THE PRINCE COMES TO THE CASTLE OF A FIERCE DEMON CALLED
SHAH PYKAR, WHERE HE FINDS RUH-AFZA, COUSIN OF BAKÁWALÍ, A
PRISONER—HE RESCUES HER FROM THE DEMON AND CONVEYS HER TO HER
PARENTS—HE OBTAINS BAKÁWALÍ IN MARRIAGE AND RETURNS WITH HIS
BEAUTEOUS FAIRY BRIDE TO HIS OWN PALACE.
Táj ul-Mulúk, after suffering every inconvenience, determined at last
to leave the earth altogether, and, by the aid of the green fruit which
he had with him, to travel about in the air. One day he passed over a
mountain so high that by its side Káf would seem a mere hillock, and of
granite so hard that mount Bistán[176] would be reduced to powder by
collision with one of its rocks. On the summit was a beautiful palace,
constructed of precious stones, into which he entered from curiosity. He
looked around but found no living creature, and was walking through the
rooms when his ears caught a wailing sound, and going towards the place
whence it issued he discovered a beautiful damsel extended on a couch and
weeping very bitterly. The prince, taking off his hat and thus making
himself visible, begged her to explain how and why she was there. “I am
a fairy,” said she, “and am called Rúh-afzá.[177] My father, Muzaffar
Sháh,[178] rules over the island of Firdaus.[179] One day I had gone to
the Garden of Iram[180] to visit my cousin Bakáwalí, who was unwell, and
on my return a dív with black countenance carried me away and brought
me here. Then he wished me to yield to his passion, but I refused,
and hence he persecutes me, and tries by all means to increase my
sufferings.” The prince asked what was her cousin’s malady, and Rúh-afzá
replied: “She loves a human being, whom she contrived to bring into her
presence, but she has been separated from him, and my uncle keeps her in
close confinement.” At these words Táj ul-Mulúk could not suppress his
sighs, and with pale cheeks and tears in his eyes confessed that he was
the human creature whom Bakáwalí loved. “Alas!” added he, “while she is
suffering in prison, I am pining away and wandering in search of her.”
Then he told Rúh-afzá all his own history, and the recital so touched the
beautiful fairy that she declared herself willing to do all in her power
to help the lovers if she were freed from the dív. “Be not afraid,” said
the prince; “no one can prevent your going. Come with me, and if the dív
should appear, I shall settle matters with him. My only difficulty is
that I am without weapons.” The fairy directed him to the armoury of the
dív, from which he took a sword of the purest water. Then touching with
his magic stick the chains which bound her feet they broke in pieces,
and they took their way to the island of Firdaus. But they had only
proceeded a short distance when a horrible noise was heard behind them.
“Take care,” cried Rúh-afzá to the prince—“here is my terrible enemy!”
Táj ul-Mulúk, with great presence of mind, drew his magic cap from under
his arm and put it on the head of his lovely companion, and then turned
to confront the dív. “Accursed one!” cried the prince, “advance not a
step farther, if you would not be made a corpse by a single blow.” The
dív grinned, showing his great teeth, and sneeringly asked: “Who has
ever heard of a sparrow wishing to fight with the símurgh,[181] or an
ant with an elephant? I should blush to stain my hand with the blood of
a fly, and strike at a handful of earth—I, who can turn aside mount Káf
with a back stroke of my hand. Give me up my mistress and depart.” “Thou
vile and lewd wretch,” exclaimed Táj ul Mulúk, “dost thou dare to call
Rúh-afzá thy mistress? Had I not been restrained by the grace of God,
ere this time I should have torn thy foul tongue out of thy mouth.” The
dív burnt with anger at these words, and lifting up a stone weighing a
hundred _máns_[182] threw it at the prince, upon which the latter, to
avoid it, by virtue of the green fruit which he carried with him, rose up
into the air, and with his magic staff dealt such a blow on the neck of
the dív that he trembled all over. Then the dív uttered loud cries, and
presently a great number of other dívs, ox-headed and elephant-bodied,
came to his assistance and joined in battle against the sháh-záda, who
after a most formidable engagement proved victorious, and those of his
foes who survived fled in dismay. But no sooner was the field cleared
of the enemy than Táj ul-Mulúk fainted in consequence of his exertions.
The beautiful Rúh-afzá, seeing this, ran up to him, laid her hand like
a rose-leaf on his bosom, and with her fragrant breath recalled him to
consciousness, and, giving him back his magic cap, warmly praised his
valorous achievement. Then they continued their journey, and arriving
at the capital of Firdaus, Rúh-afzá, leaving the prince in a garden
belonging to herself, and bearing her own name, proceeded to her father’s
palace, where she was received by Muzaffar Sháh and her mother with every
token of affection. Rúh-afzá told them of her adventures, but concealed
the fact of her deliverer being the lover of Bakáwalí. Her father at
once proceeded to the garden and thanked Táj ul-Mulúk for rescuing his
daughter, and overwhelmed him with tokens of respect and honour.
Muzaffar Sháh then wrote a letter to Fírúz Sháh, acquainting him of the
return of Rúh-afzá. The monarch read it with joy, and induced Jamíla
Khatún to go and see her niece. Bakáwalí wished to accompany her, which
gave great pleasure to her mother, because she thought that the journey
would remove the mildew of sorrow from the mirror of her heart. Jamíla
unloosed the chains which bound Bakáwalí, and both departed together
for the island of Firdaus. When Muzaffar Sháh was informed of their
arrival he sent his daughter to meet them. Rúh-afzá greeted her aunt
most heartily, kissed her forehead, fell at her feet, and then exchanged
congratulations suitable to the occasion; after which she whispered to
Bakáwalí: “Be you glad also, for I have brought a physician who will
cure your disease, by prescribing the sherbet of love to you.” The
heart of Bakáwalí was full of joy, but she did not venture to reply
before her mother. Muzaffar Sháh and Husn-árá[183] showed the greatest
kindness to their sister and her daughter. The door of speech was opened
and different things were talked about, especially the manner in which
Rúh-afzá had been rescued. The following morning Jamíla Khatún wished
to take farewell of her niece, but the latter entreated her to allow
Bakáwalí to remain a few days longer with her. Jamíla consented to leave
her for a week with her cousin, and returned to the garden of Iram. Then
Rúh-afzá led Bakáwalí to that part of the palace where Táj ul-Mulúk was
dwelling. As soon as they drew near the chamber a doleful sound was heard
from within. Bakáwalí asked: “Who is this groaning?” Her cousin answered:
“It is a new victim. Come, if you wish, and I will show him to you.” At
last she prevailed upon Bakáwalí to enter the chamber, and brought her
into the presence of the prince. The moment the eyes of the lovers fell
on each other patience was lost, sense remained dormant, the reins of
discretion dropped from their hands, love triumphed over all, and they
ran forward and embraced with all the warmth which genuine passion can
alone inspire. They wept for joy, and blotted out with their tears the
remembrance of the sorrows which had caused their long separation. The
lovers remained together, and gave themselves up to mutual tokens of
affection until at last the day arrived when Bakáwalí was obliged to
return to her parents. Rúh-afzá promised to use her utmost efforts to
get them united, and persuaded them to await with patience the course of
events. Bakáwalí yielded to this advice and returned home.
Meanwhile Rúh-afzá related in detail to her mother the history of the
love of her cousin and Táj ul-Mulúk. After the recital Husn-árá held
her head for a long time bowed down in the collar of reflection, and
then said to her daughter: “Although the union of a man with a fairy be
an unusual thing, yet, as this mortal has delivered you from a cruel
bondage, I ought, out of gratitude, to save him from some sorrow and
enable him to succeed in his object.” Having taken this resolution, she
called for a skilful painter and caused him to draw the portrait of Táj
ul-Mulúk, and then proceeded to the garden of Iram, where she stayed a
few days with Fírúz Sháh and Jamíla Khatún. One day in conversation with
the latter she addressed her as follows: “My dear sister, a pearl of
beautiful water is only useful when shown in a necklace. Why do you allow
Bakáwalí to pine away in virginity?” “Perhaps you have already heard,”
replied Jamíla, “that my daughter has placed her affections on a human
being. She does not wish to be united to one of her own race. What can I
do in this matter? Must I give up the customs of our ancestors? Should I
allow my daughter to make a marriage which has never before taken place
amongst us?” “True,” rejoined Husn-árá, “it is unwise to place a precious
gem in the hands of one who cannot appreciate it; but if you knew all
the merits of the human race you would never entertain such thoughts as
these. Hear me: man is the most perfect of the creatures of God.[184] He
is the image of the Deity, is glorified by all, and is considered as the
lord of the creation. His sway extends over the elements, and, clothed in
the garments of virtue, he is more than a sovereign on earth. The light
of God beams in him. Every attribute of the Deity has its corresponding
representation on earth; but in man alone can we find all the several
virtues bound, as it were, in a single volume. Each leaf that trembles to
the gale is a leaf of the works of the Creator.[185] O Jamíla Khatún, man
is a superior creature, and we are but his servants. What an honour it is
therefore to be allied to a superior.” By such words Husn-árá endeavoured
to extinguish in the heart of her sister the hatred which she had for
the human race. “That is all very well,” said Jamíla, “but to a man my
daughter shall never be given.” Thereupon Husn-árá placed Táj ul-Mulúk’s
portrait in her hands, saying: “Tell me, if ever the pen of destiny has
drawn such a handsome face in the world. Make haste, then, to unite this
lovely jasmine to that rose of beauty.” At length Jamíla consented to
bestow her daughter on the prince, and Husn-árá returned to Firdaus, and
reported the result of her expedition.
Jamíla related to her husband, Fírúz Sháh, the conversation she had
with her sister, and showed him the likeness of Táj ul-Mulúk, which he
sent to Bakáwalí, with the message that he was willing she should marry
the young prince of the East, since such was her desire. Bakáwalí at
once recognised her dearly beloved, and felt that this change in the
sentiments of her parents was due to Rúh-afzá. So she hastened to her
father, and said: “Sire, children ought to obey their parents, therefore
I accept the husband whom you offer me. Were he a dív or an Abyssinian,
I would consider him as one of the youths of paradise, or as the Moon of
Canaan.”[186] Fírúz Sháh at once gave orders to make preparations for the
marriage. All the houses were decorated with gold, and songs and dances
resounded throughout the city. Letters of invitation were despatched
everywhere; troops of fairies came to swell the festive gathering. The
wine went gaily round,[187] and plates with cakes and sweets. Fírúz Sháh
treated all with princely hospitality. As the festivities began well, so
they ended. In the island of Firdaus the same arrangements were made by
Muzaffar Sháh and the same ceremonies performed.
On the day before the marriage orders were given to the amírs and vazírs
that they should array themselves in the most brilliant garments. The
army was directed to be drawn out. Husn-árá also adorned herself with the
most precious jewels, and her maids and attendants were as splendidly
decorated. At last, when the auspicious moment arrived,[188] they brought
the prince, arrayed in royal robes, and placed him on a throne of state.
A gorgeous turban adorned his head, whence descended long folds of
flowing cloth, richly embroidered with pearls and flowers. His neck was
surrounded with wreaths of valuable pearls, and his wrists encircled with
the precious _nauratan_.[189] He was then placed on a beautiful horse,
caparisoned in the richest fashion. Muzaffar Sháh, with several other
sovereigns, rode in the train. The palankíns of the ladies followed.
When the procession arrived at the palace of Fírúz Sháh he sent some of
his officers to conduct them to the reception room where the company had
assembled. Jamíla and Husn-árá then came forward, the former as mother
of the bride, the latter as fulfilling the same duty for the bridegroom.
The prince and princess were duly united in marriage, and congratulations
resounded throughout the hall. Wines and sherbets were passed round
abundantly. The singers only ceased their love-songs when sleep overtook
them, and then they reposed in each other’s arms as on cushions.
In the morning, as the prince went to the bath, Rúh-afzá came into the
nuptial chamber and found Bakáwalí still asleep, and perceived on her
cheeks the marks of the teeth of Táj ul-Mulúk,[190] and on her bosom
the trace of his hands tinged with _mehndí_.[191] Muzaffar Sháh and
Husn-árá soon took their leave of their relations and set out for
their own country. Some time after, Táj ul-Mulúk, with the consent of
Bakáwalí, asked permission to quit the palace of Fírúz Sháh. In giving
his sanction, the king of the fairies presented the prince with a great
number of slaves of both sexes, and, besides the dowry of Bakáwalí,
ready money for the journey; and many articles of use and ornament were
also bestowed on him, a mere catalogue of the names of which would fill
a volume. Táj ul-Mulúk, attended with every pomp and magnificence, took
Bakáwalí to his own palace. Dilbar and Mahmúda on beholding him were
restored to joy, and the dry field of their hope was again refreshed
with the shower of gladness. The beauty and grace of Bakáwalí, however,
filled them with confusion, but the fairy tenderly embraced them both
and assured them that she would never disturb their domestic happiness.
They spent their time in peace and mutual love and never had the least
jealousy or rivalry between themselves. The prince passed his days with
these rosy-lipped beauties, immersed in a sea of bliss.