Maimuna cried out with happiness. “Oh how I love victory! Did you see what your princess has done to my prince? Are you now willing to admit he is more beautiful and graceful?”
“Yes, yes,” Dahnash mumbled.
But Maimuna said, “I can’t hear you! Sorry, what did you just whisper?”
“Yes, yes, you’ve won, OK?” Dahnash told her.
“Then hurry up and return the defeated princess to her country, because I’m so elated by my victory I can’t fly, I must dance instead!”
So Dahnash carried the sleeping princess back to China and Maimuna spent the rest of the night dancing wildly, and singing to herself, “Yes, yes I won the bet, I won and I always come out on top.”
When Qamar al-Zaman woke in the morning, turned to his right and then to his left and couldn’t see the girl, he jumped up from the bed, banging at the door like a madman.
When the guard opened up, he asked, “Who came in here and took the girl away?”
“A girl? What girl are you talking about, my master? I can assure you that nobody entered your room last night, not even a fly.”
Qamar al-Zaman shouted out in fury: “I’m going to ask you once more about the girl who slept next to me in my bed. Tell me where she has gone!”
“I never left your door, my master. I lean on your door when I doze during the night, in case you wake and want something.”
“Confess that you sneaked her in and then away again, on the orders of my father, the King,” Qamar al-Zaman shouted, in great agitation.
The guard repeated that no one had entered the room, and Qamar al-Zaman lost his mind completely and began to punch and kick the guard. Terrified that he’d lost the girl for ever, he dragged the guard over to the decrepit well, tied him to the well-rope and lowered him to the water, dipping him in repeatedly and demanding that the man confess. The guard shrieked in terror, calling for help. Eventually he cried out, “Yes, yes, master, I will tell you the truth.”
The prince lifted him out, shivering and dripping, teeth clenched, unable to speak. He asked if he could go and change his clothes before he told Qamar al-Zaman the whole story.
“If I hadn’t threatened you with death, you’d still be lying to me,” Qamar al-Zaman said, kicking the guard and cursing him.
The poor guard hurried to the palace, not quite believing he’d managed to escape. Standing in the presence of the King he said, “Your Majesty, Prince Qamar al-Zaman has lost his mind completely.”
The guard appeared to have lost his wits. He was sobbing, with his hair stuck to his head, and his face black and blue from the beating.
“Look what he’s done to me, Your Majesty,” he continued. “He woke up this morning asking about a girl and claiming that he’d found her in his bed that night, and that she vanished in the morning, and then he attacked me and nearly killed me. He demanded that I tell him who had sneaked her out, and no matter how many times I assured him that no one came in or out of the locked room, all my efforts to convince him scattered in the wind.”
When the King heard what the guard said, he hurried to his son, followed by his Vizier and the guard. He entered Qamar al-Zaman’s room and his son, who was reciting the Qur’an, stood at once, bowed his head and placed his arms behind his back in an expression of humility and respect.
“I have sinned against you, my father,” he wept, “and now here I am before you, repenting and seeking your forgiveness.”
The King embraced his son, kissed him on both cheeks. Taking his hands, he sat with him on the couch and asked, “Son, what day is it today?”
“Today is Thursday and tomorrow is Friday and after tomorrow is Saturday.” Qamar al-Zaman went on and counted the seven days of the week and the twelve months of the year.
The King spat at the guard. “How dare you, dog, accuse my son of madness? No one here is insane except you!”
Then the King turned back to his son. “Tell me, did you really ask the guard about a girl who shared your bed yesterday evening and then disappeared?”
Qamar al-Zaman laughed. “Father, let us not dwell on this any more. Yes, you were right to ask that I marry and provide you with a grandson. I was arrogant and stubborn to refuse, and now I am willing to marry the girl who shared my bed until dawn broke. I am certain that you sent her to me, so that I would desire her and change my mind.”
The King shook his head. “I swear by Almighty God that I have no idea about this girl you’re obsessed with. Listen to me, son. Could it be that being here on your own, banished, made you hallucinate, or could it be that you ate a heavy meal, whose ingredients confused you and made you dream dreams which you took to be real? God cursed marriage, and who shall force it upon you! Oh, how eaten by guilt am I for what I have done! Come on, my son; let us go back to the palace and turn over this black, ill-omened page.”
Qamar al-Zaman bottled up his fury and tried to remain calm.
“May I ask you a question, father?”
“Go on, son, ask me one hundred questions.”
“Have you heard of any soldier who dreamed that he fought in a furious battle and, when he awoke, found a sword in his hand dripping with blood?”
“No by God, my son, this has never happened,” the King answered quickly.
“Then I shall tell you what came to pass last night. I woke to find a girl as pretty as a rose fast asleep next to me. I embraced her, and slipped her ring from her finger and put it on my own. I won’t conceal from you the fact that I nearly kissed her on her lips, but drew back, not because of my virtue and good breeding, but out of shame, as I assumed that you were hiding somewhere, watching what I would do to her. And then I awoke this morning and she was gone. So I questioned the guard, and my frustration grew as he denied everything.”
He took the girl’s ring from his little finger and showed it to his father, who studied it carefully before he spoke.
“I believe every word you’ve said, my son. Your story is strange, and you must believe me when I say that I do not know the girl; nor where she went. All I want is for you to be patient. I am so thrilled that your mind is sound and your logic is more acute than ever.”
“Please, father, help me look for the girl, the owner of this ring, or death will carry me away. I am devastated and filled with great grief and turmoil.”
He wept and moaned, moaned and wept, and when his father asked him to return with him to the palace, Qamar al-Zaman refused.
“I should remain here, in case the girl comes back tonight.”
His father left, but not before he had assured his son that he would help him find the girl.
That night, Qamar al-Zaman waited in vain for the girl to appear, refusing to eat or drink. In the stillness of the night, he cried out from his window:
“Return, my own true love,
Enchantress, immortal dove,
My eyes are useless unless I glimpse you,
My lips dried leaves without tasting your dew.”
These agonised words of Qamar al-Zaman reached Maimuna, who had been down in the well when Qamar al-Zaman had lowered the guard into the water. She had been unable to leave the well and help her prince until darkness fell. Now, she set out and hunted for Dahnash, to no avail, finally sending one hundred jinni fairies to find him, without success. Then, to her great distress, Qamar al-Zaman’s cries reached her again:
“Come back to me before my last breath, last sigh,
Last effort to murmur your name,
Then my faint breath can live,
Captured in your soul’s flame.”
Maimuna was sure that Dahnash must be in China visiting his Princess Budur, so she set out after him, flying higher and higher so she would arrive in China at great speed. But when she reached the princess, she found to her horror that the once beautiful girl was now dishevelled, with veins bulging on her face and neck. She stood, screaming and yelling, her sword drawn as she threatened the slaves, eunuchs and ministers of her father’s court.
“Where
is my man? My beautiful knight, who slept in my arms last night until dawn?”
“We have all advised you, Princess Budur, not to engage in such filthy talk. For the tenth time, I tell you that there was no man in your room!” her duenna told her.
But the princess continued to wail. “Where is the young man with black eyes like a gazelle, whose body was so lean and warm in my bed last night?”
“Stop this nonsense before your father hears you; he’ll be livid and go on the rampage,” the duenna told her. “Please, stop playing this dangerous game!”
But Budur continued to weep and tremble with emotion. “Bring me the young man whose lips were like honey, for I can still taste the sweetness in my mouth,” she yelled.
“You’ve gone mad, my beloved princess, I think that an evil spirit has invaded and corrupted you with a great desire to fornicate!”
Budur rushed at the duenna with her sword in hand, but then she noticed Qamar al-Zaman’s ring around her finger. “Can you tell me who this ring belongs to?” she shrieked.
She struck the duenna with her sword, killing her. Everyone screamed in horror, fearing for their lives. The entire court fled to King Ghayyur to tell him his daughter had lost her wits. The King hurried to his daughter.
Upon seeing her father, Budur asked, “Dear father, what have you done with the young man you sent to me? He slept in my arms all night long and his breath was like a summer breeze on my neck. You sent him so he might change my mind about marriage! Well, here I am, father, fit and of sound mind and ready to marry him.”
“Stop this nonsense at once! Or people will think you’re mad,” Budur’s father shouted.
Budur was astounded. Even her father doubted her. She spread her hand before him and said, “I am not mad! Those who don’t believe me are the ones who are insane. Look at my ring, father. To whom does it belong, and how does it come to be on my finger, replacing my own? None other than the man you had brought into my room last night!”
Her father answered her with a broken heart. “Perhaps this is your ring and you are somehow mistaken? I am going to get you the best doctors and astrologists so they might cure you.”
Budur shrieked and yelled and tore her robe from top to bottom as she hunted for the youth under the couches and carpets. “Where have you hidden him?” she repeated, over and again.
The King gave orders for his daughter to be restrained, for her sword to be removed, and for an iron chain to be placed around her feet. Budur fought and kicked the slaves, who restrained her savagely, until finally she surrendered. When everyone left her alone, Budur sang:
“You say I’ve coloured your hands with red henna,
It is not true,
Yet my tears are red as they sprinkle my cheeks
When I wipe them they colour my hands
If you think me mad, summon he who made me insane.”
And Maimuna wept, and reproached herself for committing this horrible crime. She knew that she had acted out of vanity and arrogance, desiring only to prove to Dahnash that her prince was more beautiful than his princess. In doing so, she caused these beautiful young creatures nothing but woe and excruciating pain and sorrow, and their despair had driven them both insane.
Zumurrud and Nur al-Din
he flogged sister asked the mistress of the house if she wished to tell the story of Zumurrud and Nur al-Din, but the mistress of the house tapped her sister on the shoulder with love and sympathy, saying, “No, but you must tell it.”
So the flogged sister rose and addressed the Caliph. “When I came back home devastated, my sister tended to me, encouraging me to learn to fend for myself, take my life in my hands and not rely upon men. She told me the story of Zumurrud and Nur al-Din, which I should like to tell now, with your permission, Oh Commander of the Faithful.”
“I am eager to hear it, my lady,” said the Caliph.
And so the flogged sister began.
Once there was a young man called Nur al-Din, son of a prominent merchant from Cairo, who never stepped out of the house of his father’s shop without his father’s permission. One evening, a group of merchants’ sons invited him to a picnic in a garden. Nur al-Din asked his father if he might go, and his father gave him his blessing and some money.
When the merchants’ sons entered the garden through a sky-blue gate, just like the portals of Paradise, they gasped in wonder at trees laden with fruit: grapes, peaches, apples, figs, and trees of almonds. One of the young men said:
“Look, my friends
At those luscious red grapes
Hanging above your head,
They’re the ruby nipples of a nubile maiden,
Now gaze on the succulent pomegranates:
Round breasts aglow and exquisitely laden.”
As if by way of answer, another boy said:
“Dearest friends, behold the dappled apples,
Reflecting the soft cheeks of youth:
One aflame with brazen lust
The other paled by sweetest trust?”
A third boy took up the theme:
“A double almond asleep in its shell
Where two hearts locked eternally dwell.”
A fourth boy said:
“My favourite are the figs.
So unlike their fellow fruits
Seed-studded and quivering
No sharing and no disputes!”
Then they removed their turbans and coats, while slaves came in with wonderful food, including many kinds of bird: ones that flew, walked, swam—pigeons, quails and geese. The boys ate amidst the aroma of jasmine and roses, henna and myrtle, and when they were satisfied the gardener appeared, carrying a basket filled with roses.
“Whoever can speak the most delicate lines of poetry on the subject of roses shall win the basket.”
All the young men took a turn, except Nur al-Din, who hung back and remained silent. The gardener insisted that the young man attempt a line or two, and so Nur al-Din said:
“Miraculous and strange, my friends,
That what was watered with silver
Is now blossoming in pure gold.”
The gardener chose these beautiful lines and everyone clapped as he handed Nur al-Din the basket of roses and then poured wine. Nur al-Din declined, insisting he had never touched so much as a drop before, and he never would.
“Why have you made this decision?” asked the gardener.
“Because to drink wine is sinful!” said Nur al-Din.
“But God is generous and forgiving,” the gardener insisted. “There are only two sins which He will not tolerate: to worship false Gods and to harm people.”
At these words, Nur al-Din accepted his first drink, sipped it and found it bitter. He set down his cup.
“Don’t most medicines taste bitter?” said the gardener. “Besides, wine purifies the blood, cures wind, aids with digestion of even the heaviest food, and above all encourages you to copulate!”
Everyone laughed, including Nur al-Din, who finished his first cup, then drank a second and a third. He was on his fourth when the gardener brought in a beautiful girl, dark-eyed, with hair so long that it was like a cape trailing behind her. She was holding a satin bag, from which she took thirty-two pieces of wood. She fitted them together into an Indian lute and started to play and sing, her voice pure and clear, like a bulbul:
“Surely you know that pleasure soon evaporates, into thin air?
Then all we are left with are stories.”
Nur al-Din was overwhelmed by her beauty and her voice, but at dawn he stood up to leave, worried that he was very late getting back home. The girl saw him and quickly sang:
“Surely you’re not thinking of fleeing, my fine lover?
Enjoy your good fortune, stay and kiss me until daybreak.”
Nur al-Din changed his mind and stayed with the girl until nearly midday. They kissed each other over and over, on the mouth and eyes and cheeks. When he finally stood up, she asked him where he was going.
&
nbsp; “To my parents,” he answered.
She laughed. “Are you a boy or a man?”
When he arrived home, his mother said angrily, “We’ve been worried about you. Your father blames himself for giving you permission to go out with your friends.”
She leaned forward and smelled the wine on his breath.
“Have you started drinking wine and disobeying the Almighty?”
But Nur al-Din didn’t answer. He went to his room and fell asleep.
His father, who had lain awake the whole night, heard that his son was back.
“Why was our son out all night?” he asked.
His wife lied, telling her husband that the air in the garden, and all the rich and heavy fragrance of the flowers, had made Nur al-Din fall asleep.
But the father went into his son’s room and when he smelled the stench of wine, he shouted, “Damn you, Nur al-Din, have you forgotten what your name means, the light of religion? Yet it seems that you have become such a stupid imbecile that you will drink wine.”
Nur al-Din was still drunk. He reared up and struck his father with all his might. His fist landed on his father’s right eye, so that it dislodged and hung on his cheek. His father blacked out in pain and horror.
Nur al-Din’s mother wept as she sprinkled rose water on her husband, not stopping until he came round. He immediately swore that he would cut off his son’s right hand next morning. His wife tried to placate him, but he insisted he would punish his son in the most awful way imaginable. Eventually she convinced him to go and sleep and then she stayed by Nur al-Din’s side. Once he had sobered up, she gave him a thousand dinars and told him he must flee. Nur al-Din asked her why, and when she told him everything, he was unable to believe what he had done while drunk. But his mother urged him to leave.
“Run, before your father wakes up and cuts off your right hand as he promised to do. But try to send me your news in secret.”
They embraced, weeping.
Nur al-Din walked to the river and came upon a ship at anchor, with passengers boarding it. He asked the crew where they were sailing, and when they told him Alexandria, he immediately joined them. As the ship left Cairo, Nur al-Din was in floods of tears.
One Thousand and One Nights Page 23
