THE PRINCE DETERMINES TO RESCUE HIS BRETHREN—HE TAKES SERVICE
WITH A NOBLEMAN, AND MAKES FRIENDS WITH DILBAR’S CONFEDERATE,
BY WHOSE INSTRUCTIONS HE TURNS THE TABLES ON DILBAR, AND WINS
ALL HER WEALTH AND HER OWN PERSON—HE TELLS DILBAR OF HIS DESIGN
TO OBTAIN THE ROSE OF BAKÁWALÍ, AND SHE WARNS HIM OF THE
DANGERS HE MUST ENCOUNTER—HE RELATES THE STORY OF THE BRÁHMAN
AND THE LION—DILBAR EXHORTS OUR HERO BEFORE HIS DEPARTURE.
Táj ul-Mulúk immediately formed the resolution to make an effort to save
his brothers. Full of this idea, he presented himself at the door of an
Amír and said to the porter: “I am a traveller without means, and wish to
enter the employment of your master, whose noble qualities I have heard
much praised.” The Amír admitted Táj ul-Mulúk into his presence, and,
charmed with the beauty and dignity of his features, willingly accepted
his offer, and from that day treated him with increasing kindness. When
Táj ul-Mulúk had passed several months in the service of the Amír, and
had saved a considerable sum of money, he said to his master one day that
a friend of his had just arrived in the town, and he was desirous that
he should be permitted to go and see him every day and pass a few hours
in his company. This was most cordially granted, and the prince went
daily to the house of the backgammon players, from whom he learned all
the rules of the game. When he thought he was able to play with Dilbar
he proceeded to her palace. An old woman, the confidante of Dilbar, who
did nothing without her advice, opened the door, and the prince threw
himself at her feet and burst into tears. She asked him who he was and
what he wanted. “Alas!” he cried, “I am an unhappy traveller, without
friends or acquaintances. I have no help but God in this town. My country
is far east of here. I had a grandmother, but God admitted her into
Paradise,[124] and I am left alone in this world of sorrow! I trace in
you a strong resemblance to her, hence have I fallen at your feet. If you
are pleased to look on me with an eye of kindness and have compassion on
my wretched condition, I offer to remain near you and to regard you as my
grandmother.” The tone of sincerity with which the prince uttered these
words made the heart of the old woman soft as wax. “My dear young man,”
said she to him, “I am also alone in the world. From this day, therefore,
I adopt you as my grandson.” Then he told her that he was engaged as a
servant and would not be able to see her every day, but he would come
as often as he possibly could. After this, Táj ul-Mulúk often visited
that old woman, and so flattered and wheedled her that he soon became
the confidant of her secrets. One day, after talking on indifferent
subjects, he asked her how it happened that all who played at backgammon
with Dilbar always lost. “My dear son,” replied she, “it is a very great
secret. Take good care never to repeat to anyone what I am going to tell
you. Dilbar has trained a cat and a mouse; she has accustomed the cat to
bear a lamp on her head and the mouse to lie concealed in the shade of
the lamp. When the dice do not turn up to suit Dilbar, the cat moves the
lamp and causes the shadow to go to and fro, while the mouse turns the
dice again, and in this way Dilbar wins without anyone of those who have
played with her being able to understand the reason.” Táj ul-Mulúk went
to the bazár and bought a weasel, which he trained to lie in his sleeve,
and, when he snapped his fingers, to come out suddenly, like a little
panther. Then he visited the old woman and said to her: “I am weary of
service, and if you lend me a thousand rupís I will try to start some
business.” The old woman led him into a room, and, showing him all her
money, bade him take what he required. The prince was satisfied with a
thousand rupís. Returning to his master, he told him that a friend was
to be married that day, and he wished to attend the nuptials if the Amír
would give him suitable clothes. The Amír at once consented, and even
allowed the prince to take one of his best horses.
Táj ul-Mulúk, richly dressed and mounted upon a superb steed, proceeded
to the house of the artful courtesan. He was no sooner introduced to her
than the gambler of the sky closed the chessboard of the sun, in the
house of the west, and threw upon the table of the east the golden dice
of the stars.[125] “I am told,” said he, “that you are fond of playing
backgammon, and if you please, we can have a few games.” Dilbar at first
begged to be excused, but in the end consented to play, and, as usual,
placed the lamp upon the head of the cat, staked a thousand rupís, and
threw the dice. The sháh-záda[126] allowed her to win the first game
with the aid of the cat and the mouse. At the second, as fortune did
not turn in her favour, the cat and the mouse were about to begin their
old tricks, when Táj ul-Mulúk snapped his fingers, and the weasel ran
furiously out of its master’s sleeve, whereupon the mouse disappeared
like lightning, and the cat astonished, fled like the wind, overturning
the lamp. The sháh-záda pretended to be in a great rage, and exclaimed:
“Artful woman! What tricks are you playing? How is it that you have not
a proper lamp in a house so elegantly furnished?” At these words Dilbar
was confused, and beads of perspiration appeared on her brow. She caused
a candlestick to be brought and then the game was resumed. In his turn
the prince had the advantage, and gained that night seven crores of
rupís. In the morning he told Dilbar that he was obliged to return and
breakfast with the king, and went away, leaving with her the money he had
won, and promising to come again at night.
The prince came at the time appointed, and after they had partaken of
some food, they began to play for a crore of rupís, and by midnight he
had won all Dilbar’s hoarded money, which amounted to one hundred crores
of rupís.[127] Dilbar, in despair, wished to play next for her furniture,
in the hope of winning, and afterwards recovering what she had lost. But
she was not any more fortunate than before, and the prince said: “Well,
what shall we do now? Do you wish to play once more with me? If I lose,
I will give you a thousand rupís; if I win, you will give up all the
princes you have kept prisoners by deceit and cheating.” Dilbar agreed
to the proposal, and in a twinkling the sháh-záda had again won the
game. Then she said: “If I win, I will keep all that I have lost; if I
lose, not only will everything belong to you, but I shall be your slave.”
In this last throw fortune was once more propitious to Táj ul-Mulúk.
“Happy young man!” she cried, “with the help of God and your horoscope
you have made me your slave. That game which all the kings of the world
had played in vain throughout their lives is at last in thy hand. Now
consider this as thy house. Bind me to thee by the ties of wedlock, and
pass here the rest of thy days in affluence and grandeur.” “No, no,”
said the prince; “I cannot consent to it. An important affair occupies
my mind. If God grant me success in it, you also shall be happy. I exact
from you that you abandon the life you have been leading, and wait for
me twelve years, employing yourself in the service of the Most High.”
Dilbar earnestly implored him to confide his secret to her. “Listen,
then,” said he. “My name is Táj ul-Mulúk. I am the son of Zayn ul-Mulúk,
the king of an eastern country, who lost his sight by an accident, and
learned physicians have unanimously declared that his blindness can only
be cured by the Rose of Bakáwalí. My brothers set out in quest of this
marvellous flower. I was secretly with them, and when I learned that they
had been ensnared by thy wiles, I employed artifice against thee in my
turn, and thus have I overreached thee. I am determined to search for the
Rose of Bakáwalí, and if I succeed, all will be well, if not, I shall
give up life.” Hearing this Dilbar said: “Alas, what fanciful idea has
taken possession of thy reason? Know that the Rose of which you speak is
in the region of the sun, and not even a bird could succeed in reaching
it. Bakáwalí is the daughter of the king of the Jinn, and in her garden
is that flower. But it is guarded by thousands of _dívs_.[128] No mortal
can approach without their permission. O prince, do not expose yourself
to such dangers, for, as Sa’dí says:
Although ’tis written, when ’tis doomed, we die,
Yet in the dragon’s mouth, O wherefore fly?”[129]
Táj ul-Mulúk replied: “The God who changed into a garden of roses the
fire into which Nimrod caused Abraham to be cast[130] will crown my zeal
with success. The sons of men are inferior to dívs in strength, but they
are superior in wisdom; for God himself has said: ‘I have given glory to
the children.’
_Story of the Bráhman and the Lion._
“You may have heard that a Bráhman passing through a forest saw a lion
held fast by a rope and confined in a cage. On perceiving the Bráhman he
begged hard, and humbly said: ‘O Bráhman, if you will kindly release me
I will recompense you some day.’ The simple-minded Bráhman was affected
by the words of the lion; but, blind as he was to reason, he did not
consider that the lion was his enemy, and that no reliance could be
placed on his promises. He opened the door of the cage, unloosed the feet
of the lion, and set him at liberty. The bloodthirsty beast, as soon as
he found himself free, knocked down the Bráhman, and seizing him by the
throat carried him towards his den. The Bráhman cried: “O lion, I did a
good service for you in hopes of getting a fair return, but I see thy
intentions are evil.” The lion answered: ‘In my religion the return for
good is evil. If you do not believe me let us refer the question to some
one else, and whatever he says will decide the matter.’ That fool agreed.
In the forest there grew a tall and umbrageous banyan tree. The lion and
the Bráhman went under its branches and referred the matter to it. Said
the banyan: ‘The lion is in the right. I have always seen that the return
for good is evil. Hear, O Bráhman! I stand on one leg[131] and cast my
shade on every traveller that passes this way. But whoever takes shelter
in my shadow is sure, on departing, to pull off one of my branches, to
make use of it as a walking-stick in his hand. Now say, is not evil the
return of good?’ The lion asked: ‘Well, my friend, what sayest thou?’ The
Bráhman answered: ‘Refer the matter to some one else.’ The lion proceeded
a few steps farther and questioned the road on the subject. The road
answered: ‘The lion is right. Listen, O Bráhman. The traveller deviating
from his path searches for me with the greatest care, and when he finds
me I lead him to his home. But in return he defiles me.’ The beast went
on again and saw a jackal on a rising ground. He was about to run away,
when the lion called out: ‘O jackal, do not be afraid. I have come to
refer a question to you.’ Said the jackal: ‘You may say what you please,
but keep your distance; for if you approach, I am afraid your presence
will render me senseless.’ The lion said: ‘This Bráhman has done good to
me, and I intend to return evil to him. What sayst thou in the matter?’
The jackal replied: ‘I cannot quite understand what you say. How can a
man who is so insignificant do any service to a lion, who is styled the
monarch of the forest? I can never believe such a thing until I have seen
it with my own eyes.’ The lion said: ‘Come on, and I will show it to
you.’ So the lion and the Bráhman proceeded and the jackal followed. When
they came to the cage the Bráhman said: ‘O jackal, the lion was fast
bound to this, and I freed him. What is your decision?’ Said the jackal:
‘How could such a small cage hold so great a lion? If he would re-enter
it before me and lie down as before, and then if you should free him I
shall believe what you say.’ The lion entered the cage and the Bráhman
commenced tying him. The jackal then remarked: ‘If you make the slightest
difference in adjusting the knots, I shall be unable to decide the case.’
The Bráhman bound the lion strongly, and, having fastened the door of
the cage, said to the jackal: ‘In that state I found him.’ ‘Fool that
you were,’ exclaimed the jackal, ‘to expect good from such a powerful
beast. It is laying the axe to your own root to think so. What need have
you to give freedom to such an enemy? Go your way now, for the foe is
overcome.’[132]
“O beloved,” continued the prince, “whoever gives freedom to complaints
and impatience, which are like the lion confined in the cage of the body,
and whoever, showing kindness to them, removes the string of resignation,
always suffers from his own folly. O Dilbar, I have related this fable
to show that the body cannot overcome the mind. It is proper for thee
to release the princes of the East and the West, and God will release
thee from the pains of hell. But until my return be very careful of my
brothers. And now give me leave to depart.”
Dilbar Lakhí answered:
“Do not leave me sad and lonely;
Unattended, why depart?
Wherefore grieve a heart that loves thee?
Wherefore crush this widowed heart?
As the shell is thirsty for the
Drops, that make it teem with pearl,[133]
So my heart is longing for thee,
While thy sails thou dost unfurl.
Lo, the storm blows fierce and furious,
Leave not thou the joys of home:
Stranger to the world, O wherefore,
Joseph-wise, in exile roam?
Long and distant is the journey;
Hear my words, and stay—O stay!
Like the moth I’m fluttering round thee,
Whilst you wish to pass away.
Beloved, take warning from what you have seen. The princely mind was pure
and clean; and when it fell in the world, the world was dazzled with thy
brightness, and became blind. Arise now, and go after the attainment of
thy desire; but never allow thyself to be prevailed on to play at hazard
with the world, who always keeps her backgammon-board open for all.
Beware, lest, through the assistance of the cat of deceit and the mouse
of cunning, she turn the dice in her own favour. Then the treasures of
thy faith will be exhausted, and she will keep thee in bonds for ever.
If by the help of the weasel of patience you will expose and overcome
her wiles, she will then try (she who has subdued kings and mighty
sovereigns) to captivate thee by her charms, declaring at the same time
that she will become thy slave. But should you turn away your gaze from
her, you will certainly succeed in your undertaking.”[134]