Long, long ago, in the shadowy past, Ali Hafed dwelt on the shores of
the River Indus, in the ancient land of the Hindus. His beautiful
cottage, set in the midst of fruit and flower gardens, looked from the
mountain side on which it stood over the broad expanse of the noble
river. Rich meadows, waving fields of grain, and the herds and flocks
contentedly grazing on the pasture lands, testified to the thrift and
prosperity of Ali Hafed. The love of a beautiful wife and a large
family of light-hearted boys and girls made his home an earthly
paradise. Healthy, wealthy, contented, rich in love and friendship, his
cup of happiness seemed full to overflowing.
Happy and contented, as we have seen, was the good Ali Hafed, when one
evening a learned priest of Buddha, journeying along the banks of the
Indus, stopped for rest and refreshment at his home, where all
wayfarers were hospitably welcomed and treated as honored guests.
After the evening meal, the farmer and his family, with the priest in
their midst, gathered around the fireside, the chilly mountain air of
the late autumn making a fire desirable. The disciple of Buddha
entertained his kind hosts with various legends and myths, and last of
all with the story of the creation.
He told his wondering listeners how in the beginning the solid earth on
which they lived was not solid at all, but a mere bank of fog. "The
Great Spirit," said he, "thrust his finger into the bank of fog and
began slowly describing a circle in its midst, increasing the speed
gradually until the fog went whirling round his finger so rapidly that
it was transformed into a glowing ball of fire. Then the Creative
Spirit hurled the fiery ball from his hand, and it shot through the
universe, burning its way through other banks of fog and condensing
them into rain, which fell in great floods, cooling the surface of the
immense ball. Flames then bursting from the interior through the cooled
outer crust, threw up the hills and mountain ranges, and made the
beautiful fertile valleys. In the flood of rain that followed this
fiery upheaval, the substance that cooled very quickly formed granite,
that which cooled less rapidly became copper, the next in degree cooled
down into silver, and the last became gold. But the most beautiful
substance of all, the diamond, was formed by the first beams of
sunlight condensed on the earth's surface.
"A drop of sunlight the size of my thumb," said the priest, holding up
his hand, "is worth more than mines of gold. With one such drop," he
continued, turning to Ali Hafed, "you could buy many farms like yours;
with a handful you could buy a province, and with a mine of diamonds
you could purchase a whole kingdom."
The company parted for the night, and Ali Hafed went to bed, but not to
sleep. All night long he tossed restlessly from side to side, thinking,
planning, scheming how he could secure some diamonds. The demon of
discontent had entered his soul, and the blessings and advantages which
he possessed in such abundance seemed as by some malicious magic to
have utterly vanished. Although his wife and children loved him as
before; although his farm, his orchards, his flocks, and herds were as
real and prosperous as they had ever been, yet the last words of the
priest, which kept ringing in his ears, turned his content into vague
longings and blinded him to all that had hitherto made him happy.
Before dawn next morning the farmer, full of his purpose, was astir.
Rousing the priest, he eagerly inquired if he could direct him to a
mine of diamonds.
"A mine of diamonds!" echoed the astonished priest. "What do you, who
already have so much to be grateful for, want with diamonds?"
"I wish to be rich and place my children on thrones."
"All you have to do, then," said the Buddhist, "is to go and search
until you find them."
"But where shall I go?" questioned the infatuated man.
"Go anywhere," was the vague reply; "north, south, east, or
west,--anywhere."
"But how shall I know the place?" asked the farmer.
"When you find a river running over white sands between high mountain
ranges, in these white sands you will find diamonds. There are many
such rivers and many mines of diamonds waiting to be discovered. All
you have to do is to start out and go somewhere--" and he waved his
hand--"away, away!"
Ali Hafed's mind was full made up. "I will no longer," he thought,
"remain on a wretched farm, toiling day in and day out for a mere
subsistence, when acres of diamonds--untold wealth--may be had by him
who is bold enough to seek them."
He sold his farm for less than half its value. Then, after putting his
young family under the care of a neighbor, he set out on his quest.
With high hopes and the coveted diamond mines beckoning in the far
distance, Ali Hafed began his wanderings. During the first few weeks
his spirits did not flag, nor did his feet grow weary. On, and on, he
tramped until he came to the Mountains of the Moon, beyond the bounds
of Arabia. Weeks stretched into months, and the wanderer often looked
regretfully in the direction of his once happy home. Still no gleam of
waters glinting over white sands greeted his eyes. But on he went, into
Egypt, through Palestine, and other eastern lands, always looking for
the treasure he still hoped to find. At last, after years of fruitless
search, during which he had wandered north and south, east and west,
hope left him. All his money was spent. He was starving and almost
naked, and the diamonds--which had lured him away from all that made
life dear--where were they? Poor Ali Hafed never knew. He died by the
wayside, never dreaming that the wealth for which he had sacrificed
happiness and life might have been his had he remained at home.
"Here is a diamond! here is a diamond! Has Ali Hafed returned?" shouted
an excited voice.
The speaker, no other than our old acquaintance, the Buddhist priest,
was standing in the same room where years before he had told poor Ali
Hafed how the world was made, and where diamonds were to be found.
"No, Ali Hafed has not returned," quietly answered his successor.
"Neither is that which you hold in your hand a diamond; it is but a
pretty black pebble I picked up in my garden."
"I tell you," said the priest, excitedly, "this is a genuine diamond. I
know one when I see it. Tell me how and where you found it?"
"One day," replied the farmer, slowly, "having led my camel into the
garden to drink, I noticed, as he put his nose into the water, a
sparkle of light coming from the white sand at the bottom of the clear
stream. Stooping down, I picked up the black pebble you now hold,
guided to it by that crystal eye in the center from which the light
flashes so brilliantly."
"Why, thou simple one," cried the priest, "this is no common stone, but
a gem of the purest water. Come, show me where thou didst find it."
Together they flew to the spot where the farmer had found the "pebble,"
and, turning over the white sands with eager fingers, they found, to
their great delight, other stones even more valuable and beautiful than
the first. Then they extended their search, and, so the Oriental story
goes, "every shovelful of the old farm, as acre after acre was sifted
over, revealed gems with which to decorate the crowns of emperors and
moguls."