…and slowly walked away. He disappeared on the narrow steps that resembled a deep, dark well.
On the eve of Arafa, while everyone slept, he was awake as always! Bent double at the stone basin in front of the mosque chamber, he was renewing his ablutions. The departing night had not yet gathered its skirts from the shadows. The lantern hanging in the archway of the gate opening to the garden flickered its dim light, making the walls tremble.
“Hey, Sergeant! Hey…”
He dropped the pitcher from his hand. He pricked up his ears. This was the voice of the watchman in the tower. With sleeves rolled up, feet bare, a skullcap on his head, he immediately ran upstairs. He encountered the sergeant on the stairs. He pushed him aside. He walked on. He rushed to the watchman’s side: “What is it?”
“The enemy is coming out of the castle.”
He looked at Szigetvár, which stood like a black rock in a purple-tinged darkness. From this rock, an even darker, long shadow was sliding down, flowing toward the fortification.
“They’re coming for us!” he said. He turned to the sergeant: “Go, wake the veterans. We’ll celebrate Eid al-Adha starting today. Run. And quickly send the gunner to me.”
The sergeant ran, holding his bronze helmet with one hand. He plunged down the stairs. Kuru Kadı carefully watched the enemy regiment slowly advancing like a black stain on the dark earth in the distance. He narrowed his eyes, widened them. They were also dragging several cannons in front of them. There were more than a thousand of them. But the veterans in the fort? One hundred and fourteen men including himself… “But we’ll still get the better of them!” he said. The gunner who had woken up was running upstairs. He ordered that the fort gate be securely fastened. He had his turban, robe, sword, and rifle brought to him. When the old gunner arrived, he immediately told him to fire the “signal cannons.” This was a custom. A fortification under attack would immediately fire “signal shots” to call the surrounding towers to its aid.
Soon after, the enemy had formed battle formation in front of the fort. The cannons, like headless, robust dragon hatchlings, had turned their black mouths toward the bodies. They shouted in Turkish: “We have a proposal for you. Will you let our envoy in?”
Kuru Kadı replied, “We will, send him, let him come!”
The ramparts were filled with veterans armed with shields, rifles, and bows. The two friends who were the soul, joy, and spirit of the fortification were saying strange things at this moment and making everyone laugh again. Both of them were called “mad”; Mad Mehmet, Mad Hüsrev… These two madmen, who had gained unbelievable fame like fairy tale heroes through their unimaginable valor in frontier battles, were Anatolian dervishes who would not submit to any order, any rule, any discipline, who had no eyes for worldly honor. After every victory, when their commanders attempted to give them rank, robes of honor, jeweled swords and such things, they would laugh and say, “We don’t want them! A mortal body needs only a shroud. Robes of honor please the greedy…” They would not accept wages, rewards, or praise for their efforts in God’s cause. War was their festival. When rifles and arrows began to fly… cannons began to roar… swords and shields began to clang, they would immediately become excited, lose themselves… they would attack the enemy ranks shouting battle cries… they would ignite like living lightning that could not be followed with flaming eyes.
While Kuru Kadı was listening to their quarrels and nonsensical words that made everyone laugh with a smile, they brought the envoy to him. The two madmen also fell silent. Everyone listened intently. This envoy knew Turkish. He insolently stated his proposals.
The commander of Szigetvár surrounding the fortification was Kıraçin. He had nearly two thousand warriors with him. He wanted Grijigal to be surrendered “with honor.” He was swearing by fire, by light, by the cross, by the Bible, by the Psalms, that no harm would come to the garrison as they departed.
Kuru Kadı said, “Very well! Go now. We’ll discuss this among ourselves and inform you of our decision after noon!” and sent the envoy down and had him thrown out the gate. Then he turned to those around him. He cast a glance around. The slight hump of his back drew inward.
“You heard it, veterans!” he said. “The traitor Kıraçin has learned that we number only one hundred and fourteen men… He came upon us with two thousand men. If there are any who wish to accept the ‘honor’ he proposes, let them raise their hands!”
No one raised their hand.
“Then let us be ready, come on…”
A roar erupted: “We are ready.”
“All of us, all of us…”
“All of us, all of us are ready.”
“Our swords and shields are oiled.”
“Our arrows are strung.”
“Our yataghans are sharp…”
“Victory is ours today.”
“Amen, amen…”
Kuru Kadı raised his hands saying “O Lord of the Worlds…” He was about to begin a prayer. Mad Mehmet stood before him with drawn sword. Mustachioed, blue-eyed… his wide white face shone like a newly born moon.
“Leave the prayer, master,” he said, “holy war is more virtuous than prayer. Come, do us the favor, open this gate for us. Cast away the fear in your heart. Here we are all ready. Let us not miss this opportunity for holy war that has come to our feet.”
Kuru Kadı’s hands dropped. Mad Hüsrev had also sidled up to his friend. All the veterans crowded behind these two madmen. As if they all went mad at once… They all began shouting with one voice, “Open the gate for us, open it…” Kuru Kadı’s large bulging eyes filled with tears. His face turned pale. His long black beard trembled. With his divinely inspired voice, as effective as the melody of a sacred elegy, making even the two madmen tremble, making all the veterans’ hair stand on end, he cried out:
“Warriors of the field! O brave men! For the sake of our Sultan Suleiman the Warrior, listen to these words of mine. My desire is not to prevent you from holy war. Today let life and head be sacrificed… Especially since tomorrow is Eid al-Adha… But look what my purpose is? Today is Friday… and also the eve… Today our pilgrims are at Arafat, and other believers are in mosques praying for the victory of warriors like us… Is there anyone who doubts this?”
“No.”
“No, absolutely not.”
“No.”
“Then what is proper is this: that we too perform our prayers. Shed the tears from our eyes. Pray. Make peace with each other. Then let us enter into holy war. Those of us who remain shall be warriors, those who die shall be martyrs! Let us be remembered with good name in this world. Let us gather under our Prophet’s banner in the hereafter… What do you say?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Agreed.”
“Very well!”
All the veterans consented to this. They waited until noon. They performed ablutions, prayed, chanted takbirs, made peace with each other. Kıraçin’s soldiers thought the deep rumble rising from the fortification they surrounded was all the noise of debate over the “honor” they had proposed.
Suddenly, “signal shots” fired from distant Turkish towers were heard. This meant “We’re coming at full gallop!” Kuru Kadı opened the fort gate with his hand. The Grijigal veterans erupted like a terrible ocean surge with cries of “Allah, Allah.” The attack was launched in two columns. One column was led by Mad Hüsrev, the other by Mad Mehmet.
In the plain, dust and smoke were rising from the roads leading to Grijigal. It seemed as if thousands of cavalry were rushing to help. When the enemy saw this situation, they were confused. They realized they were caught between two fires. However, those approaching in the dust and smoke were only five or six veterans.
…The rout began!
Mad Mehmet’s and Mad Hüsrev’s groups were surrounding the enemy well so as not to let them escape. Kuru Kadı had thrown off his robe. With sword in hand, he was walking behind the veterans he was inspiring. Mad Hüsrev had plunged into Kıraçin’s regiment like a drunkard, cutting, cutting… with unbelievable speed he was catching up to those fleeing, cleaving them in two. Kuru Kadı’s eyes searched for Mad Mehmet.
He looked and looked.
He couldn’t see him.
Could that be him? His heart leaped to his mouth. Behind the column that had mixed and merged with the enemy ranks, a large body lay stretched on the ground… It was fifty or sixty steps away from him… A knight on a tall black horse was thrusting a long lance into this prostrate body. He didn’t stop. He advanced. As he ran, his foot caught on a stone. He was tumbling. His sword flew forward. He immediately gathered himself. He got up. He picked up his fallen sword. He straightened up. He looked toward where he was going to run. The knight had dismounted, had severed the head of the martyr he had lanced from its body. In an instant, with this severed head in his hand, he leaped like a black demon onto his rearing black horse. He was going to escape… As Kuru Kadı ran with all his strength to catch up to him, he saw that on his left front, Mad Hüsrev was waving his shield and shouting at the top of his voice: “Mehmet, Mehmet! You gave your life! Don’t surrender your head, Mehmet!”
This cry was so terrible, so effective, so heart-wrenching that… Kuru Kadı stood frozen in place, saying “Alas, it was Mad Mehmet!” The moment he stopped, he saw the headless martyr, whom he had approached to within about forty steps, spring up from the ground. His breath caught. He was astonished. This headless body was running as if flying. It caught up to the armored knight carrying its own head. It struck such a blow with its hand that… the wretch immediately tumbled head over heels from his tall horse. The head he wanted to carry away fell from his hand to the ground. Mad Mehmet’s headless body bent down as if alive. It picked up its own severed head from the ground. Right there, like a tired hero, it lay down. No one but Kuru Kadı had seen this! Everyone was pursuing the fleeing enemy. Only Mad Hüsrev…
“Well done, O brave one!” he shouted. Then running toward Kuru Kadı, he asked: “Well, did you see that young man?”
“Didn’t you see?”
Kuru Kadı couldn’t make a sound. The miracle he had witnessed had frozen him. He remained standing upright where he was. As if he had died. Mad Hüsrev shook him violently.
“What are you standing there for, man! What happened to you, come on to the battle. The enemy is fleeing…”
Mad Hüsrev’s shake gave Kuru Kadı a fresh lease on life. Saying “Allah, Allah,” he threw himself forward. He joined the warriors.
The battle continued until evening.
As night “spread its black hair” over the bloody face of the battlefield, the herald’s call “Veterans to the fort!” was heard.
Among the returning veterans, Kuru Kadı with blood dripping from his sword remained outside with a few cavalrymen. He had the wounded carried away. He had the fallen martyrs counted. These were exactly nineteen heroes… The enemy had left sixty-four corpses and had carried away all their other dead. Since morning, Kuru Kadı had not eaten food, drunk water, or stopped to rest… He had the martyrs he had gathered piled in the square in front of the fort. He himself found the body of Martyr Mad Mehmet. With his severed head under his arm, he lay peacefully as if sleeping. He had him buried right where he was. Then he dismissed those with him. He collapsed at the head of this fresh grave. He began reciting “Yasin” from memory. There was no one outside; only in the distance the sentinel at the fortification gate was pacing. As Kuru Kadı was reciting, he saw the grave before him suddenly burst into green lights. His voice became hoarse. He couldn’t move his lips. His jaws locked. Within this green light, a white-winged angel was both caressing Mad Mehmet’s bloody neck with hands of light and kissing his open forehead. This warm, green light grew and overflowed. The entire world remained within this light. Kuru Kadı’s eyes were dazzled, his soul burned, he lost consciousness.
His comrades, seeing him fallen into such deep sleep for the first time, forcibly woke him. They took him by the arms.
“Come on, the gate will close,” they said, “go inside.”
Kuru Kadı’s tongue was tied. He couldn’t answer. Swaying like a drunkard, he entered the fort. He was still trembling. As he passed Mad Hüsrev’s quarters inside the fortification, he stopped. He listened; was he crying, was he moaning… No, Mad Hüsrev was grooming his horse with a curry comb, singing a cheerful song. He called out: “Hüsrev!”
“Yes, master?…”
The door opened. Curry comb in hand, sleeves and pant legs rolled up, head bald, Mad Hüsrev… before Kuru Kadı could ask anything, said, “Did you see Mad Mehmet’s ecstasy?”
“Did you also see from here like me?”
“To one who has eyes, there is no secret!”
He closed the thick door. He began his song again.
Kuru Kadı spent the morning in the fortification. Before the sun rose, he rushed to Mad Mehmet’s grave. From then on, he spent all his days at the head of this grave. He became the permanent visitor of this grave. He had a large stone hewn, inscribed, and erected at its head. He even wanted to lead his congregation in the five daily prayers at the head of this grave. Now whatever need he had, whatever wish he made, he was granted it. In Grijigal and the neighboring fortifications, they said of Kuru Kadı that “he’s gone mad.” He lived in infinite rapture, endless passion, restless excitement, like an eternal drunkard who had drunk the “wine of eternity” at every moment. But just as “the sea cannot fit in a bowl,” his great secret could not fit in his soul either. It overflowed. He began telling everyone about the miracle he had seen on the day of emergence. In fact, he went further; he wrote what he had seen in the language of the Mevlid-i Şerif, which he read very well. He composed an epic of hundreds of couplets.
But then his former passion disappeared. A deep darkness filled his soul. A bitter heaviness descended upon his heart. Now he could no longer see the divine ecstasy that Mad Mehmet continued to enjoy in his green-light-filled grave. This deprivation drove him mad. He stopped eating and drinking. One day, while wandering in the fields again, distressed, he encountered Mad Hüsrev. It turned out he was also strolling. He gently touched Kuru Kadı’s back with the bow in his hand.
“Fool,” he said, “why did you tell the people what you saw? If a man makes public what he has seen, he loses the state he has attained. If you had kept silent, you would have witnessed the miracle you saw until your death…”
Kuru Kadı fell to his knees and began to cry. “I am very remorseful,” he moaned, “please, come, wake me from the sleep of heedlessness. What was the nature of that state I witnessed? What is this majesty, this awesomeness that has driven me out of my mind? Was there anyone else who saw it besides you and me?”
“There is one more who saw. That ‘soul’ is not visible to everyone.”
“Who is it?”
“You don’t know…”
“Why did the two of us see it when others didn’t?”
“‘It is the glad tidings of martyrdom!’ We both will certainly fall as martyrs!”
Kuru Kadı became so vagrant, so wretched, so miserable that… even Governor Ahmet Bey, who loved him so much, when he came from Buda, couldn’t bear his condition. Finally, saying “this is a crazed person, no benefit can be derived from his service in the fortification,” he was compelled to send him back. Much time passed. Not only on the frontier, but even in Grijigal fort, everyone forgot Kuru Kadı. Only the epic he had written was read and never forgotten.
Twelve years later…
On the evening of the conquest of Szigetvár, while the wounded were being collected, they found -shattered by a cannonball- the body of the famous hero Mad Hüsrev, and beside him a tall, white-haired, white-bearded martyr in a green robe. This martyr, who lay face down toward the qibla, still had his large green turban intact. He had no weapons on him. It was unclear where his wound was from. During the siege that lasted for days, no one had seen such a man. A thorough investigation was made. His identity could not be determined at all.
At that time, could this martyr, whom many veterans believed to be “a saint who came to help from the invisible army,” have been that old crazed judge of Grijigal fort?
