Yusuf ibn Riyad had always been free-spirited, intrepid, and eager to bury his foot in the sand of every corner of the world. He never had a place where he officially called home, for he saw that home was anywhere he found joy being in, and that was everywhere he went. This meant that his character was relieved from all the grudges and contempt that one with a strong sense of identity would have against those who weren’t of his own kind. Scouted for this peculiarity of his, the imperial trade network had personally assigned him a mission to document the world’s most powerful empires during the “Age of Gunpowder.”

 

…

 

“Salutations. Are you Yusuf?” Yusuf jerked as a man suddenly appeared in front of him. Yusuf swiftly looked around the streets of Istanbul to figure where the man possibly could’ve emerged from, but to no avail, all corners were obscured with moving merchants and vendors. With that, he abandoned his confusion and turned back to him.

 

“Yes. And you are?”

 

“Refer to me as Ahmed. I am sent here on the message that a foreigner has entered our land, and I am to serve as a tour guide to him on the behalf of the Magnificent. Welcome to Istanbul.” Ahmend replied before briskly turning away and walking ahead, expecting the confused fellow behind to follow him.

 

Yusuf’s eyes narrowed slightly. It seemed to him that words of his mission traveled fast around the leaders across the continents. It was clear that this man was only sent to him for good measures, either to ensure that he wouldn’t try anything to threaten the empire or to establish the Ottomans’ good standing in the world. The Ottoman Empire, after all, had just risen as the strongest Sunni Islamic Empire in the world after the fall of the Mongol Empire and its subsequent Mongol khanates.

 

“Thank you, Ahmed.” Yusuf replied hesitantly, trailing behind.

 

As they walked through the street, Yusuf took in the bustling scene of merchants, food vendors, and carriages around them. The markets were robust with heaps of people coming in and out. The terracotta color that enveloped the entire city and its immaculate buildings stood a stark contrast to the ocean’s azure that enclosed it.

 

“Sir Yusuf, I am sure you hold at least some knowledge of this city’s background to some extent. Istanbul is a proud product of the first Sultan, Mehmed II, who took over the Byzantine city of Constantinople using tall bronze cannons back in 1453.”

 

Yusuf nodded, “How come the Ottoman Empire is able to uphold its power in the world?”

 

“It all comes down to our devshirme system.” He replied before nudging Yusuf to the two rather distinct men at a distance in front of them, chatting at a fruit stall. Each of them wore vibrant clothes with a sword sheathed away on the side. Mounted on their heads were tall white-felt caps and a black tail representing a dervish sleeve that stuck out on the side. They stood tall, casting a daunting shadow that no passerby dared to go as near as to risk a misstep in.

 

“Those are the Janissaries, the elite force of the Ottoman army. We do not normally see them out in the open, wandering in the streets of Istanbul. They are mainly kept in school, busy converting to Islam, or in training for battle…” He paused before hesitantly continuing, averting his eyes to the ground, “I used to be one, as well.”

 

Yusuf stayed silent.

 

“You know, this name does not belong to me,” Ahmed eventually spoke, “Forced converts like us had an identity forced upon ourselves, and a foreign name that replaced our true, Christian ones… Christianity, ah, that is something that is forbidden to roll from the tongues of our mouths.”

 

Yusuf looked ahead, “So what was your name?”

 

“I don’t remember.” Ahmed quickly responded, his eyes meeting that of Yusuf’s again, “We must not dwell on that. Do tell, where is your next destination?”

 

“Well, the nearest to here would either be the Russian Empire or the Safavid Empire.”

 

“I would recommend that you take your route south and east towards the Safavid Empire, and end your trip at the Mughal Empire.”

 

…

 

Ahmed had specifically warned him not to breach upon the borders of the Russian Empire. After Tsar Ian IV took over in 1547, the empire had been critically expanding towards the Pacific Ocean using its military and gunpowder. He had been told that the nation’s interior had been no different to its violent exterior, however. The conflicts between Cossacks, peasant warriors, and local tribes were rampant as they pushed them out alongside the expansion. Perhaps it had been sensible that Yusuf evaded the unstable Russians.

 

Thus, he found himself on the land of the Safavid Empire. The journey of crossing borders from the Ottoman Empire had been long and agonizing due to the tension that had long been stirred between the two powerful empires over their conflicting religions, the Ottomans’ Sunni Islam and the Shah’s Shi’ah Islam. 

 

“I thought that it’s unusual,” Yusuf said as he took a bite out of a Persian apple, “that the Safavid Empire is able to uphold itself and its religion despite being bordered by nations of Sunni Islam rule on both fronts… Please do not misunderstand me, though, I deeply commemorate this empire and the Shah for that fact.” Yusuf quickly added the end upon remembering that he was on foreign land.

 

The vendor in front of him hummed, his tan, calloused fingers rummaging through the basket of the same Persian apples in his stall.

 

“The Safavid Empire is strong, and thus will not falter. Did you know, the Shah Ismail had only been 14 or 15 years old when he conquered all of Persia and Iraq?” The vendor smiled to himself as he picked the oldest, off-putting fruits and dropped them into a bag before tying it up. A quick sense of internal relief breezed through him that he had chosen his own apple for himself.

 

“Yes. Impressive, I must say.”

 

Putting aside the tied up bag, the vendor opened another one and moved on to handpicking the Persian pears. For a moment, he paused before looking up at Yusuf.

 

“Please leave, kind sir. You are hogging the space for all my customers.”

 

…

 

Yusuf felt a twinge of embarrassment upon the memory of his conversation with the Persian vendor from many years ago. However, it was not because he was chased out, or that he picked out the best apple that was in the basket, but it was simply because of an epiphany upon stepping onto the soil of the Mughal Empire.

 

The Safavid Empire only needed to worry about its neighbor in the northern front, for the Mughal Empire posed no threat to its Shi’ah Islam. Yusuf accepted that the Persian vendor may have had a good laugh at him back home.

 

From the two other empires that he had been to, Yusuf would admit that the Mughal Empire had, by far, taken first place in being deeply pleasurable and having the most pleasant citizens. Despite being operated by a traditional caste system, Emperor Akbar had done superb work in ruling the empire under the principles of peace and religious tolerance. To Yusuf, it was evident that this hard work paid off, for the streets of India were packed with the robust bustling and hustling of vendor and merchant activities. While this could be said the same for any of the two empires, the foremost difference that set them apart was the smiles that plastered across the faces of the Indian people.

 

Upon the aura of joy that radiated in the air of the empire, Yusuf couldn’t help but bear the same smile on his own face.