar appointed Muawiya to the governorship there, just as Amar ibn al As ruled in Egypt. Clever Muawiyah married the daughter of an influential local Christian clan chieftain, and then used those family ties to recruit huge numbers of local Syrians into his depleted army. New ideas did not frighten him, and so Muaweah invested in modern ways of waging war, including siege equipment and a navy. He organized annual expeditions against the Romans both to blood his soldiers and to keep Constantinople off balance. He saw that everyone who served him, Moslem and nonbeliever alike, was well paid, well armed, well trained, and knew that their service in the name of God was respected and appreciated. Muawiyah was also related to Uthman, a blood connection that allowed him to retain and even grow his power base during the dozen years leading up to the murder of the third caliph. He felt he owed much to his fallen patron. Muawiyah gave sermons in the mosque of Damascus where he held up the bloody shirt of Uthman and the severed fingers of Uthman's wife, lost as she tried to shield her husband from the swords of his killers. When Ali did not punish those responsible for Uthman's death, Muawiyah swore to see justice done. I will repeat myself, this is a man whose mother ate an enemy's liver as the conclusion of a family blood feud. Oaths of vengeance were no casual thing to his clan. Ali was a good man, I have said so many times already, but he was not infallible. With Muawiya, Ali blundered. In his clean sweep of Uthma's creatures from their positions of comfort and power, the new caliph never gave a second thought to Muawiya's popularity and skill as governor of Syria. When word came that the new caliph intended to dismiss him, Muawiyah's subordinates refused to let him be replaced. They rallied to him and turned away Ali's replacement as soon as he arrived from Medina. Everyone understood matters could not go on as they were. The pot was boiling over, and no one seemed willing to pull it off the fire. Muawiyah sought the advice of many companions of the Prophet, including my friend Amar ibn Alas. Soon enough his command tent was filled with every influential Muslim who thought Caliph Uthman's murder was an unjust act. With popular support at his back and a righteous cause in his heart, Muawiyah marched with his elite Syrian army to speak with Caliph Ali, who met him with an army of his own followers in Iraq. In the beginning the two great men, both special favorites of Muhammad, peace be upon him, came together in peace between their two armies. Amr Ibn al As stood at Muaweyah's elbow as a close advisor. As Amar ibn al As's man, I stood with the other aides and secretaries and panjandrums at the ready just within earshot. Thousands more armed men stood in silence on opposite sides of what might soon be called a battlefield. They waited throughout the worst heat of the day, waiting for the signal of what would come next. No one present actually wanted to fight Muslim against Muslim. Indeed, as the day's negotiations began to cover the roughest ground, it seemed as if Ali might very well offer up the murderers of Uthman in the name of preventing a civil war. Give me justice for Uthman, and there is no reason for us to fight. We were friends before Uthman's death, Ali. Would God make us enemies over the rightness of punishing men who killed a prince of the faithful? Muayah asked the question with his hands on his heart, and even some of Ali's advisers, the ones who were innocent of Uthman's death, made polite noises at Muawiya's valid point. The sun was setting with the matter not quite settled, but both sides rode away from the negotiations, feeling real progress had been made. I accompanied Amer and Muawiya back to the command tent to celebrate what seemed like a last minute pulling back from the brink. We all had the strained smiles of men who had prepared for the worst, and now were surprised that the best seemed to be about to prevail. Meanwhile, I later learned in Ali's camp, the men who knew peace would be bought at the price of their executions came up with a desperate bid to kick off the first battle of a Muslim civil war they needed to happen. They were all veteran Gazis with contingents of loyal followers. While Ali slept, they gathered their men and rode out into the dead of night. Our camps were only a short distance apart. They attacked us with the dawn's first light. We are betrayed, we are betrayed was the cry in Muawiya's camp at what we believed to be Ali's personal cavalry storming through our horse lines, setting fire to our tents and cutting down their fellow Muslims before we had a chance to arm and armor ourselves. History remembers Ali tried to stop the rest of his army from rushing to join the renegades who had attacked without his orders, but there is something in the Arab heart that loves a wild charge at a confused foe. Ali could not stem the tide. One man, even a caliph, cannot pull enough men out of their saddles to make a difference. In the end, Muowiya fought off the Don Raiders and their slapdash reinforcements. He pulled his disciplined army together to live and fight another day. And there would be another day, dear listeners. What might have ended without a blow being struck was now a war. A war between Muslims. A war that both sides needed to win. Now there were many battles still to come, but you know I prefer not to talk about such matters if I can help it. Wars are terrible things, and this one grieved me much more than most. I had joined a faith that was supposed to unite the world under one unchanging form of worship, and now the followers of that faith were killing each other. Why had I not seen that in my visions of the future? No, I will not linger on the battles of that first armed struggle between Muslims. Let me speak instead of peace. Almost every night in his command tent after evening prayers, Muawiyah took counsel with his senior advisors. He would always say some variation of I want this war to end, and I want justice for the murder of Uthman. How do I get these things without killing more members of the Uma? One evening Amr ibn al As replied, Let me talk to Ali's people. You can get me what I seek? Muawiyah asked. If God wills it, Amr ibn al As said. I ask only one thing of you if I succeed. Name it, Muawiyah commanded. If God grants us peace, I would ask to be the governor of Egypt again. My heart belongs there, Amr ibn al-Ass said. Now I was taken aback at that request, but my place at this Arab war council was at the outside of the circle with my back to the tent wall. From his place in front of me in the inner circle, Amr ibn al-As could not see my horrified expression at his naked avarice, and if Muawiyah noticed it, he chose to ignore it. I was no companion. I was not even an Arab. In the Uma I might be an equal, but when it came to ruling the Islamic world, some Muslims were more equal than others, especially among those who had prospered under the rule of Caliph Uthman. It was an honor to even be allowed to sit in silence at this gathering of the richest and most powerful men who opposed the cause of Caliph Ali. While I was upset that my friend was asking for payment in exchange for ending the war between Muslims, Muawiyah had another concern. Who was he to agree to pay Amr's price? I do not seek to be Caliph, Uawiah said carefully. I seek justice for Uthman. Amr ibn El Ass held his arms wide. All things are possible through God. If the peace I seek sees God give you the power to appoint governors, you know where my heart belongs. After a pregnant pause, as I am sure he weighed his words carefully, Muawiyah promised, If God gives me the power to give you Egypt, Egypt shall be yours. The tent was quiet as we all absorbed the enormity of the fact that Amur intended to somehow end the war in a way where he and Muawiyah would become the two most powerful men in Islam. If God wills it, someone finally broke the silence. If God wills it, everyone repeated. At the next great battle in that terrible war, Amr ibn al Ass ordered some of Muawiyah's men to ride out with their holy Korans hanging from the tips of their lances. They charged the enemy screaming, let God decide, let God's holy book decide. Ali's warriors took up the cry too, for they no more wanted to slaughter Muslims than Muawiyah's men did. As the fighting died down, it was agreed that after a truce of several months to cool the bloodlust, both sides would send a single man to meet and pray and read the Holy Quran together to see what God had to say about the issue at hand. Both Ali and Muawiyah swore to abide by the mutual decision of their appointed representatives. Muawiyah chose Amr ibn al As to represent him, of course, but on Ali's side there was a problem. No one responsible for the murder of Uthman could be trusted to seek peace when that would mean their death. Including them in the negotiations last time had led to the dawn attack that began our struggle. After much casting about, Abu Musa was chosen to represent Ali's cause. He was a fine and honorable old man that the late Caliph Uthman once considered appointing as governor of Iraq before his murder. Under no danger regardless of the outcome, Abu Musa was a reasonable choice to speak for Ali, just as Amr ibn al Ass spoke for Muawiyah. After months of sullen peace that followed the battle, the two negotiators at last met in a tent set up between the two armies. I was not in the tent while the two deliberated in private, but I was in the closest ranks of the crowd when they emerged. Amur gestured for Abu Musa to speak first. Ali's representative called out O people, you know full well that these wars have spared neither the righteous and the god fearing, nor the ones in the right, nor the ones in the wrong. I have therefore, after careful consideration, decided that we should depose both Ali and Muawiya, and appoint the son of Caliph Umar to rule us, for he has neither stretched a hand nor drawn a tongue against anyone in this conflict. Behold, I shall remove Ali from the Caliphate, as I now remove my ring from my finger. With that the old man dramatically removed his ring, and there was much murmuring of agreement at the wisdom of his words. My old friend Amar ibn al Ass nodded along with the crowd to acknowledge Abu Musa's decision while holding up his hands for silence. When he had everyone's total attention, he paused for a heartbeat and said Behold, my honorable colleague, the appointed arbiter of the Iraqi side in this terrible civil war, he has removed his companion Ali from the Caliphate. As for me, I confirm Muawiyah to the Caliphate as firmly as this ring sits around my finger. Now Anner pointed at one of his own rings, holding it out so all could see the thick gold band. Well, our side cheered in triumph, and Ali's side howled in dismay, but I did not worry myself about that at all. I was close enough that I could not mistake Abu Musa clutching his chest and staggering back. Even as the crowd roared, I could just make out the old man's protest. That's not what you promised. That's not what you promised. Amar ibn al Ass gave a shrug that onlookers at a distance would see as a modest gesture to their acclaim. With context, though, Abu Musa and I could only interpret it as an acknowledgement that he had done wrong and did not care. He might as well have said aloud Sorry about that, but what's done is done. I win. The man whose peaceful conquest of Ayla inspired me to embrace Islam, broke faith with a Muslim who was talking peace in a war between Muslims. For the sake of winning Egypt for himself, Anur had advanced Muawiya's cause and prolonged the conflict within the Uma with a bald faced lie. That was not the end of the civil war, of course, but Ali's cause was greatly weakened when he reneged on his promise to abide by the ruling of Amur and Abu Musa. No one wanted to hear Ali's explanation of what had really happened. Amur tricked Abu Musa? Well, who picked Abu Musa to represent him anyway? Was Ali even still caliph if his own handpicked negotiator had agreed he would abdicate to end the slaughter? And now the war would continue because Ali was not willing to honor the promise his man had made in front of all of them? What did that mean about Ali's rule if he loved his position more than he loved his people? Every Muslim willing to swing a sword for Ali had to ask himself those questions now. No one on Muawiyah's side cared what Anor may or may not have said to Abu Musa in the tent. What they said outside the tent in front of witnesses was what mattered, and those words had thrown the Iraqi cause into total confusion while stoking the righteous fury of the Syrians to new heights. A negotiated peace was being reneged by Ali, no one could deny it on either side. The conflict swung irrevocably in Muawiyah's favor because of Amur's deceit. And I know for a fact Amur slept like a baby despite his advanced years and terrible actions. I was disgusted with my friend, and he refused to discuss the matter with me. He knew what I thought of his actions and of his motivations. We spoke less and less, and I soon left his service altogether. I was done contributing my pen and abacus to the service of a war I did not believe in, and to a man I did not believe in. Instead, I settled down in a small town in Syria whose mosque was in need of a Muslim who knew the Holy Quran by heart. I preached there for years. I was preaching there when Amur marched into Egypt for a third and final time under Muawiyah's banner, taking that province from Ali's followers with still more bloodshed among the Muslims involved, all for Amur's desire to rule the Nile. Eventually a kind of unhappy peace emerged where Ali ruled only the easternmost parts of the Caliphate, while Muawiyah controlled Syria, Palestine, Egypt, and Arabia. Meanwhile, the schism within Islam birthed its first fanatics. History remembers them as the Kurujits, which can mean those who leave or the outsiders. They were among the most rabid of Ali's supporters until he spurned them, and then they tried and failed to launch another civil war against him once he had ended open hostilities with Muawiyah. Ali defeated them in a great battle. After that, surviving outsiders believed that Islam did not need a caliph at all. God alone had all the answers. It was the outsiders' firm belief that the Umah lived in pain and division because of the mistakes of just three mortal sinners Muawiyah, Ali, and Amr Ibn Al As. A trio of the surviving outsiders met in Mecca and made a pact sealed with holy oaths. Each of them would murder one of those three great men at the same hour on the same day, as their victims led their followers in morning prayer. In Damascus, the outsider's blade failed to penetrate Muawiyah's robes before he was cut down. Muawiyah survived without a scratch. At the great Araki Mosque in Kufa, Ali's head was slashed with a poisoned blade as he knelt in prayer. He died two days later. Inside the Amar ibn al As Mosque in Fustat, the outsider rose up and cut down the old man leading morning prayers, shouting God is great, God is great over the corpse even as he was tackled and disarmed by Amur's guards. It turns out, though, that Amur Ibn al As was ill that day, and he had asked a friend to lead the morning prayers. Amur's friend died in his place, and I cannot help but wonder if I was still with him in Egypt, if that would not have been my fate. Amur's would be murderer was brought before him, and the outsider spat God wants you dead. I am told Amur Ibn al As smiled at this. When God wills something to happen, it happens, for God is great. If God wanted me dead, I would be dead. Instead I am standing here, and you are standing there. With that he nodded to one of his guards, and the outsider's head was separated from his body with a single sword stroke. When I heard Amir had survived an assassination attempt through sheer chance or luck, or the will of God, whichever you prefer, I was overcome with the sudden desire to have one last conversation with him before he went on to his eternal reward. I had already almost missed my chance to speak again with the man who made me a Muslim. I felt compelled to see him once more, if only to offer him polite salams, something I had denied him in my anger at our last parting. I said goodbye to my brothers and sisters of the faith in the little town I had called my home, and I joined the next caravan passing through. I stopped shaving my head and started shaving my beard. I stopped shuffling around like an old man and started helping my fellow travellers load and unload their camels. By the time I arrived in Fustat, I had a reputation as a helpful young man. The caravan master was only too happy to give me a letter of recommendation to Sheikh Amur Ibn El As, companion of the Messenger of God, and governor of Egypt on behalf of Caliph Mulawiya. I was escorted into a courtyard where I was told the governor would see me soon, and I amused myself counting how many times I had stood in just such a courtyard in Egypt, waiting to speak to a powerful man. How many pharaohs and governors and merchant princes had I paid court to within walking distance of the Nile over the years? I was not finished my tally by the time Amar Ibn El As shuffled into view. He was in his late seventies by then, and I could see from the way he carried himself that he was not much longer for this world. Peace be with you, Sheikh Amar ibn El As, I said, making the polite gesture a young man would give both to an elder and a powerful man deigning to meet someone of no importance. And peace be with you, young man, Amar ibn El As said, squinting to make me out. The sun was behind me, and also his eyes were probably not what they once were. Indulge an old man who knew Mohammed, peace be upon him. Recite the holy words to me. I rattled off several of my favourite passages as the governor smiled and nodded his polite approval. One by one he dismissed his attendants with a wave of his hand. When we were quite alone he silenced me with a gesture. I know your voice, but not your face, my friend. How are you, Mohammed Al Rumi? I never thought to see you again. It had not been part of my plan for my old friend to recognize me, and so I said Is it possible you're thinking of my father, Excellency? He told me he rode with you the first time you invaded Egypt, and again when you and Muawiyah fought against Ali. Amar Ibn El As snorted at this and waved his hand around in front of his face in that way the elderly have of saying they do not appreciate being bamboozled. No, no, no, none of that between us, my friend. I taught you how to ride a camel, and I am sure you have written more of my letters than I have. Do not tell an old man he does not know his friends. Well, Amr ibn alas was many things, but he was not an arashat with a perfect recall of faces. I decided to bluff my way through. Excellency, my father died a few years ago, but people say I am the spitting image, he interrupted me again. God is great, my friend. hand, and he has gifted you with eternal youth. Do not think me so blind that I did not notice during the war in Iraq, that the stubble on your head was growing in brown, not grey. Do not think me so generous of spirit that I did not envy how easily you got on and off your camel during our last campaign together while my knees and hips and back ache each and every day. No, I knew twenty years ago that I was getting older and you were not. Here we are now at the end of my life. I am old, and you are not. I have wanted to ask you this many times, but I was afraid. You were so angry with me the last time I saw you Are you one of God's angels? Now that was a novel question. To the royal women of Tyre I suspect I was often justified as some sort of demigod, but since the dawn of monotheism no one had ever tried to pin divinity on me. What should I say to the man who first inspired me to become a Muslim? What should I say to the man who more than most had driven a wedge into the new faith in the name of his own ambition? God is great, and if I am his servant, there is a reason he had meet you and serve you all those years, Amir Ibn Al As, I said, allowing the respect in my voice to fall away. He strained up at this change of tone, at least as much as he could at his age. What reason is that? I watched a great man fail to be a good man, I said. Only as the words left my lips did I realize what a cruel thing that was to say to a friend whose whole life was behind him, a man whose future was only the promise of an afterlife he hoped he had earned and perhaps feared he had not. The sun was behind me, as I have said, and its light was streaming over my shoulders. There was likely a halo around my head while my face was in shadow. Did I look like a vengeful angel to him? I certainly sounded like one. Amir Ibn El As sank to his knees What I have done, I have done with God's will in my heart, and the messenger of God's words ringing in my ears. I had no patience for his pieties. I said You did not read Caliph Umar's letter until you were sure you were too far into your invasion of Egypt to be called back. You said if I were still in Mecca, at least I would get to keep the milk pail. You told Abu Musa one thing and the crowd another so you could have another go at the milk pail that is Egypt. Now you are the ruler of one of the richest lands in the world for a third time. You worship five times a day in a mosque you named after yourself. You did all of that for you, not for God. I was harsh with him, and it occurred to me as I said it that I was holding him to a higher standard than almost any other man I had ever met. He had disappointed me deeply, but not as a man or a general, or a governor. He was a good man, a good general, and by all accounts he had been a good governor too once Egypt was finally his to keep No, Amr had disappointed me as the one who had inspired me and then failed to live up to my expectations. Amur had met and been inspired by Muhammad, peace be upon him, whereas I had only met and been inspired by Amr ibn al As his ambitions and the choices he made to achieve them had tarnished my faith over the years. In the end even the companions were human and flawed. From his knees Amar ibn El As now sank down until his face was pressed to the floor in genuflection, praying towards me instead of towards the Kaba in Mecca. I am old, he said, and in my life I have done both good and evil. The good I have done has been done in God's name. God is great and it is the glory of my life that I have been an instrument of his will and what about the evil you have done? I demanded You have lied to satisfy your desires those lies have killed people and you have also ordered men's deaths Muslim men's deaths to win your glories. If I am here on God's behalf, how would you answer those charges? What would you say to me and to him? I stood over him now, and though I kept my voice low so as not to draw any servants, there was venom in my speech God forgive me for the sins I have committed. There is greed in me I know it. I have spent my life doing great things for God so that some small part of that greatness would be mine. I hope God will forgive me where I have been selfish, Ammer said into the paving stones. And I believed him What great sin was I accusing Ammer of what great flaw ambition every accomplished person I have ever met had ambition. Ammer had not used his faith to serve his ambition he had used his ambition to serve his faith. The touch of the divine that had so inspired me when I first met him was not a lie in the service of avarice. God came first and Ammer second in his ambitions, and while I still would have preferred him to be a paragon, I could not blame him for being himself. I reached down and lifted him up My friend, no man is without sin. Your sins have been great, but so have your deeds. The future will remember you as a servant of God and a companion of the messenger of God. I will see to it myself that this is so Thank you, Amur cried, and tears streamed down his face, for he took my words as the judgment of God. I called for his servants and helped them guide him to a chair, explaining the governor had been overtaken with emotion at the news of my father's death. Amir said not a word while there were other witnesses present. As soon as I could I made my polite salams and left. We never saw each other again. He died within a year or two, and I am sure to his dying day he cherished the memory of an angel of God telling him how he would be remembered. Let me conclude this story by saying Muawiyah ruled well, generally speaking. Meanwhile, under the surface problems still bubbled. The troubled times of Uthman and Ali led to the split between what would come to be known as the Sunni and the Shia, with fringe elements branching off from the outsiders as well. The unity of Islam that had so attracted me when a young Amir Ibn al As rode through Ala on his way to conquer Palestine was shattered and would never heal. Meanwhile the succession of holy men from the Prophet through Aberbakr, Umar Ibn al Katab, Uthman, and Ali would now become a hereditary dynasty of Muawiyah's descendants for a time at least. That is still for the future too In the meantime, I journeyed west. There was too much drama in the rest of the Caliphate for my tastes, and I went in search again of peace and quiet. I found neither You have been listening to the Tape Recorder Trilogy podcast, and there is a lot more to come. Here are a few ways you can help support this program. First, if you are enjoying it please tell someone about it. Audio dramas live and die on word of mouth so please help spread the word. This may be the third and final season but I plan to leave the series up as long as people continue to take an interest in it. Second, please like it, review it and subscribe to it wherever you find your podcasts. We want to teach the algorithm that this show is worth people's time. Third, this podcast is based on the novels Beginning, middle and end by Jeff Mix available on Amazon. If you want a copy of the story for yourselves, that would be so appreciated. Fourth, I have a link to a typeform survey in the show notes for each episode. Tell me a little about yourself and feel free to ask me questions. I have already done a QA mailbag episode during the run of this series and I probably will do another one in a little while once people have had a chance to find it and enjoy the show after the final episode airs. Fifth, while this may be the final season of the Tape Recorder trilogy podcast, I already have plans for two more shows, so please remain subscribed to this channel for updates on those when they are ready to be shared. Finally, while I don't want to break up the episode with ads, I do have a Patreon account with extra content for those of you who are willing to support this channel with a donation. A link to that is also in the show notes. With that said, thank you so much for your time and attention and I look forward to you enjoying the next episode soon