My soul ascended to my lips and I lost my peace.
A ray of love’s favour had alighted on my head,
But, alas! I have lost my love!’
‘Dear father,’ he continued, ‘after we embarked in our boat we sailed pleasantly for almost a week, when a contrary wind arose and we lost all control over our vessel. Thus we were tossed about during forty days, when the tempest ceased and we came in sight of land. We made haste to go on shore, but we knew not to what country or nation it belonged. We strolled about and came to a beautiful meadow luxuriant with vegetation, where we hunted and thus advanced till we arrived at a cultivated tract of land in which was a magnificent palace. On asking a man for information regarding this country he answered: “You are in Kashmír, and that palace is the abode of the daughter of Khoja Fayssur, the vazír of Kashmír. She is wont to pass a few months here every year during the season of flowers.” In one of my rambles I chanced to meet a lady of exquisite beauty, and though I had fallen in love with her I did not dare to address her, but sent her a fervent declaration of my love through an old woman, requesting the favour of an interview. The reply which I received was most discouraging; nevertheless I continued my rambles in the grounds of the palace to enjoy the happiness of an occasional glance at my idol. While I was thus standing one day, she dropped a paper from above, and on opening it I found it contained her portrait. This was a great joy to me, but it was soon turned to grief when I heard that the lady had departed to the city. I could do nothing better than follow her and endeavour to obtain a meeting. At last my passion became a mania, and as I cared nothing for money affairs my attendants gradually deserted me, so that I was at last left alone and fell into a state of the utmost destitution. The dominant idea, however, still supported me that I should yet be happy although at present a houseless beggar in the streets. One night the police were about to seize me, but I ran off at the top of my speed and sought refuge in a house, exclaiming: “Is there anyone here who possesses kindness enough to save a man from the whirlpool of misery?” A person opened the door and admitted me, saying: “Rest yourself here this night, and trust in the mercy of God.” I was tired and reclined against the wall, when suddenly I heard the tones of a harp and of a woman’s voice in the adjoining apartment, and my curiosity prompted me to look through an aperture at the scene. I beheld a húrí-like maiden playing on a harp and warbling like a nightingale. The amorous melody and the tones of the instrument produced such an enervating effect on me that I could no longer stand, and falling on the floor, which was of weak construction, it gave way and I was precipitated with it on the master of the house, who was sitting in the room below, and he was killed on the spot. The girl who had been singing rose up and cried: “A robber has killed my master!” This soon brought all the neighbours into the house: they instantly seized and bound me, and gave me so many blows that my whole body was a mass of bruises. Then I was dragged before the Amír, who ordered me to be taken to prison. It chanced that the jailer was a man who had formerly been in my service, and he burst into tears on seeing me in such a condition. When I had informed him of my reason for coming to Kashmír and of the unhappy accident, he said: “Fear nothing—you are safe.” He dressed me in other clothes and sent me out to a friend of his own; while he put my garments on the corpse of a man who had died that day and been buried in the cemetery. When the police came in the morning to take me before the Amír to be beheaded, they were disappointed, and reported that the culprit had been so severely beaten on being captured that he had died during the night. The Amír remarked: “If the man was innocent, the guilt of his death cannot be attached to me,” to which the chief of the police rejoined: “That is true; but the people had no right to kill the man. This affair ought not to be lightly regarded, for those who beat him are guilty of murder.” The Amír then ordered him to carefully investigate the whole affair. Accordingly the chief of the police assembled all the inhabitants of that quarter of the town, intending to fine each one of them in a sum of money, and having caused the corpse to be brought before him, he said: “Ye impudent fellows, how many kings or governments are in this city?” They replied: “One.” He continued: “If there be but one king here, why have you taken justice in your own hand and killed this man?” The people asked in amazement: “Whom have we killed?” “This man,” said he, “who was captured on suspicion of being a robber and whom you have ill-treated so as to cause his death.” But when the people looked at the dead man they declared: “This is not the robber whom we seized and beat. He was a young man of fair complexion and having black hair; of strong make and healthy appearance. This is the body of a man who was of middle age and sickly; we know not who has killed him.” Quoth the superintendent: “There is no use in denying the matter,” and he called for the instruments of torture for the purpose of eliciting a confession; when one of the bystanders, having examined the features of the corpse, suddenly cried out: “This is my father, Khoja Fays, the gladiator, who not long since performed before the Amír of Kabúl, and returning home, drank some arrack, which gave him the colic, so that he was obliged to take to his bed. He was visited by some friends, who advised him to send for Ratyl the glazier, who is so famed for his skill that he excels all the physicians of the age. I brought him to the bedside of my father, and he prescribed something which was of no avail: my father died, and we buried him.” Here the superintendent exclaimed: “You stupid fellow, who asked for your testimony?” But the man would not submit to be brow-beaten, and said: “See what our chief of police has come to! For the sake of gain he takes believers who have died out of their graves! I shall at once bring the doctor, the muezzin, the grave-digger, and the mullah. To-morrow we shall bring the affair before the Amír, and you, my friends, will be my witnesses. Come with me.” A number of persons followed him, which vexed the superintendent, who said to those that still remained: “Do not be deceived by the ravings of that fool; for I shall not let you escape without a fine.” At these words another section of the crowd became excited and cried: “The superintendent is in league with a pack of scoundrels whom he sends out in the night to rob people, and gets his share of the plunder. When any robbers are caught he allows them to escape, and in their stead he substitutes disinterred corpses. Is there no king in this place? Is it not enough that one of us was killed, and now we are to pay a fine besides?” Just then the son of the dead man returned with his witnesses, all of whom accused the superintendent, who, however, was supported by his own officers and another crowd of armed men; so that presently both parties came to blows, blood was shed, and several men were killed and wounded. When the Amír heard that the superintendent was the cause of the disturbance, he was displeased, and his enemies so worked on the mind of the Amír that the superintendent was ordered to be hanged and the jailer who had saved my life was installed in his place. One day after these occurrences I perceived a multitude of people assembled in the streets and asked the cause of my friend, the new chief of police. His answer was: “To-day the daughter of the vazír has died, and all this popular excitement is on that account.” This news upset all my hopes and I at once quitted my friend’s house and journeyed till I came to the sea-shore where I found some men embarking for the country of the Franks; I accompanied them, and finally arrived here.’
“When my son had ended his recital,” continued the king, “he sighed heavily and added: ‘Beloved father, as a dutiful son I should have obeyed and never left you, and thus I should not have fallen into the misery I endure. I beseech you to sweep away my transgressions with the besom of kindness, and to wash away the filth of my sins with the limpid stream of pardon.’ Having uttered these words he expired. My grief for him can never be appeased, and the edifice from which I came out weeping is his tomb. As I have now no son, I often wonder which of my enemies will succeed to my kingdom when I am no more. You are, I am sure, a man of noble blood and good disposition. May I request you to acquaint me with your affairs?” Kasharkasha most willingly complied, and when he had concluded, the king spoke as follows: “I am prosperous in all things and respected by friend and foe. But I have passed the meridian of life, and purpose devoting the remainder of it to the duties I owe to my Creator. And though I have meditated about and sought for some one who might take upon himself a portion of my royal affairs and be a companion of my solitude, I have found none so worthy as yourself.” As Kasharkasha was ardently wishing for such a high station, he joyfully replied: “May the beautiful leaves of the king’s book of life never be scattered as long as the world-illuming sun moves in the firmament! I am ready to obey your commands.” Accordingly the Amír assembled the grandees of his kingdom and spake to them thus: “I inform you that this royal prince, Kasharkasha, who has dwelt for some time in this city, is by me appointed to be my successor, as I have no heir. Therefore I desire every one who loves and obeys me to obey him likewise.” All the vazírs and grandees drew the finger of acquiescence over the eyes of affirmation, and the Amír dressed the prince in the costly robe of a viceroy and said to him: “Dear friend, I have seven vazírs, yet I trust the direction of all important affairs to Khoja Bihrúz, whose sincere friendship I have tried on the touchstone of experience and never discovered a flaw in his noble character. Therefore, though you are endowed with the innate sagacity of noble personages, as you are not familiar with the laws and customs of this country, I recommend you never to act without his advice, in order that the affairs of our kingdom may prosper.” Then the Jalyák divorced the bride of royalty, married her to Kasharkasha, and retired to a corner of repose.[37] Kasharkasha, who had been so greatly favoured by his good luck, without any efforts on his own part, sat very joyfully on the throne of dignity and power, when, by the decree of Providence, the Jalyák was removed from this terrestrial abode; and as the desire of self-aggrandisement, coupled with unlimited dominion, destroys contentment and begets an inordinate longing for greater power, Kasharkasha indulged in ambitious schemes and resolved to conquer some of the neighbouring kingdoms. On this project he consulted all his vazírs, who readily approved of it, and even still more inflamed his ambition. When the turn of Bihrúz came he said: “May the ready-money of prosperity be always present in the treasury of the hopes of the king, and may the joyful season of perpetual spring always gladden his heart! This is not the time for attack, but rather for defence. Many potentates of the country of the Franks have attempted to conquer this land; they came with countless hosts, but were all repulsed by the Jalyák, whose fame is yet remembered among them: soon, however, they will learn of the change which has taken place, and your majesty will have enough to do in warding off their attacks.” Kasharkasha paid no attention to this warning, and, confiding in the approbation of all the other vazírs, he marched to Ráml, which is a country belonging to the Franks, and when he arrived there he halted, and despatched the following letter to Futtál Sháh, the king of Ráml:
“The title-ornament of this epistle is the name of that Sovereign of the volume of whose world-adorning book of omnipotence of existence of all creatures is but one dot. Secondly, as all nations of men are connected by the sameness of their species, and as it is incumbent upon the mighty to protect the feeble; and if they treat their subjects well they will reap blessings; therefore we send you our kind salutations, and inform you that as it is our intention to hunt in these regions, and as you would be unable to endure the brightness of our countenance, even as a bat cannot look at the sun, and we fear that if you were to behold a part of our army and warlike preparations, bodily and mental diseases might befall you;—we advise you to surrender the keys of your fortress to the bearer of this letter, on pain of incurring our displeasure.”
Futtál Sháh read the letter and returned his answer as follows: “We were astonished at the folly and presumption of your missive, and defy you to do your worst.” After despatching these lines the king hastened out with his forces to attack Kasharkasha, who had in the meanwhile received information from his spies that in his rear another king of the Frank country was in ambush. He was considering how to act with one enemy in front and another in his rear when the countless hosts of Futtál Sháh came in sight, and there was no option but to await the issue. The enemy advanced, attacked Kasharkasha, and the battle raged fiercely, for both armies fought with great bravery; at last, however, Futtál Sháh prevailed and Kasharkasha fled. In the morning he was a king, and in the evening a beggar, fleeing from his pursuers. On the second day his horse was so exhausted that he was obliged to walk on foot until he arrived at a spring, where having quenched his thirst he lay down and slept. A shepherd who had been searching for a lost sheep happened to come to the spot, and seeing a young man in costly garments stretched at full length, his covetousness induced him to throw a stone, which, however, missed the intended victim. Kasharkasha jumped up, and seeing a man of helpless appearance he asked: “Who are you?” The man replied: “I am a shepherd. Who are you yourself? and what right have you at the spring where I daily water the sheep of the king? Your inauspicious presence here has caused the water to become muddy. All my sheep are scattered over the desert, and how shall I answer for them to the king?” So saying, he suddenly leapt on Kasharkasha, divested him of his fine clothes and left him his own rags in exchange; then tying both the hands and feet of the prince, he went his way.
After Futtál Sháh had won the battle, captured the army of his foe, and plundered his treasury, he could find no trace of Kasharkasha; so he sent off a number of men in search of him, some of whom arrived at the spring, and discovering a man there with his hands and feet tied, asked him who he was. Kasharkasha guessed they were servants of Futtál Sháh who had come to look for him, and replied: “I am a shepherd, and came here with my flock, when a young man, from whose forehead the marks of royalty radiated, approached and asked me for a sheep, but I said they all belonged to the king and I was not at liberty to dispose of any of them. Upon this he became so incensed that he tied my hands and feet and then walked off with a sheep. Since you have arrived here so opportunely, I request you to liberate me from my bonds.” The men believed that he had given them information about Kasharkasha, so they loosed him, and giving him some food, hastened off in search of the fugitive. For this lucky escape Kasharkasha thanked the Most High, and speeding to a mountain not far from the spring, he found there refuge in a cave.
Meanwhile the emissaries of Futtál Sháh were scouring the plain and at length caught sight of the shepherd while he was trying to catch the horse of Kasharkasha. They said to each other: “We must not allow him to get at the horse;” and when the shepherd perceived that they meant to seize him he thought that they were the servants of Kasharkasha who had come in pursuit of him, so he cried out: “My good friends, I have committed an error. I hope you will pardon my transgression;” and he began to undress himself. But they replied: “Kasharkasha, we are not such fools as to let you go if you give us your clothes. We have been in quest of you for the last three or four days and have taken no rest. Your garments alone cannot reward our pains, and Futtál Sháh will require an account of you; so come along with us.” Quoth the shepherd: “The affair between your master and me has only taken place to-day; why should you be seeking me these three or four days?” The pursuers said to one another: “He has lost his kingdom and become crazy. We must convey him at once to our king.” On hearing these words the shepherd wished to make use of the sword of Kasharkasha, but being too awkward to do so, he threw it on the ground and wielded his own staff in such a manner as to kill one of his captors, when the others closed round him, tied his hands, and set him on a horse, saying: “Kasharkasha, do not struggle now that the boat of your prosperity has become a wreck and is sunk into the ocean of misfortune, for it will be of no use.” Quoth the shepherd: “I swear by the souls of Pír Siah Posh, Baják, Baba Ali Mest, and Mezar Mongal, that I had no idea he was a king. My covetousness induced me to rob him of his clothes; I hope you will pardon my incivility.” “You simulate folly,” they replied. “Do you not remember that you wrote a letter to the king, and after marching with so large an army against him do you not know that he is a sovereign? You say that you have robbed him of his clothes; but these words are very silly, considering that you were of elegant speech and great intellect, and that you sat on a royal throne.” “You are talking book-words,” said the shepherd: “I have never learned to read—what do I know about letters and armies? I have done no farther harm than taken his clothes. Besides, it is not usual for kings to come into the desert alone and on foot. As it is, he might have met with a worse man than myself, who would have killed him. I beseech you, for God’s sake, take the clothes and let me go; because there is no one to take care of my sheep, and if anything happen to them I shall have to atone for it by the loss of all that I possess.” The men now looked at each other and smiled. They then said: “Kasharkasha, if you have gone mad on account of the loss of your kingdom it is no wonder, but it is a marvel that you are still alive.” Quoth the shepherd: “Why have you changed my name? I am called Kallam ed-Dín Ahmed and you hail me always by the name of Kasharkasha. Perhaps you mean to sell me?” While they were thus going along, talking and laughing, they came to a small village, some of the inhabitants of which recognised the shepherd and asked him: “Where have you got these fine clothes? Who are these men? Why have they tied your hands?” He said: “I have robbed a man of these clothes, and these men have caught me and are taking me to the king. I am willing to abandon the clothes but they will not abandon me. I beseech you, by the favour of Pír Muhammed Jendah Poosh, to give them anything they ask for my freedom, and I shall repay you in goats.” Several of the headmen of the village now stepped forward and addressed the king’s messengers: “Good friends, Kallam ed-Dín Ahmed confesses his fault, and he has acted wrongly. But of what use would it be to take him before the king? We have agreed to prepare a good roast for you if you will let him go.” But they laughed and said: “This is Kasharkasha, the king of Tytmyran, who succeeded the Jalyák, and having wantonly attacked our sovereign was put to flight. The king has sent a thousand men in pursuit of him, and has promised to confer dignity and wealth on his captor. We have searched for him without resting for more than three days, and it is not likely that we shall now let him go free. All his speeches come from a disordered mind.” Hearing this the villagers were astonished and silenced.