The case of the beasts and birds against the Men of the Turban

As heard by Bīwarāsp the Wise, King of the Jinn

22 July 2025

It is told — and God knows best — that in the days when the sons of Adam multiplied and spread across the lands, they took for themselves not only dominion over the earth, but command over the sky and sea, the page and the pulpit, the jurist and the sword. They appointed among themselves scribes and scholars, orators and muftis, interpreters of sacred law, who wore long turbans and recited verses and traditions, and whom they called ulama, men of learning.

In the beginning, these men guided the community with sincerity and humility. They walked barefoot among the poor and feared no reproach in speaking truth to kings. But as time passed and dynasties rose and fell, these ulama began to walk beside sultans instead of beside truth. They tasted from the tables of princes, accepted robes of honor, rode fine beasts, and rendered fatwas to please the powerful. Some came to wield more influence in the courts of men than the Book itself. And so, their authority hardened into stone, and their speech became taqlid: rote repetition, unthinking conformity, citation piled upon citation with no breath of life.

In those days, it is said, the animals — beasts of burden and birds of flight, creeping things and wild things — having long suffered the dominion of mankind, began to suffer anew. For the men no longer simply yoked them to carts or hunted them for food — now they preached to them, proclaiming that the animals, too, must follow their interpretation of the sacred law. “Even beasts,” the men said, “must submit to the scholars, as commanded by Heaven.”

But the animals had grown wary of these men who spoke in God’s name but served themselves. They fled to the wilderness and plains, away from the cities and mosques of the descendants of Adam, and settled on the island of Ṣāʿūn, where the jinn reigned and justice still had meaning.

Now it happened that one year a mighty tempest cast a vessel of men upon the island’s shore — not merchants or sailors, but men of letters and turbans, theologians and jurisconsults, students of the schools of law, and scribes of the tradition. When they saw the lush island, with its gentle air, its gardens and rivulets, and its beasts living in tranquility, they rejoiced. But when they sought to build schools and mosques and summoned the animals to attend them, the creatures refused.

“These men,” said the beasts, “are not the inheritors of the Prophet, but the echoes of palaces. They speak not with the light of the Quran, but with the shadow of the court.”

The ulama were outraged. “These beasts rebel against God,” they cried, “for they reject the rightly-guided scholars who alone hold the key to knowledge. Their refusal is heresy and must be punished.”

The beasts, in turn, demanded justice, and brought their complaint before Bīwarāsp the Wise, King of the Jinn, who ruled from a city at the center of the island — a city where scrolls of all nations were kept, and the winds carried news of every sect and tongue.

Upon hearing of this strange dispute, Bīwarāsp summoned both parties to his court. For three days he received the humans with courtesy and hospitality. Then, on the morning of the fourth day, he ascended his high dais in the Council Hall of the Jinn, adorned with hanging lamps of amber and benches carved of fragrant woods. Around him sat his counsellors: Ifrits learned in medicine, Marids skilled in mathematics, Shayatin repentant and schooled in theology.

When all were assembled, the King addressed the humans: “What brought you to this land? Why have you disturbed its peace?”

A man stepped forward, turbaned and dignified, leaning on a cane of sandalwood. “O noble King,” he said, “we are men of the Book, keepers of the Law. We were cast here by fate, but have come to restore order and revive the religion among these ignorant beasts. But they reject us. They refuse to follow the guidance of the ulama, though we alone have preserved the chain of transmission, the grammar of the Quran, and the jurisprudence of the righteous ancestors. They must practice taqlid, for they are not qualified for ijtihad.”

The King said, “What proof do you offer?”

Then rose a man of the line of ʿAbbās, draped in silks and scented with musk, and mounted the rostrum. He spoke with eloquence and pride:

“Praise be to God, who sent the Quran in clear Arabic, and appointed the scholars as its gatekeepers. He said, ‘Ask the people of remembrance if you do not know’ (Q 16:43). The people of remembrance are the scholars — the inheritors of the prophets, as the Prophet said, ‘The ulama are the heirs of the prophets.’ The common folk — and all the more these mute creatures — cannot interpret the divine word. They have no knowledge of usul, no grammar, no logic, no theology. They are mere beasts! The Quran says: ‘Indeed, the worst of creatures in the sight of God are the deaf and dumb who do not reason’ (Q 8:22). Their place is obedience, not argument.”

When he concluded, he stepped down with a flourish, and many of the men murmured assent.

Then rose a curious figure: a mule, grey and long-eared, whose speech was calm and grave. He wore no robe but bore the signs of long travel and patient listening. He approached the rostrum and inclined his head:

“Praise be to God, who speaks to all creation, who taught the bee, and guided the ant. Who said, ‘There is not a creature on earth or bird flying with its wings except they are communities like you’ (Q 6:38). And He said, ‘We did not leave anything out of the Book’ (Q 6:38). Shall we then believe that His Book is so veiled that only a caste of men — paid by kings — may interpret it?

“O King of the Jinn, these men speak of taqlid, as though to imitate were to obey. But the Prophet himself said: ‘My community will never agree upon error.’ He did not say, ‘My scholars will never err.’ And who are these scholars? Have they not sold their speech to the highest bidder? Have they not supped with sultans and blessed unjust wars? When Pharaoh rose, he had magicians; when the tyrants rise, they have muftis. Is this piety?

“We, the beasts, do not claim to be masters of theology, but we know the scent of sincerity. The Quran is not sealed behind the gates of seminaries. It is guidance, and God is near to all who call upon Him with truth. ‘And We are closer to him than his jugular vein’ (Q 50:16).

“These men scorn ijtihad, yet the Prophet’s companions differed among themselves, and the Prophet said, ‘When a judge strives to arrive at a ruling and is correct, he has two rewards; if he is mistaken, he still has one.’ Why then do they fear our striving? Unless they fear losing the monopoly they have made of religion.”

He paused, and the chamber was still. Then he continued.

“O King, if taqlid means to obey those who obey God, we will follow. But if it means to follow men who follow the sultans, then we prefer to follow God alone.”

The King did not answer. He motioned to his scribe and retired behind his silken curtain. And so the trial began — but the verdict was not yet known.