On the day before the marriage orders were given to the amírs and vazírs that they should array themselves in the most brilliant garments. The army was directed to be drawn out. Husn-árá also adorned herself with the most precious jewels, and her maids and attendants were as splendidly decorated. At last, when the auspicious moment arrived,[188] they brought the prince, arrayed in royal robes, and placed him on a throne of state. A gorgeous turban adorned his head, whence descended long folds of flowing cloth, richly embroidered with pearls and flowers. His neck was surrounded with wreaths of valuable pearls, and his wrists encircled with the precious nauratan.[189] He was then placed on a beautiful horse, caparisoned in the richest fashion. Muzaffar Sháh, with several other sovereigns, rode in the train. The palankíns of the ladies followed. When the procession arrived at the palace of Fírúz Sháh he sent some of his officers to conduct them to the reception room where the company had assembled. Jamíla and Husn-árá then came forward, the former as mother of the bride, the latter as fulfilling the same duty for the bridegroom. The prince and princess were duly united in marriage, and congratulations resounded throughout the hall. Wines and sherbets were passed round abundantly. The singers only ceased their love-songs when sleep overtook them, and then they reposed in each other’s arms as on cushions.
In the morning, as the prince went to the bath, Rúh-afzá came into the nuptial chamber and found Bakáwalí still asleep, and perceived on her cheeks the marks of the teeth of Táj ul-Mulúk,[190] and on her bosom the trace of his hands tinged with mehndí.[191] Muzaffar Sháh and Husn-árá soon took their leave of their relations and set out for their own country. Some time after, Táj ul-Mulúk, with the consent of Bakáwalí, asked permission to quit the palace of Fírúz Sháh. In giving his sanction, the king of the fairies presented the prince with a great number of slaves of both sexes, and, besides the dowry of Bakáwalí, ready money for the journey; and many articles of use and ornament were also bestowed on him, a mere catalogue of the names of which would fill a volume. Táj ul-Mulúk, attended with every pomp and magnificence, took Bakáwalí to his own palace. Dilbar and Mahmúda on beholding him were restored to joy, and the dry field of their hope was again refreshed with the shower of gladness. The beauty and grace of Bakáwalí, however, filled them with confusion, but the fairy tenderly embraced them both and assured them that she would never disturb their domestic happiness. They spent their time in peace and mutual love and never had the least jealousy or rivalry between themselves. The prince passed his days with these rosy-lipped beauties, immersed in a sea of bliss.
CHAPTER VII.
BAKÁWALÍ GOES TO THE COURT OF INDRA, WHERE SHE SINGS AND DANCES—THE DEITY, ENRAGED AT HER LOVE FOR A HUMAN BEING, PRONOUNCES A CURSE UPON HER—THE PRINCE GOES TO CEYLON, WHERE HE FINDS BAKÁWALÍ CONFINED IN A TEMPLE, THE LOWER PART OF HER BODY BEING TURNED INTO MARBLE—CHITRAWAT, THE DAUGHTER OF THE RÁJÁ, FALLS IN LOVE WITH HIM, AND ON HIS DECLINING HER OVERTURES HE IS THROWN INTO PRISON.
Indian writers say, that there was a city called Amarnagar, whose inhabitants were immortal, the king of which, named Indra,[192] passed his days and nights in joyful festivities, and the food of his soul was song and dancing. His sway extended over all the world of the jinn, and his court was constantly attended by the parís, who danced before him. One night Indra observed that Bakáwalí, the daughter of Fírúz Sháh, had not been present for some time, and demanded to know the reason. “It is,” replied one of the parís, “because she has been caught in the net of love by a man, and, intoxicated with this passion, she is constantly with him and has no longer any dislike for his race.” On hearing this Indra was greatly enraged, and directed several fairies to bring her instantly. By an aërial chariot they were carried to the garden of Táj ul-Mulúk, where they awoke Bakáwalí, told her of the wrath of Indra and intimated his command. She was therefore compelled to accompany them to Amarnagar, and, trembling, came before the king, and with folded hands paid her dutiful respects; but the king, casting on her a look of anger, reprimanded her with great severity, and ordered that she should be thrown into the fire, so that her body might lose the odour which the contact with a mortal had imparted to it. The fairies put her accordingly into a furnace where she was reduced to ashes; after which they recited a charm over a basin of water, and sprinkling it on the ashes restored her to life. Thus purified, she came before Indra, and began to dance. With her first motion, she trod upon the hearts of the spectators, and in one turn threw the beholders out of themselves: every mouth applauded her, every tongue commended her. When she had ended, she saluted the assembly and returned in the same chariot to her garden. After bathing in rose-water she rejoined her lord. On the morrow she rose up according to her custom, and conducted herself all day in her usual manner till night came, when she again ascended to the court of Indra to repeat the proceedings of the preceding night; and thus she continued for some time, Táj ul-Mulúk suspecting nothing.
One night, however, while she was at the court of Indra, the prince awoke, and finding her not by his side sought her in vain both on the terrace and in the garden. He went to sleep again, and, meanwhile, Bakáwalí returned and lay down on the marital couch. The prince was much astonished, on awaking in the morning, to find her by his side, but, feigning to know nothing of her absence, he determined to discover the secret. Before lying down on his couch next night, he cut his finger and put salt on the wound to prevent him from dropping asleep. At midnight the flying chariot appeared, and just as Bakáwalí was about to mount it the prince, without being perceived, fastened himself firmly to one of the corners, and they were speedily at the gate of Indra. There the prince saw what he had never before seen as regards immortal beauties; and heard what he had never before heard with respect to musical sounds. But when he beheld the terrible purification of Bakáwalí, and saw her reduced to ashes, he could no longer contain himself, and struck his head with both hands. Presently, boundless was his astonishment when he saw his beloved rise up again from her ashes and advance towards Indra. As the crowd was numerous, he followed her without attracting any attention. It chanced that the musician attending Bakáwalí was very old, and could not, from infirmity, perform his duties properly.[193] The prince approached the musician, and said in a whisper: “If you are tired with playing, I will take your place for a short time with much pleasure, as I am considered skilful in this exercise.” The old man accepted the proposal and handed him the instrument. No sooner had the prince struck the first note than the movements of Bakáwalí grew animated and ravishing. Indra was so delighted that he took from his neck a collar, of the value of nine lakhs of rupís, and cast it before Bakáwalí, who, in a retrograde movement, gave it in charge of the clever musician. When the festivities were over Bakáwalí returned home, and went as usual to bathe in the tank of rose-water. Meanwhile Táj ul-Mulúk gained his couch and feigned to be fast asleep.
When morning dawned the prince related to Bakáwalí his adventure of the previous night, confirming the truth of his narrative by showing her the necklace of Indra. She expressed her fears lest a repetition of the adventure should cause them distress, but said she would that night try her fate by taking him with her. Accordingly the prince accompanied her to the court of Indra, and was presented by her to the king as a skilled musician; and as soon as the prince began to play and Bakáwalí to dance, the assembly were overcome with astonishment, and Indra exclaimed: “Ask what thou desirest, and I will give it to thee.”[194] Bakáwalí replied: “Great king, I am in want of nothing, save that you will give me this musician and let me go.” At these words Indra, in anger, and regarding Bakáwalí as a courtesan, said that as he had given his word he must not draw back from it; but for twelve years the lower half of her body should be of marble.[195]
Fate, alas! ordaineth still,
Grief and joy are twin-born here: