The Eternal Time of History - Part XI E-Book

Simone Malacrida

• Herausgeber: Simone Malacrida
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2026

Beschreibung

As the eleventh century unfolded, the clash of civilizations became increasingly evident.
Starting from the great cultural and enlightened era associated with the studies of Ibn Sina, under the Shiite Islamic dynasty of the Buwayhids, destined to succumb to the blows of the Seljuks, the story moves to Normandy, following the vicissitudes of the battles in France and then in England during the reign of William the Conqueror.
The century ended with a blaze of violence, unleashed by the First Crusade and the attempts, by commoners and nobles, to bring the Holy Land back under Christian rule, exemplified by the unspeakable massacre that followed the capture of Jerusalem.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

SIMONE MALACRIDA

“ The Eternal Time of History - Part XI”

ANALYTICAL INDEX

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

SIMONE MALACRIDA

“ The Eternal Time of History - Part XI”

Simone Malacrida (1977)

Engineer and writer, has worked on research, finance, energy policy and industrial plants.

ANALYTICAL INDEX

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

The book contains very specific historical references to facts, events and people. These events and characters actually happened and existed.

On the other hand, the main characters are the product of the author's pure imagination and do not correspond to real individuals, just as their actions did not actually happen. It goes without saying that, for these characters, any reference to people or things is purely coincidental.

As the eleventh century unfolded, the clash of civilizations became increasingly evident.

Starting from the great cultural and enlightened era associated with the studies of Ibn Sina, under the Shiite Islamic dynasty of the Buwayhids, destined to succumb to the blows of the Seljuks, the story moves to Normandy, following the vicissitudes of the battles in France and then in England during the reign of William the Conqueror.

The century ended with a blaze of violence, unleashed by the First Crusade and the attempts, by commoners and nobles, to bring the Holy Land back under Christian rule, exemplified by the unspeakable massacre that followed the capture of Jerusalem.

“Secret conversation is a direct encounter between God and the soul, free from all material constraints.”

Ibn Sina

“Something than which no greater thing can be thought exists so truly that it cannot be thought not to exist. And this is You, O Lord our God.”

Saint Anselm of Aosta “Proslogion”

​I

1002

––––––––

The wind was blowing mightily and brought a strange dust from the north.

It was always like that, especially in spring, as Babak had often observed.

The teacher wrapped the cloth around his face and tried to return home.

It had to crawl along the walls of the houses of Hamadan, the great center of the kingdom of the Buwayhids, the Shiite dynasty that had taken power from the Abbasid Caliphate, at least in what was once called Persia.

The city itself, which was called Ecbatana in ancient times, had changed considerably and was famous for its many schools of thought and culture.

In one of them, Babak taught.

The man was not a great scholar, but he was proficient in any subject, making it suitable for the general education of those young people who would then choose their specializations.

He placed himself in middle age, not taking children under him, but not even those who were almost adults.

Master Babak, with his step-by-step progress, was considered one of the best trainers in the city, and therefore in the kingdom.

His wife Anahita had been given to him in marriage more than thirteen years earlier, when Babak was already established.

This was a well-established practice among them, given that the age difference between husbands and wives was at least ten years, a figure that corresponded exactly to their couple.

Babak had a light black beard that adorned his round and perfectly symmetrical face, while his hair was always gathered under a sort of turban that he took off only at home and in the presence of his wife and children.

Kimia, the eldest, was twelve years old and was looked after directly by her mother.

For girls, a certain custom and a sort of tradition were imposed which saw, at most, private lessons, but only if their father was a teacher.

Babak had not spared himself and it could be said that his daughter was part of that group of girls who were not illiterate, but without any kind of knowledge of what their world had discovered.

Similar notions were reserved for his younger brother, Kian, a kind of miniature Babak.

Aside from his beard and slight build, his gestures seemed to imitate Babak's in every way.

The teacher arrived home and knocked on the wooden door, with his usual four rhythmic knocks.

For Anahita it was a sign of recognition.

The door opened and the man quickly slipped into the crevice.

"You come."

A soothing female voice welcomed him.

He took off his sandals and cloak, shaking off the sand and dust, and then dipped his hands into the basin of water.

He sprinkled it on his face and felt the grains detach from his body and settle to the bottom of the container, after being suspended for a few moments.

He kissed his wife, as he always did as soon as he arrived home and away from the prying eyes of the world.

Kimia and Kian were waiting for him at the agreed place, as befitted diligent children raised according to the best dictates of good society.

They were to speak only after Babak asked them for an account of the day.

The father's pecking order was simple.

We went by age, so the first was Kimia.

Only later in time would Kian take over, when the boy became a student at some high school.

“What did you learn today?”

For Babak, every single day was to be concluded only if a new lesson could be learned.

Whether it was a notion or an experience, it was a continuous enrichment.

Once this procedure was completed, there was time for open questions and dialogue.

Kian was curious and sat next to his father.

“Did you see it?”

The implied subject meant that everyone knew who and what was being talked about.

“No, it’s the wind’s fault.

We'll do it tomorrow."

Hamadan had been shaken by a portentous piece of news, at least in the world of knowledge.

It had been at least six years since Babak had heard of this Ibn Sina, a young man who seemed to have the knowledge and wisdom of a great master.

It was said that at the age of sixteen he was already discussing philosophy and theology and that he had read the entire Aristotelian, Platonic and Plotinian paradigm, as well as knowing the Koran and the Sunnah by heart.

This was not enough.

Two years later, he became a doctor, applying a strange method borrowed from mathematics.

For Babak, it was already difficult at the age of forty-two to understand the nuances and implications of what the ancient Greeks had done, without delving into the algebraic questions so much discussed by their people.

He dared not imagine what it would be like to have many more visions at such a young age.

After that, little was heard of Ibn Sina and four years had passed, but now he had decided to move to Hamadan, to found a school there.

Legend had it that, in the previous cities where he had lived, he had read every tome in the local library.

And not only did he read, but he understood and repeated, interpreted and wrote.

When the caravan that would take him to that place was announced, all the masters of Hamadan wanted to welcome him and organize a sort of ceremony.

In Babak's eyes, he was a kind of son.

She imagined him to be wise in spirit and young in physique, even though she had not yet seen him.

Everything had been postponed because of the wind and so Ibn Sina had managed to arrange his clothes and, above all, his books inside the dwelling that had been made available to him.

For the time being, everyone had paid a deposit in dirhams, just to have him there and to have him kept.

“If he starts teaching as they say, he will soon repay us and become independent.”

So the accountant of the schools of Hamadan had concluded, and it was true, not to mention the large audience that someone like Ibn Sina would attract.

His medical profession alone would have made Hamadan a great hub of trade, merchants, and people in transit, but Babak was certain that a mind like that would not stop.

Drawing on his lectures on young people who were not yet trained, Babak had established that:

“There is no field of knowledge in which a mind like his cannot improve upon previous knowledge.

Astronomy, geometry, theology, medicine, mathematics, natural phenomena, philosophy.

Everything is held together in a single great canvas that only Allah knows and that someone like Ibn Sina intuits.

He is a predestined one and one of those great men who will make the history of our time.”

He was convinced even though he had never met him and had read almost nothing of what he had produced, very little, to tell the truth.

He had been talking about it at home a lot, and that's why his son Kian had asked him about the first meeting.

Inside the house, everything seemed to continue as usual.

The wind muffled the outside noises, deadening and covering them.

“Try this...”

Anahita handed her husband a dried cherry.

It was their family tradition to use the upper part of the house to store excess fruit, the fruit that came from the fields owned by Anahita's family.

There were fig and cherry trees there, as well as some date palms.

All the excess was dried and kept for the seasons when there was no direct availability.

“The taste of cherry...”

Babak was crazy about it.

He smiled and his wife did the same.

“Unless this wind blows us away, we will always remain here.”

She was a woman in need of certainty and would never have married someone involved in trade.

The school, like the land, was anchored to a specific place.

Even when they were lying down, they could feel the outside air coming through every crack.

It brought beneficial sand, or so the farmers said.

For someone like Babak, it was just a nuisance.

Night overtook everyone and the master forgot his lessons about the mysteries of the sky.

He wanted to talk to Ibn Sina about it to understand recent developments and what modern scholars thought about it, but he let it go.

The best way to face life was to avoid excesses and lead a regular existence.

“The body reflects what we have in our spirit.

If one is restless, the other gets tired.”

This is what he taught his young students, because he knew that moral duty was superior to any notion.

What was the point of finding yourself in the presence of a learned person who used his intelligence to cause harm?

Nothing, in fact the result would have been worse.

“Better a good ignorant man than a wicked wise man,” he always said.

When the sun rose and illuminated the city of Hamadan, the community sprang into action.

In every home, the same habits and very similar gestures.

Goat's milk poured and consumed with a dry focaccia-style bread, some dried fruit or legumes.

Herbs, sometimes, to give a false sense of satiety.

From the moment he woke up, Babak understood that the wind had stopped and that the official presentation would take place that day.

He prepared himself properly, even wearing the typical teacher's uniform.

It consisted of a sort of single tunic with long sleeves and blue-bordered edges, while the headdress was a typical Babak accessory.

They completed the figure with scrolls or books under their arms, sometimes carried inside a sort of covered basket that was slung over the shoulders.

Babak used to store his texts inside the school, in the special room where they were kept and preserved.

“Light, the sun, the wind, and above all, water are great enemies of knowledge.

Together with the mice, they erode everything we laboriously write.”

With similar aphorisms he urged his students to take into account what was written and, above all, to avoid unnecessary trips for books.

It was much better to keep them safe and secure, so they lasted longer.

Each school was responsible for renewing its library, replacing outdated texts with new ones, and the only way to do this was to copy them by hand, so all teachers were required to perform daily service for their transcription.

One or two pages a day were enough, as time did the rest.

Perseverance was the best of virtues and so Babak taught.

“Just as one step after another leads us to explore the world, so do you.

Be the guardians of knowledge.

One thought after another, one idea after another.

Sequentiality.”

The young people who came out of Babak's training were undoubtedly the best in Hamadan, even if they had not yet learned anything specific or truly innovative.

None of them could call themselves a doctor, mathematician, astronomer, theologian, or philosopher after completing their training with Babak, but they all had one thing in common.

The method.

The correct approach to the problems of knowledge and life.

And Babak was happy to hear Ibn Sina discuss the method.

She had found him young, very young.

He was twenty-two, an age considered mature, but his face looked fresher.

Perhaps because it came from the steppes of the north and east, bringing with it slightly different traits.

A lighter, thinner skin, less leathery than what could be found in Hamadan.

He could speak four different languages.

The incomprehensible one of the peoples of the steppe, the Persian, the Arab and the Greek.

More than anything, he knew ancient philosophy very well and that's what he was talking about.

“The method, dear masters, is everything.

And if we think that this is something that has been achieved once and for all, we are wrong.

Aristotelian induction was a great boast of ancient man, but how long ago?

More than a millennium.

So what can we say, after the great revelations in the world?

Christians have their God and we have Allah.

Is it possible that Aristotle, but also Plato or the more modern Plotinus, are still there dictating the law?

What is missing from their vision?

The practice.

This is why I intend to combine the two paths.

Logic according to ancient dictates and practice, according to something new that the experience of this millennium and the revelations we have received bring us.

Are we not superior to the ancients?

Yes of course we are.

They had stopped at the geometry of Euclid and Diophantus, but they did not know algebra.

And what about the skies?

Ptolemy, certainly, but all our stargazing was missing.

As you know, I started in medicine and there is a lot of progress to be made there.

With your help and the welcome you've given me, we can all do a good job together.

We have young people to educate and a community among us to move forward.

And now, I don't want to keep you any longer, given the dishes at this banquet."

Babak found him sensible and perfect.

In words he was the best.

Never had he heard such grace and eloquence, seasoned with high-level discourse.

The topics ranged from Aristotle to dates, from theology to the condition of homes.

Nothing was off limits and he felt that, perhaps, there was meaning in his life.

Besides being a teacher, he was a father and husband.

He had duties and responsibilities.

Towards his wife, an unconditional and limitless love.

One of a kind.

He had to make sure Anahita was satisfied, not just with the moments of intimacy, but with every single moment spent with him.

“For me, you are the added value to my life,” Anahita had told her after a few days.

She had seen that her husband was restless and thought that this was a good thing.

Ibn Sina had shaken the foundations of the city, but in a positive way and not like the frequent earthquakes, which destroyed without distinction.

Instead, he had to come up with something for his children.

For Kimia, the fateful moment in a woman's life would soon arrive: the choice of her husband.

She was only twelve and Babak had decided that it was not to be discussed until she was at least sixteen, but what was four years?

They passed in an instant.

He still remembered his daughter learning to walk and talk, but now he found himself faced with a sensible girl.

It is difficult for adults to understand that world, yet we have all been children.

“What happens to us in the meantime?

Why do we forget?

Out of habit, convenience, boredom, or simply a great accumulation of moments?

They all appear the same to us and without distinction, here is the answer.

But for them, this is not the case.

The body is constantly changing and growing, like the spirit.

And we find ourselves apparently identical, while they transform.”

Anahita didn't know how to respond to such doubts, other than showing affection and hugging her husband.

His mind would have liked to elaborate some ideas, but it did not reach certain heights.

She lacked the foundation and training, as all the schools in Hamadan and the Buwayhida kingdom had only one common characteristic.

They were boys' schools.

Women were not allowed and were excluded, but there was no discrimination of any kind.

It was just that.

Everyone has always done it that way.

Why admit women if they were not recognized as having the same capacity for discernment?

Knowledge was a man's business.

On the other hand, all the authors present in each library were men.

And not only with regard to Islamic culture, but also to other cultures, both present and past.

Men were the Christian scholars or the Greek, Roman and Persian ones.

Even Indian and Chinese writings were in male hands.

And the field of knowledge didn't even matter, since there was no discipline that saw the presence of a single woman's writing.

No one had ever considered the fact that, without providing the necessary resources, it was impossible to see results, as the problem was badly addressed at its root.

With the a priori exclusion, the usual procedure was perpetuated and without any distinction whatsoever.

In addition, there were also moral and religious issues.

Since women had to be educated, it was necessary to find female teachers who were sufficiently cultured and who would establish girls' schools, completely separate from the boys' schools.

And where to find the teachers and the money?

Above all, who would ever send their daughters to such a school?

So far the moral question, while the religious one was more creeping.

Babak knew that all the knowledge of the schools should not conflict with Islamic doctrine.

The Buwayhid power belonged to the Shiite part of Islam and this was already a first point to take into account.

None of them could have asserted the right of the Sunnah and the early caliphates against the current management of the kingdom and these were the limits of freedom.

What did women have to do with all this?

Nothing, in the true sense of the word, that is, no woman was involved in any decision-making, operational or administrative power of that kingdom, or anything else.

So just thinking about establishing a girls' school placed everything on a level outside of the law.

Not wanting to have any problems whatsoever, it was considered the simplest path.

For Kimia, as for all other girls, education was private and limited to the formation of a good wife.

Babak had spoken about it with Anahita, during the first months of Ibn Sina's urbanization.

“Given my position, we will be able to reach good levels in selecting our daughter's husband.

A future student of Ibn Sina would be desirable.

Someone who is now entering your school or will do so as soon as it is up and running.

It would be a great honor for everyone and a recognition of our family’s role.”

Anahita could only agree.

No protest of any kind was allowed and everything had to take place in the most straightforward and uncontested way.

As an immediate consequence, this meant that Kian was tasked with becoming a student of Ibn Sina.

“I'll take care of him.

He will follow the lessons of the great master Efraim, but then I will perfect Kian.

These will be hard years for him, but at eighteen he will be able to enter Ibn Sina's school.

After the summer, I will begin the journey with him.

It is our duty.”

The deep, clear blue sky gave a sense of freedom, and Anahita enjoyed gazing at the valley from the upstairs window.

Horizon that opened towards the west, at sunset, as if in it lay the meaning of life itself.

The woman had never traveled far from Hamadan.

He had not seen the great lake to the north, at least seven days' caravan away, much less the sea to the south, more than twelve days away, or the flat area to the west, towards the Tigris River and where the capital of the kingdom was located, of which great good was spoken of.

Imperious buildings and sublime mosques, where it was said that the great poem that everyone knew, with the prosaic name of “The Thousand and One Nights,” had been set.

Those environments were unknown to Anahita and even to Babak, who had instead seen the central area of Persia, where other schools were scattered, none of which, of course, were on the level of those of Hamadan.

If one wanted to come to the center of Persian and Islamic knowledge, one had to go to that place, and Ibn Sina knew it well.

He had traveled for more than two months to get there, with a modest caravan in tow.

It certainly did not move with the speed of armies, which could take half the time and connected several Islamic kingdoms together.

The time for expansion was over and now the former caliphate was divided into several kingdoms, often at war with each other.

Babak had noted that their religion had not eliminated the abomination of fratricidal warfare and, for this reason, he had chosen a profession opposite to that of soldier.

How could the world be conquered?

In two ways.

“With the sword and with the mind.

The first is the one that seems simplest and makes the strongest win.

The second is difficult and seems weak, but the best one wins.

Strength may disappear, but the mind does not.

We forge the world's greatest conquerors and they will be eternal.”

Thanks to the discoveries that had been made, it could be said that the Islamic world was superior.

They were the only ones to understand the use of water, the reintroduction of mills, the importance of roads and personal and collective hygiene, in addition to having made fundamental contributions.

Without algebra, of which Babak knew only the fundamentals, it would not have been possible for Ibn Sina to enunciate his programmatic method and his way of seeing the world.

“Here, in Hamadan, we can make history.”

Babak had commented with the other masters, convincing them not to ask for the loan granted to Ibn Sina back.

The young man would repay him a thousandfold, he was sure of it.

It was only necessary to make him adapt to the new climate and the city, in addition to opening the school libraries to him.

At the height of summer, Babak received his visit and Ibn Sina wanted to attend a class to understand who his future students would be.

Babak felt under scrutiny, but continued in his usual manner.

Certainly, these were basic notions for Ibn Sina, who thanked Babak at the end of the lesson.

After having paid him the greeting of respect and homage that was due to every master, he began to speak.

“I have so much knowledge within me, but deep down I know nothing about man.

I know I can't reach certain heights alone and that's why I came here.

Anyone could read every book and gain something to think about and reflect on, but innovation only happens through comparison.

What two eyes cannot see, four can.

And what is not heard by two ears, six can.

The missing link to reach that goal is to cultivate the other, in the true sense of the word.

Take care of it as you would a plant that you want to see bear fruit.

Time spent comparing is never wasted.

I don't know how to teach.

That's why I came here.

To see how it is done by those who are accustomed and accustomed.

You are like Socrates.

Maieutics.

Bring out the thoughts that already exist in the student, drawing them out from each of them.

Do you know what the Latins used to say?”

Ibn Sina had even begun to study Latin, having found a book in Hamadan comparing the Greek and Latin languages.

He found it to be a concrete and linear idiom, without frills.

For this reason it had been the official language of much of the Western world for many centuries and was still in use at that time in the Christian religion.

Babik shook his head.

He was not aware of that culture.

“Masters were called teachers.

Literally, leave your mark.

Do you understand?

With your words, you touch the soul of each student and direct them towards their future.

I learned here and I will need these lessons to see the approach.”

Babak almost forgot to take it to the library.

Ibn Sina wanted to read and had his own way of doing so.

He didn't linger over a single page like everyone else did, and he didn't recite it like a kind of poem.

At first, he sat quietly and read minds, flipping through the volumes quickly.

He memorized, Babak would find out.

Only the second time, he savored the taste of the words and triggered a series of connected and lateral thoughts.

By doing this, he seemed to be going slower than the others, but he was consistently outpacing everyone.

Just as Babak has been saying since time immemorial.

One step after another.

And this denoted the great spirit and the great man.

Ibn Sina had given himself specific timeframes.

A year to understand the environment and read, then another year to begin producing and selecting the school location and students.

The various skills and subjects he would teach.

In the meantime, he would have practiced medicine, improving the living conditions of the city and gaining experience.

“There you have it, his method in life.

Do you understand what he's doing?

It doesn't just limit itself to theory, but puts it into practice."

Babak had conferred with Efraim, the esteemed master to whom he would entrust the secondary education of his son Kian.

He knew he couldn't do it himself, as the relationship between father and son would overwhelm that between teacher and student.

“The plans are not mixed.

Too much confusion under the sky.”

Ephraim understood and shared.

On the other hand, Babak was ten years younger than him and had also been a pupil of Ephraim.

Indeed, Babak had become a master precisely to emulate Ephraim and, in some ways, had surpassed him.

“I'm happy.

It's always like this in our world, but we have to accept it.

Woe betide if a master is not surpassed by his students, it means that he is in a phase of decline.

And may Allah save us from living in dark times!”

Babak wondered who could ever surpass Ibn Sina.

Already at the age of twenty-two he was more cultured and erudite than all the masters of Hamadan put together.

What would he have become as an adult?

A scholar of the highest caliber, perhaps the greatest since Aristotle.

Indeed, why not overcome it?

Ibn Sina was already aware of some of the Greek thinker's flaws and shortcomings, and so a new way of debating could easily be established.

At this point, the big dilemma for Babak.

Who could ever surpass Ibn Sina?

What student would have risen so high?

As a father, he would have liked it to be Kian, but he was aware of his son's limitations.

Ibn Sina was already being talked about at a very young age, while Kian was an ordinary boy.

Well-mannered, well-educated, certainly a great promise, but nothing of a genius.

Babak understood it.

So what to do?

Never give up.

The solution seemed to be within reach.

Kimia and her future husband, to be chosen from among Ibn Sina's students.

Future students, as no one had been selected yet.

And if Babak's son-in-law failed to do it, then he would have hoped for the new generation.

That of the grandchildren.

Ibn Sina was young enough to be able to educate both Babak's sons and grandsons.

Anahita had noticed this sparkle in her husband's eyes and remembered when she had seen something similar.

“Are you in love?”

His question had come out of nowhere, during the first summer storm, one of those that left no escape from its fury.

Usually, black clouds nestled on the mountains inland, laden with humidity and heat.

They collided in the sky and, after a while, a heavy, thick rain fell to the ground.

Water, a precious commodity in an arid area, was seen as beneficial.

It was collected in every possible way.

Each dwelling had a sort of sloping roof that allowed water to drain into a cistern, where it was stored for less noble uses such as irrigation or washing, but not for drinking.

For liquids to be ingested, there was water from the wells, but this was limited when the cistern was full.

It was better done in the fields, through ingenious systems that made the water flow into some natural underground basins, from which the precious liquid was then drawn on dry days.

This ensured a huge influx of resources even during the long months of drought.

Babak turned to his wife.

What was she thinking?

“Yes, about you.

And always has been.”

There had been no other woman in his life and they both knew this well.

The possibility of having more wives had never been considered by Babak, especially due to his lack of financial resources.

The masters were highly respected, but their salaries were low, especially when compared to those of merchants or officials of the kingdom or great military leaders.

Anahita gave up on delving further, as she had always known that she would have to share Babak with her profession.

Part of the husband remained in that room.

It was always like this and even my thoughts often went to that place, populated by ever-changing faces.

“We always live among young people, but it's a great illusion.

They grow and we grow with them, we just don't notice it."

Ephraim had opened his mind to this little-considered aspect of the teaching profession.

We started out being seen as young, almost like older brothers.

Then came the age of the parents and finally the age of the grandparents.

Three different types of students to be approached in different ways and Efriam was almost on the threshold of the final step.

Up until that point, the type of teaching had remained identical to that which they had learned as young people, as few new things had been introduced.

Algebra for example, but not so much.

Now, however, with Ibn Sina everything would have changed.

If he had really done what he promised, it would have meant completely revising the knowledge he wanted to teach.

Already at a medical level, it was said that he approached things differently from everyone else.

It had also been heavily criticized, but the results spoke clearly.

“Numbers don't lie.”

It was a typical Babak inspiration.

He found solid concreteness in numbers and their presentation.

If Ibn Sina healed more people, then it meant that his method was correct and that the others were wrong.

There is no point in referring to Galen or the past, as Ibn Sina had demonstrated that the human body functioned differently.

“There is still a long way to go, too much.

I will have to found a school and write treatises, but first observe.

Reality is our true teacher.

A theory, however beautiful, will never be true if it does not interpret reality and, above all, adhere to it.”

It was a revolutionary vision, at least according to Babak.

Did he mean that everything could be put to the test of facts?

And that there was nothing irrefutable?

There was danger in that.

What would have happened to religion and all those intangible or observable events?

Should we have rejected them?

The position of the fabulous young man who had arrived in Hamadan was different.

For now, he would not deal with it and would leave the Quran in its place.

“Everything that is not forbidden is permitted.”

Thus he had delimited his field of action and no authority, civil or religious, military or administrative, could stop him or interfere with his will.

It was a clever and honest way to proceed.

Religious disputes were second in cruelty only to political and military ones, and therefore Babak had decreed that everyone must stay away from them.

He was well aware that a significant portion of his students had integrated into that society that saw the army, religion, and politics as its sole reason for existence, but he did not feel responsible for it.

Teachers could only go so far, while families decided according to their own interests.

“I would like to change this practice,” Ibn Sina concluded at the end of his visits, immediately after the end of the summer period.

Babak and Efraim were curious and asked for explanations.

“You, great masters of Hamadan, conceive of lessons as a part of the day.

Everyone meets at a certain place and at a certain time.

There are roles to be respected and rituals.

When it's all over, everyone goes back to their own lives.

The school I would like to found will be radically different.

I would like a community of people who always live together.

You don't go back to your families in the evening because school is family."

The idea might even have been good and, in part, original in the sense of a return to the past origins of antiquity, but it raised big questions.

What would have happened to their wives and children?

How to live in promiscuity?

Or Ibn Sina claimed to found a place of learning for hermits, without any ties.

Or, finally, with students so young that they cannot aspire to have a family of their own.

“I will find the solution and it will amaze the world.”

It seemed like an impossible challenge.

If he had thirty students, that meant thirty families with thirty different accommodations.

Where to find so much space?

A palace was needed, or rather more.

An area of the city.

And this was only found in the peripheral area, where the poor lived and certainly not the families who were able to pay the fees.

Babak concluded that Ibn Sina was not very familiar with the things of that Buwayhid world, since perhaps his idea would take root in the steppes.

“It's different here, you'll understand.”

Anahita hadn't been too upset.

How many foreigners did not understand their land?

Almost everyone.

It took time to adjust and Babak knew that was exactly the purpose of life.

Helping everyone find their way.

Meanwhile, she had begun her slow program of approaching her children's future.

Kian had been diverted by master Efraim and then continued, in the evening, his training with his father, while Kimia followed her mother everywhere.

Crossed and predetermined destinies, as if everything were placed on a chessboard.

Babak, unlike Ephraim, loved that game.

The foundations of thought and strategy were instilled there.

In his house there was a chessboard with wooden pieces, of fairly modest workmanship.

Nothing to do with what was instead found in some merchants' houses where the pieces were made of various precious stones.

The white came from ivory, while the black came from certain rocks that were only found in certain areas.

Everything was worked by hand to make the pieces smooth.

Babak had taught his son how the pieces moved and what the best moves were.

“Learn slowly.”

The game invited reflection and deep thought about what could be done.

“You see, what seems good to you today may not be good tomorrow.

As in this move.”

Women were forbidden to even touch the pieces, as they were believed to have a negative influence, but Babak was above such superstitions.

His wife and daughter could move the pieces to clean them, then put them back where they belonged.

There was always a game going on, whether it was between Babak and Kian or between the master and someone else who happened to be a guest in the house from time to time.

Ibn Sina did not know how to play and this gave Babak a great opportunity to meet him again.

“I read a treatise once.

From a doctor in the capital.

I have to go and fish it out.”

Ibn Sina seemed interested, but first he wanted to understand what was behind it.

A mathematical question, obviously.

Number of moves allowed, their consequences.

How to categorize it all?

Action and reaction, that seemed logical to him.

“If I move like this, how does the opponent respond?”

It was a two-player match and everything had to conform to the opponents' style.

There was no right or wrong strategy, just what was right at the time.

“The victory of the contingent.

The ancients would have said that the goddess Fortuna is decisive, but I don't believe that.

There are correlations and I will find them.”

Babak began to think.

It was a game, nothing more.

There was no other implication, or at least he didn't see it.

It was worth going back to the lessons and how to prepare them.

Ultimately, everyone faces the same challenges, starting from childhood.

We are born, we know the world, we learn to walk, speak, read and write.

To run and think.

Why couldn't such an approach be so natural?

What was the need for categorization?

This denoted a difference in approach between the master and Ibn Sina.

Between those who were responsible for repeating knowledge for others and those who were responsible for creating it.

What was about to happen in Hamadan would change the history of all humanity and not just that group of people.

No one could have imagined the form of thought that would be forged or its applications.

Surprises are such precisely because they are unexpected.

​II

1006

––––––––

After about four years of his arrival, Ibn Sina had still not succeeded in establishing the school he intended.

He had about ten students under him, but everything had been downgraded in the same way as always.

A place to learn and then return to normal life.

“What's missing?”

He had wanted to be direct and the accountants had answered him frankly.

"Money.

You need a lot of dirhams for your project.”

It was true and he knew it.

His medical profession or all the little books he had written were certainly not enough to make his dream come true.

It seemed strange, but someone really important had to be helped to convince him to donate the amount initially needed.

Only after that step could he truly begin his journey.

Soren looked at him questioningly.

The young adult, a contemporary of Ibn Sina, had been one of the first to join him, but he had taken care to let him know one thing.

“I will never be a doctor.

I can't stand the sight of blood and pain."

Ibn Sina had accepted, as Soren seemed to be endowed with a strong observational acumen.

It served the master to catalogue and give a certain form.

Soren noticed before anyone else when a person began to feel unwell or how the expressions of natural phenomena and human gestures changed depending on the situation.

He had already written down at least a hundred different and disparate types of behavior and Ibn Sina encouraged him.

“Continue, it will help us refine the method.

We will get to the crux of it all.”

Among themselves they had not yet reached the point of discussing theories, but they had to collect data.

As fundamental as oral tradition was, both of them had gathered around the written word and Soren felt inferior to the master, as he had not read as much as he did.

"No problem.

You have six eyes, not two.

And with the extra four, you see beyond appearances.”

Soren was certainly the most present student alongside Ibn Sina and, as such, he had been noticed by everyone, even by Babak.

That young adult came from the western part of Persia, exactly at the end of the plateau and at the beginning of the great plain that opened towards the Tigris.

It was a less arid area and more accustomed to certain types of rainfall, even though the desert was still present a short distance away.

He had studied there and then came to Hamadan to attend Babak's lessons.

He had separated from his master at the age of seventeen, wandering around for another four years and gaining experience, in turn teaching or doing other things.

Then, he returned to Hamadan when he heard about Ibn Sina and, from the first moment he saw him, he told himself that he wanted to stay by his side to learn.

“We will do great things,” he always said.

Babak had glimpsed him and become interested in him only in the last few months, when Kimia's age required an initial form of engagement or at least a commitment to a marriage promise.

Soren was a classic product of secular Buwayhide society, meaning without any political implications.

Far from the center of power, and certainly not interested in it, Soren possessed little else but his knowledge.

Everywhere he would have been called erudite, but in Hamadan he was just a promising adult.

Nothing compared to the great master Ibn Sina, but in some ways his main assistant.

If there had been a school in the version the new master had envisioned, then Soren would have become a big shot in it.

Custodian or contact person or administrator.

Something like that, only going back to Ibn Sina.

In appearance, he was pleasant.

A well-proportioned body but without paying too much attention to it, except for the hair.

They were an affectation for him just as the full headdress was for Babak.

Everyone was granted a weakness that made the interlocutors human.

Somehow, Babak had gotten information about him.

She was ten years older than Kimia, the exact age difference between the master and his wife.

It hadn't even occurred to him that the same time gap existed between Soren and Anahita, this time in favor of his wife and future mother-in-law.

For someone like Babak, it was inconceivable that a man would be interested in an older woman, especially a married one.

Babak's moves had been progressive, but it had been said that he would have to close the deal that year.

Marrying Kimia to Ibn Sina's foremost student was his goal, with the wedding to be celebrated within the next two years, in full accordance with tradition.

Kimia's opinion didn't matter much, as Babak knew he was acting for her own good.

She would have been better than her mother, as Soren would have taken in much more than Babak was allowed.

Being in the presence of the greatest sage in the kingdom meant something, and Babak was expecting the big turning point.

Ibn Sina had become the chief physician and in charge of all the important families in Hamadan and the time for his reward was near.

An unknown illness and a certain method of healing were enough to elevate Ibn Sina in the eyes of everyone.

Meanwhile, Kian was almost halfway through his learning journey and, to Efraim, he was one of the smartest students he had ever had.

“These new generations want to be ahead of their time.

It seems that at eighteen your existence ends!”

Babak only partially agreed, as his nature was certainly not turned towards the past.

She looked to the future with hope, as she had two sons, unlike Ephraim who had never married.

The master had learned from Ibn Sina and Soren the way of reasoning based on the double parallelism between logic and experience.

Even though he contemplated it, he could not translate it into daily practice and it was because his mind had never been trained.

It seemed that previous knowledge crushed every form of innovation and that everything was characterized by a rigid respect for the past.

“Free yourself from the concept of authority.

A concept is right or wrong not because someone important says it, but because you yourselves have subjected it to the light of your knowledge.

And what is better than to draw fruit from the experience?”

Soren drank from such wells of ideas and would never give up until a new system had been categorized, enunciated and written down.

They were so close to the turning point, but a crucial juncture was needed.

As often happens in life, chance plays a role in all of this.

If that caravan had not arrived from the east, nothing would have changed in Hamadan.

Instead, a normal commercial shipment had introduced a particular infection that would begin to claim victims.

Was it perhaps the plague?

"No."

Ibn Sina categorically rejected that plague.

How did he know?

“Different symptoms and different reactions.

It's something else.”

It looked like something related to the respiratory tract.

All the patients suffered from cough and various infections, but only in the lungs and their annexes.

“Soren, collect the data.”

The rest of the population lived peacefully, as always, without changing their habits in the slightest.

These diseases appeared from time to time, but they went away just as they had come.

No one knew why and no one knew their origin.

Many doctors spoke of punishments of various kinds, but Ibn Sina had quickly silenced such idiocies.

“Only verifiable facts.”

Soren had been busy and searching high and low for case studies.

Given that the symptoms were always the same and also the course that led from life to death, the master wondered how to stop the epidemic.

“What is it due to?”

The causes, first of all.

Soren rattled off the individual data.

Family groups or acquaintances, places of assembly.

“Of course, how could we not understand.

It is transmitted through breathing or direct contact.

And how is it resolved?”

Soren was unable to answer, having already done much to his liking as he had been involved in medicine and had seen people die and suffer.

“By imposing isolation.

For how long?

At least the recovery period from the first symptoms, but I would add a few more days.

Twelve days in total.

Call the city notables.”

They themselves were greatly surprised.

How could we close everything down and set up places to confine the sick?

It was counterproductive, but Ibn Sina did not hesitate.

“How long do you want it to last and how many deaths are you willing to accept?

Maybe your children?”

One of them was worried, because his last child had those symptoms.

There was no time to waste.

The order was issued and Babak had to stay at home, at least for twenty days.

This had been the edict given.

There was no entry or exit from the city, and only authorized personnel could move around.

“What do you need?”

Ibn Sina had in mind from the very beginning that three different concurrent situations were needed.

“A large place to cram the sick.

A team of people to collect the patients and all the medicinal herbs you have in the city.

First of all, the location, where we will establish a headquarters from which no one will be able to leave without express authorization and no one will be able to enter.

In twenty days, we will see the result.”

They seemed like extreme measures, but there was no arguing with the great master.

The notables and administrators had given their assent and this was an order that everyone had to carry out to the letter.

“Severe punishments for transgressors,” it had been announced and stated.

The bureaucratic machinery of Hamadan sprang into motion and an eerie silence enveloped the city.

It had never been like this before and Ibn Sina had free rein to begin deepening his studies.

What was he supposed to do with the sick?

“Let's divide them according to severity.”

Being in close contact with them was a risk, so what was to be done?

“Each of you should cover your nose and mouth with a special veil tied behind your neck and put gloves on your hands.

Don't touch your eyes or anything else.

When leaving the sick area, gloves and veil should be washed in boiling water.

We'll need some good supplies, let's make sure they get to us by this evening."

Everyone was called upon to give their contribution and fear had generated total submission.

Taking Soren aside, Ibn Sina was keen to point out.

“We must repay this trust.

The epidemic must be stopped and people must be saved.”

Babak didn't know what to do at home without his school and the same could be said for Kian.

Both of them had never been used to staying indoors in that house for too long, something that Anahita and Kimia found completely normal.

The only difference, for them, was that they wouldn't be able to go to market.

After three days, Ibn Sina had everything he needed and the building that had been made available to him by a nobleman from Hamadan was filling up with people, more or less seriously ill.

He also arranged daily cleaning shifts, to be carried out when the patients went out into the open air.

“Nothing should remain stale.

Neither the air nor the floors.”

Under him, he had been given unmatched power of arms and legs, but minds remained few.

“Soren, you are the most trusted man here.

Now that we have everything prepared, we need to think about the medicines.

What can be useful?”

In past years they had observed relief with some ointments and creams, but this was only for the external part.

The disease seemed to take over the inside of the body.

Of course, anything that relieved a cough was good, and anything that calmed a fever was also good.

“Let's start with this.

Administer three times a day to everyone.”

What Soren had to do was create a huge archive where he could record his name, age, gender and seat number.

Everyone had been assigned a specific place and everyone had been careful to repeat that they were not to mix up.

Small rooms were better, as they could be catalogued more easily and there wasn't too much crowding.

The first few days saw a steady increase in cases, with more and more hospitalizations, and the situation was getting out of control.

The deaths followed one another in a pressing manner and the bodies had to be burned, in defiance of what religion dictated.

Ibn Sina had to respond harshly to the notables.

“Do you want to save the city or not?

Do as I tell you.”

At Babak's house, time seemed to stand still and the master spent it giving lessons to Kian, so as not to make him miss his training.

Every now and then, they would sit down at the chessboard, just to distract themselves for a moment.

The master had seen his son's progress in that game too, nothing compared to what Ibn Sina had done some time before.

Within a short time, he had become proficient and was regularly beating Babak, even though the latter had been practicing for much longer.

However, as he always said, it was not the since but the how that mattered, and Ibn Sina's method was better, as was his strategy.

Now he was faced with something much worse, as his word and his name were at stake.

Had he failed to stop the epidemic, they would have asked him to account for all the impositions he had imposed on the city.

There was discontent among the merchants and all those who had a business, even if the master Efraim commented, in his own way and in complete solitude:

“As if twenty days could change the fate of the world.

I am nothing, just a little effort.”

After five days, Kimia began to show the first symptoms and Babak didn't think too much about it.

“She needs to be hospitalized.

We can't take any risks."

He made her go upstairs, while he displayed the white cloth outside the door, the agreed-upon signal to indicate the presence of a sick person.

Anahita began to cry.

How was it possible that the disease had struck your daughter?

They had stayed at home for a long time, where had she been infected?

And were they at risk too?

Kian was moved by his sister's stoicism.

Silently and without a word he had accepted his fate.

Of a sick person and, perhaps, already a corpse.

What could have saved her?

Certainly not prayers, but a doctor and his stubborn will to understand and act.

The delegates knocked on the door and Kimia introduced herself, seeing before her men with bandages and hoods on their heads.

They looked like thieves because they had disguised themselves so much and made themselves unrecognizable.

Transport was allowed for a maximum of three patients and the cart was already full, so they headed to the shelter.

An outlying area of the city, exactly what Ibn Sina had asked for.

Three different types of checks to prevent anyone from sneaking in or others from escaping.

Once inside, the men in charge of the collection indicated the place where they had to present themselves.

It was a kind of acceptance, where two questions were asked.

“Name and age.”

Kimia gave her name and a red piece of cloth was placed on her.

With that he had to go to his left, following an indication of the same color.

Two more questions there.

"Symptoms?

How long?”

Kimia said she had a cough and a fever and that she had been feeling that way since morning.

This time they put a white piece in her hand.

“Over there.”

All these sortings left her perplexed, but they had been set up to divide the patients into various groups.

Soren relied on this to collect data, even though there was a structural shortage of doctors.

Apart from Ibn Sina, there were three others who belonged to his school and two who had volunteered.

All the others helped with the preparation and administration of medicines, or with cleaning, or with washing clothes, or with preparing meals.

There was a large crowd of people living in the rear area, outdoors and in makeshift tents with only one sign.

“One per tent.”

None of the staff were allowed to get sick, otherwise they would have infected the others and, in any case, they would have had to go through the same procedure as everyone else.

Kimia found herself, for the first time, alone outside of her home, among strangers.

She had been placed in an area reserved for women, in a room with another young woman, who made the eloquent gesture of not speaking.

Everything that came out of the mouth or nose was a danger and death visited that place too often.

“Eight days and the cases don't go down.”

Soren was worried.

How could it have continued for much longer?

New arrivals continued to arrive, not allowing for a constant turnover.

“I cannot hope for a quick death for the most serious patients.

It's terrible to say, master.”

Ibn Sina knew this well.

How many times had he had to admit defeat by events?

Too many and this certainly wouldn't have been the last.

Being a doctor meant accepting loss, like a chess game against death itself.

Babak and Anahita were wrapped around each other in the nuptial bed.

It was certainly the most difficult test of their existence and they were not ready to lose a daughter.

On the other hand, contact was prohibited as was leaving the house.

“Twelve more days.

The longest.”

They would have risked going mad if everything had been done according to the same rites.

They had to change, but how?

Kian had the decisive idea.

Start reciting lessons aloud to keep parents engaged.

Babak in concentrating on correcting, Anahita in understanding.

However, the first night was quite terrible.

Where was their little girl?

Because that's how they still saw Kimia, even though she was sixteen.

She was in an anonymous room with another girl who was destined not to make it.

“One in two.

That's what the data says."

Soren cynically scrutinized those handwritten accounts.

Why one out of two and not two out of two?

What separated life from death?

Yet, the disease was identical, but the form was different.

There were those who contracted it more mildly and it had nothing to do with physical strength.

Some stalwart young men perished, while other frail old men saw their fortunes improve.

The key point was the fifth day after the first symptoms.

From that moment on, it was possible to understand, with good accuracy, who would survive and who would not.

Ibn Sina, despite the extreme emergency, tried to reflect and find solutions to trivial things.

How to tell if a man had a fever?

Usually physical contact, with the hand, was needed.

“Scorched” was the typical word used to indicate a sick person, but something more replicable and not influenced by the senses was needed.

“I would like to take people's temperatures.”

They were ideas that he wrote down and wrote down for when he had time.

Not now, not in that chaos that implied only two consequences.

Action and choice.

Every single event was closely tied to a choice that he, as a master, had to make.

Not choosing was even worse, as it would have left the others at the mercy of chance and this was something he absolutely did not want to happen.

“We have to manage the situation ourselves.”

While Kian was trying to distract his parents, Kimia's first day there had passed and her condition began to worsen.

It was normal.

Repeated coughing fits.

Soren heard her as he passed by and gave her a kind of sweet syrup, but with a hint of bitterness at the bottom.

Kimia smiled.

Did he remember her?

Probably not, as the young woman knew everything about Soren, given how much Babak talked about him even at home.

Her mother Anahita had informed her that he might become her husband and she felt ashamed to show herself sick in front of him.

The idea had arisen that doctors, once they had examined their patients, saw them as sick people and not as women.

As much as he wanted to heal, what would become of his life?

Another day and another worsening, as Soren began to notice fewer new arrivals.

“There are fewer than yesterday, for the first time.”

Ibn Sina smiled.

He already knew from past studies what this meant.

Not believing in chance, it was a sign of hope, the first.

The peak was behind us and this would be confirmed the next day.

“Plot the data to get the progression and regression curve.

We will need it in the future.”

Meanwhile, Kimia's situation was critical and Soren personally intervened to cheer her up.

“Don’t let yourself go, just when it’s ending.

Be strong and fight back.