Hatim, on hearing the merits of the case, addressed the young man, and said, “Shame upon you, why do you not perform your promise? Life is at best but short, and altogether uncertain; and for this you are willing to stain your reputation!” The young man with tears in his eyes, said, “Generous stranger, have you too ranked yourself among my enemies? Let me ask you if such a custom would be tolerated in your own country?”

“That,” said Hatim, “is not the question at present, but whether you ought to fulfil your agreement.”— “It is madness,” replied the young man; “and while I live I will not submit to it.” When Hatim saw that, on the one hand the people would not inter the dead body; and, on the other, the husband would not consent to be buried alive, he took the latter aside, and whispered to him, “Do you consent to be buried, and at a proper opportunity, I pledge you my faith that I will release you.”— “But how am I to live in the tomb,” said the man, “till you aid in my resur­rection?” — “Leave that to me,” said Hatim, “I will provide for you.”

Hatim then addressed the people aloud, and said, “The young man consents to be buried alive; but the tomb must be made like a cell as it is in his own country, with an aperture left to let in air and the light of day. If therefore you form the tomb like a cell, with a small window, the young man is willing to comply with your custom.”— “So much indulgence,” replied the chief, “it is not in my power to grant; but I am ready to refer the case to the Cazi, and abide by his decision.” The parties concerned, along with Hatim, went forthwith to the judge of the village, who after a great deal of deliberation, decided that the young man should have a tomb made for him after the fashion of his own country; “for it would not become us,” said his worship, “to deal rigorously with him being a foreigner, although the law is in our favour.”

The people immediately set to work; and having finished the cell, they there incarcerated the surviving husband with the dead wife, and planted a guard over him to prevent his escape. As he was about to be shut up, Hatim gave him every assurance that he would release him at midnight, and therefore he might without fear comply with the custom of the place. The people having shut the tomb, which they secured with a large stone, strewed various flowers over and around it, so that the grave was covered with them. They then, except the sentinel, returned to the city, whither they conducted Hatim. They enter­tained him in the most hospitable manner, and provided him with an elegant mansion for his residence. Hatim having appeased his hunger and thirst, and enjoyed some hours of repose, began to watch an opportunity for rescuing his friend from the tomb.

When the silent hour of midnight had arrived, and all the people were asleep, Hatim stole out quietly, and made his way to the burial ground. But there he had to cope with a difficulty on which he had not calculated. It was one of the customs of that city, that when a person was buried, all the male relations of the deceased should fast, and watch and pray on the tomb for three days and nights without ever going near their wives and families; Hatim therefore was forced to keep aloof during the whole of that period. On the fourth night, however, when all the guards had retired to their houses, Hatim lost no time in visiting the tomb; meanwhile the unhappy inmate had full time to feel the horrors of his situation. Often did he weep and exclaim, “Fool that I was, to believe the promise of a false stranger! By his treachery, he prevailed upon me to shut myself up to perish in this dungeon, and now he has gone and left me to my fate! Alas, how dearly must I pay for my folly!”

Thus did the despairing young man fret and lament till the fourth evening, when hunger had so weakened him that he lay senseless as the dead around him. When Hatim reached the cell, he applied his mouth to the aperture, and in a soft voice said, “My dear friend, I am at last come to release you; if you are still alive, answer me.” But ere then the young man was so exhausted with hunger and despair, that the voice of aid reached not his ear. Hatim’s generous heart was grieved, for he thought the man must have certainly died. He hesitated whether he should clear away the earth and remove the stone. “It is in vain,” said he to himself, “the inmate is now no more; and heaven knows, I would willingly give my own life to save his.”

Again, Hatim thought it best not to desist while the least hope remained: he therefore repeated his former words, in a voice more loud and distinct; but still no answer returned from the mansion of the dead. Hatim gave way to grief and despair, for he now became fully convinced that his friend was dead, otherwise he would have heard the voice and returned an answer. A third time, however, in a still louder tone, Hatim exclaimed, “O my friend, if your life still remains, and is dear to you, answer me; otherwise, here shall you rest till the day of judgment. I have exerted all my power to save you, but God’s will be done.”

The young man was at length awakened from his trance. Senseless as he was, he recognised the voice of Hatim; he therefore with great effort drew near the window of his cell, and said, “Stranger, are you the man who engaged to relieve me, and are you come at last to fulfil your promise?” When Hatim heard this his joy was excessive; he devoutly thanked the Ruler of events, and said to the young man, “I am indeed the very person you allude to; rest still a little, till I make way for your escape.”

Hatim then cleared away the earth and masses of stone which composed the tomb; and having effected a passage sufficiently large, he took the hand of the almost lifeless young man, and brought him out into the open air. In a very short time the young man’s strength and spirits were restored; which, when Hatim observed, he said to him, “My good friend, you must lose no time in effecting your escape; fly, then, wherever you think proper.”— “My noble benefactor,” replied he, “my journey is long, and I have nothing wherewith to support myself.” Hatim immediately gave him a handful of gold pieces from his scrip, and urged his instant flight. The young man having thanked his benefactor, betook himself to the road, and escaped safe under the shades of night, while Hatim rebuilt the tomb as it was previously, and returned to his residence. He entered unobserved by any one; and having shut the doors, he laid himself down to rest in that happy state of mind which the virtuous alone can enjoy. He awaked not till the next morning was considerably advanced, and all the people astir and ready for their morning meal. Hatim then arose: and after partaking of their food, he thanked them for their hospitality, and took leave of them, saying, “I must now leave you, my friends, for I am bound for the mountain of Nida; my journey admits of no delay, for it is now a long period since I left Shahabad.”— “Noble stranger,” said the people, “your adventure is daring; but if you must go, the mountain of Nida is nearly a month’s journey from this place. You will first reach a city of the same name close to the mountain, and the natives will give you every requisite information for your future proceedings.”

Hatim resumed his journey; and at parting the people told him, that after he should have marched some nine or ten days, the road separated into two branches, of which he was to hold on that towards the right, which would lead him to the city of Nida. Hatim advanced without any interruption till the tenth day, when he came to the two roads; by a strange forgetfulness, he took the left hand path instead of the right. Thither he marched; but at time he had some misgivings in his own mind that he had taken the wrong road. After he had toiled four days in this direction, he found himself all at once in the midst of a jungle abounding with wild beasts and birds of prey. Hatim stood still for some time at the foot of a tree, expecting every moment to be torn to pieces by the devouring lion, or the more ferocious tiger.

As he stood listening, he heard all at once a tremendous roaring of these monsters of the creation at no great distance from him. As a last resource, he climbed up to the top of a tree, and almost instantly he saw wild elephants, lions, tigers, and many other wild beasts rush by him in full flight. Close at their heels followed an animal of ordinary size, but of most terrible aspect, such as Hatim had never seen or heard of before. His eyes were like two balls of fire, and his tail was on the crown of his head! The very sight of him was enough to kill the bravest of men.

Hatim trembled from the centre of his heart. “Alas, Hatim,” said he to himself, “thy life is surely at an end, for how canst thou escape this mighty evil!” But again, Hatim thought better of his condition; he put his trust in God, who never forsakes his servants; and knowing that in His hands only are life and death he drew his scimitar from the scab­bard, and with a steady hand and firm heart, he awaited the result. Meanwhile the monstrous animal with eyes of fire came close to the tree where Hatim had taken refuge, and being of quick scent, he soon discovered what was among the branches. He made a spring at the tree with such force that he broke it through the middle, when both it and Hatim fell with a crash upon the ground. Another spring brought him close to Hatim, who must have been within his claws had not the branches of the tree protected him. Hatim soon recovered his presence of mind; and seiz­ing his scimitar in his hand, he plunged it into the side of the monster, which laid him prostrate upon the ground. As the wound, however, was not mortal, the enraged beast jumped to his feet and made another spring at the devoted Hatim, who dexterously eluded his grasp, and with his good sword gave him another thrust in the belly, so that he fell to rise no more. But though the dragon lay mortally wounded, his power of mischief had not yet ceased. He raised a howling noise that made the earth tremble, and lashed the trees around him with his tail. From his mouth and nostrils issued streams of fire, which soon set the sur­rounding forest in a blaze. Hatim in the meantime had climbed up the nearest tree as soon as he saw his enemy fallen, and there he waited till he saw that no spark of life remained in the monster. At last the tree which he occu­pied took fire; he was forced therefore to leap down with all speed, and such was the violence of his fall, that he lay stunned for some time. When he recovered, the first thing he did was to break the four fangs of the dead monster, which in sharpness resembled so many daggers. These, with the tail and two ears, he carried off with him, in order to keep them as a trophy; and he then resumed his journey.

Hatim at length gained the open plain, and was delighted on seeing at a distance a town strongly fortified with lofty walls. On a nearer approach, he discovered towering above the rest a royal mansion, whose glittering turrets reared their pinnacles to the clouds, but no appear­ance of any living creature did he see. He entered the gates, within which he found every sign of the city being lately inhabited. He saw numerous warehouses, and bazars full of every commodity, but the most deadly silence prevailed throughout.

Hatim looked around on this scene of lifelessness, and wondered in his own mind what destructive hand could have caused such desolation. He approached the royal residence, which formed the citadel of the town, and in which the king and his family had shut themselves up. On seeing Hatim at a distance, the king said to those around him, “Praised be to the Lord, a human being has at length entered our city.” The king then ordered a domestic to call out to the stranger, and invite him to the palace gate. The man accordingly shouted out, and Hatim hastened his pace till he stood at the portal. The king opened a win­dow and said to Hatim. “Welcome, noble stranger, may peace be upon you.” Hatim courteously returned the royal salutation, whereupon his majesty asked him, “Who are you, brave sir, and whence came you?”— “I am an Arab,” replied Hatim, “and I come from Shahabad; and, more­over, I am going to the mountain of Nida.”— “Trully, brave Arab,” said the king, “you have taken the wrong road to Nida; you ought to have held by the right hand road, and you have chosen the left. But what is decreed must happen; perhaps the hour of your death is at hand, fate has therefore led you hither.”

Hatim devoutly replied, “Such be the will of God, I am content; for what power is there in mortal man to help himself? Meanwhile, royal sir, for such you seem to be, have the goodness to tell me who you are, and what is the cause of your being thus shut up in your citadel?”— “I am,” replied the other, “king of this country; but of late, my splendid city was visited by a severe scourge in the shape of a fiery dragon, which forced all subjects to fly for their lives. They took with them their wives and children, and quickly abandoned this devoted city, while I, with my family and friends having placed our reliance upon God, sought refuge here, it being too late for us to make our escape, and we have not the power to cope with the monster that made such havoc in our territory.”