One day Dáráb said to the launderer:—
“Albeit that I never mention it
Affection stirreth not in me for thee,
Nor is my face like thine. I feel astounded
Whene'er thou call'st me son and seatest me
Beside thee in the shop.”

The launderer said:—

“What words are these? Alack for all the pains
Bestowed on thee! If thou out-classest me
Seek for thy sire; thy mother hath thy secret.”
It happened that the launderer one day
Went from the house and hastened to the stream.

Dáráb made fast the door and then approached
The goodwife, took in hand his scimitar,
And said to her: “Attempt not to deceive me,
And to obscure the issue; speak the truth
In answer to my questions. How am I
Related to you both and wherefore dwelling
Thus with a launderer?”

In fright the woman

Begged for her life and called on God for succour.
She said: “Seek not my blood, and I will tell thee
All as thou biddest.”

She recounted all,

With neither reticence nor subterfuge,
About the ark, the infant yet unweaned,
About the golden coins and royal jewels,
And said: “We were but simple working-folk
Quite unrelated to the quality.
What wealth we have is all derived from thine;
Through thee we rose from low to high estate.
We are but slaves and thine is to command:
What wilt thou? We are thine both soul and body.”
Dáráb stood in amaze on hearing this,
Plunged in profound surmise. He said to her:—
“Doth anything remain of all that wealth,
Or hath the launderer spent the whole of it?
Is there enough still left to buy a horse
In this our day of lowliness and want?”
The woman said: “There is and more than that,
And there are money, land, and fruitful gardens.”
She gave him all the money that she had,
And showed to him the precious uncut gem.
He spent the money on a noble steed,
A lasso, mace, and saddle of low price.
There was a prudent marchlord, one of weight,
A magnate well approved and well advised,
To whom Dáráb betook himself with soul
O'erclouded and perturbed. The marchlord held him
In highest estimation; no disaster
Befell him any whit.

Now as it chanced

An army marched from Rúm to levy war
Upon that prosperous land, that frontier-chief

Was slain in battle and his army worsted.
In those days when the tidings reached Humái:—
“The Rúman hath set foot upon our border,”
There lived a warrior hight Rashnawád—
A captain of the host and sprung from such.
She ordered: “Let him lead a host toward Rúm,
And waste the country with the scimitar.”
To that end Rashnawád assembled troops,
Assigned the mustering place and gave out rations;
Dáráb heard, joyed, went, and enrolled his name.
When many troops had gathered, and the muster
Had been completed, glorious Humái,
Accompanied by well affected chiefs,
Came from the palace to review the host,
To count the numbers, and go through the names
Upon the registers. She tarried long
On that broad plain while many troops marched past,
And when she spied Dáráb, his Grace divine,
His bearing, and the steel mace on his shoulder,
When thou hadst said: “He filleth all the plain,
And earth is subject to his prancing steed,”
When too she marked his breast and lovesome face,
The mother's milk stirred in her, and she asked:—
“Whence is this cavalier who is possessed
Of such great limbs and is so tall and straight?
Me seemeth that he is a man of name,
Discreet and yet a warlike cavalier,
A gallant heart, illustrious and mighty;
But his equipment is not worthy of him.”
When narrowly she had surveyed Dáráb,
And had approved of all that host, she chose
A favourable season by the stars
Upon the captain of the host's behalf,
As was the fitting course. What time the leaders
Were of one mind they led the army forth
And left Humái. She sent out watchful spies
To keep her well informed and certified
About the army's case for good and ill,
And cut short all surmises of mishaps.
Thus stage by stage the army marched on Rúm;
Its flying dust-clouds filled the heavens with gloom.