The lion accordingly devoured the whole of the fawn, except the small portion that Hatim had on the fire; after which, he drank water from a fountain hard by and departed. Hatim having appeased his hunger, and allayed his thirst with water from the spring, and such fruit as the jungle produced, resumed his toilsome journey. After he had traversed the parched desert for a great part of the day, his thirst became excessive. At length he perceived at a dis­tance the appearance of mountains rising above the plain. The sight cheered him, as he expected soon to quench his thirst in the cool streams whereby the hills are generally blessed. His disappointment however was grievous, when he found nothing but heaps of moving sand, thus formed by the blast of the simoom. Exhausted, he sat down under­neath a solitary tree; and shortly after he observed a shekshar (a sort of waterfowl) close by him, and its wings quite wet. He rose with renewed strength and made towards the shekshar, which flew away at his approach. In that spot, however, he found a treasure— a spring of the purest water. He prostrated himself on the ground, and offered up thanks to the Bestower of Mercies; after which, he allayed his thirst at the spring, and resumed his journey.

After a long march through the desert, he at length saw symptoms of human habitation. Towards evening, as he was entering a highly cultivated country, he beheld a large fire kindled in a field, around which a crowd of people had assembled. Hatim, supposing it to be some display of public rejoicing, approached the people, and said to them, “Tell me, my friends, what country is this? what is the cause of your cutting the hair of your heads and faces in that fanciful manner? what are you doing, thus assembled round the fire? and why this immense pile of dried wood?”— “This,” replied the people, “is the funeral pile of one of our male relations, whose body is now consuming in the sacred flame; and along with him his widowed wife has burnt herself alive.”— “And do you not, then, bury your dead under the earth?” inquired Hatim, “and why did you cast the helpless widow into the flames? Assuredly the blood of the innocent is on your hands.”

“I perceive you are a stranger in this country,” replied the man whom Hatim had addressed; “this is the empire of India, and it is the custom of the Hindus that the widowed wife should burn herself alive on the funeral pile of her husband. We have not cast her by force into the fire, she hath burnt herself of her own free will.”— “Truly,” resumed Hatim, “but it is a most atrocious custom to burn the living with the dead!” and having thus spoken, he betook himself to the road. … …

All night Hatim continued his journey, and ere noon the following day he came to a large village. Fatigued, and exhausted with hunger and thirst, he entered the house of one of the villagers to procure rest and refreshment. He asked a drink of water from the man of the house, who immediately brought him a pitcher full of churned milk, and another of sweet milk. The man of the house having placed the milk before Hatim, hospitably addressed him, say­ing, “Stranger, here are two sorts of drink, both cool and refreshing; take either you choose and allay your thirst, for your lips are parched with heat and fatigue.” Hatim took first the churned milk; and having drained it to the bottom, he was about to drink the sweet milk, when his host observed to him, “Stranger, you lack food as much as drink; the rice is ready boiled for my morning meal, let me bring you a part of it, which you may eat along with the milk.” Hatim most courteously thanked his benevolent entertainer, and inwardly admired the unassuming kindness and real hospitality which he experienced in the Hindu cottage. Meanwhile his host returned with the boiled rice, and laid it before Hatim, who ate heartily of the same, and afterwards betook himself to repose. So exhausted was he by his late toils, that he awaked not till next morning, when his Indian friend addressed him, saying, “Noble stranger, the morning meal is ready, and I wait for your company ere I break my fast. You are, however, too much exhausted yet to resume your journey; I hope therefore you will rest here two or three days longer, till your strength is completely restored.”

Hatim arose, and after partaking of his host’s simple fare, he said to him, “Generous Hindu, the blessing of God will assuredly reward your benevolent actions, and your kindness to the stranger.”— “Brave Arab,” said the Hindu, “as yet I have done you very small service, and I shall not consider it in the light of hospitality unless you pass three days and nights under my roof.”— “If,” replied Hatim, “such is your pleasure, I willingly accept your invitation.”

The Hindu then entertained Hatim with accounts of his country, and at the next meal presented to him a variety of the most delicious food. Hatim was highly charmed with the manners of his host, his disinterested kindness, and the plain but healthy fare which was presented to him, so that in his rapture he exclaimed, “Surely Hindustan is the paradise of regions!” After various conversation, Hatim remarked to his host what he considered as a stain upon the Hindu character, otherwise so very amiable. “Excuse me, my kind host,” said he, “if I say that one custom pecu­liar to your country is decidedly bad, I mean the immola­tion of the living widow with the dead husband. I have been accustomed to see the dead consigned to the dust from which they came, and the sacrificing of the living is revolting to my ideas of humanity.”— “Noble Arab,” said the Hindu, “such is the opinion of strangers; but when you consider the affection that exists between the wife and husband, a tie by far the strongest in nature, you can easily conceive that when the one dies the other should find life insupportable: nay, it would be wonderful indeed if a tie so strong should admit of separation. Imagine not that we force the widow to burn herself on the pile. She follows her husband, of her own free will, with a joyful heart, as the only consolation left her upon earth. Of this, stranger, you may be fully satisfied, if you abide with us some days.”

It happened on that morning that the chief of the village, who had been for some time dangerously sick, died, leaving behind him four wives. One of these had two sons, another three daughters, and the other two no children. Towards evening preparations were made for the funeral, and the dead body borne out.* The four widows fol­lowed, dressed in their most costly raiments, adorned with all their jewels, with chaplets of the most fragrant flowers encircling their necks, and bunches of the sweetest fruits suspended around them. In their hands they held the sacred leaf of the betel-tree, which they from time to time chewed.

All the widows’ relations crowded round them, and supplicated them with tears not to cast away their lives; but they were inconsolable, and deaf to all entreaty. All this Hatim witnessed; and, resolved to be convinced by experience, he approached the widows, and said to them, “Fairest of women, what madness is this! Can it be pos­sible that you sacrifice your lives, and abandon your children, in compliance with a custom so void of reason, so revolting to humanity?”

One of the ladies, with an angelic smile, replied, “Stranger Arab, I forgive you, as you know not the custom of our country, otherwise your rudeness is unpardonable, in daring thus to address us who are dead to the world. We follow our husband to heaven. In our lives we were happy together, and why should death part us? Where would be the humanity of making us linger in this world, when the Supreme decree hath called him hence? May God forbid that the deceit of Satan (on whom be curses) should so far mislead us as to forget our only beloved lord, and attach ourselves to another. Without him, our life would henceforth be a burden more intolerable than the torments of hell. Why then should we not accompany our best beloved? Why not burn on the same pile, that our ashes may mingle with his, while our souls wing their flight to the regions of the blessed?”

Thus spoke the widow of the chief, regardless of Hatim’s earnest entreaties. The pile was now ready, and the four victims, with frenzied enthusiasm, pulled off all their ornaments, and distributed them among their relations on all sides. They then ascended the pile, and placed themselves around the dead body of their husband. Two of them clasped each an arm in her bosom, and the other two his feet. Thus situated, they for the last time looked round, and gave a parting smile to their weeping relatives; after which, a vast quantity of dried wood was heaped over them, and the fire was applied all around.

Hatim scarcely believing what he saw, waited the result in anxious silence, for he expected to see them every moment rush from the flames. In this, however, he was disappointed; not a shriek was heard from the pile, nor the least appearance of any attempt to escape. At length the whole pile was reduced into a heap of ashes, over which Hatim shed tears as he contemplated the fate of the victims, while his generous heart admired their affection misplaced as it was.

At length the crowd dispersed to their homes; and as Hatim was quitting the scene with his Hindu entertainer, the latter observed to him, “Noble Arab, I hope you are now fully convinced that our women are not compelled to sacrifice themselves. It is purely an action of their own free will, and constitutes one of the noblest displays of conjugal affection.”— “You speak truly, generous Hindu,” replied Hatim, “yet, in my opinion, the best proof of constancy in the wife to the deceased would be, to live singly after his death; and by rejecting the addresses of other lovers, con­vince the world of her sincerity. This would be an ordeal, perhaps, more trying than even the flames of the funeral pile.”

In a few days after, Hatim being completely recovered from his late fatigue, said to his host, “My dear friend, I must now part with you, for I am on a journey to explore the mountain of Nida.”— “Let me prevail upon you to go no farther,” said the Hindu, “for the route is long and dangerous, and it is not in man to reach your destined stage.”— “My trust is in God,” replied Hatim, “who can conduct me thither, and bring me back in safety.” Having thus spoken, Hatim resumed his journey, and night and day he advanced from city to city, and from town to town, till he reached the northern frontiers of India. After crossing an extensive desert, he saw a large city at a distance before him, and thanked his Creator that guided him once more into human habitations.

Within a short distance of the city gates, Hatim beheld a large concourse of people; and as he approached nearer, he could hear the sound of many voices, as if they were engaged in keen debate. On his arrival among them, he asked one of them, “Tell me, my friend, what is the cause of this uproar which I hear?”— “The daughter of our chief is dead,” replied the man, “and they are insisting that her husband shall consent to be buried alive with her, a measure which he does not seem to relish: this, stranger, is the cause of the tumult which you now witness.”— “Worthy sir,” resumed Hatim, “is it your custom, too, to bury the living with the dead? I see this unfortunate man is any thing but compliant; surely you will not cast him alive into the tomb? Have you not in your hearts the fear of God, in whose hands are life and death?”

The chief himself having heard Hatim’s expostulation, said, “Hear me, stranger, before you comdemn us. This young man, who was my daughter’s husband, once came into our city a traveller like yourself. He took up his residence among us, and in the course of time fell desperately in love with my daughter. The flame was mutual, so that I had no objection to their union, provided he should conform with our custom, which is, that if the wife dies first, the husband shall be buried alive with her. To this he agreed, and now he will not perform his solemn promise.”