n object aken into his miraculous hands.

    aerrifying needle ed to Sultan Selim? as it because tudent of Biron of artists in ancing poets and artists from irely to faito relinquise book,  of masters en years?  t t artist ime, to make tatement t , terpiece by t poignant regret, afraid t ted a sacrilege trating, as h

    many rulers in their old age.

    I ories told by spiteful illuminators o enter Sy’s legendary or, declared, “I refuse to paint in any otice blind  iron. Among turists t tan Selim t back to Istanbul after t of Sure of tabriz and ter  in ttoman style—not as t of an illness o set an example for to tell my illuminators in ts of frustration how Bihzad had blinded himself.

    as ter miniaturist made use of t-of-t tle, save tire ers?

    tain on tremely s of tly tapered plume needle, yet my  determine . Loion of love c time. I tried to imagine . I’d  one doesn’t go blind immediately; ty darkness descends sloimes after days, sometimes after monturally.

    I’d caug of it  room; I stood and looked, yes, t ed s lengt. I sat do my onessed my  for sixty years.

    “er Bi?” I asked myself once more.

    Never once taking my eyes off ticed movements of a  ation, as if making a  trico be embelliso t eye. My innards sank, not because I felt  because I sao ter t.

    In t o t ernal beauty and ernal life to tself.

    Smiling, I did to my other eye.

    For a long ared at t everything.

    As I’d surmised, t darken, but seemed to bleed eve