Page 23 of The Book of Heartbreak
I caution you now, dear reader, to tread carefully and turn away if you lack the fortitude for what lies within, for one will not be able to stop seeking the truth once the poison to know more invades your heart.
Excerpt from Müneccimbasi Sufi Chelebi’s Journals of Mystical Phenomena
Perhaps due to the gravity of its contents, I find myself unable to delve straight into Sufi Chelebi’s journal after Leon brings it to me.
‘Keep it safe,’ Leon says as he passes it to me just outside the front door the next day. ‘Guard it with your life, if you must.’
‘Why?’ I frown, surprised. I’m used to Munu’s flair for drama, but I never expected Leon to be this serious.
‘There are . . . some interested parties who want to obtain it.’ One of Leon’s eyebrows shoots up, though he does not go so far as to reveal the nature of these ‘parties’, nor how dangerous they might be. And I don’t ask, because my nerves wouldn’t handle knowing the answer.
I wait until after the night prayer, when Istanbul and this house are most quiet, before snuggling into my bed with the book.
It’s as if the tulle canopy will provide a barrier between me and the world once I immerse myself in Sufi’s words.
I’m one candle away from feeling like a medieval scholar as I turn the pages of the first section: The Book of Revenge .
It appears that the Ottoman village of Tirnava was haunted by a monstrous creature that always attacked at night.
I recall what Leon had already explained, how Sufi Chelebi broke the curse by discovering the origin of its history.
Chelebi seems certain that the beast seeks vengeance, unleashing its wrath upon the village by slaughtering livestock and demolishing silos, leaving only destruction rather than sustenance.
A journal entry dated April 1497 catches my eye as I flick through the pages.
Each day I study the vengeful beast, I approach a curse most unsettling. A plight that ensnares the bearer, a relentless bond that even Death can’t destroy. They’re simply denied passage to the Otherside. They avoid Death, or perhaps, Death avoids them.
The bearer is reborn to suffer and thus to give suffering; a soul carrying the weight of an endless cycle. A loop of existence from which there is no escape. This fate defies the natural order.
As I pen these words, I can’t help asking myself: what purpose does such eternal suffering serve? What lesson is to be learned from a punishment so enduring?
May Allah show mercy on those bound by such a fate, for they are trapped in an eternity of cruelty.
I pause. This is the concept of reincarnation – via a recurring curse, just as Leon said.
The idea of being reborn with the same curse, repeatedly, is terrifying.
More daunting are the drawings of the beast. I shiver and decide to skip the entire section.
What follows is The Book of Betrayal, recounting the tale of Shahmaran, the noble Queen of Snakes, who befriended and trusted a young boy.
Despite warnings from her serpent kin – ‘Humans live to regret their mistakes’ – she welcomed the boy into her secret palace beneath Konstantiniyye, loving him as if he were her own child.
But the boy betrayed her for coin, revealing her palace’s whereabouts to the sultan’s men, who sought Shahmaran’s scales for their priceless value.
Hunted and cornered, Shahmaran cursed the boy and his descendants with endless, maddening nightmares in her final moments.
Years later, to break the curse and save his children, the boy – now a man – was forced to sacrifice his own life – a heavy price for his cruelty.
Sufi Chelebi notes this as a stark lesson in the tolls of betrayal.
At last, I move to where my true curiosity lies: The Book of Heartbreak .
Just like the other two sections, I’ll skim through it, then return it to Leon, I tell myself as I sit up straight in bed, watching the shadows lingering on the wall.
Perhaps Munu was right in saying that it’s dangerous to explore the path of seers, that it’s full of misery and sorrow.
Learning of people trapped for an eternity, or imprisoned in towers, is enough to consider myself fortunate.
I take a deep breath and flick through the opening pages to see Theodora again.
There’s no mistaking it – her face is eerily familiar. The arch of her brows, the shape of her eyes, the tilt of her jaw. Even the faint downturn at the corner of her lips. It’s like staring at a reflection distorted by time.
Theodora of the House Doukas, the Cursed Maiden of Konstantiniyye.
I have searched countless times for House Doukas online over the last week, yet every bit of information I found was about their men.
There were no resources about Theodora or any other women, as if they didn’t exist. It infuriates me how history always ignores women, as if they didn’t have names or importance.
Sufi Chelebi must be right when he wrote that once you taste the poison of knowledge, you cannot turn away. There’s no other explanation for why I care so much, or why I begin properly reading The Book of Heartbreak , even when Munu’s voice in my head screams at me to drop the book.
7th June in the year 1502
Word reached me of a woman, Hürmüz Dükkan?zade, famously married seven times, with no man willing to be the eighth.
It’s claimed that Hürmüz’s love is an ailment that weakens those who receive it until they succumb to a frail heart and find their eternal rest. Hürmüz is trapped in a cycle of perpetual mourning, and the folk have named her the Mourning Bride of Seven Husbands.
This news stirred my spirit, for I am convinced this affliction is the very curse I have long pursued – an ancient malediction passed down through the ages.
Though the family now bears the name Dükkan?zade, I have no doubt that this woman descends from the famed Byzantine Dokaz lineage.
This ancient curse that afflicts a noble family remains one of Konstantiniyye’s most enduring mysteries.
Legends recount different aspects of the tale, but I have yet to uncover the true origin.
I sought an audience with Hürmüz immediately, and upon learning that the sultan’s chief müneccim desired her presence, she received me in her parlour, her face hidden under a black veil, worn likely after the passing of her latest husband.
This unfortunate woman is unaware of the full nature of the curse she endures.
An hour in the company of this poor soul confirmed beyond doubt that the family is indeed afflicted.
Curiously, the curse appears to follow only the females.
Hürmüz’s sisters, though well-married, all perished young.
Women, being more complex and enduring than men, present a different challenge in understanding.
Though it is unclear if her sisters were also cursed, Hürmüz’s descriptions of her mother – who died soon after being abandoned by her husband – lead me to believe that the curse indeed plagued her as well, taking the form of unrelenting heartbreak that stole the will to live.
But the most crucial revelation Hürmüz Dükkan?zade has bestowed upon me is the key to my puzzle. She experiences strange, recurring dreams – dreams that, though rare, could be recognised as echoes of ancestral memories, especially with a plague like hers, passed through generations.
She dreams of a tower, of all places – the miniature one that stands across from üsküdar, famed as the Maiden’s Tower. I believe it is therefore time for me to journey there. I, the great Sufi Chelebi, hope to be the one to dispel this curse once and for all.
12th June in the year 1502
I journeyed to the Maiden’s Tower today – a curious structure, once a Byzantine watchtower, now under our blessed Sultan Bayezid’s reign.
I rowed to the islet after the Cuma prayer, and even from afar I could sense the lingering presence of a curse.
The air itself seemed thick with its remnants.
Why haven’t I set foot in this place before?
Before the boat had even made berth, a vision gripped me.
I saw the figure of the maiden, casting herself from the upper balcony into the sea, as an earthquake tore through Konstantiniyye.
An anguished cry reached my ears, spoken in a language foreign and forgotten, yet I knew this was no ordinary plea – it was a beddua, an ill-wish.
Where there is a beddua, there lies the root of a curse.
But who was this unfortunate soul, and whom did she curse?
The vision clarified her tragic end between the angry waves but offered no further answers. I spent the remainder of the afternoon in deep meditation, yet no other visions revealed themselves to me.
Before I turn to the next page, my phone pings.
Is the book OK? Hope you are too? L
It’s been so long since someone, other than an automatic notification from the NHS or school, messaged me. With a slightly annoying surge of excitement, I relish the fact that Leon is thinking of me enough to message me.
I write out the reply a few times, deleting and retyping the simplest words as if I learned the alphabet yesterday.
Book is still in one piece, and I’ve not been murdered. Thanks.
He replies with a laughing emoji, and I feel foolish for how much a single message can stir inside me. The silly smile lingering on my face quickly fades as I turn to the next section of the book.
17th June in the year 1502
I did not give up on my pursuit to see the maiden, but alas, the tower brought no more visions to me.
Until finally, after two days of fasting, the maiden revealed herself to me in ?amlica Hill as I was taking a nap. Reader, I am allured by her facade, and even though she perished several hundred years before I was even born, my poor soul craves to set eyes on her.
In my vision, I saw her face fresh as a cherry branch dressed by the spring, and her silent eyes were filled with tears.