A Literary History of the Arabs — Part 131

The same fierce spirit of fanaticism moulded their religious views, which were gloomy and austere, as befitted the chosen few in an ungodly world. Shahrastání, speaking of the original twelve thousand who rebelled against ‘Alí, describes them as 'people of fasting and prayer' (_ahlu ṣiyámin wa-ṣalátin_).[393] The Koran ruled their lives and possessed their imaginations, so that the history of the early Church, the persecutions, martyrdoms, and triumphs of the Faith became a veritable drama which was being enacted by themselves. The fear of hell kindled in them an inquisitorial zeal for righteousness. They scrupulously examined their own belief as well as that of their neighbours, and woe to him that was found wanting! A single false step involved excommunication from the pale of Islam, and though the slip might be condoned on proof of sincere repentance, any Moslem who had once committed a mortal sin (_kabíra_) was held, by the stricter Khárijites at least, to be inevitably damned with the infidels in everlasting fire.

Much might be written, if space allowed, concerning the wars of the Khárijites, their most famous chiefs, the points on which they quarrelled, and the sects into which they split. Here we can only attempt to illustrate the general character of the movement. We have touched on its political and religious aspects, and shall now conclude with some reference to its literary side. The Khárijites did not produce a Milton or a Bunyan, but as Arabs of Bedouin stock they had a natural gift of song, from which they could not be weaned; although, according to the strict letter of the Koran, poetry is a devilish invention improper for the pious Moslem to meddle with. But these are poems of a different order from the pagan odes, and breathe a stern religious enthusiasm that would have gladdened the Prophet's heart. Take, for example, the following verses, which were made by a Khárijite in prison:--[394]

"'Tis time, O ye Sellers, for one who hath sold himself To God, that he should arise and saddle amain. Fools! in the land of miscreants will ye abide, To be hunted down, every man of you, and to be slain? O would that I were among you, armèd in mail, On the back of my stout-ribbed galloping war-horse again! And would that I were among you, fighting your foes, That me, first of all, they might give death's beaker to drain! It grieves me sore that ye are startled and chased Like beasts, while I cannot draw on the wretches profane My sword, nor see them scattered by noble knights Who never yield an inch of the ground they gain, But where the struggle is hottest, with keen blades hew Their strenuous way and deem 'twere base to refrain. Ay, it grieves me sore that ye are oppressed and wronged, While I must drag in anguish a captive's chain."