The Three Blessings of Musa

History puns meets Thousand and One Nights fanfiction.

The name Musa, the Arabic equivalent of Moses, shows up a lot in history and legend. In the Thousand and One Nights (aka Arabian Nights), Musa is the name of the emir sent to liberate the rebel djinns trapped in the City of Brass. It strikes me, reading that story, that there’s a piece missing to it. Usually, if you free a djinn, you get wishes. It’s not inherent to the concept, the way it is in the Western version of a genie. Still, in most of the thousand and one nights that feature a djinn being freed, the djinn offers some kind of magical quid pro quo. In the City of Brass story, though, no mention of this. Are we really meant to believe that none of the djinns tried to negotiate to be let out of its bottle, during the long trip home?

The Story of Musa and the Three Wishes

Having encountered all manner of strange things on his quest, the Emir Musa was not too surprised when one of his bottles started speaking to him. They had made camp, and most of his attendants were asleep. The bottle at his waist spoke to him in a whisper, such that only he could hear.

“Oh Great Emir, set me free and I will grant you a great boon.”

Musa startled, took the bottle from his waist, and placed in carefully down on the sand. He thought, for a moment. His mission had been to take this djinn, among others, to King Abd-El-Melik, so that the king could watch the djinn be freed, repent, and swear itself to God. But the djinn didn’t know that. It was offering to pay for something it was going to get for free.

Musa wouldn’t be breaking his word if he brought home only eleven bottles, instead of twelve. But was it a sin to make a trade with a djinn under false pretenses? The djinn had not yet repented—it had to be considered still to be one of the devils justly imprisoned by pious King Sulaiman. Was making a deceptive deal with a devil a double sin, or did it cancel out?

No harm in playing along for a little, anyway.

“Wicked djinn!” he replied, keeping his voice low to match. “What boon could you possibly offer, that would outweigh the great transgression you ask of me?”

The djinn hissed. “Three boons, then. After I am freed, Musa will have risen further than any other. Musa will be acclaimed the wealthiest man to ever live, and his name will be considered synonymous with wisdom.”

Well, that simplified things. The djinn was specifying what the boons were going to be, providing its own wording, rather than letting him make wishes. This had to be a trick. Surely, then, it was permissible to trick a devil who was trying to trick you.

“Very well,” Musa said. “Promise me these boons, and swear also that neither you nor any of your kin shall bring harm to me or any of mine, and I shall free you from this tiny prison.”

The djinn having so sworn, Musa opened the bottle. The djinn rose out and expanded, towering above him and smiling smugly. With a wave, the two were transported to a nearby building, so that they could speak without being overheard.

The djinn peered around, as though looking for someone. Musa, remembering the safety protocols given to him by the children of Ham, said quickly, “Oh, you must be seeking King Sulaiman! He’s not here right now, but perhaps he’ll be back soon.”

On hearing this, the djinn quaked in fear, and straightaway repented and swore itself to God. It then turned back to Musa, and bowed.

“I’m afraid, oh Great Emir, that you may be disappointed by your boons. When I spoke of the greatness of Musa, the wealth of Musa, and the wisdom of Musa, I was speaking of three others, not of you.”

“Ah, there it is,” said Musa. “I noticed you were speaking in the third person, but I thought maybe that was just how djinns spoke. Well, fair play. Now that you and I serve the same master, though, maybe you’ll indulge me and tell me of these others?”

“Very well,” replied the djinn. “I will tell you first of the Musa who has already risen further than any other.”

The Story of Musa, Goddess-Queen of Persia

Musa will have risen further than any other.

I was bound, said the djinn, for the sin of rebellion. But in the Roman Empire, one could be born a slave, condemned not by any choice but by circumstance. Such a miserable one was Musa, born in Italy and slave to Emperor Augustus. It happened that Rome and Persia were at war. Then at peace, then at war, then peace, then war again, for such were the ways of Rome and Persia.

When Emperor Augustus next desired peace, he sent to King Phraates of Persia many gifts, among them Musa, to do with as he willed. Phraates willed that Musa become one of his wives, and she soon bore him a son.

Musa was cunning, and gave Phraates good counsel. Soon she had his ear before all others. One day, Phraates came to her and asked,

“Oh wise Queen, you know the ways of treacherous Rome. How may I ensure this current peace lasts longer than the last one?”

“Oh prudent King,” she answered. “The Romans, being treacherous, mistrust all others. Send them all your sons, to live in Rome as guests and hostages. Then they will know you do not mean to betray them. I ask only that you not send them our infant child, Little Phraates, who is far too young to be separated from me.”

Phraates did as she said, and indeed there was peace for twenty years and one. Musa saw that Little Phraates was now grown, yet still loyal to his mother. She saw also that, with all of his half-brothers still in Rome, her son was heir to the throne. And on that day, King Phraates tragically ate some poisoned meat and died.

The new King Phraates proclaimed his mother co-ruler. But Queen of Persia was not yet lofty enough for Musa, who proclaimed herself and her son to be divine as well, a goddess who had birthed a god.

Thus did a Roman slave rise from that lowest possible state to the highest any mortal can attain, and thus, concluded the djinn, is your first boon fullfilled.

Emir Musa frowned at this. “I grant you that’s a pretty big change in fortunes,” he said. “But I question your claim that a queen and false goddess is the highest possible state a mortal can attain. Surely the Prophets were higher still.”

The djinn chuckled. “Of those I am forbid to speak. So I will simply tell you that for her blasphemy, Queen Musa was soon brought low once again, and fled with her son back to the Roman Empire where all roads lead. She was greeted with honor there, and nothing more of her fate is known. History records only that soon after, elsewhere in that Empire, a woman her age, and with a similar name, appeared with her adult son, proclaiming him to be both God and a Son of God.”

The Emir decided not to press the issue, lest the djinn grow more blasphemous still.

“Next, I shall tell you a far more pious story, from a more enlightened future. In Africa, a wise king shall make Mali a land of riches. His nephew will embrace God, and take the name of Musa.”

The Story of Mansa Musa and the Price of Gold In Egypt

Musa will be acclaimed the wealthiest man to ever live.

Musa, called Mansa Musa, was the Emperor of Mali. He had riches beyond any other, said the djinn, switching to the past tense for ease of storytelling. Anyone who mined salt or gold paid him a share, and anyone who bought these goods paid him another. In Mali it is said that wealth can bring you closer to God, and poverty farther away. So it was with Musa, who grew only more pious, and more generous, the more the riches flowed.

In his piety, he knew he must make his pilgrimage to Mecca. With him came many attendants and eighty camels bearing gold, so that he could practice charity along the way. In Cairo, where reigned another who was once a slave, Musa paid generously for the work of local artisans. If someone had nothing to sell him, Musa gave him gold for that nothing.

After completing the Hajj, Musa could not bear to leave right away. He allowed most of his entourage to set off ahead of him, with most of his remaining gold, while he lingered with a few dedicated pilgrims for a few more days, trusting in God to see him safely home.

Soon after, though, Musa’s modest few were fallen upon by bandits, and could not prevent them from carrying off the rest of the gold. They struggled on to Cairo, bearing only water-skins and the trinkets they had overpaid for on the way there.

But God, indeed, was worthy of Musa’s trust. When he arrived in Cairo, the Egyptians welcomed him eagerly.

“Your generosity has had an unintended consequence, oh kind Emperor,” they said. “The laws of supply and of demand are placed above the laws of any man. You have given us so much gold as to decrease its value. Where once a gold coin was worth twenty and five silvers, it is now worth only twenty and two, and may fall yet further.”

“And, from context, that’s…bad?” said Musa, whose wits were dulled from difficult travel.

“Yes!” cried the Egyptians.

“Why?”

“It’s complicated! But please, let us buy back some of what we sold you, paying generously in gold as you did for us, so that the price of gold will stabilize.”

And so, Musa was wealthy once again, and continued on his journey home, adding new friends to his entourage as he went. When he returned, he remembered the lesson that wealth hoarded can be lost. Only wisdom is eternal. And so he spent his wealth in grants, drawing scholars of all kinds to Timbuktu.

And so the djinn concluded his second tale. The Emir was pleased much more by this wondrous story of the future, and begged him to tell the third. The djinn bowed.

“My final tale begins not in the past, nor in the future. Even as we speak, in that fertile river delta the Persians call Khwarazm, a man named Musa is naming his son, naming him for the last of those whose names I may not speak.”

The Story of Muhammad ibn Musa al-Khwarizmi

His name will be considered synonymous with wisdom.

The son of Musa, the djinn continued, will travel far, yet remain proud of whence he came, introducing himself always as “the son of Musa” or “the man of Khwarazm.” He will journey to Baghdad and join the House of Wisdom there, learning much and teaching much, especially of mathematics.

Two of his books of math shall be translated for sale in the exotic West. One, he will call “al-Jabr”, after the art of resetting a broken bone, here used as metaphor for certain ways of repairing broken equations. Another, he will name the Book of Indian Computation, explaining how to write any number, no matter how large, using only ten symbols, in a fashion that makes arithmetic less of a chore. He will name it thus, because much of this art came from India, and cultural appropriation of something great is permissible, so long as you acknowledge it prominently.

The sages of the West, if so such backwards foreigners can be called, will learn much from these books. In their limited understanding, they will attribute it all to the son of Musa and these translated texts. They will call any math more complex than mere arithmetic “al-Jabr,” corrupted to “algebra.” Some will call any set of instructions for solving a problem an “al-Khwarizmi,” corrupted to “algorithm.” Others will give a similar name to the writing of numbers. And these names will echo into eternity.

“And so,” concluded the djinn, “is my third boon fulfilled. The name given by Musa will become the name for all wisdom that can be written down and followed: algorithm. Yet I fear, my good Emir, you may yet feel cheated, for none of these blessings will come to you.”

Musa laughed and attempted to slap the djinn on the back, his hand passing through.

“I consider myself well-paid for my service, oh djinn. For all I did was free you a few days before you were to be freed anyway. And in exchange, you have caused, or reported, I know not which, that my name is exalted in all times.”

The djinn stood still for a moment, then laughed in turn.

“A fair bargain indeed! A trick for a trick. You would have made an excellent djinn, oh Emir.”

“I thank you,” said the Emir. “But, now more than ever, I am content to be Musa.”