Part 11

After Assad had remained in the city of the Jinn but a short time, the longing to return to his own country grew upon him so greatly that he could no longer withstand it, and going to Tamineh, he informed her of his longing, and that he was about to depart, but that he must do so secretly, since so great was the love that the Red King bore his daughter, that he would not suffer him to go if he became aware of his intention. At this Tamineh wept, but prepared everything for his departure the next night; and after a tender leave-taking, and promising her to return soon, he set forth and came into his own country. Some months afterwards Tamineh gave birth to a boy, one of the most beautiful of babes, whom she named Zohrasp. As the youth grew in strength and loveliness, he became the delight of his mother and of his grandfather, but still Assad did not return, for indeed the way was arduous and he had forgotten her. Now, when Zohrasp was ten years old, he said to his mother: ‘Tell me who my father is, and what is his name?’ But Tamineh wept, and answered, ‘Oh, my son, thy father’s name is Assad,’ and she went on to describe to him his valour and renown and the deeds that he had done, so that Zohrasp was eager to seek him. But his mother tried to dissuade him, for she feared that some evil would befall, and she said: ‘Oh, my son, some day the memory of me will prevail on thy father and he will turn his footsteps this way again; but now there is no one left to me but thee, and if I lose thee I lose all that I have!’ Nevertheless he was determined, and when his mother saw this, she did not oppose him any longer, but gave him the finest steed from her father’s stables, together with enchanted weapons made by her people, the Jinn, that must prevail against all that do not pronounce the name of God. Then Zohrasp went forth, and journeyed on until he came into the kingdom of Tartary, which was then at war with the Persians. Zohrasp, who longed to show himself worthy of his father, thought that this would be a good opportunity of performing some deed of valour, therefore he joined the army of the Tartars, who were glad to receive him, for though he was yet young, yet he showed such promise of prowess in war that they hoped great things of him. They soon reached the frontier, where they found the Persian army encamped, and the next morning the Tartars prepared to give battle. But Zohrasp went before them and stood alone in the plain, and he challenged any one among the Persians, even the greatest of their champions, to come forward and engage him in single combat. Seeing that he was but young still, the Persians mocked at him, until at length one of them came forward to give him battle, thinking to have an easy victory over him; but he was so speedily vanquished and slain that terror seized the hearts of the Persians, and they said among themselves: ‘What is this? Behold a beardless youth vanquisheth one of our champions!’ And they all feared him. Then one of their oldest and most experienced warriors came forward, and the fight was desperate for a time, but in the end Zohrasp overcame him, and waving his bloody spear aloft he cried: ‘Ho, Persians, are ye afraid? Which among ye will come forward and try a bout with me?’ But there was no response, for each one said within himself: ‘If I encounter him, beardless youth as he is, I shall be slain.’ Now, as destiny would have it, Assad had joined the hosts of the Persians; for he was tired of peace and longed for war; and when he heard the challenge of this youth, and saw that among all the warriors of the Persians there was not one that dared encounter him, he was enraged, and ordering his horse to be brought to him, he mounted it and rode forth to encounter the champion of the Tartars. But when he saw Zohrasp and his tender years, his heart went out to him, and he said: ‘Oh, youth, thou art but a child still, while I am an old and experienced warrior, and if we join in combat, thou wilt certainly die. Go back, therefore, to thy comrades in arms, and perhaps thou wilt live.’ But Zohrasp thought of his father, and that it behoved him to make himself worthy of him and of his lineage, and he answered him: ‘Not so, warrior! but if so be that thou fearest death, behold, I give thee thy life, for I have pity on thy grey hairs; go back, and I will not harm thee!’ ‘Then,’ said Assad, ‘thy death be on thy head: in the name of God fall to.’ Upon which they turned their horses, and fetching a compass, charged upon each other. In the first shock their spears were shivered in pieces, whereupon they drew their swords, which soon became so hacked that they were useless, and so they threw them away, and continued the fight with clubs until their blood and sweat poured down upon the ground, and by mutual consent they stopped to breathe themselves. When Zohrasp removed his helmet Assad looked upon him, and behold, he was a youth like the full moon, the down just appearing on his upper lip; and Assad loved him, he knew not why, and he wished to save him, so he said to him: ‘Oh, youth, thou hast proved thy valour against the greatest champion in the army of the Persians; depart therefore in peace while there is yet time, for I am loth to slay thee.’ But Zohrasp’s heart swelled with pride when he heard this, and he said within himself: ‘If I vanquish this champion, then indeed can I appear before my father with honour, and he will take me to his bosom as his true son.’ He therefore replied to Assad, whose name was yet unknown to him, ‘Oh, champion of the champions, indeed I will not depart until my right arm hath given me the victory over thee.’ Then they renewed the fight, and rained blows upon each other until they both reeled, and Assad began to fear for himself. So raising his club with both hands, and saying ‘_Bismillah_,’ in the name of God, he dealt so mighty a blow upon the helmet of Zohrasp that he felled him to the ground. Then he threw himself upon him, and would have bound him, but finding that his strength availed not thereto, drew his dagger and plunged it into his side. When Zohrasp felt the dagger enter between his ribs, and knew that the wound was mortal, he gave a great sob, and cried: ‘Oh my father! I shall never see thee now!’ At this Assad said, ‘And who is thy father, oh valiant youth?’ ‘His name is Assad,’ said Zohrasp, ‘and my mother is Tamineh, the daughter of the Red King.’ On hearing these words, Assad threw himself upon him and kissed him and tried to staunch his wound, crying, ‘My son, my son! And thy father’s hand was predestined to slay thee!’ The dying Zohrasp begged to look upon his face, and tried to comfort him, saying, ‘Indeed, thou wouldst have saved me, but I was obstinate, for I wished to do deeds that would bring me honour in thy sight; and have I done so, oh my father? Am I worthy of thee?’ But Assad could not answer him, the tears ran down his cheeks, and he rolled on the ground and flung dust upon his head. Presently the soul of Zohrasp departed; and his father took him up and buried him, and built a magnificent tomb over him, upon which he inscribed these verses:

I had a jewel deep hidden in the earth, Which, when I found, I failed to recognise, But cast it from me as of little worth, Unknowing that I cast away my prize! My son, my son, more beautiful than day! Was my hand, then, more cruel than bitterest foe, Thy father’s hand, to make thy life-blood flow And drain the roses from thy cheeks away? Dim those bright eyes in fatal deadly strife, Slay him to whom myself had given life? Ah, could I give him life but once again, But for a moment, even at the cost Of my own life, and to my bosom strain But once again the son that I have lost, Then gladly would I lay me down and die, In those dear arms eternally to lie!

When Zehneb had finished her story, I was silent for a time, and then I said, ‘Truly evil is rewarded by evil; but no man can escape what is written upon his forehead, even as it happened with Mohammed ben Khosroes.’ ‘And what is his story?’ she replied. So I related to her the following.

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_THE STORY OF MOHAMMED BEN KHOSROES, OR EVIL IS REWARDED BY EVIL._

Once upon a time there lived a Caliph in the city of Hillah, who, though he had been married for many years, yet had never been blessed with a child. At length, however, a son was born to him, at which there were great rejoicings, and the astrologers were called in after the usual custom to cast his horoscope, which, after they had considered for a time, they were silent over, until the Caliph commanded them to speak. They then said: ‘Oh, Caliph, may you live for ever! Your son will be happy up to his eighteenth year, after which misfortune will overtake him, and will pursue him to his dying day.’ At this the Caliph was greatly grieved, but, hoping to avoid the evil fortune predicted for his only son, he caused to be gathered from far and wide the most potent charms and talismans that were to be procured, until at length the search after them, and their collection, became a craze with him, and he spent the greater part of his revenues on this hobby of his; for he would send expeditions to Hind and to China, and even to the country of the blacks, with instructions to spare naught in the matter of gold and silver in the procuring of talismans of the highest repute, and such as would bring their owners happiness, and in the feeing of astrologers and necromancers; moreover, if anyone should refuse to part with any charm that he might possess, his envoys were ordered to go on offering larger and larger sums until the owner was at length tempted to do so. Now, even the treasury of a king could not withstand so deep and long continued a drain upon its resources, and at last it grew so low, that even a greatly increased taxation failed to satisfy its needs; the people murmured, the troops remained unpaid, and finally, when Mohammed ben Khosroes, as the unfortunate son was called, attained his eighteenth year, they broke out into open revolt: they slew the Caliph, set the Wuzeer on the throne, and would have slain Mohammed also, and thus have ended his misfortunes at once, had he not fled to Birumis, where, in the garb of a Darweesh, he concealed himself in a miserable hovel by the roadside. There, fallen from his high estate, he dwelt, instead of inhabiting a place in the midst of gardens; for his former robes of silk he now had but one camel-hair garment, in place of a thousand dishes his food now consisted of the crusts doled out by fitful charity; and instead of having a crowd of obedient slaves awaiting his every command, he was himself now at the beck and call of every old woman who chose to solicit his prayers. Yet, in spite of all this, so well balanced was his mind that he was tolerably happy. From his earliest childhood he had known of the fate that was in store for him; how long had he not brooded over it, watched each passing chance, received with resignation the prospect of cruel fortune, and looked with apprehension for the misfortunes that the future might bring forth; so that he had almost longed for the period of suspense to end, and for the misfortune that was bound to come on him sooner or later to come at once. Hence it was with some sense of contentment that he now reviewed his miserable plight, and hoped that fortune had done her worst and would now forget him and leave him in peace. As he lived in retirement, duly performing his daily ablutions and prayers, his presence began to create some excitement among such population as there was in the neighbourhood, especially among the old women, who brought him from time to time quantities of sour milk, bread, dates, and even mutton and goatsflesh. But fearing the evils of fortune he refused everything save what was absolutely necessary to sustain life, and so, greatly to his disgust, the fame of his sanctity increased. People came to him from far and near, some for advice as to the regulation of their conduct, some for augury as to what the future might have in store for them, and some for charms against evil chance; to all of which, from the bitterness of his experience, he prophesied evil by apt quotations from the Koran, such as:--‘Wheresoever ye be, death will overtake you, although ye be in lofty towers;’ and, ‘Whatever evil befalleth thee, it is from thyself;’ and, ‘If God should bestow abundance upon His servants, they would certainly behave insolently upon this earth.’ Moreover, since few people escape misfortunes in this world, his sayings generally came true, insomuch that his fame waxed and he had no rest all day and all night for the crowd of those that sought his services, and thus his last case became even worse than his first.

Now, as it chanced, the Wuzeer who had usurped the throne was a winebibber, contrary to the ordinances of our Lord Mohammed, whom Allah protect and preserve! And a devil took possession of him and made his stomach sick, so that he had no desire or relish for food; and the devil used to appear to him as a blue Afrit, and from that he changed into many shapes, from a squeaking mouse to a monkey, then to a bear, and at last into the shape of a roaring lion, so that the Wuzeer sought far and wide for some holy man who might exorcise this devil, who had become a burden to him and more than he could endure, and make him depart. In this way he heard of the Darweesh of Birumis, to whom he sent honourable men with rich gifts and a request that he would come to him at Hillah; for he knew not that he was the son of the former Caliph. But Mohammed ben Khosroes refused his presents, for which, as he said, he had no use and sent the messengers away, saying: ‘I am a sinful mortal like yourselves, neither do I possess any power over Afrits:’ for indeed, he greatly feared Afrits, and would rather have fled than have faced one. At this the Caliph was incensed, and the Afrit taunted him, saying: ‘Lo, I am but one against you all; and yet thou and thy servants and even thy holy men are afraid to meet me!’ And the Afrit appeared before him as a tiny fly, which presently swelled until it grew into a monstrous bird of fearful aspect bigger than a roc, so that the Caliph could no longer support his fear and trouble, and sent an armed guard to bring Mohammed by force into his presence. When he was come, the Caliph commanded him to exorcise the devil; but Mohammed feared the power of the Afrit, and said that he was not able, and he repeated the verse: ‘Give the orphans their substance, and render them not in exchange bad for good, and devour not their substance by adding it to thy substance, for this is a great sin.’ He also recited the verse: ‘Surely wine, and lots, and images, and divining arrows are an abomination of the work of Satan; therefore avoid them that ye may prosper.’ But the Caliph was enraged at these sayings, and at his refusal to exorcise the devil, and he bade the ferrashes throw him down and give him an hundred blows on the soles of his feet; and they laid on with such good will that Mohammed fainted for stress of pain, and his feet became as jelly. When they had finished, he crawled out more dead than alive on his hands and knees, groaning, into the street, and as he lay there an old woman who was passing by took pity upon him, and set him upon an ass, and conveyed him to her house, where she dressed his feet and somewhat alleviated the pain. Now this old woman was foul of aspect and filthy, her eyes ran over with salt rheum, and her voice was harsh like a man’s, in short she was a misfortune to look upon; but Mohammed was thankful for his escape and grateful to her, and he called down blessings upon her for tending him. She had not, however, shown kindness to him but out of the wickedness of her heart, for she took his darweesh’s cloak from him, and clad him in slave’s garments, making him to do all the heavy work of the house, and grind the corn, and see to the asses; and she would follow him about and beat him, and rail and cry out at him: ‘Thou sluggard! thou oaf! work faster! do this and do that,’ until he almost fainted from stress of work and from hunger, and said within himself: ‘Verily it would have been better to have faced the Caliph’s Afrit than to have suffered this!’ In such evil plight he abode with the old woman for some time, and all hope of escape or of any change in his condition, save death, had almost left him, for every night she would bind him to a stone pillar lest he might flee from her. But one night her bosom was contracted at the thoughts of Eblis and the fear of a future state, and she bid her slave girl bring her the wine cups, and she ate and she drank until the wine she had taken overcame her, and her reason left her, so she desired to divert her mind by the sight of Mohammed and of his misery, and bade the slave girl unbind him and bring him before her in order that she might expand her bosom by reviling him. And when he stood before her, anger overcame him at the recollection of all the wrongs that he had suffered at her hands, and he took up a pitcher of water that stood beside her, and threw it at her so that she died. Then the slaves raised a great cry, and the officers of justice came and bound him and carried him before the Caliph, who said to him: ‘Oh, ill-omened slave, was it not enough for thee that I beat thee, but thou must slay the daughters of true believers?’ And he bid them beat him again, and then take him out and hang him. So they beat him until he thought that his soul had left his body, and that hanging would be superfluous; and then they set him upon an ass with his face to its tail, and a crier went before him saying: ‘This is the reward of murderers!’ until they reached the gallows without the city.

Now it happened that some of the chief men about the Caliph had recognised Mohammed when he was brought before him, and repented them of having slain his father and of having given the kingdom to the Wuzeer, for he was a winebibber, and neglected the affairs of state, and oppressed the people; so they rose upon him and slew him, and they sent after Mohammed, intending to set him upon the throne. A troop of horse rode forth at once, shouting: ‘Long live our Lord Mohammed! Long live our Caliph!’ The crowd took up the cry and rushed after them, and they reached the place of execution just as the rope was being placed round Mohammed’s neck and he had given himself up for lost. The officers of justice heard the commotion, and said: ‘Perhaps something has happened, it were better that we wait: for if the Caliph wish him to live, it is well, whereas if he wish him to die, we can kill him afterwards.’ But just then a fly stung the ass upon which Mohammed was sitting, and the ass threw up its heels and pitched him off, so that, the rope being round his neck, he was strangled and died. May Allah have mercy upon him and end his woes in Paradise!

When I had finished this story, Zehneb hung her head, and said: ‘It is true that there is no escape from destiny, but he who always does right is protected by God, as was the case with Abou Ali.’ ‘What is the story of Abou Ali?’ I asked. So she related it to me as follows.

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_THE STORY OF ABOU ALI, OR GOOD DEEDS ARE REWARDED BY GOD._