A Group of Eastern Romances - A Group of Eastern Romances and Stories

After the usual three days of hospitality had passed and Khayrandísh had imparted his counsels to Nassar, he brought forth the deposit entrusted to him by Nassar's father, and handing it to him, said: “Almost twenty years have elapsed since your father gave this casket into my charge, but I know not what it contains; if you have no objection we will see what is in it.” Nassar at once opened the packet and took out a mirror cut out of a piece of emerald and surrounded with a number of other precious stones. In the centre of the mirror was a peacock whose eyes were constantly moving and whose feathers changed their colours every moment; and the workmanship was so exquisite and delicate that Khayrandísh and Nassar were perfectly amazed, while the former exolaimed: “My dear friend, no sovereign has ever possessed so admirable an object, and it is probable that you will not be able to sell it to a private individual except at a price far below its real value. Therefore you should present it to some mighty king, and it may thus become to you the cause of great prosperity. Show it to no one during your journey, lest it should excite the cupidity of some person.”

Nassar most willingly promised to follow his friend's advice, and received from him a ring with the injunction that should any calamity befall him he must go to Aleppo and show it to a pious recluse called Abú Jurjás, who would do his utmost to help him. After taking leave of Khayrandísh he departed in the company of some men who were travelling to Egypt, where they all arrived in safety. Nassar happened to meet the king of that country, who was on a hunting excursion with a very numerous retinue. He saluted the monarch very humbly and presented to him the mirror as a gift, which the king accepted, and on his return to the capital invested Nassar with a robe of honour⁹⁹ in full court, and also took into his hand the mirror, the workmanship of which he greatly admired, as did also his courtiers. Then the king said to Nassar: “You appear to be well educated. Pray, what is your greatest accomplishment?” He replied: “Your majesty's humble servant is skilled in several arts, but especially in archery.” After this the king gave him in charge of one of his officials, who took him to his house and showed him much attention.

During the night the official felt very unwell, and there being no servant at hand, he went to a cupboard and taking out an apple began to peel it; and while thus engaged some plaster fell down from the ceiling, which caused him to run out of the room in great fear, and stumbling in the dark he fell on the knife which he still held in his hand, and received from it a wound in consequence of which he expired on the spot. When this accident became known, the eunuchs, the servants, and the inmates of the haram were so confused that they accused each other of having murdered their master, and at last they came to blows, and several of them were wounded and killed. In the morning the unfortunate occurrence was reported to the king, who was much grieved at the loss of a most faithful minister, and appointed his son to succeed him in the service.

Some time afterwards Nassar ventured to make his appearance at court, and was respectfully standing in the line of persons near the throne, when the monarch observed him and exclaimed: “Young man, we have heard of your archery but have never seen it. Now we wish to have a proof of it.” Nassar desired that a ring should be tied to a hair and suspended at a distance of seventy paces. Then he shot an arrow through the ring without moving it, and repeated the feat thirty-nine times more.¹⁰⁰ The king and his courtiers were astonished at his skill, while the spectators uttered shouts of approbation; and the king was considering how to reward him when an explosion of gunpowder took place in the manufactory close by, which destroyed the building and killed more than a thousand persons; but Nassar escaped unhurt. This catastrophe so occupied the mind of the king that he rose up in a melancholy mood, forgot Nassar, and retired to his private apartments.

In course of time the king resumed his customary duties and amusements, and it happened one day while engaged in the chase that an eagle flew near him, when he called out: “Is there any one who can strike that eagle while he is flying?” Nassar immediately responded to the call, and the eagle fell to the ground pierced through by his arrow. The king wished to reward him on the spot, but the arrow, after passing through the eagle's body, having struck the eye of the king's horse it became restive, began to gallop, and a helter-skelter race followed, but the horse could not be stopped, until, one of its legs going into a hole in the ground, it threw its rider, and dragged him hanging by one foot in the stirrup, into a very rapid stream. When the attendants beheld their sovereign in such great peril they hastened to save him, which they did, but not before he had swallowed a great quantity of water, was wounded, and more dead than alive, and about five hundred men had been drowned. One of the king's servants said to Nassar: “Your archery is very unlucky, since for every arrow that you shoot hundreds of men lose their lives.” The king was taken in a litter to the palace, and only recovered his health after forty days' medical treatment.

When the bodies of the king's followers were taken out of the water the other attendants pierced the heart of Nassar with the shafts of irony and disapprobation, and he concluded that, as he had been so many times thwarted in his purpose of deserving the favour of the king, it would be advisable for him to quit the scene of his exploits lest his life should be endangered. He was yet undecided where to go when he perceived on the opposite bank of the river a village, which he resolved to visit. The current was very rapid, but he entered the water saying to himself: “Let happen what will, my cup of bitterness is already brimful.” As he was crossing, the water became so deep that his horse began to swim, and the violence of the flood soon swept Nassar from its back. He was a good swimmer, but his arms and accoutrements were heavy, so that he was obliged to throw away everything, and landed on the other side in a state of nudity. He waited for the evening, being ashamed thus to enter the village, and when it was dark he roamed about the streets untíl he found a mosque, in a corner of which he concealed himself, naked, starving, and tired as he was. It happened that a party of thieves had plundered the house of the village headman, and about midnight brought their booty into the mosque for the purpose of dividing it. They kindled lights and made some noise, and Nassar, awaking from sleep and dazzled by the lights, fancied it was morning and that the people had come to prayer. As he had a good voice, he said to himself: “Great blessings and rewards are in store for those who call the faithful to prayer, and if I do so, possibly the Most High may open the portals of abundance to my destiny.” And so he ascended to the minaret and pronounced the usual form of invocation, which when the robbers heard they weened that the morning had already dawned while they had been so deeply absorbed in dividing their plunder as to forget the lapse of time. Therefore they made haste to finish the division, then extinguished the lights, and with their bundles on their backs were flying from the mosque when they were met by Nassar, who stopped them and said: “O ye bouquet-binders in the garden of piety and devotion, now is the opportune time to seek the benefits obtainable in the house of God, and this is the place for kindling the lamp of prayer and supplication! Whither are you going? Have you not heard that any person coming to the mosque for the performance of his matutinal duty must remain there till sunrise?” The thieves took him for the muezzin,¹⁰⁴ who wished to detain them till he could hand them over to justice, and, one of them having given him a box on the ear, they all ran off at the top of their speed. Nassar, now certain that they could not be of the pious, ran after the thieves, and being an excellent boxer and swordsman, attacked them boldly, and snatching the weapon from one of them he struck about him to such purpose that he killed one and wounded several of the others, upon which they abandoned their plunder and fled.

Nassar was at a loss what to do with the booty and the corpse, fearing lest he should be held responsible for all that had occurred, and thus fall into fresh danger. Some people, who lived near the mosque, having been aroused from their slumbers by the untimely call from the minaret, said one to another: “Surely that fellow has gone mad, since he calls to morning prayer before midnight is past;” and when they heard the noise of the scuffle they imagined that some vagabonds of the village, whom Satan had seduced to adopt the doctrines of the Súfís, were holding their nocturnal assembly in the mosque.¹⁰⁵ So they hastened thither to expel the intruders; but when they entered they saw only Nassar, who was saying to himself: “I wonder from what poor fellow the thieves have stolen this property.” When the folk beheld a man standing alone and muttering to himself they at once concluded he was a súfí in one of his ecstacies, who had thus stripped himself naked; and as they walked according to the commandments of the Most High and in conformity with the holy law of the Prophet, and hated all súfís, innovators, and enthusiasts, they burst into reproaches against them, crying: “O ye transgressors of the divine commands and destroyers of the ordinances of the Refuge of Prophecy;¹⁰⁶ who degrade the house of God to a brothel, by the wiles of Satan, who has made you his own, and is your guide in irreligious proceedings! What breach is this that you wish to make in Islám?” Nassar mistook them for the thieves who had come back to recover their plunder and wished to deceive him with such speeches, so he said: “You rogues, I shall not be circumvented by your tricks,” and seizing the sword which was still near him he wounded one of them and put the others to flight. Then he tied a rope to the neck of the wounded man and said: “Come, tell the truth. From what house have you stolen these goods?” But the man, knowing nothing of the robbers, believed him to be a súfí in a trance, speaking nonsense, and replied: “O you wretched vagabond and fanatic and transgressor of the divine commands! I know not what you say. Have I not come hither from my house on account of the tumult which you made?”

Meanwhile the other villagers who had been driven away by Nassar went to the officials and thus addressed them: “Is Islám no longer dominant in this country, that hypocrites and infidels are allowed to enter the mosque and desecrate it with their orgies? People who live near the mosque hear every night the diabolical revellings of a pack of vagabonds. Last night they again entered the mosque, and, contrary to law, shouted the call to prayer in the middle of the night. They have even sorely wounded one of the faithful, and we do not know what has become of him.” The officials ordered a party of constables to accompany them and to seize the law-breakers; and when they entered the mosque they found Nassar still engaged in examining his prisoner, and mistaking them also for the thieves he wounded one of them likewise. “Súfí,” they exclaimed, “what impudence and wickedness is this? Do pious and virtuous men ever fight and kill the servants of God in the mosque?” Quoth Nassar: “You vile robbers! you cannot deceive me. I intend to slay you all this night, to deserve the reward of God.” When they saw him speaking so boldly, naked as he was, they said: “Look at the presumption of this súfí, to behave in such a manner in the mosque!” By this time, the morning having dawned, numbers of the people came to prayer, and Nassar fled, with the sword in his hand, and wounded several persons who attempted to stop him. But he ran so fast that no one was able to overtake him, and his pursuers then returned to their homes. Soon afterwards, however, a company of súfís came into the village and were at once accused of having committed the robbery; a general tumult ensued and many men were slain or wounded. Ultimately the affair came before the king of Egypt, who caused the súfís to be punished and fined, although they were entirely innocent of the crime laid to their charge.

Nassar now wandered from town to town, pursued by misfortunes. One day the king of Egypt asked his courtiers what had become of him, but they could only reply that in consequence of the various calamities that followed his archery feat he had disappeared. His majesty observed that for these accidents Nassar was in no way accountable, because they had all occurred by the decree of Fate, and he despatched messengers in every direction to search for him. Nassar was at last discovered in a village, in a very destitute and miserable condition. He was carried to the capital, and before bringing him into the king's presence it was necessary to take him to the bath, after which his majesty received him with great kindness and inquired of him: “Are you skilled in any other things besides archery?” Nassar bowed his head and replied: “I am acquainted with military tactics, mathematics, commerce, mineralogy, boxing, fencing, and also with cooking.”¹⁰⁸ Quoth the king: “All these accomplishments adorn the character of a man, none of them, however, can equal your skill in archery; but when you acquired it your destiny was unpropitious and the moon was evidently in the mansion of the Scorpion.¹⁰⁹ It will therefore be proper for you to abstain from shooting arrows and to practice other arts until the lucky hour comes when these calamities have disappeared from your horoscope. This day I wish to give a banquet, and you must exhibit your skill in boxing; and as you tell me that you also possess a knowledge of the art of cooking, I give you leave to prepare any dishes you please, for it is long since I was able to relish any kind of food.”

Accordingly Nassar made various savoury dishes, and when he had finished his work the king commanded him to show his skill in boxing until the dinner hour. Nassar said that he was ready to box and wrestle with two hundred men who excelled in these arts, and when they were produced he very easily vanquished them one after another.¹¹⁰ The king gave orders that more men should be brought, but to his astonishment none could be found willing to encounter such a formidable antagonist. But recollecting that he possessed a Circassian slave named Fírúz Bakht, lately presented to him by the Sultan of Turkey, who was skilled in wrestling, he ordered him to attack Nassar. The slave caught Nassar about the loins so forcibly that his own hands bled, but he was unable to move him a hair's breadth from the spot where he stood. To be brief, they wrestled long and skilfully, the Circassian trying two hundred different tricks without effect. At last, however, Nassar turned the game and lifted Fírúz Bakht from the ground with as much ease as if he were a child; but the slave so firmly grasped a pillar of the shed in which the sport was taking place that Nassar could not pull him from it; and making a final effort he tugged so hard that along with Fírúz Bakht he wrenched the pillar away, which killed the slave and about twenty of the spectators by a portion of the roof falling down on them after its support had been thus withdrawn. The king, with all his attendants, fled from the place in alarm, and the banquet, which was to be one of joy, became one of mourning.

Although the king was greatly affected by this sad accident he said to his courtiers: “As this event only took place by the immutable decree of Fate, I can in no way blame the young stranger; and if I lose my life together with my kingdom, a thousand accidents such as this will not influence me against him.” The courtiers tried to comfort the king, but as he was very melancholy their efforts were fruitless. When the table-decker made his appearance and announced that the dinner prepared by Nassar was ready to be served up, the king said: “Though we have at present no inclination to eat anything, yet, as the dinner is prepared, cause it to be brought in.” When, however, the king had tasted some of the dishes he found them to be more delicious than aught he had ever eaten before; and, thus seduced, he ate so heartily that he became ill, and having but lately recovered from sickness he was unable to digest the food, and only recovered after a long course of medicine.

But that magnanimous and kind-hearted monarch, albeit he had never been sick before he had come in contact with Nassar, would ascribe neither his indisposition nor the other calamities to that circumstance, but to the decrees of Fate, and bore him no ill-will. He invested Nassar with a robe of honour, made him various presents, and was about to appoint him to a high office, when one of the vazírs, who had by his natural sagacity guessed the king's purpose, said that, although his majesty was of a liberal and kind disposition and Nassar a deserving person, yet it would be inadvisable to bestow on him any great favours at the present time, because experience had abundantly shown that the withering blasts of his unfortunate destiny had not yet ceased to blow, and only mischief would be the result. Therefore, he went on to say, it would be better to give him a considerable sum of money and dismiss him, with the injunction to remain in some other place until his destiny had changed for the better, when he might return to the service of the king, whose favours, if now bestowed, would be thrown away. He continued: “It is also certain that in the same way as all efforts to aid persons who are predestined to be unfortunate are in vain, so also the devotional and religious wishes of silly though well-meaning men are of little avail to them.” The king asked: “How is that?” Upon which the vazír related the

AT the time of the rising of the Sun of Prophecy, the glance of an angel of the Court of Unity¹¹² chanced to alight on the hermitage of an ascetic, whom he beheld sedulously engaged in all the duties of religion; and he was so pleased that he was curious to know what should be the reward of all this piety. Then the allocution reached him from the Lord of Omniscience: “Angel, pray that this mystery be revealed to thee.” Accordingly the angel made his supplication and was informed that the reward of the ascetic should be very inconsiderable; whereat he was so astonished that he said: “O God! how can this be the reward of a whole life of piety? I consider it as insufficient for a single day. What wisdom is concealed in this matter?” Then he heard this order: “Visit him in human form, and learn the state of the case.” The angel obeyed, and, after being by the power of the Most High transformed into a man, he visited the hermit and became so intimate with him that he lived for several days in his cell, which being situated in a pleasant and fertile region, with abundance of springs and flowers, the angel said one day to the hermit: “Arise, let us enjoy a walk in this delightful place.” Accordingly they went out together, and when they entered a paradise-like meadow, and beheld the freshness of the parti-coloured vegetation, they praised the Almighty. Said the angel: “Hermit, be grateful to God for having adorned the neighbourhood of your cell like a paradise with springs and flowers and crowned every blade of grass with the diadem of loveliness and fertility.” The ascetic replied: “My dear brother, I always enjoy the pleasantness of this locality because it abounds in grass and water, so that many animals might be fattened here. But I am constantly burning with grief that God has no ass whom I might comfort and feed in this place, and might for his sake acquire a higher merit in the next world.” When the angel was thus made aware of the littleness of the hermit's mind, by this silly wish, he left him, and resuming his proper form the divine allocution reached him: “Have you seen the intelligence and wisdom of the hermit?”¹¹⁴

The vazír continued: “A sovereign must also use very great care in the choice of his ministers, otherwise he may fare like the king of Basra, who had a very ambitious and wicked vazír.” Quoth the king of Egypt: “How was that?” and the minister began to relate the

IN ancient times there was a king of Basra who was very kind-hearted and liberal. He had a good vazír, worthy of his confidence, who assiduously attended to all his duties and was very faithful; but death overtook him, and the king, who was for some time undecided what to do, ultimately appointed in his place a man of great ambition, who secretly entertained a design of usurping the throne; and being in want of an accomplice he bribed a eunuch to introduce him to one of the ladies of the haram. But when he had become accustomed to the pleasures which awaited him in the fond embraces of love, he thought that it would be dangerous to carry out his purpose very hastily, so he drew the lady into his secret, and now neglected the eunuch who had assisted him thus far and who consequently made a vow to avenge himself on the ungrateful vazír.

One night the king had a very unpleasant dream: a scorpion crawled from his sleeve into his shoe, and when he attempted to take it out it bit him. In the morning the sultan related his dream to some of his courtiers, and as they could offer no satisfactory explanation of it he said: “You are only groping in the dark, and we must wait till a skilful interpreter can be found.”

The eunuch, who had heard the attendants conversing on the subject and thought this a favourable opportunity to revenge himself on the vazír, said that he was able to interpret the dream; and on being brought before the king spake as follows: “The interpretation is, that one of your majesty's highest officials has withdrawn his head from the circle of obedience: by means of a eunuch he has gained admission into the royal haram, which he visits every night, and carries on a love-intrigue with one of the ladies; and moreover he entertains the most wicked design, at a fitting opportunity, of depriving your majesty of life (which God forbid!) and usurping the throne himself;—and there is a high degree of probability that the official is no other than the vazír.” On hearing this the king was wroth, but concealed his feelings, so that he should not compromise his dignity, and exclaimed: “Base wretch! there is nothing to warrant such a suspicion, unless, perhaps, some spite which you harbour against the vazír, and in consequence of which you malign him;” and he ordered the eunuch to be instantly put to death. But the king, though inclined to give some credit to the eunuch's story, could hardly believe that a man such as his vazír, whom he had raised from a low position and made a sharer in the government of the kingdom, could be so ungrateful as to covet his throne and purpose depriving him of life.

During the past night the vazír had as usual visited his paramour, and they had then agreed to murder the king on the following night, but they wot not of what was in store for them. The king, who had been rendered uneasy by the revelation of the eunuch, entered his private apartments in the evening, and then secretly despatched a confidential servant to see whether the vazír was in his own house. When the messenger returned with the information that the vazír was not at home, the king had no longer any doubts, and knew that if the vazír had entered the haram he must have done so from the water-side. He quietly summoned all the watchmen and said to them: “Last night I dreamt that thieves entered the haram, and I am very uneasy; therefore I command you to kill any person either entering or issuing from it.” After the sentries had returned to their posts the king himself went into the haram, and, accompanied by some trusty eunuchs, rushed into the room where he supposed the vazír and the lady slept, and there discovering another guilty couple he slew them, and the former escaped.¹¹⁷ While a eunuch ran after the vazír and his paramour, the king went out to see whether all the sentries were at their posts; and as soon as they perceived him they stabbed him to death, according to his own order. Meanwhile the eunuch pursued the vazír, who also went out by the water-side, was also mistaken in the darkness for a robber, and met the same fate as his master. Then the other eunuchs who were in search of the vazír, and were not aware of the king's order, also issued by the same door and were all killed by the guards; so that in the morning when the dead bodies were counted they amounted to forty. On discovering the body of the king the people greatly deplored the misfortune, and, considering that he with all his attendants had been killed in consequence of a conspiracy, they laid hold of the watchmen and put them to death, after which the kingdom fell into a state of anarchy.

The vazír added that this narrative exemplified how one individual may become the cause of the death of many, and that from the misfortunes which followed Nassar's exploits it plainly appeared that he was also one of the number of those ill-fated wretches, and that the misadventures of Shoayb of Baghdád likewise supported his statement. Quoth the king: “How is that?” whereupon the vazír related the

IN days of yore there dwelt in the city of Baghdád a rich man called Shoayb, but various calamities befell him so that he became extremely poor and quitted the country, and his ill-luck followed him wheresoever he went, and in spite of all his diligence and skill he was unable to succeed in any affair which he undertook. One day he approached a river and discovered three men engaged in fishing, and as he had never seen this occupation exercised he looked on with much interest. The three fishermen, seeing that he was in a very destitute condition, easily induced him to enter their service, on condition that they should give him as his wages one fish for breakfast and another for supper.¹¹⁹ After he had been a few days thus employed the river began to decrease in volume and also the fish in number, so that they caught only a tenth of the quantity which they used to get formerly. At last they could catch only one fish in a whole day, and were reduced to such straits that they resolved to go in quest of some other kind of work.

One day the sultan happened to pass that way and perceived to his great astonishment that there was scarcely any water in the river. He questioned the fishermen, who stated their case, when the vazír of the king, who was a very intelligent man, asked them: “Has any stranger come among you during these days and been taken into partnership with you?” They pointed to Shoayb and said: “This man is a stranger among us.” Then Shoayb was examined, and he recounted his former wealthy condition and his present destitution in such appropriate and eloquent language that the king and his vazír, as well as all the attendants, were greatly amazed, and when he had ended his narrative the vazír said: “To stay any longer in this place is contrary to the dictates of prudence!” So they all returned to the city, and on their way the king asked the vazír: “Why did you make those inquiries and then become so disconcerted by the answers you received that, by your declaration that it would be unsafe to stay any longer there, you almost forced us away from the place?” The vazír saluted the king and thus replied: “Most gracious sovereign, when your majesty asked for the cause of the river's decrease I thought of three causes: First, that perhaps these fishermen had for several days forgotten God and the Prophet, and that therefore such a calamity had befallen them; because it is certain that when men give way to evil habits, the genii and demons are permitted to injure them and to destroy their prospects even as the withering blasts of autumn deprive the roses of their freshness and bloom. Secondly, that perchance these fishermen had in some way injured either your majesty or the inhabitants of this district, for which they were thus punished. Thirdly, that possibly a stranger had come amongst these fishermen, and that on account of the misfortunes which follow his heels they as his partners are compelled to participate in them, and therefore I questioned that stranger regarding his history; when I discovered that he had brought his ill-luck with him, in consequence of which the river itself has nearly dried up.” Quoth the king: “I have full confidence in your intelligence and experience, but I put no faith in your theories of good and ill-luck, because both are mere expressions and depend entirely upon circumstances. Thus, for instance, if a man be intelligent and honest, and manage his affairs properly, he will certainly have good luck, but a careless fool must naturally meet with ill luck:

Every man is master of his own fortune
According to his character and strength of mind:¹²¹
One, as Lukman,¹²² wise and opportune;
The other as crazy Majnún^122a you will find.
The bulbul^122b among roses dwells,
The owl in ruins dark abides;
But intellect every ascent tells,
And the fool his own folly chides.”

The vazír responded: “What your majesty says is but the sequel of my assertion, because the intellectual qualities of every individual depend upon his horoscope and the propitious or unpropitious positions of the stars, and according to these a man is either lucky or unlucky. Moreover, we frequently see that intelligent and good men do not prosper, while fools and rogues succeed in all their undertakings.”¹²³ Quoth the king: “This I believe, because sometimes an intelligent man has not that practical turn required in the management of affairs and is thereby unable to overcome difficulties.”^123a To this the vazír rejoined: “What argument can your majesty adduce in favour of the prosperous condition of Hindús, Jews, Christians, and infidels, who are more powerful than the professors of Islám, most of whom are in need of the aid of those nations addicted to error?” To this question the king could give no satisfactory answer, but he nevertheless said: “No matter what arguments you may bring forward, I shall not believe your assertion.” The conversation was still turning on this subject when they entered the city, and the king said: “Let this matter stand over until I can prove that I am right;” to which the vazír replied: “If your majesty can prove the contrary of what I have stated, I am willing that my blood be spilled and lapped by the dogs in the streets.”

Next morning the king secretly called one of his confidential servants, and handing him a bag of gold said: “Go without the knowledge of any one to the river, take the young stranger to whom we spoke yesterday apart, and give him this gold. Bid him leave the company of the fishermen, go to the bath, put on good clothes, and wait the day after to-morrow on horseback in such a place until farther orders.” The attendant set out with the gold, and on coming up to the fishermen he was perplexed, as he could not distinguish which of them was the stranger. At last he called one of the fishermen aside and asked: “Which is the young stranger with whom the vazír conversed yesterday?” Quoth the man: “Why do you want him?” “I have some business with him,” answered the king's messenger. The fisherman, who was a cunning fellow, suspected that the vazír had sent the stranger something, so he assumed a doleful aspect and said in a melancholy voice: “I am that poor stranger,” on which the servant took out the gold secretly, and giving it to the man, at the same time delivered the king's message; and the fisherman did not return to his companions, but immediately ran to the city, where he purchased a fleet horse and fled in the direction of Tabríz.

On the appointed day the king took the vazír towards the river, and looked in all directions for Shoayb, whom they could not discover, until, reaching the bank, they saw him with two of the fishermen. The king at once surmised that the absence of the third was to be ascribed to the mistake of his servant; accordingly he said nothing to his vazír, but when he returned to the palace he reprimanded the careless attendant and sent him to prison. Then he took another bag of gold and delivered it to an intelligent servant with the same directions as before. He went to the river, and calling Shoayb privately apart, asked him: “Are you the stranger among the fishermen?” But Shoayb, suspecting that this man might be the precursor of a caravan of fresh misfortunes, answered: “I am one of the fishermen.” Then said the man: “Go and send the young stranger to me.” Shoayb went and told one of the fishermen that a servant of the king wanted to see him, and when he came the man handed him the bag of gold, without asking any questions, delivered the king's orders, and departed. The fisherman was at first astonished at his good luck, but afterwards said to himself: “Gifts such as this are merely tokens of the munificence of sovereigns. Probably when the king was here and saw our distress the Most High inspired him with pity for us.” So he concealed the bag at a distance from Shoayb and his companion; but the latter, having watched all his movements and observed that a servant of the king had given him something which he was now hiding, resolved to make away with him and possess the treasure. Accordingly, having sent Shoayb to the city on some errand, he took the net and said to his comrade: “Come, let us throw the net, for I have just seen a very large fish.” His unsuspecting partner complied, and when he drew near, the intending murderer pushed him into the river, but his own hand becoming entangled in the net he also fell into the water and both perished.

It happened that the fisherman who intended to flee to Tabríz was not well acquainted with the road, and after travelling all day lay down to sleep. When he awoke he found that his horse had strayed away and went in pursuit of it; but having proceeded some distance he recollected that he had left the bag of gold, which was under his head while he slept, and returned for it, but in his haste he missed the spot, not only for an hour or two but he was utterly unable to discover it after three days' search, during which period he had nothing to eat or drink. He found his way back to the capital in a state of great exhaustion, and had no alternative but to betake himself again to his old business on the river. When he arrived there he beheld Shoayb alone and asked him where his two comrades had gone. Shoayb told him that they had sent him four days ago to the town on an errand, and when he returned they were absent and had not yet made their appearance.

Meanwhile the king again made an excursion with the vazír, and when they reached the bank of the river they saw Shoayb with another man. Therefore the king concluded that the gold had been again received by the wrong person and he became very angry. On his return to the palace he punished the servant, and said to himself: “I am surely singular among kings, not to possess a man able to execute this business properly.” Then he despatched a third attendant to the river, telling him that he would see there two men, one of whom belonged to the country, the other was a stranger, and to be sure he brought the latter with him. When the servant came up to the two men he asked: “Which of you two is the stranger?” The fisherman, having obtained the second bag of gold on pretence of being the stranger and believing that the king was conferring gifts on such persons and that the servant had brought more money, replied: “I am the stranger who has no share in the comforts of this world. What do you want with me?” Quoth the servant: “The king wishes to see you.” But when the fisherman heard the king mentioned, reflecting that he had received the bag of gold on the previous occasion without having a right to it, he began to tremble; he had no excuse, however, and followed the messenger. When he was brought into the royal presence the king at once saw that he was not the man he had sought to benefit and resolved to punish him. “Are you,” demanded he, “the stranger who lives with the fishermen?” The man replied: “Yes.” Then quoth the king: “As you are the fellow in consequence of whose unpropitious advent the water of the river has become diminished and the fish in it few in number, you are worthy of death.” On seeing his joyous expectations come to such an end the fisherman began to moan and said: “May it please your majesty, I am not that stranger. But as this world is not our permanent abode, and we are all sojourners in it, I said that I am a stranger.” But the king's wrath was not appeased by the man's supplications, and he was immediately made to drink of the beverage of death. Thus on account of the misfortunes of Shoayb all the three fishermen lost their lives.

Shoayb, who had remained by the river, now reflected that, as the king's messengers had several times been there and always asked for the stranger, and as his companions had disappeared, it would not be safe for him to continue longer in that place, especially as it appeared probable that the king bore enmity to strangers; and therefore he betook himself to the city, so that when the king again sent a messenger he could find no one, and his majesty was once more disappointed in his well-meant efforts to assist the poor stranger.

One night the king was walking about the city in disguise,¹²⁸ accompanied by some of his courtiers, when he saw a crowd in the bazár assembled round a man whose hands were tied, and addressing him in this strain: “In consequence of the unpropitious sight of your unhallowed person, that misfortune has befallen Khoja Naym. He was so rich that every morning and evening one thousand men partook of the banquet of his liberality, and by your ill luck he was overwhelmed by such a calamity.” When the king looked well at the man he recognised Shoayb as the object of the reproaches and vituperation of the crowd. So he went aside and said to his attendants: “Save this man in any way you can from the grasp of this mob; for he is the individual we are in search of.” The courtiers mixed with the crowd and asked: “Who is this man? And what has he done to Khoja Naym?” The people answered: “Yesterday morning the Khoja was riding out to meet the caravan from Egypt, with the intention of purchasing some goods, and as soon as his eye caught sight of this fellow he immediately fell down from his horse and expired.¹²⁹ We have been some time in search of him, and now that we have found him we are going to retaliate on him the death of Khoja Naym.” The royal attendants said: “Such events take place by the decrees of Providence. You persecute this guiltless man in vain, for according to the law no crime can be brought home to him. You ought rather to give alms and solace the poor, to please God, and for the pardon of the Khoja. Indeed, should any evil happen to this man you will have to account for it to the king.” But the people of Khoja Naym would not listen to reason, and pulled the man on one side while the courtiers, who were not recognised in the darkness, pulled him on the other side, and the quarrel resulted in a fight, during which several persons were wounded and one of the courtiers was killed. Amidst the confusion, however, Shoayb contrived to make his escape.

When the people of Khoja Naym had fled and the crowd was dispersed, the king walked away with his attendants, who carried the body of the slain courtier along with them. On their way to the palace they were met by the police, who mistook them for robbers carrying a dead comrade, and attempted to arrest them. The king and his men drew their swords and resisted, so that a fight again ensued, which ended in the whole party being captured after several persons had been killed and wounded on both sides. On taking their prisoners to the guard-house the police discovered that they had arrested their own king and became so terrified that they took to their heels. The king arrived at the palace, with his courtiers, so fatigued and wounded that he was unable to rise from his couch for several days. Nevertheless he issued orders to fine, imprison, and punish the people of Khoja Naym, who had during the night attacked certain persons in the bazár and had even killed one of their number.

On the following evening the king ordered two intimate friends to come to his private apartments, when he spoke to them as follows: “Although at present all appearances are in favour of the vazír's assertion, yet I am unwilling to concede that it is true. You must go again in search of that stranger, and possibly we may at last get hold of him.” But the courtiers replied: “It is not advisable that your majesty should take any more trouble in this matter, lest it should result in greater misfortunes.” “I see,” said the king, “that I cannot entrust this service to any one, and therefore I must go myself.” Accordingly, when evening was somewhat advanced, he set out with a number of attendants, and while strolling through the bazárs, he chanced to look into the public bath-house, and there he saw Shoayb sitting in earnest conversation with the fireman, and sent a servant to call him out. When Shoayb had come into the street his majesty said to him: “I am in great favour with the king. I had a brother resembling you in stature and features who was also in the royal service, and just when he had been appointed to a high office an accident hastened him to the next world. No one, however, knows of this but myself; and as I am very desirous that the position to which he was promoted should be enjoyed by a member of my family, I propose to substitute you in his stead, and present you to the king; and after you receive his favours you will be sent to your post in the country, whereby the dark night of your reverses will be changed to the bright morning of happiness.” Shoayb joyfully agreed to this proposal, and the king, handing a purse to an attendant, said to him: “Take charge of this man; to-morrow take him to the bath, and purchase with this gold whatever is required. I shall also send the necessary costume and on the following day present him to his majesty.”

As Shoayb and the royal servant were proceeding along together, the latter asked Shoayb to carry the gold for a short while, and just then one of the king's elephants, that had become mad and broken loose, rushing through the street overthrew the servant and trampled him to death. This so frightened Shoayb that he would not remain in the place, and having no other acquaintance, he returned to the fireman of the bath-house. When Shoayb entered, the man perceived the bag in his hand, and fancied he had brought some delicious food; but as Shoayb showed no signs of wishing him to partake of it, he resolved to possess it by a stratagem. He kindled some dry wood over the bath, and, suddenly affecting to be in great distress, exclaimed: “Woe is me! the roof has caught fire, and as the bath-house is close to the bazár it will also become a prey to the flames!” Then handing a bucket to Shoayb, he said: “Brother, fill this bucket at the river and come back quickly that we may extinguish the fire, from which the whole world is in danger!” Shoayb took the bucket and went out; but as soon as he had disappeared the cupidity of the fireman would not allow him first to extinguish the flames, but impelled him to examine the bag, and when to his astonishment he found it full of gold he exclaimed joyfully: “This is indeed great luck!” But while he was concealing the treasure in an aperture in the wall the flames increased so much that they enveloped the whole roof, and some sparks falling on the heaps of fuel around the building kindled them, and attracted the people of the quarter to the scene, where they found the covetous man burnt to a cinder. Meanwhile the conflagration increased, being fanned by the wind, and it was only put out with great labour, and after much property was destroyed and many persons lost their lives.

While Shoayb was going to fetch water he lost his way, and met a party of thieves carrying on their backs the plunder which they had just taken from a house. As soon as they caught sight of him they compelled him also to carry a burden, and proceeded to the town-wall, which they scaled by throwing up a rope-ladder, and in the same manner they descended on the other side. They walked on until they reached a cemetery, where they deposited their booty, and then proposed to kill Shoayb, but one of the gang, more merciful than his comrades, said: “Friends, is it not enough that we steal, but we must also commit murder? This man can do us no harm.” Others, however, replied: “A head which is cut off cannot speak;” and the discussion was becoming very warm when one of the king's spies chanced to pass by, and hearing voices issuing from the vault, he listened and soon ascertained what was going on. Then he rode quickly to the town and brought a number of armed men, with whom he rushed into the vault, and killed all the thieves. After they had examined the plunder and were beginning to remove it, they discovered in a corner a man crouching down, with his hands tied, and asked him: “Who are you?” Shoayb replied that he was a poor stranger who had been robbed and was just about to be killed when they arrived. The men bade him take of the plunder whatever belonged to him, and he was not slow in appropriating a Kurán¹³⁴ with several other articles and walked away. As soon as the morning dawned and the city gates were opened Shoayb entered; but as the householder who had been robbed immediately gave notice to the authorities, they were on the alert; and he himself happening to be near the gate by which Shoayb entered at once recognised his own Kurán and the other things the unlucky man was carrying. The servants of the householder caught hold of him and said: “Where have you got these articles?” He replied: “They are my property.” Shoayb was, of course, taken for a thief, and the servants tied his hands and were about to bring him before the authorities, when the armed men who had slain the robbers returned, after having secreted the plunder and thrown the bodies into the river. When they found Shoayb in this difficulty, they knew that if he were tortured he would make a confession and bring all of them into trouble, and that they would not be credited with having taken their plunder from the thieves but would be considered as robbers themselves, and thus forfeit their lives. So they determined to liberate Shoayb, and, assembling a great number of their friends, they demanded that the innocent prisoner should be delivered to them. This was refused, and a fight ensued which swelled to such dimensions that about a thousand men were killed, and a rumour spread that an enemy had invaded the capital. The king at once despatched a body of ten thousand men, with orders to quell the tumult at any price, which they did, and brought a multitude of prisoners, including Shoayb, into the presence of the king.

Now the vazír, when the king discussed the subject of Shoayb's misfortunes with him, knew that his majesty would endeavour to disprove his assertions, so he had appointed some men to watch occurrences day and night, and to keep a record of every misfortune which should befall the people on account of Shoayb. They performed their duties very faithfully, and had by this time compiled a document of considerable length. And when the king discovered Shoayb among the prisoners and the wounded who had been brought before him, he inwardly acknowledged his error and was convinced that the vazír was right. The first man whom he called forth from the assembly was the owner of the stolen property, which he identified in the hands of Shoayb of Baghdád, and many others bore witness to the truth of his statement. Then quoth the king to Shoayb: “I know that you are not a thief and a robber, and it is probable that he who is not a thief is also not a liar. I therefore command you to give a true account of this business.” The poor fellow in reply related every circumstance from his going to fetch water till his falling among thieves, and so on to the end. Then the king thus spake to the armed men of his spy: “Cupidity spoils everything in this world. Had you simply captured the thieves and brought them to me you would have deserved a reward. But by taking their plunder you have become their accomplices and the cause of so great confusion and slaughter. You are worthy of death, but as you have slain the thieves I pardon you; at the same time I command you to restore the goods to the owners and leave the city together with Shoayb.” After the people had been dismissed the vazír produced the document in which the calamities connected with Shoayb were recorded, and it was found that within the space of twelve days one thousand five hundred men had lost their lives, besides the injuries suffered by those who had been wounded and had lost their property.

Having thus ended his third example, the vazír added: “As this story likewise clearly shows the truth of my assertion, your majesty would do well to dismiss Nassar to a distant country until the rust of his misfortunes is wiped off the mirror of his circumstances, when you may safely receive him again into your royal favour.” The king of Egypt approved of this advice, and ordered the vazír to give Nassar a thousand dínars and send him away. The vazír immediately sent for Nassar and gave him the money; he even apologised to Nassar, and desired him to return after his fortune had become more propitious, when his majesty would receive him most graciously, and reward him handsomely.

Nassar was very sad and knew not where to go, till he recollected that Khayrandísh had given him a ring which he was to show at Aleppo to his friend Abú Jurjas, if he should fall into any troubles and be in need of assistance. So he set out for that city. On the way he came to a delightful meadow, adorned with trees and flowers, and as he was fatigued he lay down near a beautiful spring, and, placing the gold he had received from the vazír under his head, soon fell asleep. Presently he was awoke by a voice exclaiming: “Young man, this is a perilous place for resting or sleeping in. Arise, and save your life!” He leaped up hastily and fled. After a while he recollected that he had forgotten his gold, but was afraid to return; and considering this also as a consequence of his ill-luck he continued his journey.

When he arrived in the vicinity of the hermitage of Abú Jurjas, he beheld it in a state of neatness and cleanliness. From its walls blessings and felicities radiated; but he could find no trace of the hermit. After looking all round, he perceived a man sleeping on a couch, and said to himself: “This must be the hermit, who has probably spent the night in devotion and is now sleeping.” Accordingly he waited till evening, but the hermit did not move. Then thought Nassar: “Although it is uncivil to awaken any one from sleep, yet as this man would be sorry to miss the time for evening prayers I must disturb him.” He therefore went forward and shook the hermit slightly, but still he did not move. He perceived a slip of paper on the pillow which contained these words:

“Fortunate youth! on the bank of the river of life no tree grows which is not blown down by the wind of Fate. In a vision I was informed that you would come hither, but whilst I was alive I expected you in vain. But since the goblet of my existence has become filled to-day, I could not postpone my departure, and, bowing my head obediently to the summons of the omnipotent Sovereign, I laid myself down on my death-bed. I am perfectly aware of what you have come to seek. Dread nothing: all your reverses will soon be turned to prosperity. Friend, I have three injunctions to communicate to you: First, that you wash my corpse and bury it in this place; secondly, that as soon as you have the means you build a chapel here, so that whenever people see it they may remember me, and their kind wishes may rejoice my soul, for nothing is more useful to those who sleep on the pillow of death than the prayers of the living for their pardon; and, thirdly, that every Friday¹³⁹ night frankincense or other perfumes be burnt over my tomb, because wherever that is done angels of mercy alight. On account of the hardships which you have hitherto suffered, your fortune will henceforward be very great. In the neighbourhood of this spot there is a spring called the Fountain of Al-Kamyss, which was a place where Muslim fairies were wont to amuse themselves, and therefore infidel genii have dried it up. You must during the space of forty days¹⁴⁰ go to that place every day and pray God to cause the water again to flow. As soon as by divine command the water reappears, you must perform the sacred ablution of gratitude to the Almighty, when all the filth of your misfortunes will be removed and the fairies will everywhere shower happiness on your head.”

After Nassar had read the paper he washed and buried the body of the hermit. Then he betook himself to the fountain and prayed during forty days, at the end of which period the water again began to flow and fishes appeared in it, by order of the Almighty, and each fish bore a jewel in its ear and a ring in its mouth. The fishes exclaimed: “Praise be to the Most High!” and saluted Nassar, who was very much astonished at the spectacle. Then a white fish more beautiful than all the others raised its head from the water, brought the purse of gold which Nassar had left in the meadow when he was scared away by the warning voice, and said: “Happy young man! this is your property. Be not amazed at the sight of us, for, though we are now in the form of fishes, we are in reality fairies, and live according to the ordinances of Islám; and for this reason we usually assume the shape of fish, because they are the most innocent of God's creatures.¹⁴² This fountain is our abode and place of amusement. When the malevolent genii had, on account of their enmity towards us, dried up this spring, we were compelled to wander about; but now that, by the blessing of your advent, the water has again appeared, we are engaged in praising God and in thanking you. Young man, in the meadow where you slept near a fountain we warned you to depart, because that region is the abode of a tremendous dragon which has destroyed numberless people by its fiery breath, and no one has been able to kill it. The astrologers have predicted that a stranger will destroy the monster, and the king of the country, who has no offspring, has made a vow that he will abdicate the throne in favour of that fortunate stranger. We shall reward your good deed by killing the dragon and bringing you a sign, whereby you shall obtain the bride of royalty and gain every day a hundredfold more than your father Khoja Humáyún has lost.”

Then the fairies brought forth various savoury dishes, of which they invited him to eat, while they went and slew the dragon, after which they vanished. But soon a great tempest and dust enveloped the whole firmament in confusion and darkness; and when all the noise and turmoil had passed away, the surface of the fountain became slightly agitated, and the fishes again appeared, and placed the head of the dragon, which was of monstrous size, on the brim of the spring. Then one of the fairy fishes addressed Nassar, saying: “This dragon was sleeping in the shadow of a mountain; we went with seventy thousand fairies to the spot where the monster lay, and separating half of the mountain threw it on the dragon, which immediately perished—its last agonies caused the tempest and darkness. Although the service which we have thus done to you is as nothing compared with the favour you have conferred upon us, yet as every return, be it ever so slight, is acceptable, we have been happy to serve you; and, please God, we shall hereafter consider it as our highest pleasure to gratify every one of your wishes. And now you may depart to the city.”

Nassar went away accordingly; and when the people saw the head of the dragon they notified the event to the capital, from which immense crowds issued, so that not less than twenty thousand persons met Nassar and escorted him with great pomp into the city, the people constantly bowing and thanking him for the great benefit he had conferred on them. Just then the good king was on his deathbed, and, having no son, his ministers did not know who should be his successor. But when they heard of Nassar's entrance into the city they instantly conveyed him before the dying king, who was rejoiced to learn that the dragon was slain, kissed Nassar on the forehead, offered his thanksgivings to the Most High, murmuring: “If I must die, I have now no other wish.” Then he handed his diadem and royal signet to Nassar, and said to the vazír: “He is indeed a good servant who obeys his sovereign on his deathbed; therefore now let every one who loves me pay his allegiance to Nassar.” With one accord the ministers and others who were present did homage to Nassar and elevated him to the throne of royalty.

When the king died Nassar began to govern. He fulfilled the last wishes of the hermit. He sent messengers to Baghdád to bring his father Khoja Humáyún with all his relatives, and on their arrival, with great ceremony and pomp, the father rejoiced to meet his son like Jacob when he was brought to Joseph. Nassar appointed his father to be his vazír and bestowed high stations on all his kindred; he also wrote a letter to the king of Egypt, which he sent with many gifts, informing him of the happy turn his destiny had taken. Thus Nassar, although for some time in the gripe of various misfortunes, became ultimately very happy and spent his life in great comfort.

HOW THREE BROTHERS SET OUT ON A TRADING JOURNEY— HOW THE YOUNGEST IS CRUELLY ABANDONED BY HIS ELDER BRETHREN—HOW HE MEETS WITH ROYAL FAVOUR.

IN ancient times there lived in Kashmír a jeweller called Khoja Marján, who was very lucky in all his dealings and amassed great wealth. He had three sons, the two elder of whom were of a foolish and lazy disposition, and one day the Khoja said to them: “According to the requirements of this world, everyone must do something for his living. You may have heard that at first I was only the servant of a jeweller, yet I have, by dint of industry, overcome all obstacles, so that in this city there is no person who is richer than myself. It would be a pity if you were, in your folly, to trust in my opulence and engage in no occupation, because in this way many who had the greatest expectations were disappointed and reduced to misery. If any man, though he be rich, knows only how to spend and never to gain, it is very probable that he will exhaust all his resources. Therefore as our business is commerce, which is promoted by trading in different places, I desire you to gain your livelihood in that manner as long as I am alive, and for this purpose I shall give to each of you some goods, and thus you may carry on business.”¹⁴⁸

The name of the Khoja's third son was Farrukh-rúz; he was a great deal more intelligent than his brothers and therefore loved his father more; so, after the Khoja had delivered the promised goods to his two elder sons, he privately handed to Farrukhrúz a small casket, saying: “My dear son, the true touchstone of young men is travel, by which their ability appears. Although none of you has yet made a journey, the results of which might show your skill and intelligence, yet my paternal love whispers to me that you are the worthiest of my sons. In this casket there is a cock which skillful artisans have carved from a single ruby and inserted inside of it various contrivances, so that it is such a great curiosity that its like has not been seen in the world. Keep it secret from your brothers, so that should you fall into trouble you may still help yourself by presenting it as a gift to some king.”

The three brothers, having received each his portion of goods from their father, began to journey to Irán, and arrived first at the city of Herát, which was at that time governed with justice and equity. In that delightful place the two elder sons of Khoja Marján spent all their time in pleasure, but Farrukhrúz engaged himself in business. One day he ventured to admonish his brothers, but they stretched forth the neck of impudence and refused to listen to his advice. At last, however, their dissipated ways reduced them to poverty, and such was their misery that they purposed committing suicide. Farrukhrúz took pity on them and gave them some of his own goods, saying: “Dear brothers, you have only yourselves to blame for what has happened.” They soon squandered their brother's bounty, and when he requested them to continue the journey, they replied that they had no resources at all and would not move from that place. So Farrukhrúz was obliged to leave them and proceeded to the city of Shíráz, where he traded for some time, gained much wealth, and became acquainted with a most excellent man named Zayn al-Mofáherin, who presented him with a ring when he was about to depart and said: “As men are everywhere beset by dangers, especially in travelling, I give you this ring, and in case you should fall into distress you must show it to a friend of mine in Mosúl, whose name is Habíb, and he will aid you.”

Farrukhrúz then departed for Tabríz, where he opened a shop, and having made very large profits he resolved to proceed to the country of the Franks, and purchased various kinds of merchandise required in that part of the world, which he placed on the backs of twenty strings of camels. On reaching Baghdád he stopped there for some time on account of his commercial transactions; and it happened one day, when he was walking about the bazár as usual, that he remarked among the porters two men exactly resembling his brothers, but they were so dirty and ragged, with their hair and beards unkempt, that he was at first unwilling to approach them, and they did not appear to recognise him. He ordered one of his servants to call them aside, and when they came he burst into tears, and they also wept and were ashamed to look in his face. He gave to each of them a quantity of goods, saying: “My dear brothers, those that walk in the streets of safety will never be assailed by the dust of trouble. You may return home with the goods I have given you.” But they replied: “Why should we separate from so kind and loving a brother? We wish to obey and follow you wherever you go.”

In short, the three brothers left Baghdád together and travelled towards the country of the Franks. But when the two ne'er-do-well brothers discovered the wealth of Farrukhrúz the flames of envy and cupidity were kindled in the oven of their hearts, and one said to the other: “What is the use of such a life, that we should be subject to our younger brother? We shall earn only shame in the sight of our father and everybody, and so long as we live the stain of despondency and poverty will never disappear from our characters, while he will always enjoy honour and respect. We must in some way cause his death, so as to obtain possession of his property, after which we may return home and say that a fatal mishap has befallen him.” Thus did those two ungrateful men wipe from the tablets of their minds, with the water of treachery and faithlessness, the benefits they had received, and having agreed about the crime they watched for an opportunity to perpetrate it.

On arriving in the vicinity of the Frank country they embarked in a vessel, which carried a skiff, and one day the brothers said to Farrukhrúz: “Come, let us all three get down into the boat, which is quite empty, and we may rest ourselves better in it than in this ship.” Farrukhrúz consented, and when they had all gone down into the skiff the two seniors said it would be more comfortable to have some bedding, and went back into the ship to fetch it, leaving Farrukhrúz in the little boat, who presently perceived to his great consternation that it had been cast loose and was gradually drifting away from the vessel. The sailors noticed this occurrence when it was too late to recover their boat. Farrukhrúz at once concluded that this had been done by his brothers, but, considering that lamentation is of no avail, he thanked God that he had nothing more to fear from his brothers, and trusting to the mercy of the Most High, who is able to deliver us from all dangers, he fell asleep. Nor did he indeed encounter the least peril, for on the third day his skiff arrived safely on the coast of Yaman.¹⁵²

Farrukhrúz went on shore, hoping to discover some inhabited place, when the king of Yaman, who happened to be on a hunting excursion, came in sight with a splendid cavalcade, so he drew near the prince, made his obeisance, and spoke as follows: “Your majesty's humble servant has tasted of the bitterness of misfortune, and hope impels him to prostrate himself at your feet.” The king stopped and looked at Farrukhrúz, who took out the cock given to him by his father and presented it to his majesty, who was greatly pleased with the gift. To all questions Farrukhrúz returned very intelligent answers, and in a few days he so won the affection of the king that he said to him: “I thank God for having become acquainted with such a prudent and honest man as you are. Speak your mind freely to me on all subjects.” Farrukhrúz replied: “May the light of your majesty's most happy government always remain shining in the assembly of prosperity, and may it always be protected in the lantern of divine favour from every wind of adversity! Your humble servant desires only to behold the glory of your majesty; and, as he has experienced reverses of fortune, he craves merely permission to sojourn for a time under the protection of this government.” The king readily agreed to his request, and assigned a lodging with the means of subsistence to Farrukhrúz, who was assiduous in attending court, and succeeded in ingratiating himself so well that he became one of the favourites of the king, and was appointed to so high a station that the other counsellors, secretaries, and great officials became such in name only, because the authority of Farrukhrúz had in all matters become paramount.

THIS elevation of a stranger to the highest post did not fail to excite universal jealousy and envy, and all the courtiers sought an opportunity of removing Far-rukhrúz. On a certain occasion the king gave a great banquet, at which the wonderful cock was exhibited, and when the repast was over the king thus addressed his guests: “You have all seen the world, but you have at no royal court beheld a curiosity such as this which Farrukhrúz has presented to me.” The envious courtiers replied: “That is true; but we conceive that if your majesty were to order a throne to be constructed of white chrysolites, yellow emeralds, and red diamonds, it would surpass anything ever possessed by any sovereign.” Quoth the king, smiling: “You are wishing for an impossibility, because I have never heard that there exist white chrysolites, yellow emeralds, or red diamonds; but if so, they are probably so rare that sufficient of them could not be obtained for a ring, not to speak of a throne.” The courtiers rejoined: “Any affair that can possibly be accomplished is open to the competition of skilful and experienced persons.” In this strain they continued until they succeeded in exciting in the king a desire to possess such a throne, so he asked them: “Who then can procure a sufficient quantity of such precious stones with which to construct a throne?” To this question they unanimously replied: “The business may be accomplished by a very intelligent man, and we know of no other than Farrukhrúz who is qualified to undertake it, seeing that he has already brought a curiosity the like of which is not to be found in the world.” But the king said that, as Farrukhrúz had become so useful to him, he could not dispense with his presence. Farrukhrúz, however, rose from his place and offered his services, promising to return within the space of forty days.¹⁵⁵ So the king gave him the required leave of absence, and he proceeded, according to the advice of Zayn al-Mofáherin, to Mosúl, in search of the hermit Habíb, whom he found in a cave near that town.

The hermit was a devout old man, reposing himself in perfect innocence and piety in the mansion of tranquillity and asceticism, with a mind free from the shackles of animal passions, and engaged in humbly praising and worshipping the Bestower of all gifts. Farrukhrúz made his salám, presented the ring of Zayn al-Mofáherin, and was welcomed by the hermit, who said: “I am glad to see you—I know the ring of my friend; and as it has been during my whole life a pleasure to assist all true believers, I request you to inform me of your wants.” Farrukhrúz explained his case, after which the hermit continued: “Although no one has ever returned disappointed from this place, I must inform you that your enemies have contrived to send you in search of objects the attainment whereof they conceived to be impossible, and indeed the affair is a very difficult one. Let us however trust in God, who is able to help us.”

About sunset the hermit offered up the customary prayers, after which he said to Farrukhrúz: “By divine inspiration I learn that in Syria there is a mountain near which is a spot inhabited by genii and fairies, who possess many of the precious stones you require. They are stored in the treasury of their king, but no man has dared to approach the place since the time of King Sulayman (on whom be blessings!). At present, however, a son of the king of the fairies is suffering from lunacy, which greatly distresses his father. All physicians who tried to cure him entirely failed; but I shall teach you a prayer which will restore him to health, and the king will very gratefully reward you.” Then the hermit taught Farrukhrúz the prayer, and giving him a staff, said: “This staff is made from the cocoa-nut tree of Ceylon, one of whose numerous properties is that it conveys its owner safely through all dangers to the place of its destination.¹⁵⁶ The various genii and sorcerers harbouring enmity towards mankind assume different forms and infest the road, and accomplish the ruin of many travellers. There is no doubt but they will also lay snares for you, and should you be so foolish as to lose this staff you will fall into troubles from which you may never escape.”

Farrukhrúz then took his leave of the hermit, started on his journey, and arrived after several days within the dominions of the fairies, entering a pleasant meadow adorned with beautiful flowers and rivulets. The fragrant vegetation and salubrious air which he inhaled exhilarated Farrukhrúz, and invited him to walk about in that delightful spot. He soon perceived a group of beauteous fairies sitting around one of their own sex, who seemed to be their queen, on seeing whom he was so fascinated by her attractions that he stood still as if petrified, but his heart palpitated violently. A fairy presently approached him, and taking him by the hand drew him into the circle. He completely forgot the admonitions of the hermit, and chatted with the fairy damsel very pleasantly, till they all leapt up nimbly and taking him along with him, walked till they came to a palace which the ladies entered, but Farrukhrúz was turned away by the male attendants with these words: “This is not a place where any stranger may freely go in and out.” Accordingly he sat down in melancholy and expectation, and after a short space one of those heart-ravishers issued forth to call him. Farrukhrúz quickly arose to obey the joyful summons, but a gate-keeper met him half-way, saying: “The laws of courtesy prohibit any one from entering the private apartments of high personages armed; it would be highly improper for you to pay your respects to the queen of this country with a staff in your hand.” Then he took the staff from Farrukhrúz, who rushed in as if intoxicated with the desire of beholding the object of his adoration. When he entered, he found himself in a paradise-like place containing a throne ornamented with innumerable gems, on which that beauty reposed like the world-illuming sun, with all the attendant ladies seated around her, conversing, playing on musical instruments, laughing, eating, and drinking.

Farrukhrúz was rejoiced at beholding this scene, and flattered himself that he might soon become more closely acquainted with the occupant of the throne, considering himself as already happier than a thousand kings of Yaman. Nor was he disappointed in his expectations; for the charming queen addressed him in the most gratifying terms; dallied with him amorously; and having asked for a goblet of wine she sipped some of it, and handing it to him desired him to quaff the contents. But no sooner had Farrakhrúz done so than he became transformed into a monkey, with dugs full of milk, and several young monkeys tugging at them, in the midst of a shoreless ocean, and floating on a piece of timber. He looked in all directions, but perceived no land, and awaking, in his bitter grief, from his sleep of carelessness, he recollected the advice of Habíb the hermit and the loss of his staff. But his self-reproaches availed him nothing, while the little monkeys pulled away at the teats and were even manifesting their enmity; but the maternal kindness of a monkey, with which he had been invested, prevented him from retaliating. In this manner he spent several days without food, drink, sleep, or rest, suffering from the burning heat of the sun, and imploring the mercy of the Almighty to rescue him from this peril, till at last after the expiration of seven days a ship came in sight, from which a beautiful lady descended into a skiff with two attendants. The skiff was rowed about the sea till it approached the piece of timber on which Farrukhrúz was sitting, when he began to moan most pitifully after the manner of monkeys, which attracted the attention of the lady and she said to her attendants: “Unless I am greatly mistaken, I again behold an effect of the wickedness of that God-forgetting fairy, who has changed this poor wretch into a monkey.” Then she uttered a magic spell, upon which Farrukhrúz sneezed and immediately recovered his human shape. The piece of timber drew near the skiff, and as soon as Farrukhrúz stepped into it he perceived he was in a garden with the beautiful lady and several other persons, when he exclaimed: “Praise be to God! I experience wonderful changes!” The lady took him by the hand, congratulated him on his delivery, and said: “Be of good cheer. I have, by divine Providence, been guided to this spot, and have thus been enabled to save you. Others have fallen into the same snare like yourself and have lost their lives, while you have come forth unscathed from the whirlpool of calamity.”

For a while the lady promenaded with Farrukhrúz, and then they proceeded to a splendid mansion, wherein was a throne encrusted with jewels on which she took her seat, and was waited upon by legions of attendants. Presently most delicious food was brought to Farrukhrúz, who broke his fast of seven days, and having satisfied his hunger and recovered his strength he was obliged to relate his adventures. Then quoth the lady: “Since cunning and hatred have brought so much trouble on your head, perhaps kindness may now do somewhat to aid you. Know that the wicked fairy who has injured you is my sister. Her name is Nafísa, and we are both the daughters of King Núbahár, who reigned supreme over all the fairies of this country; but after our father's death my sister was for some time led astray from the true faith by an infidel genie who got her into his power, and even now she tries to injure Muslims as much as she can.” Having thus spoken, she whispered to a fairy, who went away and returned with the staff which the hermit Habíb had given to Farrukhrúz, and of which the other fairies had deprived him. Farrukhrúz thanked the queen, who then said: “I should be glad if you were to remain here and live with me, but I wish not to detain you. Yet I beseech you to return, because that comfort which you may enjoy here you will never find among men and their follies. In the meanwhile, however, you may go in quest of the precious stones you are in want of: the king whose son is subject to fits of lunacy is my uncle, and he possesses a countless store of the gems you require, but is in great distress on account of his son's malady.” Then she sent one of her courtiers with Farrukhrúz to inform her uncle that he would cure the prince.

Farrukhrúz left the park with the fairy courtier, and at the gate there was a box wherein he was requested to take his position and close his eyes, and on opening them after a moment he perceived that he had been transported into a royal palace, the like of which, for beauty, magnificence, and decoration, no human eye had ever beheld. There he saw a monarch seated on a throne with great pomp and surrounded by numerous courtiers, all of whom were in deep mourning. He was presented by his guide to the king, who said to him: “Young man, considering that human beings excel all other earthly creatures in beneficence and happiness, I welcome your advent. I am informed that you have come to cure my son, and if you do so I shall feel myself indebted to you as long as I live.” Farrukhrúz replied: “Exalted sovereign, although every cure depends in the first place upon the mercy of the Most High, your humble servant possesses a supplication in which he has the fullest confidence, and hopes by means of it to effect a cure.” The king then gave orders to produce the prince, who was accordingly brought forth in bonds and chains. He wept by turns like a vernal cloud and smiled like a fresh rose; he had also fits of a violent character. As soon as Farrukhrúz cast his eyes upon the afflicted prince he opened the portals of eloquence with the name of God and recited the prayer which he had learned of Habíb the hermit. When he had completed the invocation the prince recovered the perfect use of his intellect and was cured; he sneezed a few times, thanked God, and asked: “For what cause have I been put in chains?” At these words the king manifested his joy, kissed the prince, and delivered him from his chains, and all the fairies rejoiced. Then quoth the sultan to Farrukhrúz: “I cannot express to you my gratitude in words, nor am I able to reward you. May God requite you!” Farrukhrúz opened the lips of civility, saying: “I am delighted with the fortunate result of my prayer,” and preferred his request for the precious stones, when the king immediately caused immense quantities of white chrysolites, yellow emeralds, and red diamonds to be brought from the treasury, and ordered a skilful genie to construct a throne with the gems, which was instantly done. When it was evening a genie called Tahmatán, who moved with the celerity of lightning, departed with the throne to the kingdom of Yaman, accompanied by Farrukhrúz, to whom the king of the fairies said affectionately: “Take this ring, which has been kept for many ages in the treasury of my ancestors, and the possession of which is connected with numerous blessings; keep it always on your finger, and it will preserve you from all misfortunes, except when you are in a state of ceremonial uncleanness, because the Ineffable Name is written on it;¹⁶³ and if you keep it with you when in such a condition you will become subject to fits of epilepsy and lunacy, and it will return to our treasury, nor will any mortal be able to cure you except ourselves. Whenever any difficulty occurs to you, turn the ring on the forefinger of your right hand, and ask aid of the victorious spirit of Sulayman (on whom be blessing!), when instantly a genie will make his appearance, to whom you may entrust any service and he will accomplish it. But you must not let it be seen by wicked demons, who are the sworn enemies of mankind, lest they should deprive you of this talisman.” Farrukhrúz thanked the king and was taken up by Tahmatán with the throne at midnight and set down in Yaman before daybreak.

When Farrukhrúz had departed in quest of the wonderful gems, the envious vazírs and secretaries were delighted, believing that he would never return. But the king was grieved at being separated from his favourite and impatiently counted the days of his absence. At last he said to his courtiers: “What need had I of such a throne, since the society of such a friend was more valuable to me than a thousand thrones of king Sulayman? Perchance Farrukhrúz has been unable to attain his object and is ashamed to return.” The vazírs professed to agree with the king's opinion, being afraid to contradict him. On the fortieth day, however, Farrukhrúz brought the throne to the palace before any of the vazírs or secretaries had made their appearance. At the joyful sight the king embraced and kissed him affectionately, and ordered all the great drums of gladness to be beaten. The grandees, who were yet in their own houses, were astonished at the sounds they heard, and when they learned what had happened they were confused and dismayed. On going to the palace, and seeing that the honour which Farrukhrúz had before enjoyed was greatly increased, they said one to another: “The luck of this man is truly marvellous, since he has accomplished what everybody considered an impossibility.”

THE king of Yaman again gave a grand banquet, at which the wonderful cock was exhibited beside the magnificent throne which Farrukhrúz had brought from fairyland, and which was greatly admired by the assembled people. The vazírs were obliged to conceal their malevolence, and after giving utterance to many expressions of admiration they said: “Although your majesty's humble servants and well-wishers are unable to produce anything themselves, yet they consider it their duty to suggest anything which might increase your glory. If four date-trees of gold, having fruits and leaves of jewels, were placed at the four corners of this throne there is no doubt your majesty would be unequalled as the possessor of costly and rare objects, and no monarch on earth could pretend to the least shadow of equality with our king.”¹⁶⁶ The sultan smiled disdainfully and said: “Such a wish cannot be realised; for, though I have perused many biographical and historical works, I have never read that anything of this kind exists in the world.” They replied: “May it please your majesty, there is nothing which will not yield to skill and intelligent efforts.” Quoth the king: “Who, then, is able to procure those objects?” “Farrukhrúz is the man,” said the vazírs. “God forbid,” exclaimed the king, “that I should burden him with this affair, seeing that I am already under great obligations to him. Propose some one else.” After the conversation had thus continued for some time, Farrukhrúz stood up and said: “If your majesty will give me leave, I shall be most happy to undertake this business.” The king hesitated long, but ultimately permitted him to go, on condition that he returned at the end of six months.

Farrukhrúz accordingly departed in quest of the treasure-trees, and when he was well out of the city he took the signet-ring given to him by the king of the fairies and put it on his finger, when immediately an afrít¹⁶⁸ of dreadful aspect, large as an elephant and fierce as a dragon, appeared before him, and bowing humbly said: “I am Kashank the afrít whom the king of the fairies has sent to serve you, and I have come to execute your orders.” “I wish to see her majesty the queen of the fairies,” rejoined Farrukhrúz, upon which the afrít Kashank drew the finger of obedience over the eyes of acquiescence, and taking Farrukhrúz on his back ascended into the sky.

After the fairy queen had despatched Farrukhrúz to her cousin to cure his son, she sent a number of afríts for her sister Nafísa, who had ill-treated Farrukhrúz, and when she was brought the queen spoke to her thus: “Sinful woman! how is it that you always afflict Muslims, who are of all men by their piety and devotion the greatest favourites in the courts of Unity. How had poor Farrukhrúz offended you that you should change him into a monkey?” Then the queen would have punished her, but all the fairies pleaded in her favour and Nafísa was pardoned. But so far from feeling grateful for this clemency, Nafísa, to avenge the humiliation which she had been forced to endure at the court of her sister, plotted with a number of malevolent genii against Queen Bánú. Knowing that her sister wished to marry Farrukhrúz, and that he had cured the prince and obtained from his father such a powerful talisman as the signet-ring, she said to her complotters: “It is likely that the love which Farrukhrúz entertains for Queen Bánú will induce him to visit her presently, and as she has so deeply insulted me you must kill him and thus disappoint her. Let one of my damsels be dressed to resemble Queen Bánú, and send her with a suitable retinue to meet Farrukhrúz, who will mistake her for the queen and marry her. In his attentions to her he will become careless about the ring, so that you will be able to take it from his finger and then easily put him to death.” Matters having been thus arranged, they waited for the appearance of Farrukhrúz. It happened also that Kashank the afrít, whom the king of the fairies had sent to Farrukhrúz, was a friend and well-wisher of Nafísa, so he informed her of his errand, and she in return disclosed to him her scheme, upon which he said: “Be not dismayed; make all arrangements for your damsel to meet Farrukhrúz in the spot where you first saw him, and I shall bring him thither.”

When Kashank took up Farrukhrúz he ascended higher than any flight of imagination could conceive, but on coming over the country of Syria he gradually lowered himself and set Farrukhrúz down in the fairy park, saying: “Happy mortal! as the secrets of our minds are known to our true friends and reflected to each other in the mirrors of their hearts, the queen has obtained the glad tidings of your propitious advent, and will to-day throw a halo of felicity by meeting you with a numerous company in this very place. I have brought you here to see your love.” Farrukhrúz was charmed with this information, and presently was introduced to one of Nafísa's maids, dressed to personate Queen Bánú, seated on a throne, and surrounded by numerous attendants, in great pomp and dignity. He was deceived by her striking resemblance to the queen, and, losing self-possession, eagerly ran to meet her, and they fell into each other's arms. After the first ebullition of joy was over, she invited him to seat himself on the throne by her side, and conversed with him on his adventures. On being informed of the envy of the vazírs she said: “Beloved friend, are you not disgusted to live among persons who are unable to appreciate your merits and send you on such errands? I entreat you by your love not to expose yourself to farther dangers, and never to return to that place. Remain with me, and let us both be happy.” While she was thus cajoling Farrukhrúz her attendants gradually disappeared, and when they were quite alone she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. Farrukhrúz had no sooner yielded to the impulse of his passions than he felt that his mind was becoming deranged; his head became dizzy and he closed his eyes, and on opening them again he could find no trace of his mistress, and the whole scene was changed. He heard the wind blowing and thunders roaring; his mind was confused; he began to babble incoherently, and at last was drowned in the ocean of unconsciousness. When he recovered from his trance he found that he had assumed the form of an old barber in Damascus, and was just then engaged in shaving the head of a customer, having in his shop the utensils required in the trade and a number of apprentices standing round him. He was amazed at this new scene, and thought within himself: “What have I come to?” and recollecting the signet-ring, with the injunction of the king of the fairies, he began to weep bitterly.

The man whom he was shaving saw him moving his lips, muttering something, and shaking his head; so he said to him: “Barber, what is the matter with you? Perhaps you are calculating the income of your trade, or have been long in the bath, the fumes of which have muddled your brains, that you have stopped shaving my head.¹⁷² Be quick! The police magistrate has invited a large number of high personages to be his guests to-day, and there is no one except myself to make the necessary arrangements for the repast.” But Farrukhrúz was so absorbed in his thoughts about Queen Bánú that he paid not the least attention to what his customer said, at which the latter became wroth and expostulated, whereupon Farrukhrúz, who imagined him to be the afrít Kashank, threw away his razor, and tore his own clothes from top to bottom, strewed dust on his head, struck the man several times, began to weep, and exclaimed: “Wicked afrít! the king of the fairies warned me to be on my guard against such as you, and not let them see the ring. I disregarded this injunction and trusted in you. By your perfidy I have lost a talisman which is more valuable than the diadem of Iskandar or the goblet of Jamshíd!¹⁷³ I have been deprived of the society of my mistress and become subject to fits of lunacy and epilepsy, and have lost my happiness. You are not satisfied with having thus reduced me to misery, but you even now rail at me.” The customer jumped up, bareheaded as he was, and ran into the bazár, pursued by Far-rukhrúz shouting: “Muslims! seize on Kashank the afrít, who has deeply wronged me, and destroyed my peace of mind!” As he was thus bawling and running after the man, his girdle became loose and falling to his feet he stumbled and fell to the ground, breaking his brow and losing a great quantity of blood.

When the people saw the servant of the police magistrate running bare-headed, and a decrepit old barber pursuing him and falling down wounded, as they knew the other man to be a very bad character, they concluded that he must have injured the barber, so they assailed Farrukhrúz with questions, to all of which he only replied: “Seize the afrít Kashank, who has done me damage of the value of a thousand tománs!” The people said: “We know him to be the servant of the police magistrate and a very great scoundrel. He may have injured you, but his name is not Kashank the afrít. He has now escaped, but if you submit your case to his master he will be punished.” Then the people bound up his wound and accompanied him to the magistrate. Farrukhrúz tumbled headlong into the office and shouted: “Muslims, by the treachery of Kashank the afrít my happiness has been destroyed!” Several high personages happened to be with the magistrate just then and were astonished at the intrusion, but still more so when Farrukhrúz threw a stone in their midst; and as a few days before an astrologer had predicted that bloodshed and slaughter would take place in the country, they considered this as an omen and all ran away, while the magistrate retired to his women's apartments. ¹⁷⁵ Farrukhrúz rushed into the street, calling out: “Seize Kashank the afrít, who has changed the spring of my peace into the autumn of misery!” The people fancied that a thief had escaped from the magistrate's house and many of them ran after the fugitives shouting: “Catch Kashank the afrít, who has run away from the house of the magistrate!” But no one knew who Kashank was.

It happened that a very tall, dark-complexioned fellow, with a long dishevelled beard and hair, and dressed in rags, had arrived from the desert and was walking about the streets. As he had never before seen such a mob, he got frightened at the noise and began to run like a goblin of the wilderness, and the people, thinking him to be either Kashank the afrít or the escaped thief, seized and bound him. Farrukhrúz the maniac, taking the man for Kashank, then sprang forward, and striking him, exclaimed: “Perfidious wretch! why have you deprived me of my mistress and my ring, and thus precipitated me into the abyss of misery?” The man of the desert was astonished, but thought that it might possibly be the custom thus to speak to outsiders who intruded themselves into the city. When the mob perceived the embarrassed countenance and uncouth figure of the stranger, they also took him for Kashank the afrít and said: “There is no doubt but he has greatly injured the barber.” At last many people assembled, and seeing Far-rukhrúz lamenting in the most pitiful manner they began to reproach the stranger, saying: “O Kashank, are you not ashamed of having done such wrong to this old barber?” The man of the desert, who had during his whole life never been in a town, supposed this to be the usual mode of accosting strangers, so he made no reply, merely shaking his head like the goat of Akhfash.¹⁷⁷ The Amír of the city happened to return at this time from a hunting excursion, and, seeing the excited crowd in the street through which he passed, sent a chamberlain to make inquiries. He returned with the information that a fellow, Kashank the afrít by name, had deprived the barber of his wife, together with a costly ring. When Farrukhrúz beheld the royal cavalcade he shouted the more, but all that the Amír and his courtiers could learn from him was: “Woe is me! The whirlwind of the treachery of Kashank the afrít has extinguished the lamp of my happiness, and the fire of his oppression has melted my soul and my life!” The Amír was of a very kind disposition and would not suffer even the poorest of his subjects to be wronged, and he said: “It appears that this peasant has so injured the poor old barber as to cause him to lose his senses;” then calling to the stranger, who was now greatly confused, he exclaimed: “Wretch, why have you wronged this poor man?” The man of the desert, unable to say anything, merely shook his head as before. At this the Amír smiled and observed: “Here we have a strange plaintiff and an equally strange defendant, neither of whom we are able to understand.¹⁷⁸ Is any one present who was a witness of the outrage?” Hereupon several persons came forward who had been in the shop when the barber was shaving the servant of the police magistrate, and next day the latter appeared at the court, but nothing could be elicited inculpating either him or the man from the desert, and they were merely required to give securities for their good behaviour, while Farrukhrúz was sent to the hospital for lunatics.

As soon as Nafísa had, with the assistance of Kashank, succeeded in deranging the mind of Far-rukhrúz, they sought for the ring but could not find it. Then quoth Nafísa: “My object was not so much to obtain possession of the ring as to prevent Queen Bánú from meeting her lover, and therefore we must kill him.” But Kashank, who had some experience of life, replied: “O queen of the universe, though, for the sake of gaining your approbation, I have become unfaithful to my sovereign, I shall not commit this new crime, the consequences of which were irreparable. This young man has done much good by curing the son of the king, who will be highly displeased at what has happened, but if we execute this second part of your scheme we shall certainly jeopardise our own lives.” So it was concluded to spare the life of Farrukhrúz, whom the afrít transported to Damascus, where he arrived early in the morning, and perceived only a barber's shop open, the owner of which he seized and threw into the sea, putting Farrukhrúz in his stead after having by a magic spell caused him to assume the form of the old man. For this reason, wise and intelligent men have warned people never to open their shops before sunrise, because if they do so they become liable to be injured by genii and demons.

After committing this diabolical crime, Kashank waited the next day on the king of the fairies, who immediately asked about Farrukhrúz. The afrít replied: “May it please your exalted majesty, a misfortune has befallen Farrukhrúz. He was merely sent by the king of Yaman on some business to the river Nile, and when I brought him thither the water became very rough, and the afrít Hankál, who is one of his enemies, and dwells in Egypt, and persecutes human beings, issued from the stream with seventy afríts of extraordinary power, and as I was unable to cope with them, they dragged Farrukhrúz under the water and separated his head from his body, which immediately rose again to the surface and became the prey of voracious beasts, so that I was compelled to return in great distress.” At first the king believed this statement, but his vazír Akhtár said to him: “As I know the evil disposition of Kashank, I intended to dissuade your majesty from appointing him to this business, especially as he had been still more led astray by Nafísa, and it is most probable that she has had something to do in this matter, since she has on a former occasion injured Farrukhrúz and bears bitter enmity towards Queen Bánú.” Then the king examined Kashank more closely but without effect, and finally imprisoned him till farther orders.

The following day one of the treasurers came before the king with a ring in his hand and said: “This is the ring which your majesty gave to Farrukhrúz, and which has returned to the treasury.” This betokened that Farrukhrúz was still alive, and the king sending for Kashank showed him the ring and told him that he would extort the truth from him by force. Just then one of the king's serving genii, who had for some time been wandering among men for the purpose of avenging his brother's death, made his appearance, and stated that he had seen at Damascus a lunatic who was constantly complaining of Kashank and was probably Farrukhrúz. The king at once delivered the ring to an afrít with orders to bring Farrukhrúz, which was done accordingly, and as soon as Farrukhrúz saw the king he wept bitterly, but the king embraced and comforted him. Then the king of the fairies sent for Kashank, Nafísa, and Queen Bánú, the two former of whom he reproved and imprisoned, and to the latter he said: “Though it is not customary for fairies to marry human beings, yet as this young man has conferred great benefits on us, I have resolved to espouse him to you after the orthodox Muslim manner.” Queen Bánú replied: “Noble uncle! I consider you as my father and shall obey you as long as I live.” The matrimonial ceremony was celebrated in due form and the happy couple were full of joy. Some time afterwards Far-rukhrúz informed the king of his promise to the sultan of Yaman, and said that if he were allowed a year's leave of absence he would then return and never more separate from them. The king and the queen Bánú consented, and caused the required four treasure-trees to be carried to Yaman by seventy faithful afríts, whom Farrukhrúz accompanied.

NOW the courtiers of the sultan of Yaman had been all the time exulting in the belief that Farrukhrúz would not return; but the king was confident that he would soon make his appearance. One month before the leave had expired news was brought that Farrukhrúz was come back with the treasure-trees on four elephants and himself riding on a fifth. The king at once marched out with his army to meet him, and when they were in sight of each other they alighted and embraced with the greatest manifestations of joy.¹⁸² They rode side by side into the city amidst the acclamations of the people, and in the palace a throne was placed for Farrukhrúz, on which he seated himself. When the four golden date-trees were set around the sultan's throne and everything was arranged with the utmost splendour, the envious vazírs and secretaries were full of chagrin and said to each other: “This man's luck is most extraordinary, for he succeeds in whatever he undertakes, and he has so eclipsed us that the king cares little for any person besides him.”

The golden date-trees being placed one at each corner of the throne which Farrukhrúz had first procured, with the wonderful cock in front of it, and all the grandees being assembled, the king said: “What else besides these rare objects and so dear a friend can contribute to augment the happiness and glory of a monarch?” Quoth the envious courtiers: “May your majesty live for ever! Indeed there is nothing in this world so splendid as this spectacle we at present behold; and to make your felicity complete it would only be necessary to convey this news to the eternal world—to inform the forefathers of your majesty who now occupy the chief places in Paradise; and, as they enjoy the closest intimacy with the angels of mercy and their prayers meet with acceptance, it would be well to request a prolongation of your life, which would doubtless be granted.” The king replied, full of astonishment: “You ask indeed something very foolish and unattainable.” But they said: “May it please your majesty, all things in this world depend upon good luck, and as long as it serves a man he will easily succeed in anything he may undertake; and, praise be to the Most High, such is your majesty's case.”

As opinions expressed by different persons find generally an approbative response, though they may be absurd, and the flames into which they fan the imagination cannot be extinguished by every intellect, so these suggestions made an impression on the mind of the king, who thought there could be no harm in discussing the matter, so he inquired: “Who can undertake such a business?” To this the envious vazírs replied with one voice: “Farrukhrúz is the happy man who is successful in everything!” But the king said: “I have scarcely recovered from the grief I suffered on account of his absence and only begun to enjoy the happiness of his presence; how, then, could I again separate from him? You must propose some one else.” Farrukhrúz, seeing the turn things had taken, arose and thus addressed the king: “As long as your majesty's slave is alive, he is always ready to obey your behests. If I obtain leave for one year I shall accomplish the business.” As no other person offered his services, the king reluctantly consented to part with his favourite. Farrukhrúz suggested that all the letters should be prepared, and that every one who had a relative or friend in the other world might send him a message. Accordingly the king dictated to one of his secretaries the following epistle:

“In consequence of the intimation of the Sovereign of the decrees of Fate, of whose power the existence of all creatures is but one sign, our glorious relatives and ancestors have left this terrestrial abode for the eternal Paradise, and having thus been delivered of all the vicissitudes of Fortune, they have left me to inherit their just and righteous government, so that I have, by the boundless favour of the Giver of all gifts, become very happy and have no wishes unfulfilled. I have therefore sent this letter by my devoted servant Farrukhrúz to set the minds of my beloved ancestors at rest on this subject. And as I am aware that they are immersed in the shoreless ocean of the divine mercy, and I fear lest the thread of my life may be suddenly snapped, I cannot enjoy my happiness as I ought; and since those denizens of the holy regions of the Kingdom of Pardon are closely connected with and befriended by the angels of mercy and the cherubim of the courts of Unity, I trust they will be able to obtain the prolongation of the terrestrial existence of my life. I do not venture to draw out this request to greater length; and, making my obeisance, I crave that the bearer of this, Farrukhrúz, who is indispensable to my comfort, be not detained beyond the space of a few days.”

The vazírs and secretaries followed the example of their sovereign and also wrote affectionate letters to their beatified relatives; and when all the letters were written the king sealed them and gave them to Far-rukhrúz. When the sultan asked Farrukhrúz how he meant to depart for the next world, he requested a large quantity of dry wood to be piled up. After more than a thousand ass-loads of fuel had been accumulated, Farrukhrúz kissed the sultan's hand, bade him farewell, and desired the fire to be kindled at the four corners of the pile; and when he was enveloped in smoke he put the magic ring on his finger and was in a twinkling transported by afríts to the presence of the king of the fairies and the queen Bánú, to whom he related his adventures, and they highly approved of his stratagem.

In that delightful region Farrukhrúz spent a whole year joyfully with his beloved spouse Bánú, and when his leave of absence was almost expired he told her that this was the last service he should perform for the sultan of Yaman, after which he should be entirely devoted to her. The king of the fairies said they wished only to please him, and he might act as he thought fit. So Farrukhrúz wrote various replies on the part of the spirits in Paradise for the sultan of Yaman and his vazírs and secretaries, after which the afríts conveyed him to Yaman.

The sultan and all the people were sorely grieved at the departure of Farrukhrúz on his last enterprise, but not so the vazírs, who rejoiced and said one to another: “It is wonderful that a young man who was so very intelligent should have thus voluntarily destroyed himself! He cannot possibly return.” And even the king almost despaired of again seeing his favourite; nevertheless on the day appointed for his return he held a grand levee, at which all the grandees were ordered to be present. The vazírs of course obeyed the summons, whispering to each other: “Our sultan is indeed a fool! A whole year has elapsed since he saw a man burnt to ashes and now he expects him to return.” Their exultation was, however, soon ended on hearing the approach of Farrukhrúz announced among tumultuous acclamations of joy; and when he actually appeared the king was almost frantic with ecstasy, kissed him fervently, and exclaimed: “Now am I the happiest of men!” Then his majesty made inquiries regarding his blessed ancestors, and Farrukhrúz took out the letters, saying: “Most exalted sovereign, no man is able to describe the multifarious pleasures of Paradise—the sweetness of the climate, the beauty of the flowers, the graces of the húrís, the splendid palaces of that beatified abode; and your majesty will not have any idea of them until you participate yourself in those delights. Indeed I was very reluctant to leave that blessed region. Your majesty's exalted father is in paradise, and your mother is his partner;¹⁸⁷ your other relatives enjoy appropriate dignities and are waited upon by many húrís and slaves.” Farrukhrúz having concluded, the sultan thanked him, and began to read the letter from Paradise, which contained many compliments, and stated that his ancestors had prepared for his acceptance many costly presents which they would entrust to such of his vazírs, secretaries, and other officials whose names were written in a list given to Farrukhrúz, and for this purpose they were to come at once to Paradise—their own relatives moreover being extremely desirous of seeing them; therefore they were in no way to elude this command, on pain of incurring the displeasure of the Most High, but, as they were necessary to carry on the government of Yaman, they should be sent back to the earth at the end of forty days.¹⁸⁸

This message having been communicated to the vazírs and other officials, the king commanded them to be ready next morning to set out for Paradise, and they at once perceived that their lives were in danger. The sultan, reading their thoughts in their terrified countenances, exclaimed: “O ye besotted fools! All intelligent and pious men labour during their whole lives to attain Paradise, and you ought to be delighted with the message you have just received. Get quickly ready to depart!” Accordingly they were obliged to feign acquiescence and prepare for death. Then said Farrukhrúz to the sultan: “Though there are many roads, none is shorter than that by which your majesty's humble servant departed.” So the sultan caused a great quantity of wood to be piled up and about fifty of those wicked and envious men to be placed upon it. When the fire was kindled and began to distress them, they pleaded for mercy, and said: “We acknowledge our fault and repent of it. Hereafter we shall never envy or slander any one.” But their entreaties were not heeded and they became a prey to the flames.

After this the sultan counted the days, and when the fortieth arrived he said to Farrukhrúz: “To-day our friends should return, and I am expecting them.” But when it was evening and there was no sign of them, the sultan said to his favourite: “Wise men have said that the road to the next world is full of dangers, and I begin to fear that some accident has befallen our friends.” Hereupon Farrukhrúz exclaimed: “May it please your majesty, that is a road which not everybody can travel upon,” and proceeded to relate the truth of the whole affair, adding: “The greatest service I have rendered your majesty was to purge the kingdom of those villains, because they would, by their conspiracies and treacherous machinations, at last have succeeded in ruining the country.” When the sultan became fully aware of the wickedness of the vazírs he thanked Farrukhrúz and said: “So long as I have you what more vazírs do I need? And as I possess no offspring I make you my successor.” Farrukhrúz kissed the ground of obedience and replied: “May power and dominion ever belong to your majesty! I have sojourned here to serve you and to remove those wretches. But as I am connected with the fairies, I have no longer the option to remain here. I shall however bring my parents and relatives, and beg your majesty to receive them under the shadow of your protection.” The sultan agreed to this proposal and by order of Farrukhrúz the afríts brought his whole family to Yaman, and they were most happy to meet him. The sultan made Khoja Marján, the father of Farrukhrúz, his vazír, and appointed his other relatives to various stations.

When the leave of Farrukhrúz had expired he bade adieu to the sultan and his relatives, and departing to the land of the fairies he joined his spouse Queen Bánú, and whilst he lived never omitted to visit his friends at Yaman once every six months. At last, however, all responded to the unavoidable behest of the sovereign of destiny, and, being divested of the borrowed garments of this perishable life, departed to the regions of eternity.

Though the commands of royalty pervade
The world, yet sovereigns ever should remember,
The light of justice must direct their path.

Hindú Drama.

THERE was a city called Alakápuri, famous for all the riches that sea and land can yield, and inhabited by people speaking different languages. In that city reigned a king named Alakésa,¹⁹³ who was a storehouse of all excellent qualities. He was so just a king that during his reign the cow and the tiger amicably quenched their thirst side by side in the same pond, and the kite and the parrot laid their eggs in the same nest, as though they were “birds of a feather.”^193a The women never deviated from the path of virtue, and regarded their husbands as gods.¹⁹⁴ Timely rain refreshed the soil, and all Alakésa's subjects lived in plenty and happiness. In short, Alakésa was the body and his subjects the soul of that body, for he was upright in all things.

Now there was in Alakápuri a rich merchant who lost a camel one day. He searched for it without success in all directions, and at last reached a road which he was informed led to another city, called Mathurapuri, the king of which was named Mathurésa. He had under him four excellent ministers, whose names were Bodhaditya, Bodhachandra, Bodhavyapaka, and Bodhavibhishana. These four ministers being, for some reason, displeased with the king quitted his dominions, and set out for another country. As they journeyed along they observed the track of a camel, and each made a remark on the peculiar condition of the animal, judging from its footsteps and other indications on the road.¹⁹⁵ Presently they met the merchant who was searching for his camel, and, entering into conversation with him, one of the travellers inquired if the animal was not lame in one of the legs; another asked if it was not blind in the right eye; the third asked if its tail was not unusually short; and the fourth inquired if it was not suffering from colic. They were all answered in the affirmative by the merchant, who was convinced that they must have met the animal, and eagerly demanded where they had seen it. They replied that they had seen traces of the camel, but not the camel itself, which being inconsistent with the minute description they had given of it, the merchant accused them of having stolen the beast, and immediately applied to King Alakésa for redress. On hearing the merchant's story, the king was equally impressed with the belief that the travellers must know what had become of the camel, and sending for them threatened them with his displeasure if they did not confess the truth. How could they know, he demanded, that the camel was lame or blind, or whether the tail was long or short, or that it was suffering from any malady, unless they had it in their possession? In reply, they each explained the reasons which had induced them to express their belief in these particulars. The first traveller said: “I noticed in the footmarks of the animal that one was deficient, and I concluded accordingly that it was lame in one of its legs.” The second said: “I noticed that the leaves of the trees on the left side of the road had been snapped or torn off, whilst those on the right side were untouched, whence I concluded that the animal was blind of his right eye.” The third said: “I saw some drops of blood on the road, which I conjectured had flowed from the bites of gnats or flies, and I thence concluded that the camel's tail was shorter than usual, in consequence of which he could not brush the insects away.” The fourth said: “I observed that while the forefeet of the animal were planted firmly on the ground the hind ones appeared to have scarcely touched it, whence I guessed that they were contracted by pain in the belly of the animal.” When the king heard their explanations he was much struck by the sagacity of the travellers, and, giving 500 pagodas¹⁹⁶ to the merchant who had lost the camel, he made the four young men his principal ministers, and bestowed on each of them several villages as free gifts.

From that time these four young men became the confidential advisers of King Alakésa in all important affairs of state, and, as night is the house of sins, they in turn kept a regular watch in the city of Alakápuri, each patrolling the streets during three hours of the night. Thus they continued to faithfully serve King Alakésa, till, one night, the First Minister, when his watch was over, proceeded, as usual, to see whether the royal bedchamber was properly guarded; after which he went to the temple of the goddess Kálí, where he heard what seemed to him the voice of a woman, lamenting and sobbing in great distress. Concealing himself behind the vád-tree of the temple, he called out: “Who are you, poor woman? And why do you thus weep?” At once the cries ceased, and a voice from the temple inquired: “Who art thou that thus questionest me?” Then the minister knew that it was Kálí herself who wept; so he threw himself on the ground, and, rising up, exclaimed: “O my mother!—Kálí!—Sambhavi! —Mahámayi!¹⁹⁷ Why should you thus bitterly weep?” Quoth Kálí: “What is the use of my revealing it to thee? Canst thou render any assistance?” The minister said that, if he had but her favour, there was nothing he could not do. Then the goddess told him that a calamity was about to come upon the king, and fearing that such a good monarch was soon to disappear from the world she wept. The thought of such a misfortune caused the minister to tremble; he fell down before the goddess, and with tears streaming from his eyes besought her to save him. Kálí was much gratified to observe his devotion to his master, and thus addressed him:

“Know, then, that your king will be in danger of three calamities to-morrow, any one of which were sufficient to cause his death. First of all, early in the morning there will come to the palace several carts containing newly-reaped paddy grains. The king will be delighted at this, and immediately order a measure of the paddy to be husked and cooked for his morning meal. Now, the field in which that paddy grew was the abode of serpents, two of which were fighting together one day, when they emitted poison, which has permeated those grains. Therefore, the morning meal of your king will contain poison, but only in the first handful will it take effect, and he will die. Should he escape, another calamity is in store for him at noon. The king of Vijayanajara¹⁹⁹ will send to-morrow some baskets of sweetmeats. In the first basket he has concealed arrows. King Alakésa, suspecting no treachery, will order the first basket to be opened in his presence, and will meet his death by that device. And, even should he escape this second calamity, a third will put an end to his life to-morrow night. A deadly serpent will descend into his bedroom, by means of the chain of his hanging cot, and bite him. But, should he be saved from this last misfortune, Alakésa will live long and prosperously, till he attains the age of a hundred and twenty years.”

Thus spake Kálí, in tones of sorrow, for she feared that the king should lose his life by one of these three calamities. The minister prostrated himself on the ground, and said that if the goddess would but grant him her favour he was confident he could contrive to avert all the threatened evils from the king. Kálí smiled and disappeared; and the minister, taking her kind smile as a token of her favour, returned home and slept soundly.

As soon as morning dawned, the First Minister arose, and, having made the customary ablutions, proceeded to the palace. He took care to reveal to no one the important secret communicated to him by the goddess—not even to his three colleagues The sun was not yet two ghatikas²⁰⁰ above the horizon when several carts containing the finest paddy grains, specially selected for the king's use, came into the courtyard of the palace. Alakésa was present, and ordered a measure of it to be at once husked and cooked. The coming in of the carts and the king's order so exactly coincided with Kálí's words that the minister began to fear that he was quite unequal to the task of averting the fatality; yet the recollection of the smile of the goddess inspired him with fresh resolution, and he at once went to the palace-kitchen and requested the servants to inform him when the king was about to go to dinner. After issuing orders for the storing of the grain, King Alakésa retired to perform his morning ablutions and other religious duties.

Meanwhile a carriage containing the pots of sweetmeats sent by the king of Vijayanajara drove up to the palace, and the emissary who accompanied the present told the royal servants that his master had commanded him to deliver it to King Alakésa in person. The First Minister well understood the meaning of this, and, promising to bring the king, went into the palace, caused one of the servants to be dressed like Alakésa, and conducted him to the carriage. The officer of the Vijayanajara king placed the first pot before the supposed Alakésa, who at once opened it, when, lo! there darted forth several arrows, one of which pierced his heart, and he fell dead on the spot.²⁰¹ In an instant the emissary was seized and bound, and the officers began to lament the death of their good king. But the fatal occurrence spread rapidly through the palace, and soon the real Alakésa made his appearance on the scene. The officers now beheld one Alakésa dead and fallen to the ground, pierced by the arrow, and another standing there alive and well. The First Minister then related how, suspecting treachery, he brought out a servant of the palace dressed like the king, and how he had been slain in place of his royal master. Alakésa thanked the minister for having so ingeniously saved his life, and went into the palace. Thus was one of the three calamities to the king averted by the faithful Bodhaditya.

When it was the hour for dinner, the king and his courtiers all sat down, with the exception of the First Minister, who remained standing, without having taken a leaf for his own use.²⁰² The king, observing this, with a smile pointed out a leaf to him, but Bodhaditya would not sit: he wished to be near the king and to abstain from eating on that occasion. So the king allowed him to have his own way. The food having been served on the leaves, the hands of all, including the king, were mingling the rice, ghí, and dhal for the first course. Near the king stood his faithful minister Bodhaditya, and when the king raised the first handful to his mouth, “Stop, my master,” cried he; “I have long hoped for this handful as a present to me from your royal hands. I pray you give it to me, and feed upon the rest of the rice on your leaf.” This was uttered more in a tone of command than of request, and the king was highly incensed at what he naturally considered as insolence on the part of the minister. For such a request, especially when made to a king, is deemed nothing less than an insult, while to refuse it is equally offensive. So, whatever thoughts may have passed through Alakésa's mind, recollecting how the minister had that morning saved his life, he gave him the handful of rice, which Bodhaditya received with delight, feeling grateful for the favour of the goddess in being the means of averting this second calamity. Far different, however, were the sentiments of the king and the assembled company. One and all declared Bodhaditya to be an insolent, proud fellow; but the king, while secretly blaming himself for having allowed him to use so much familiarity, suppressed his anger, in consideration of the important service the minister had rendered him in the affair of the arrows.

On the approach of night the heart of the First Minister throbbed violently, for the third calamity predicted by the goddess was yet to be encountered. His watch being ended, before retiring to rest he went to examine the royal bedroom, where he saw the light burning brightly, and the king and queen asleep side by side in the ornamented swing-cot, which was suspended from the roof by four chains. Presently he perceived with horror a fierce black snake, the smell of which is enough to kill a man, slowly gliding down the chain near the head of the queen. The minister noislessly went forward, and, with a single stroke of his sharp sword, cut the venomous brute in two. Bodhaditya, to avoid disturbing any person at such an hour of the night, threw the pieces over the canopy of the bed, rejoicing at having thus averted the third and last calamity. But a fresh horror then met his eyes: a drop of the snake's poison had fallen on the bosom of the queen, which was exposed in the carelessness of slumber. “Alas, sacred goddess!” he muttered, “why do you thus raise up new obstacles in my efforts to avert the evil which you predicted? I have done what I could to save the king, and in this last trial I have killed his beloved queen! How can I remove the poison from her bosom? How can I profane that sacred spot with my hand? But I regard her even as my own mother; and do not children draw their nourishment from the breasts of their mothers?” Having thus briefly reflected, he wiped off the poison from the queen's bosom with the tip of his little finger, and in case the contact of the venom with his finger should endanger his own life he cut the tip of it off and threw it on the canopy. Just then the queen awoke, and perceiving a man hastily leaving the room she cried: “Who are you?” The minister respectfully answered: “Most venerable mother, I am your son Bodhaditya,” and at once retired. Upon this the queen thought within herself: “Alas, is there a good man in this world? Hitherto have I regarded this Bodhaditya as my son; but now he has basely taken the opportunity of thus disgracing me when my lord and I were sound asleep. I shall inform the king of this affair, and have that wretch's head struck off before the morning.” Accordingly she gently awakened the king, and, with tears trickling down her beauteous face, she told him what had occurred, and concluded with these words: “Till now, my lord, I considered that I was wife to you alone; but this night your First Minister has made me doubt it, since to my question, ‘Who are you?’ he answered, without any shame, ‘I am Bodhaditya,’ and went away.” On hearing of this violation of the sanctity of his bedchamber, Alakésa was greatly enraged, and determined to put to death such an unprincipled servant, but first to communicate the affair to his three other ministers.

When the Second Minister's watch was over he went to inspect the guard at the royal bedchamber, and Alakésa hearing his footstep inquired who was there. “Your servant, Bodhachandra, most royal lord,” was the reply. “Enter, Bodhachandra,” said the king. “I have somewhat to communicate to you.” Then Alakésa, almost choking with rage, told him of the gross offence of which his colleague the First Minister had been guilty, and demanded to know whether any punishment could be too severe. Bodhachandra humbled himself before the king, and thus replied: “My lord, such a crime merits a heavy requital. Can one tie up fire in one's cloth,²⁰⁵ and think that, as it is but a small spark, it will do no harm? How, then, can we excuse even slight deviations from the rules of propriety? Therefore, if Bodhaditya be really guilty he must be signally punished. But permit me to represent to your majesty the advisability of carefully inquiring into this matter before proceeding to judgment. We ought to ascertain what reasons he had for such a breach of the zanána²⁰⁶ rules; for should we, carried away by anger, act rashly in this affair, we may repent when repentance is of no avail. As an example I shall, with your majesty's permission, relate a story.” The king having at once given his consent, the Second Minister began to relate the

THERE dwelt in a certain forest a hunter named Ugravira, who was lord of the woods, and as such had to pay a fixed sum of money to the king of the country. It chanced once that the king unexpectedly demanded of him one thousand five hundred pons.^206a The hunter sold all his property and realised only a thousand pons, and was perplexed how to procure the rest of the required amount. At length he bethought him of his dog, which was of the best kind, and was beloved by him more than aught else in the whole world. He took his dog to an adjacent town, where he pledged him to a merchant named Kubéra for five hundred pons, at the same time giving the merchant his bond for the loan. Before going away, the hunter, with tears in his eyes, thus addressed the intelligent animal: “Mrigasinha²⁰⁷ —O my faithful friend! do not leave thy new master until I have paid him back the money I have borrowed of him. Obey and serve him, even as thou hast ever obeyed and served me.”

Some time after this, the merchant Kubéra had to leave home and proceed with his goods to foreign countries; so he called the hunter's dog to his side, and bade him watch at his doors and prevent the intrusion of robbers and other evil disposed persons. The dog indicated, both by his eyes and his tail, that he perfectly understood his instructions. Then the merchant, having enjoined his wife to feed the dog three times every day with rice and milk, set out on his travels. The dog kept his watch outside of the house, and for a few days the merchant's wife fed him regularly three times a day. But this kind treatment was not to continue. She had for her paramour a wicked youth of the Setti caste,^207a who, soon after the departure of Kubéra, became a constant visitor at the merchant's house. The faithful dog instinctively surmised that his new master would not approve of such conduct; so one night when the youth was leaving the house Mrigasinha sprang on him like an enraged lion, and, seizing him by the throat, sent that evil-doer to the other world. The merchant's wife, hearing the scuffle, ran to the spot to save her lover, but found him dead. Though extremely grieved at the loss of her paramour, she had the presence of mind to immediately carry the body to the garden at the back of the house, where she concealed it in a great pit, and covered it with earth and leaves, vainly thinking that she had thus concealed her own shame. This was not done, however, without being observed by the watchful dog; and henceforth the merchant's wife hated him with a deadly hatred. She no longer gave him food, and the poor creature was fain to eat such grains of rice as he found adhering to the leaves thrown out of the house after meals, still keeping guard at the door.

After an absence of two months the merchant returned, and the dog, the moment he saw him, ran up to him and rolled himself on the ground at his feet; then seizing the merchant's cloth he dragged him to the very spot in the garden where the youth's body was hidden, and began to scratch the ground, at the same time looking into the merchant's face and howling dismally, from which Kubéra concluded that the dog wished him to examine the place. Accordingly he dug up the spot and discovered the body of the youth, whom, indeed, he had suspected of being his wife's paramour. In a great fury he rushed into the house and commanded his wife, on pain of instant death, to relate the particulars of this affair without concealing anything. The wretched woman, seeing that her sin was discovered, confessed all, upon which her husband exclaimed: “Disgrace of womankind! you have not a fraction of the virtue possessed by this faithful brute, which you have, out of revenge, allowed to starve. But why should I waste words on thee? Depart, and let me see your face no more!” So saying, he thrust her out of the house. Then the merchant fed the dog with milk, rice, and sugar, after which he said to that lion of beasts: “Thou trusty friend! language fails to express my gratitude to thee. The five hundred pons which I lent thy old master the hunter are as nothing compared with thy services to me, by which I consider the debt as more than paid. What must be the feelings of the hunter without thy companionship! I now give thee leave to return to him.” The merchant took the hunter's bond, and tearing it slightly at the top as a token that it was cancelled, he placed it in the dog's mouth, and sending him back to his former master, the dog set off to the forest.

Now by this time the hunter had contrived to save up the five hundred pons, and with the money and interest due thereon he was going to the merchant to redeem his bond and reclaim the dog. To his great surprise, he met Mrigasinha on the way, and as soon as the dog perceived him he ran up to him to receive his caresses. But the hunter immediately concluded that the poor brute, in his eagerness to rejoin him, had run away from the merchant, and determined to put him to death. Accordingly he plucked a creeper, and fastening it round the dog's neck tied it to a branch of a tree, and the faithful creature, who was expecting nothing but kindness from his old master, was by him most cruelly strangled. The hunter then continued his journey, and on reaching the merchant's house he laid down the money before him. “My dear friend,” said Kubéra, “the important service your dog rendered me, in killing my wife's paramour, has amply repaid your debt, so I gave him permission to return to you, with your bond in his mouth. Did you not meet him on your way? But why do you look so horrified? What have you done to the dog?” The hunter, to whom everything was now only too clear, threw himself on the ground, like a huge tree cut at the roots, and, after telling Kubéra how he had inconsiderately slain the faithful dog, stabbed himself with his dagger. The merchant, grieved at the death of both the dog and the hunter, which would not have occurred had he waited until the latter came to redeem his bond, snatched the weapon out of the hunter's breast and also stabbed himself. The news of this tragedy soon reached the forest, and the wife of the hunter, not wishing to survive her lord, threw herself into a well and was drowned. Lastly, even the wife of the merchant, finding that so many fatalities were due to her own misconduct, and that she was despised by the very children in the streets, put an end to her wretched life.

“Thus,” added the Second Minister, “five lives were lost in consequence of the hunter's rashness. Therefore I would respectfully beseech your majesty to investigate the case of Bodhaditya, and to refrain from acting merely under the influence of anger.” Having thus spoken, Bodhachandra obtained leave to retire to his own house.

At the end of the third watch of the night, Bodha-vyapaka, the Third Minister of King Alakésa, went to see whether the royal bedchamber was properly guarded, and the king, summoning him into his presence, told him of the First Minister's crime, upon which Bodhavyapaka, after making due obeisance, thus spake: “Most noble king, such a grave crime should be severely punished, but it behoves us not to act before having ascertained that he is guilty beyond doubt; for evil are the consequences of precipitation, in proof which I know a story, which I will relate, with your majesty's leave:

ON the banks of the Ganges, which also flows by the most holy city of Benáres, there is a town named Mithila, where dwelt a very poor Bráhman called Vidyadhara. He had no children, and to compensate for this want, he and his wife tenderly nourished in their house a mungús.²¹² It was their all in all—their younger son, their elder daughter—their elder son, their younger daughter, so fondly did they regard that little creature. The deity Visvesvara^212a and his spouse Visalakshi observed this, and had pity for the unhappy pair; so by their divine power they blessed them with a son.^212b This most welcome addition to their family did not alienate the affections of the Bráhman and his wife from the mungús; on the contrary, their attachment to it increased, for they believed that it was because of their having adopted the pet that a son had been born to them. So the child and the mungús were brought up together, as twin brothers, in the same cradle.

It happened one day, when the Bráhman had gone out to beg alms of the pious and charitable, that his wife went into the garden to cull some pot-herbs, leaving the child asleep in his cradle and by his side the mungús kept guard. An old snake, which was living in the well in the garden, crept into the house and under the cradle, and was beginning to climb into it to bite the child when the mungús fiercely attacked it and tore it into several pieces, thus saving the life of the Bráhman's little son, and the venomous snake, that came to slay, itself lay dead beneath the cradle. Pleased at having performed such an exploit, the mungús ran into the garden to show the Bráhman's wife its blood-smeared mouth, but she rashly mistook the deliverer of her child for his destroyer, and with one stroke of the knife in her hand, with which she was cutting herbs, she killed the faithful creature, and then hastened into the house to see her dead son. But there she found the child in his cradle alive and well, only crying at the absence of his little companion the mungús, and under the cradle lay the great serpent cut in pieces. The real state of affairs was now evident, and the Bráhman presently returning home, his wife told him of her rash act and then put an end to her life. The Bráhman, in his turn, disconsolate at the death of the mungús and his wife, slew his child and then killed himself.

“And thus,” added the Third Minister, “by one rash act four creatures perished, so true is it that precipitation results in a series of calamities. Do not, then, condemn Bodhaditya before his guilt is clearly proved.” Alakésa having then given Bodhavyapaka the signal to retire, he quitted the presence and went home.

When the watch of the Fourth Minister, Bodha-vibhishana, was terminated, he visited the private apartments of the king (who had been meanwhile pondering the stories he had heard), and was called into the sleeping chamber by Alakésa, and informed of his colleague's unpardonable offence. The Minister, after due prostration, thus addressed his royal master: “Great King, I can scarcely bring myself to believe that Bodhaditya could ever be guilty of such a crime, and I would respectfully remind your majesty that it would not be consistent with your world-wide reputation for wisdom and justice were you to pronounce judgment in this case without having inquired into all the circumstances. Evil and injustice result from hasty decisions and actions, of which a striking illustration is furnished in the

IN the town of Mithila there lived a young Bráhman who, having a quarrel with his father-in-law, set out on a pilgrimage to Banáres. Going through a forest he met a blind man, whose wife was leading him by means of a stick, one end of which she held in her hand, and her husband holding the other end was following her. She was young and fair of face, and the pilgrim made signs to her that she should go with him and leave her blind husband behind. The proposal thus signified pleased this wanton woman, so she told her husband to sit under a tree for a few minutes while she went and plucked him a ripe mango.²¹⁵ The blind man sat down accordingly, and his wife went away with the Bráhman.²¹⁶ After waiting a long time in expectation of his wife's return, and no person coming near him (for it was an unfrequented place), her infidelity became painfully apparent to him and he bitterly cursed both her and the villain who had enticed her from him. For six days he remained at the foot of the tree, in woeful condition, without a morsel of rice or a drop of water, and he was wellnigh dead when at length he heard the sound of footsteps near him, and cried faintly for help. A man of the Setti caste and his wife came up to him, and inquired how he happened to be in such a plight. The blind man told them that his wife had deserted him and gone away with a young Bráhman, whom they had met, leaving him there alone and helpless. His story excited the compassion of the Setti and his wife. They gave him to eat of the small quantity of rice they had with them, and, having supplied him with water to quench his thirst, the Setti bade his wife lead him with his stick. The woman, though somewhat reluctant to walk thus in company with a man who was not her husband, yet reflecting that charitable actions ought never to be left undone, complied with her lord's request, and began to lead the blind man. After travelling in this manner for a day, the three reached a town, and took up their abode for the night in the house of a friend of the Setti, where the latter and his wife gave the blind man a share of their rice before tasting a morsel themselves.

At daybreak the next morning they advised him to try to provide for himself in some way in that town, and prepared to resume their journey. But the blind man, forgetting all the kindness they had shown him, began to raise an alarm, crying out: “Is there no king in this city to protect me and give me my rights? Here is a Setti rascal taking away my wife with him. As I am blind, she denies that I am her husband, and follows that rogue. But will not the king give me justice?” The people in the street at once reported these words to the king, who caused inquiry to be made into the matter. The fact of the Setti's wife having led the blind man seemed to indicate that the latter, and not the Setti, was the woman's husband, and the king foolishly concluded that both the Setti and his wife were the real criminals. Accordingly he sentenced the Setti to the gallows, because he had attempted to entice away a married woman, and his wife to be burnt in the kiln, as she had wished to forsake her husband, and he a blind man. When these sentences were pronounced the blind man was thunderstruck. The thought that by a deliberate lie he had caused the death of two innocent persons now stung him to the heart. By this lie he expected that the Setti only should be punished, and that the woman should be made over to him as his own wife, but now he found that she also was condemned to death. “Vile wretch that I am!” said he. “I do not know what sins I committed in a former life to be thus blind now.²¹⁸ My real wife, too, deserted me; and I, heaping sins upon sins, have now by a false report sent to death an innocent man and his wife, who rescued me from a horrible fate and tended to all my wants last night. O Mahámayi! what punishment you have in reserve for me, I know not!” This soliloquy, being overheard by some bystanders, was communicated to the king, who, bitterly reproaching himself for having so rashly acted, at once released the good Setti and his wife, and caused the ungrateful blind man to be burnt in the kiln.

“Thus you see, my lord,” added the Fourth Minister, “how nearly that king had plunged into a gulf of crime by his rashness. Therefore, my most noble king, I would respectfully and humbly request you to consider well the case of Bodhaditya, and punish him severely if he be found really guilty.” Having thus spoken, he obtained leave to depart.

The night was now over: darkness, the harbourer of vice, had fled away; the day dawned. King Alakésa left his bedchamber, bathed and made his religious ablutions, and after breakfasting summoned a council of all his father's old ministers and advisers. Alakésa took his seat in the midst of the assembly: anger was clearly visible in his countenance; his eyes had lost their natural expression and had turned very red; his breath was as hot as that of a furnace. He thus addressed them: “Know ye all, the ministers of my father and of myself, that last night, during the first watch, my First Minister, Bodhaditya, while I and my queen were asleep in our chamber, came and touched with his finger the bosom of my queen. Consider well the gravity of this crime, and express your opinions as to what punishment he merits.” Thus spake King Alakésa; but all the ministers, not knowing what answer to return, hung down their heads in silence. Among those present was an aged minister named Manuniti, who called Bodhaditya to his side and privately learned the whole story. He then humbly bowed before the king, and thus spake: “Most noble king, men are not always wise; and, before replying to your majesty's question, I beg permission to relate in your presence the story of a king in whose reign a certain benevolent action was repaid with disgrace and ignominy:

ON the banks of the Kávéri there was a city called Tiruvidaimarudur, where ruled a king named Chakra-ditya. In that city there lived a poor Bráhman and his wife, who, having no children, brought up in their house a young parrot as tenderly as if it had been their own offspring. One day the parrot was sitting on the roof of the house, basking itself in the morning sun, when a large flock of parrots flew past, talking to each other about certain mango fruits. The Bráh-man's parrot asked them what were the peculiar properties of those fruits, and was informed that beyond the seven oceans there was a great mango tree, the fruit of which gave perpetual youth to the person who ate of it, however old and infirm he might be. On hearing of this wonder the Brahman's parrot requested permission to accompany them, which being granted, they all continued their flight. When at length they arrived at the mango tree, all ate of its fruit; but the Bráhman's parrot reflected: “It would not be right for me to eat of this fruit; I am still young, while my adopted parents, the poor Bráhman and his wife, are very old. So I shall give them this fruit, and they will become young and blooming by eating it.” And that same evening the good parrot brought the fruit to the Bráhman, and explained to him its extraordinary properties. But the Bráhman thought within himself: “I am a beggar. What although I should become young and live for ever or should die this very moment? Our king is very good and charitable. If such a great man should eat of this fruit and renew his youth, he would confer the greatest benefits on mankind. Therefore I will give this mango to our good king.”

In pursuance of this self-denying resolution, the poor Bráhman proceeded to the palace and presented the fruit to the king, at the same time relating how he had obtained it, and its qualities. The king richly rewarded the Bráhman for his gift and sent him away. Then he began to reflect thus: “Here is a fruit which can bestow perpetual youth on the person who eats it. I should gain this great boon for myself alone, and what happiness could I expect in such circumstances, without corresponding friends and subjects? I shall therefore not eat this mango fruit, but plant it carefully in my garden, and it will in time become a tree, which will bear much fruit having the same wonderful virtue, and my subjects shall, every one, eat of the fruit and, with myself, be endowed with everlasting youth.” So calling his gardener the king gave him the fruit and he planted it in the royal presence. In due course of time the fruit grew into a fine tree, and during the spring season it began to bud and blossom and bear fruit. The king, having fixed upon an auspicious day for cutting one of the mango fruits, gave it to his domestic chaplain, who was ninety years old, in order that his youth should be renewed. But no sooner had the priest tasted it than he fell down dead. At this unexpected calamity the king was both astonished and deeply grieved. When the old priest's wife heard of her husband's sudden death, she came and prayed the king to allow her to perform sati with him on the same funeral pyre, which increased the king's sorrow; but he gave her the desired permission, and himself superintended all the ceremonies of the cremation.

King Chakraditya then sent for the poor Bráhman and demanded of him how he had dared to present a poisonous fruit to his king. The Bráhman replied: “My lord, I brought up a young parrot in my house, in order to console me for having no son. That parrot brought me the fruit one day, and told me of its wonderful properties. Believing that the parrot spoke truth, I presented it to your majesty, never for a moment suspecting it to be poisonous.” The king listened to the poor Bráhman's words, but thought that the priest's death should be avenged. So he consulted his ministers, who recommended, as a slight punishment, that the Bráhman should be deprived of his left eye. This was done accordingly, and on his return home, when his wife saw his condition, she asked the reason of such mutilation. “My dear,” said he, “the parrot we have fostered so tenderly is the cause of this.” And they resolved to break the neck of the treacherous bird. But the parrot, having overheard their conversation, thus addressed them: “My kind foster parents, everyone must be rewarded for the good actions or punished for the evil deeds of his previous life.²²³ I brought you the fruit with a good intention, but my sins in my former life have given it a different effect. Therefore, I pray you to kill me and bury me with a little milk in a pit. And, after my funeral ceremony is over, I request you to undertake a pilgrimage to Banáres to clear yourself of your sins.” So the old Bráhman and his wife killed their pet parrot and buried it as directed, after which, overcome with grief, they set out on a pilgrim age to the holy city.

Meanwhile the king commanded his gardener to set guards over the poison-tree, and to allow no one to eat of its fruit; and all the inhabitants soon came to know that the king had a mango tree in his garden, the fruit of which was deadly poison. Now there was in the city an old washerwoman, who had frequent quarrels with her daughter-in-law, and one day, being weary of her life, she left the house, threatening to eat of the poison-tree and die. The young parrot who was killed for having brought the poisonous mango fruit was re-born as a green parrot, and was waiting an opportunity to demonstrate the harmless nature of the tree; and when he saw the old woman approach with a determination to put an end to her life by eating of its fruit, he plucked one with his beak and dropped it down before her. The old woman rejoiced that Fate sanctioned her death, and greedily ate the fruit, when, lo! instead of dying she became young and blooming again. Those who had seen her leave the house a woman over sixty years of age were astonished on seeing her return as a handsome girl of sixteen and learning that the wonderful transformation was caused by the supposed poisonous mango tree. The strange news soon reached the king, who, in order to test the tree still farther, ordered another fruit of it to be brought and gave it to a goldsmith of more than ninety years of age, who had embezzled some gold which had been entrusted to him to make into ornaments for the ladies of the palace, and was on that account undergoing imprisonment.²²⁴ When he had eaten the fruit, he, in his turn, became a young man of sixteen.

The king was now convinced that the fruit of this mango tree, so far from being poisonous, had the power of converting decrepit age into lusty and perennial youth. But how did the old priest die by eating of it? It was by a mere accident. One day a huge serpent was sleeping on a branch of the mango tree, and its head was placed over a fruit: poison dropped from its mouth and fell on the rind of that fruit. The gardener, who had no knowledge of this, when asked to bring a fruit for the priest, happened to bring the one on which the poison had fallen, and the priest having eaten it died. And now the king caused proclamation to be made throughout his kingdom that all who pleased might come and partake of the mango fruit, and everyone ate of it and became young. But King Chakraditya's heart burnt within him at the remembrance of his ill-treatment of the poor Bráhman, who had returned with his wife from Banáres. So he sent for him, explained his mistake, and gave him a fruit to eat, which having tasted, the aged Bráhman became young, and his eye was also restored to him. But the greatest loss of all, that of the parrot who brought the fruit from beyond the seven oceans, remained irreparable.

“Thus, my lord,” continued the aged minister, Manuniti, “it behoves us not to act precipitately in this affair of Bodhaditya, which we must carefully sift before expressing our opinion as to the punishment he may deserve at your majesty's hands.”

When Manuniti had concluded his story of the wonderful mango fruit, King Alakésa ordered his four ministers to approach the throne, and then, with an angry countenance, he thus addressed Bodhaditya: “What excuse have you for entering my bedchamber without permission, and thus violating the rules of decency?” The First Minister humbly begged leave to relate to his majesty a story of how a Bráhman fed a hungry traveller, and had afterwards to endure the infamy of having caused that traveller's death, and on King Alakésa signifying his consent, thus began: