CHAPTER II.
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.’