Al-Bazi: The Falcon That Flew Into the Sky and Came Back With a Fish

The Most Arrogant Bird Alive

The entry opens with language nerds' delight. The most eloquent form of the name is bazi, with a softened y — then baz, then bazi with a hardened y, all recorded by Ibn Sidah. It's masculine, no disagreement there. Two of them are bazayan, a flock is buzah — like qudah from qadi. And the word suqur, which falconers use for falcons, sparrowhawks, and every hunting bird, is derived from al-buzwan — the leap, the pounce. The falcon is literally named for how it kills.

The old Arabs also handed it three kunyas — honorific nicknames, the way a respected elder gets called “father of” something: Abu al-Ash'ath, Abu al-Bahlul, and Abu Lahiq. And then al-Damiri drops the verdict on its personality: the falcon is “one of the most arrogant of animals and narrowest in temperament.” Imagine a bird so proud the medieval zoologists diagnosed it with attitude.

There's even a strange belief from al-Qazwini tucked in here: people claimed the falcon is only ever female, and that its male comes from an entirely different kind — like kites and sparrowhawks — which is why their shapes differ so much. That's a historical belief, not biology. The medieval world was full of such confident misunderstandings, and the book records them faithfully.

The Fish From the Sky

Here's the headline story. The caliph Harun al-Rashid went out hunting one day and released an ash-grey falcon, a bazi ashhab. The bird kept climbing — higher and higher — until it vanished into the sky. It was gone. Everyone gave up on it. Then, long after hope was lost, it came back — carrying a fish.

The caliph was baffled, so he gathered the scholars and asked them what on earth had happened. A man named Muqatil spoke up: he reported from Ibn Abbas that the air itself is inhabited by nations of creatures of different shapes, and among them are white creatures that hatch things shaped like fish — things with wings, but no feathers. The caliph accepted the explanation and rewarded him handsomely.

A falcon dives into the sky, comes back with a fish, and the scholars of the caliph's court conclude there must be winged fish up there in the blue. It's my favorite kind of medieval reasoning — the observation was real (the bird, the fish), and the theory was gloriously, confidently wrong. Seven centuries later, we can smile at it, but you have to admire the effort: they were trying to explain the world with the tools they had.

The Poem That Made a Judge Quit

The entry then swerves into politics, and it's a scorcher. Abdullah ibn al-Mubarak — a famous scholar who famously combined knowledge with trade, funding his charity work from his own commerce — once heard that a fellow scholar, Ismail ibn 'Ulayyah, had accepted an appointment as a judge under the caliph. Ibn al-Mubarak refused to visit him. Instead he sent a poem that cuts like a knife:

“O you who made knowledge into a falcon, to hunt the wealth of the poor...”

Six verses of it, each sharper than the last: accusing him of scheming for the world and its pleasures, of becoming mad with it after being “the cure for the mad,” of abandoning the hadiths he used to transmit. When Ibn 'Ulayyah read those verses, he didn't argue. He went straight to al-Rashid and kept asking to be relieved of the judgeship — until the caliph let him go.

One poem, one falcon metaphor, one resignation. Poetry in the medieval world was power.

The entry lingers on Ibn al-Mubarak with two more anecdotes, because it clearly loves the man. A man once sneezed near him and forgot to say “alhamdulillah,” so Ibn al-Mubarak politely taught him the etiquette of sneezing right there — and the whole gathering marveled at his manners. And when he once borrowed a pen in Syria, then traveled to Antioch only to realize the pen was still with him — he walked all the way back to Syria, on foot, just to return a pen. They say mercy descends when he is mentioned. He died in the year 181 AH.

The Falcon and the Rooster Debate Loyalty

The proverbs section hides a small masterpiece of a story. A man named Abu Ayyub al-Saqi — Sulayman ibn Abi Mujalid — used to explain his terror of the caliph al-Mansur with a parable about a falcon and a rooster who once debated each other.

The falcon accused the rooster of ingratitude: “I know no creature less loyal than you. You're taken as an egg, raised by people's hands, fed from their palms — and when you're grown, no one can approach you without you fleeing this way and that, shrieking. And me? I'm taken full-grown from the mountains. I'm fed a little, tamed for a day or two, then released to hunt — I fly off alone, catch my prey, and bring it back to my master.”

The rooster's comeback is devastating: “You've missed the point entirely. If you'd seen two falcons on a roasting spit, you'd never go back to your masters again. But I see skewers full of roosters every single day — and I stay with my people anyway. I am more loyal than you.”

Abu Ayyub meant it as an excuse: you people would be just as frightened as I am if you knew al-Mansur the way I do. History proved him right. Al-Mansur had him tortured, seized his wealth, and killed him in 154 AH. The entry adds one more ghost: Abu Ayyub was said to carry a magic oil, smearing it on his eyebrows whenever he entered on the caliph — and “Abu Ayyub's ointment” (dahn Abi Ayyub) became a popular saying among the people.

What Makes a Good Falcon — According to the Falconers

Buried in the middle is the practical falconer's guide, and it's wonderfully specific. There are five kinds of hunting birds: the bazi, the zurq, the bashiq, the baydaq, and the saqr. The bazi has the hottest temperament and the least patience for thirst. It roosts in ancient, dense treetops and deep shade. It's light-winged and fast — and here's a surprise: the females are braver against large birds than the males.

The best bazi, the falconers say, has few feathers and red eyes with sharpness in them — one poet claimed its eyes shine so brightly a traveler at night could navigate by them instead of a lantern. The ideal build: a long neck, a broad chest, wide-set shoulders, a body tapering hard into the tail, long feathered thighs, and thick short forearms. A bazi chick is called a ghatrif. And the falcon became the very symbol of nobility — as the poet said: “many birds fly, but none like the falcon.”

The entry even rates the supporting cast. The bashiq (sparrowhawk, an arabized foreign word, kunya Abu al-Akhidh) is hot-tempered, anxious, sometimes friendly and sometimes wild, strong-willed — and “fit for kings to be served by,” since it hunts the finest game: partridge, pigeons, and turtle-doves. The baydaq catches only sparrows. The 'aqsi is the weakest of the birds of prey, the sparrows sometimes escape it.

Dream a Falcon, Gain a Kingdom

Then there's the dream book, and it's pure medieval fortune-telling. A falcon in your dream means authority — if you're fit for leadership. If it flies from your hand and only its leg remains, your kingdom goes but your fame stays. Leftover feathers mean leftover wealth. Slaughtering a falcon means catching a thief; slaughtering falcons means the death of kings who seize wealth openly. Falcon meat in a dream is the wealth of rulers. And for the common man, falcons mean honor and high position.

So the next time a falcon visits your dreams, the book has it all mapped out.

Does the Falcon Rise Without a Wing?

The Arabs said: “Does the falcon rise without a wing?” — a proverb for cooperation and sticking together, the way a poet reminded his reader: “your cousin is your wing.” And the legal scholars weighed in, too. Most ruled eating birds of prey forbidden, citing the hadith against eating every fanged predator and every taloned bird. Malik and others disagreed, holding no bird forbidden. What everyone agreed on: a falcon is lawful to buy and rent, and its catch is lawful to eat — “whatever it holds for you, eat.”

The Medieval Medicine Cabinet

The entry's خواص — its “properties” list — is pure medieval folk belief, and I'm reporting it as history, never as advice:

• The falcon's gallbladder, used as kohl, protects the eyes from cataract.
• If a woman drinks the falcon's droppings mixed with water, it helps her conceive — even if she was barren, the book claims.
• The bashiq's brain benefits heart palpitations caused by black bile; its gall, as kohl, clears dimness of the eyes.

The conception drink is the kind of claim that makes you wince and keep reading at the same time. That was the medieval world: one part sharp observation, one part magic, bound together in a single leather volume.

Frequently Asked Questions

1. What is al-bazi?

   Al-bazi (البازي) is the falcon in Hayat al-Hayawan — a long, rich entry covering its names, its three kunyas, falconry tips, proverbs, a famous debate with a rooster, dream interpretations, and stories about Harun al-Rashid and a judge who resigned over a poem. The word comes from al-buzwan, the leap — the falcon is named for its pounce.

2. Did a falcon really bring a fish back from the sky?

   That is the story the book tells: Harun al-Rashid's grey falcon vanished into the sky and returned with a fish, and the scholar Muqatil explained it — reporting from Ibn Abbas — as proof that the air is inhabited by winged fish-like creatures. It's a wonderful window into medieval cosmology: real observation, medieval theory.

3. Why did the judge resign because of a poem?

   When Ismail ibn 'Ulayyah accepted a judgeship, Abdullah ibn al-Mubarak sent him verses accusing him of turning knowledge into a falcon that hunts the wealth of the poor. The rebuke worked — Ibn 'Ulayyah went to al-Rashid and had himself relieved of the post. In the medieval world, a poem could end a career.