Once upon a time there was king who, one day out hunting, came upon a
fakeer in a lonely place in the mountains. The fakeer was seated on a
little old bedstead reading the Koran, with his patched cloak thrown
over his shoulders.
The king asked him what he was reading; and he said he was reading
about Paradise, and praying that he might be worthy to enter there.
Then they began to talk, and, by-and- bye, the king asked the fakeer if
he could show him a glimpse of Paradise, for he found it very difficult
to believe in what he could not see. The fakeer replied that he was
asking a very difficult, and perhaps a very dangerous, thing; but that
he would pray for him, and perhaps he might be able to do it; only he
warned the king both against the dangers of his unbelief, and against
the curiosity which prompted him to ask this thing. However, the king
was not to be turned from his purpose, and he promised the fakeer
always to provided him with food, if he, in return, would pray for him.
To this the fakeer agreed, and so they parted.
Time went on, and the king always sent the old fakeer his food
according to his promise; but, whenever he sent to ask him when he was
going to show him Paradise, the fakeer always replied: ‘Not yet, not
yet!’
After a year or two had passed by, the king heard one day that the
fakeer was very ill-- indeed, he was believed to be dying. Instantly
he hurried off himself, and found that it was really true, and that the
fakeer was even then breathing his last. There and then the king
besought him to remember his promise, and to show him a glimpse of
Paradise. The dying fakeer replied that if the king would come to his
funeral, and, when the grave was filled in, and everyone else was gone
away, he would come and lay his hand upon the grave, he would keep his
word, and show him a glimpse of Paradise. At the same time he implored
the king not to do this thing, but to be content to see Paradise when
God called him there. Still the king’s curiosity was so aroused that
he would not give way.
Accordingly, after the fakeer was dead, and had been buried, he stayed
behind when all the rest went away; and then, when he was quite alone,
he stepped forward, and laid his hand upon the grave! Instantly the
ground opened, and the astonished king, peeping in, saw a flight of
rough steps, and, at the bottom of them, the fakeer sitting, just as he
used to sit, on his rickety bedstead, reading the Koran!
At first the king was so surprised and frightened that he could only
stare; but the fakeer beckoned to him to come down, so, mustering up
his courage, he boldly stepped down into the grave.
The fakeer rose, and, making a sign to the king to follow, walked a few
paces along a dark passage. Then he stopped, turned solemnly to his
companion, and, with a movement of his hand, drew aside as it were a
heavy curtain, and revealed--what? No one knows what was there shown
to the king, nor did he ever tell anyone; but, when the fakeer at
length dropped the curtain, and the king turned to leave the place, he
had had his glimpse of Paradise! Trembling in every limb, he staggered
back along the passage, and stumbled up the steps out of the tomb into
the fresh air again.
The dawn was breaking. It seemed odd to the king that he had been so
long in the grave. It appeared but a few minutes ago that he had
descended, passed along a few steps to the place where he had peeped
beyond the veil, and returned again after perhaps five minutes of that
wonderful view! And what WAS it he had seen? He racked his brains to
remember, but he could not call to mind a single thing! How curious
everything looked too! Why, his own city, which by now he was
entering, seemed changed and strange to him! The sun was already up
when he turned into the palace gate and entered the public durbar hall.
It was full; and there upon the throne sat another king! The poor
king, all bewildered, sat down and stared about him. Presently a
chamberlain came across and asked him why he sat unbidden in the king’s
presence. ‘But I am the king!’ he cried.
‘What king?’ said the chamberlain.
‘The true king of this country,’ said he indignantly.
Then the chamberlain went away, and spoke to the king who sat on the
throne, and the old king heard words like ‘mad,’ ‘age,’ ‘compassion.’
Then the king on the throne called him to come forward, and, as he
went, he caught sight of himself reflected in the polished steel shield
of the bodyguard, and started back in horror! He was old, decrepit,
dirty, and ragged! His long white beard and locks were unkempt, and
straggled all over his chest and shoulders. Only one sign of royalty
remained to him, and that was the signet ring upon his right hand. He
dragged it off with shaking fingers and held it up to the king.
‘Tell me who I am,’ he cried; ‘there is my signet, who once sat where
you sit--even yesterday!’
The king looked at him compassionately, and examined the signet with
curiosity. Then he commanded, and they brought out dusty records and
archives of the kingdom, and old coins of previous reigns, and compared
them faithfully. At last the king turned to the old man, and said:
‘Old man, such a king as this whose signet thou hast, reigned seven
hundred years ago; but he is said to have disappeared, none know
whither; where got you the ring?’
Then the old man smote his breast, and cried out with a loud
lamentation; for he understood that he, who was not content to wait
patiently to see the Paradise of the faithful, had been judged already.
And he turned and left the hall without a word, and went into the
jungle, where he lived for twenty-five years a life of prayer and
meditations, until at last the Angel of Death came to him, and
mercifully released him, purged and purified through his punishment.
[A Pathan story told to Major Campbell.]