Now ’tis spring with laughing flowers,
Now ’tis autumn bleak and sere!
A crown adorns the head to-day,
In the grave it lies to-morrow!
Now like flowers the heart expands,
Now ’tis spotted all with sorrow!
Pleasures vanish fast away,
Short-lived is the sunny day!
It is related that Bakáwalí immediately after her transformation disappeared, and Táj ul-Mulúk rolled on the ground through excess of grief; but the fairies, pitying his condition, took him up and cast him in a forest on earth. For three days he remained there without sense or motion. On the fourth he opened his eyes, and found, instead of his beloved, nothing but thorns in his arms. He wandered on every side, calling upon Bakáwalí, and asking every tree to direct him to her. One day he arrived on the banks of a pond. Beautiful stairs were on each side and trees loaded with fruits were planted everywhere. The prince waited for a moment, then bathed, and laid himself down under the shade of a tree, and thinking of his beloved he fell asleep. It happened that a number of fairies alighted there, and after bathing in the pond, sat down to dry their hair. The eyes of one falling on the prince, she observed to her companions: “There is the musician of Bakáwalí.” The moment that these words were heard by Táj ul-Mulúk he opened his eyes, arose, came before the fairies, and, weeping, inquired if they knew where Bakáwalí was. Their hearts melted within them. They said they had not seen her, but had heard that she was in a temple in Ceylon, the gates of which remained closed during the day and were open during the night; adding that Bakáwalí’s body was changed to stone from her waist downward. The prince inquired in what direction was her present abode, and how far it was from the place where they were standing. They answered: “Leaving out the inconvenience of travel, if a person were to journey all his life he would never reach it.” Táj ul-Mulúk despaired on hearing this, and then, bidding adieu to life, commenced dashing his head against the stones. The fairies, compassionating his case, consulted among themselves, with a view of devising such measures as would enable them to carry him to the desired quarter, and there leave him to the fate that might befall him. They removed him instantly, and, in the saying of a word, placed him in the land of Ceylon.
After a moment his despair was somehow cheered with hope. He gazed upon a city which rivalled Paradise in loveliness, surrounded as it was with every surprising object. Not one of the men or women appeared to be ugly there. Nay, the very trees were so symmetrical as to strike the beholder with wonder. Rambling about, he at last found himself in the public thoroughfare, where he met a Bráhman, who was a devotee. Of him he inquired: “In what shrines do you offer up your prayers?” The Bráhman answered: “In that of Rájá Chitrasan,[196] who governs this country.” The prince next asked: “How many temples are there in this city?” The Bráhman satisfied his inquiries, and then added, that lately a new temple had been discovered in the south, the doors of which were never opened during the day, and no one knew what it contained. The prince was delighted at this intelligence, and took his way as pointed out, until he reached the building and sat down patiently. In the night one of its doors suddenly opened. He entered and found Bakáwalí half in her original form and half petrified, reclining against the wall. On beholding him she was much astonished, and inquired how he had come thither. The prince gave a faithful account of his adventures. The night was then passed in conversation. And when morning was about to dawn Bakáwalí bade him depart, “for,” said she, “if the sunbeams find you here you will be changed into a shape like mine.” She then pulled out a pearl from her earring and gave it to the prince, and desired him to sell it and use the proceeds for his own subsistence for a few days. The prince took it to the city and sold it for some thousands of rupís. He then bought a house, and having furnished it, engaged a number of servants. It was usual with him to pass his nights with Bakáwalí and return home in the morning, and thus several years rolled away.