He then sent him a letter of condolence for his father and congratulations on his appointment to the vizierate. Before long—once al-Muktafi had succeeded his father al-Muʿtaḍid to the caliphate—al-Qāsim ibn ʿUbayd Allah had Badr put to death. Al-Muʿtaḍid had already perceived the hostility that lay between the two of them, despite the thin veil behind which it was concealed; this was a striking instance of his acumen and penetrating insight (1).

A report was laid before al-Muʿtaḍid that certain people were gathering to commit a sin (2). He consulted his vizier about what should be done with them. The vizier said, “Some of them ought to be crucified and some burned.” The Caliph retorted, “Woe to you! With this harsh advice you have quenched the flame of my anger toward them. Do you not know that the subjects are Allah’s trust in the hands of their ruler, and that He will question him about them?” Consequently, he did not treat them in the manner the vizier had proposed (3).

With this intention at heart, when he assumed the caliphate the public treasury (bayt al-māl) was empty, conditions were corrupt, and Bedouin tribes were ravaging the land in every direction. Yet through his judgment and sound administration the treasury soon overflowed, and order was restored throughout all the provinces, regions, and towns.

Among his verses, composed for a slave-girl of his who died and for whom he grieved deeply, he said (4):

O beloved—none ever equalled you
In the affection I bore.
Far from my eyes you may be,
Yet you are close to my heart.
Since you left, no diversion
Holds the slightest share for me.
My heart keeps you upon itself,
Though distance has set a watch between us.
Your image, from the day you departed,
Has never once disappeared.
Could you but see my state—
The wailing and the cries since you were gone—
You would know that my breast is filled
With the scorching flame of grief;
You would be certain that I am
A mourner, bowed with sorrow.
I see no way—though I would soothe myself—
For my soul to taste content without you (5).
My tears refuse to be restrained,
And my patience gives me no reply.

He also said of her (6):

I did not weep for the dwelling itself,
But for the one who once lived there.