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]
CHAPTER III.
SHOWING HOW THE PRINCE IS HELPED IN HIS QUEST BY A FRIENDLY DEMON—MARRIES MAHMUDA, A BEAUTIFUL GIRL—REACHES THE GARDEN OF BAKÁWALÍ AND PLUCKS THE ROSE—SEEING THE FAIRY BAKÁWALÍ ASLEEP, FALLS IN LOVE WITH HER—RETURNS WITH MAHMUDA AND REJOINS DILBAR, WHO LIBERATES HIS BRETHREN, BEFORE THE THREE SET OUT FOR HIS OWN COUNTRY—ON THE WAY HE IS DEPRIVED OF THE ROSE BY HIS BRETHREN, WHO RETURN HOME, AND BY MEANS OF THE FLOWER RESTORE THEIR FATHER’S SIGHT.
It is related that Táj ul-Mulúk assumed the garb of a darvesh, rubbed ashes all over his body, and, pronouncing the name of God,[135] set out on his journey. After some days he entered a forest, so dark on account of the number of trees in it that night could not be distinguished from day. But the prince was far from losing courage, thinking it was only a wave of the ocean of troubles which he had to traverse. “I must,” said he, “draw closer the girdle of resolution, and, like the salamander, plunge into this furnace.”[136] He then penetrated into the forest, as dark as ignorance, and swarming with wild beasts of every kind, especially ravenous dragons with gaping mouths. He wandered for a long time, to the right and then to the left; his body was torn by the sharp thorns of thickets and his feet were pierced by those of the babúl, to such an extent that he was covered with blood. The end of the forest was only reached after great difficulty, and prostrating himself before God, he prayed most earnestly. Then continuing his way he saw a dív sitting, whom he might have taken for a mountain. When the dív arose, his head touched the sky, and from his voice like thunder the prince heard the following words: “Young man, how comes it that, of your own free will, you leave the city of life and journey with the feet of your desires in the path of death?” “Learn, you who question me,” replied Táj ul-Mulúk, pale and trembling, “that the life of this fleeting world is a misfortune for me. If it were otherwise I should never throw myself into the jaws of death, and should not find myself in the coils of such a sanguinary being as you. Free me, then, with all speed from the torments which I am suffering; for one hour of this existence is like a hundred years of anguish.” The dív was moved to pity. “Listen, son of Adam,” said he. “Very far from doing you an injury, I wish to take you under my protection and lend you my aid.” Thus reassured, Táj ul-Mulúk remained with the dív, who showed him much friendship, and they were soon as thick as milk and sugar. One day the dív, being well pleased with a meal which the sháh-záda had prepared for him,[137] pressed him to disclose his wishes, swearing by Sulayman[138] that he would accomplish them for him. Then Táj ul-Mulúk told him that he was most desirous of entering the country of Bakáwalí, upon which the dív sighed heavily, smote his own head, and appeared agitated with the utmost grief. “What do you ask, my young man?” said he. “The country of which you speak is that of the king of the fairies, and it is guarded day and night on all sides by ten thousand of his slaves. How could I get you there? And yet I must keep my oath.” He then uttered a loud cry, and presently another dív appeared, to whom he communicated the sháh-záda’s desire, adding: “Thou hast the power to grant it, and I ask the favour of thee, seeing that I am pledged by a terrible oath to aid him.”
Now this second dív had a sister named Hammála,[139] who was the chief guard of the country, and eighteen thousand dívs were her subordinates. He wrote at once recommending the prince to her, and giving the letter to a messenger told Táj ul-Mulúk to be guided by him. This dív took the prince on his left arm and with his right protected him from the rays of the sun. Thus they proceeded on their way, and arrived in the presence of Hammála, to whom the dív consigned both the letter and the prince. She said to the messenger: “If my brother had sent me a whole mine of red sulphur, or even the ring of Sulayman, it could not have given me more pleasure than I now feel.” Then she wrote a reply to her brother, saying: “I once had occasion to travel through the habitations of man, and thence I brought away a girl matchless in beauty, the daughter of a king. Her I adopted as my own daughter and called her Mahmúda.[140] She is now in her fourteenth year, and bright in beauty as the moon when half-full. For her it is evident that God has sent this youth—thanks be to the Lord.” She then dismissed the messenger with this letter, and Mahmúda was at once married to Táj ul-Mulúk.
For some time the sháh-záda lived with his protectress and Mahmúda, but without performing his marital duties, and one day when his spouse complained to him of his indifference, he informed her that an important matter occupied his thoughts. “I have made a vow,” said he, “to forego the pleasures of this world, even lawful ones, until I have attained my desire.” “Be of good cheer,” rejoined Mahmúda. “If it please God, I will untie the knot of the thread of hope with the nail of prudence; and I will tell you where to find the town of Bakáwalí.” On the morrow Hammála took Mahmúda on her knee, as usual, and overwhelmed her with caresses. Mahmúda then said to her: “My dear mother, I have a favour to ask of you. Will you grant it?” “Yes, my child,” said Hammála, kissing her head and eyes. “This it is, then: the sháh-záda wishes to visit the kingdom of Bakáwalí; try to satisfy him.” Hammála at first raised up difficulties, but when she saw that her adopted child would not give up her idea, she called one of her followers and ordered him to secretly conduct the prince into the garden of Bakáwalí, which he did accordingly.
When Táj ul-Mulúk entered this wondrous garden, he found that the ground was of gold, the walls which surrounded it were studded with the rubies of Badakshán,[141] and the carnelians of Yaman. Through parterres of emeralds flowed streams of rosewater in beds of topaz.[142] Beautiful indeed was that grove. The flowers were so bright that had the sun beheld them he would have been covered with the perspiration of shame. The clusters of grapes there, vieing in colour with the emerald, were like the Pleiades in heaven; and the narcissus was more graceful than the flowing ringlets of the most charming damsel. That garden! If a drop of its dew were to fall in the ocean it would make the fishes exhale the perfume of roses; and if the sky should hear a single note of its birds, it would cease revolving, and stand still to listen to it.[143] If Venus heard it, she would dance with joy, and fall on earth in company with the moon. Redder than the fairest fruits was the colour of the fruits growing there; and much more graceful than the tallest form were the cypress-trees that waved therein.[144]