Once upon a time there lived a poor old man whose name was Wali Dâd
Gunjay, or Wali Dâd the Bald. He had no relations, but lived all by
himself in a little mud hut some distance from any town, and made his
living by cutting grass in the jungle, and selling it as fodder for
horses. He only earned by this five halfpence a day; but he was a
simple old man, and needed so little out of it, that he saved up one
halfpenny daily, and spent the rest upon such food and clothing as he
required.
In this way he lived for many years until, one night, he thought that
he would count the money he had hidden away in the great earthen pot
under the floor of his hut. So he set to work, and with much trouble he
pulled the bag out on to the floor, and sat gazing in astonishment at
the heap of coins which tumbled out of it. What should he do with them
all? he wondered. But he never thought of spending the money on
himself, because he was content to pass the rest of his days as he had
been doing for ever so long, and he really had no desire for any
greater comfort or luxury.
At last he threw all the money into an old sack, which he pushed under
his bead, and then, rolled in his ragged old blanket, he went off to
sleep.
Early next morning he staggered off with his sack of money to the shop
of a jeweller, whom he knew in the town, and bargained with him for a
beautiful little gold bracelet. With this carefully wrapped up in his
cotton waistband he went to the house of a rich friend, who was a
travelling merchant, and used to wander about with his camels and
merchandise through many countries. Wali Dâd was lucky enough to find
him at home, so he sat down, and after a little talk he asked the
merchant who was the most virtuous and beautiful lady he had ever met
with. The merchant replied that the princess of Khaistan was renowned
everywhere as well for the beauty of her person as for the kindness and
generosity of her disposition.
“Then,” said Wali Dâd, “next time you go that way, give her this little
bracelet, with the respectful compliments of one who admires virtue far
more than he desires wealth.”
With that he pulled the bracelet from his waistband, and handed it to
his friend. The merchant was naturally much astonished, but said
nothing, and made no objection to carrying out his friend’s plan.
Time passed by, and at length the merchant arrived in the course of his
travels at the capital of Khaistan. As soon as he had opportunity he
presented himself at the palace, and sent in the bracelet, neatly
packed in a little perfumed box provided by himself, giving at the same
time the message entrusted to him by Wali Dâd.
The princess could not think who could have bestowed this present on
her, but she bade her servant to tell the merchant that if he would
return, after he had finished his business in the city, she would give
him her reply. In a few days, therefore, the merchant came back, and
received from the princess a return present in the shape of a
camel-load or rich silks, besides a present of money for himself. With
these he set out on his journey.
Some months later he got home again from his journeyings, and proceeded
to take Wali Dâd the princess’s present. Great was the perplexity of
the good man to find a camel-load of silks tumbled at his door! What
was he to do with these costly things? But, presently, after much
thought, he begged the merchant to consider whether he did not know of
some young prince to whom such treasures might be useful.
“Of course,” cried the merchant, greatly amused; “from Delhi to
Baghdad, and from Constantinople to Lucknow, I know them all; and there
lives none worthier than the gallant and wealthy young prince of
Nekabad.”
“Very well, then, take the silks to him, with the blessing of an old
man,” said Wali Dâd, much relieved to be rid of them.
So, the next time that the merchant journeyed that way he carried the
silks with him, and in due course arrived at Nekabad, and sought an
audience of the prince. When he was shown into his presence he produced
the beautiful gift of silks that Wali Dâd had sent, and begged the
young man to accept them as a humble tribute to his worth and
greatness. The prince was much touched by the generosity of the giver,
and ordered, as a return present, twelve of the finest breed of horses
for which his country was famous to be delivered over to the merchant,
to whom also, before he took his leave, he gave a munificent reward for
his services.
As before, the merchant at last arrived at home; and next day, he set
out for Wali Dâd’s house with the twelve horses. When the old man saw
them coming in the distance he said to himself: “Here’s luck! a troop
of horses coming! They are sure to want quantities of grass, and I
shall sell all I have without having to drag it to market.” Thereupon
he rushed off and cut grass as fast he could. When he got back, with as
much grass as he could possibly carry, he was greatly discomfited to
find that the horses were all for himself. At first he could not think
what to do with them, but, after a little, a brilliant idea struck him!
He gave two to the merchant, and begged him to take the rest to the
princess of Khaistan, who was clearly the fittest person to possess
such beautiful animals.
The merchant departed, laughing. But, true to his old friend’s request,
he took the horses with him on his next journey, and eventually
presented them safely to the princess. This time the princess sent for
the merchant, and questioned him about the giver. Now, the merchant was
usually a most honest man, but he did not quite like to describe Wali
Dâd in his true light as an old man whose income was five halfpence a
day, and who had hardly clothes to cover him. So he told her that his
friend had heard stories of her beauty and goodness, and had longed to
lay the best he had at her feet. The princess then took her father into
her confidence, and begged him to advise her what courtesy she might
return to one who persisted in making her such presents.
“Well,” said the king, “you cannot refuse them; so the best thing you
can do is to send this unknown friend at once a present so magnificent
that he is not likely to be able to send you anything better, and so
will be ashamed to send anything at all!” Then he ordered that, in
place of each of the ten horses, two mules laden with silver should be
returned by her.
Thus, in a few hours, the merchant found himself in charge of a
splendid caravan; and he had to hire a number of armed men to defend it
on the road against the robbers, and he was glad indeed to find himself
back again in Wali Dâd’s hut.
“Well, now,” cried Wali Dâd, as he viewed all the wealth laid at his
door, “I can well repay that kind prince for his magnificent present of
horses; but to be sure you have been put to great expenses! Still, if
you will accept six mules and their loads, and will take the rest
straight to Nekabad, I shall thank you heartily.”
The merchant felt handsomely repaid for his trouble, and wondered
greatly how the matter would turn out. So he made no difficulty about
it; and as soon as he could get things ready, he set out for Nekabad
with this new and princely gift.
This time the prince, too, was embarrassed, and questioned the merchant
closely. The merchant felt that his credit was at stake, and whilst
inwardly determining that he would not carry the joke any further,
could not help describing Wali Dâd in such glowing terms that the old
man would never have known himself had he heard them. The prince, like
the king of Khaistan, determined that he would send in return a gift
that would be truly royal, and which would perhaps prevent the unknown
giver sending him anything more. So he made up a caravan on twenty
splendid horses caparisoned in gold embroidered cloths, with fine
morocco saddles and silver bridles and stirrups, also twenty camels of
the best breed, which had the speed of race-horses, and could swing
along at a trot all day without getting tired; and, lastly, twenty
elephants, with magnificent silver howdahs and coverings of silk
embroidered with pearls. To take care of these animals the merchant
hired a little army of men; and the troop made a great show as they
travelled along.
When Wali Dâd from a distance saw the cloud of dust which the caravan
made, and the glitter of its appointments, he said to himself: “By
Allah! here’s a grand crowd coming! Elephants, too! Grass will be
selling well to-day!” And with that he hurried off to the jungle and
cut grass as fast as he could. As soon as he got back he found the
caravan had stopped at his door, and the merchant was waiting, a little
anxiously, to tell him the news and to congratulate him upon his
riches.
“Riches!” cried Wali Dâd, “what has an old man like me with one foot in
the grave to do with riches? That beautiful young princess, now! She’d
be the one to enjoy all these fine things! Do you take for yourself two
horses, two camels, and two elephants, with all their trappings, and
present the rest to her.”
The merchant at first objected to these remarks, and pointed out to
Wali Dâd that he was beginning to feel these embassies a little
awkward. Of course he was himself richly repaid, so far as expenses
went; but still he did not like going so often, and he was getting
nervous. At length, however he consented to go once more, but he
promised himself never to embark on another such enterprise.
So, after a few days’ rest, the caravan started off once more for
Khaistan.
The moment the king of Khaistan saw the gorgeous train of men and
beasts entering his palace courtyard, he was so amazed that he hurried
down in person to inquire about it, and became dumb when he heard that
these also were a present from the princely Wali Dâd, and were for the
princess, his daughter. He went hastily off to her apartments, and said
to her: “I tell you what it is, my dear, this man wants to marry you;
that is the meaning of all these presents! There is nothing for it but
that we go and pay him a visit in person. He must be a man of immense
wealth, and as he is so devoted to you, perhaps you might do worse than
marry him!”
The princess agreed with all that her father said, and orders were
issued for vast numbers of elephants and camels, and gorgeous tents and
flags, and litters for the ladies, and horses for the men, to be
prepared without delay, as the king and princess were going to pay a
visit to the great and munificent prince Wali Dâd. The merchant, the
king declared, was to guide the party.
The feelings of the poor merchant in this sore dilemma can hardly be
imagined. Willingly would he have run away; but he was treated with so
much hospitality as Wali Dâd’s representative, that he hardly got an
instant’s real peace, and never any opportunity of slipping away. In
fact, after a few days, despair possessed him to such a degree that he
made up his mind that all that happened was fate, and that escape was
impossible; but he hoped devoutly some turn of fortune would reveal to
him a way out of the difficulties which he had, with the best
intentions, drawn upon himself.
On the seventh day they all started, amidst thunderous salutes from the
ramparts of the city, and much dust, and cheering, and blaring of
trumpets.
Day after day they moved on, and every day the poor merchant felt more
ill and miserable. He wondered what kind of death the king would invent
for him, and went through almost as much torture, as he lay awake
nearly the whole of every night thinking over the situation, as he
would have suffered if the king’s executioners were already setting to
work upon his neck.
At last they were only one day’s march from Wali Dâd’s little mud home.
Here a great encampment was made, and the merchant was sent on to tell
Wali Dâd that the King and Princess of Khaistan had arrived and were
seeking an interview. When the merchant arrived he found the poor old
man eating his evening meal of onions and dry bread, and when he told
him of all that had happened he had not the heart to proceed to load
him with the reproaches which rose to his tongue. For Wali Dâd was
overwhelmed with grief and shame for himself, for his friend, and for
the name and honour of the princess; and he wept and plucked at his
beard, and groaned most piteously. With tears he begged the merchant to
detain them for one day by any kind of excuse he could think of, and to
come in the morning to discuss what they should do.
As soon as the merchant was gone Wali Dâd made up his mind that there
was only one honourable way out of the shame and distress that he had
created by his foolishness, and that was—to kill himself. So, without
stopping to ask any one’s advice, he went off in the middle of the
night to a place where the river wound along at the base of steep rocky
cliffs of great height, and determined to throw himself down and put an
end to his life. When he got to the place he drew back a few paces,
took a little run, and at the very edge of that dreadful black gulf he
stopped short! He COULD not do it!
From below, unseen in the blackness of the deep night shadows, the
water roared and boiled round the jagged rocks—he could picture the
place as he knew it, only ten times more pitiless and forbidding in the
visionless darkness; the wind soughed through the gorge with fearsome
sighs, and rustlings and whisperings, and the bushes and grasses that
grew in the ledges of the cliffs seemed to him like living creatures
that danced and beckoned, shadowy and indistinct. An owl laughed “Hoo!
hoo!” almost in his face, as he peered over the edge of the gulf, and
the old man threw himself back in a perspiration of horror. He was
afraid! He drew back shuddering, and covering his face in his hands he
wept aloud.
Presently he was aware of a gentle radiance that shed itself before
him. Surely morning was not already coming to hasten and reveal his
disgrace! He took his hands from before his face, and saw before him
two lovely beings whom his instinct told him were not mortal, but were
Peris from Paradise.
“Why do you weep, old man?” said one, in a voice as clear and musical
as that of the bulbul.
“I weep for shame,” replied he.
“What do you here?” questioned the other.
“I came here to die,” said Wali Dâd. And as they questioned him, he
confessed all his story.
Then the first stepped forward and laid a hand upon his shoulder, and
Wali Dâd began to feel that something strange—what, he did not know—was
happening to him. His old cotton rags of clothes were changed to
beautiful linen and embroidered cloth; on his hard, bare feet were
warm, soft shoes, and on his head a great jewelled turban. Round his
neck there lay a heavy golden chain, and the little old bent sickle,
which he cut grass with, and which hung in his waistband, had turned
into a gorgeous scimetar, whose ivory hilt gleamed in the pale light
like snow in moonlight. As he stood wondering, like a man in a dream,
the other peri waved her hand and bade him turn and see; and, lo!
before him a noble gateway stood open. And up an avenue of giant place
trees the peris led him, dumb with amazement. At the end of the avenue,
on the very spot where his hut had stood, a gorgeous palace appeared,
ablaze with myriads of lights. Its great porticoes and verandahs were
occupied by hurrying servants, and guards paced to and fro and saluted
him respectfully as he drew near, along mossy walks and through
sweeping grassy lawns where fountains were playing and flowers scented
the air. Wali Dâd stood stunned and helpless.
“Fear not,” said one of the peris; “go to your house, and learn that
God rewards the simple-hearted.”
With these words they both disappeared and left him. He walked on,
thinking still that he must be dreaming. Very soon he retired to rest
in a splendid room, far grander than anything he had ever dreamed of.
When morning dawned he woke, and found that the palace, and himself,
and his servants were all real, and that he was not dreaming after all!
If he was dumbfounded, the merchant, who was ushered into his presence
soon after sunrise, was much more so. He told Wali Dâd that he had not
slept all night, and by the first streak of daylight had started to
seek out his friend. And what a search he had had! A great stretch of
wild jungle country had, in the night, been changed into parks and
gardens; and if it had not been for some of Wali Dâd’s new servants,
who found him and brought him to the palace, he would have fled away
under the impression that his trouble had sent him crazy, and that all
he saw was only imagination.
Then Wali Dâd told the merchant all that had happened. By his advice he
sent an invitation to the king and princess of Khaistan to come and be
his guests, together with all their retinue and servants, down to the
very humblest in the camp.
For three nights and days a great feast was held in honour of the royal
guests. Every evening the king and his nobles were served on golden
plates and from golden cups; and the smaller people on silver plates
and from silver cups; and each evening each guest was requested to keep
the places and cups that they had used as a remembrance of the
occasion. Never had anything so splendid been seen. Besides the great
dinners, there were sports and hunting, and dances, and amusements of
all sorts.
On the fourth day the king of Khaistan took his host aside, and asked
him whether it was true, as he had suspected, that he wished to marry
his daughter. But Wali Dâd, after thanking him very much for the
compliment, said that he had never dreamed of so great an honour, and
that he was far too old and ugly for so fair a lady; but he begged the
king to stay with him until he could send for the Prince of Nekabad,
who was a most excellent, brave, and honourable young man, and would
surely be delighted to try to win the hand of the beautiful princess.
To this the king agreed, and Wali Dâd sent the merchant to Nekabad,
with a number of attendants, and with such handsome presents that the
prince came at once, fell head over ears in love with the princess, and
married her at Wali Dâd’s palace amidst a fresh outburst of rejoicings.
And now the King of Khaistan and the Prince and Princess of Nekabad,
each went back to their own country; and Wali Dâd lived to a good old
age, befriending all who were in trouble and preserving, in his
prosperity, the simple-hearted and generous nature that he had when he
was only Wali Dâd Gunjay, the grass cutter.
[Told the author by an Indian.]