“Like the tulip, lo! I go, a spot upon my suffering heart,
Dust upon my head, and in my heart a sharp and rankling dart.
Like me in this scene of woe, who suffers more from Fortune’s power?
In this garden I have entered, and I go without a flower.”
While she was yet sleeping the prince departed, and returned to the abode of Hammála, who was waiting for him in the most intense anxiety. When she saw him she smiled with the sincerest pleasure, and passed the time in merriment and joy. And when the bride of day had hidden her blushing face in the bed of midnight, and evening had shown her murky locks to the world,[147] the prince retired and that night showed every endearment to his spouse. Thus several days passed in pleasure.
One night Táj ul-Mulúk sat in the chamber of Mahmúda and conversed with her to this effect: “O source of all my happiness! although I here enjoy comfort and everything is ready for my convenience, yet I am longing for my native land.” “Rest contented,” she replied, “and to-morrow I shall ask leave to depart.” Next morning, as usual, Hammála tenderly embraced them, but perceiving them to look sad, she asked them: “What can I do to please you, my darlings? Fear not a refusal.” Mahmúda answered: “Your tender care anticipates all our desires; but there is one thing we do not find here, namely, the company of beings like ourselves; and so, notwithstanding the violent grief we feel in separating from you, the fire of the love of country reduces to ashes our repose and necessitates the employment of the water of return.” Hammála, greatly afflicted by this sudden declaration, cried out: “What! have I brought you up with so much care, in the hope that you would be my faithful companion, and now you wish to leave me! Alas, you would never have thought of it, if I had not married you to the sháh-záda. But it is all my own fault.” Yet seeing that they would not willingly remain with her, she summoned a dív, and ordered him to carry the pair to a place which Táj ul-Mulúk would indicate to him, and bring back a letter intimating their safe arrival. Then Hammála plucked two hairs out of her head, and giving one to the prince and the other to Mahmúda she said: “When you need me, put this hair in the fire and I will at once hasten to you with a thousand dívs,”[148] and having received their adieus, a gigantic dív appeared, who was swifter in his course than the lightning, and told them he was at their service. “Conduct us then,” said the prince, “to the city of Firdaus, and into the garden of the courtesan Dilbar Lakhí.” The dív took them upon his shoulders, and quick as thought deposited them in the place indicated. Táj ul-Mulúk then dismissed his guide with a letter to Hammála, announcing their safe arrival.
When the beautiful Dilbar heard the voice of the sháh-záda she ran out to meet him, and throwing herself at his feet, returned thanks to God for his safe return. He told all that had occurred to him, and introduced to her Mahmúda, whom Dilbar Lakhí tenderly embraced in token of her sincere affection. After a few days Táj ul-Mulúk made preparations to return to his own country. At the moment of his departure, Dilbar, after having had some conversation with him, ordered his brothers to be brought, and he, who was supposed not to know them, begged her to restore them to liberty, as she had already done to the princes of the east and the west who had fallen into her power; but she consented only provided she should be allowed to brand them on the back in token of the state of slavery to which they had been reduced. The four sons of Zayn ul-Mulúk had no alternative but to submit to be thus branded; but when they had withdrawn Táj ul-Mulúk ordered each of them to be given a dress of honour and a lakh of rupís to defray the expenses of their journey, and then they set out for their native land. He then sent away Dilbar and Mahmúda, directing them to wait for him in a certain city, and himself secretly followed his brothers in order to discover their intentions.
Táj ul-Mulúk stopped at the same inn as his brothers, and, concealed in a corner of the room, he heard their boasting and falsehood with reference to the Rose of Bakáwalí. He waited patiently for some time, but at last could endure it no longer, and drawing near them he said to others who were present: “What these men say is false; for I alone possess the Rose of Bakáwalí, and can show it to you.” Then untying his girdle he drew from it the flower and exhibited it to the impostors, who in fury snatched it from him saying: “Let us see if you speak the truth; for if you deceive us we shall make you pay dearly for it.” They caused a blind man to be brought in, applied the rose to his eyes, and instantly his sight was restored. Their astonishment and confusion were unbounded, but they not only refused to return the flower to Táj ul-Mulúk, but showered blows upon him and chased him from their presence. Then they joyfully continued their journey, and on reaching the confines of their country they sent a messenger before them to announce their return. This news filled the good king, their father, with joy. To do them honour, he made a journey of several days to meet them.[149] Zayn ul-Mulúk embraced his four sons and kissed them affectionately. On their part, they gave him the Rose of Bakáwalí, which when he placed to his eyes rendered them as bright as the stars. He then offered thanks to God that he had recovered his sight by means of the flower, and in celebration of the happy event ordered all his subjects, rich and poor, to keep open for a whole year the door of joy and pleasure, and to close the door of sadness and sorrow.