While Hatim was thus exploring his dark abode, he unexpectedly laid his hand on something in the shape of a heart. The moment he felt this substance he pulled out his knife and cut it into many pieces, agreeably to the warning voice he had heard. This was no sooner done than a flood of water rushed upon him, and he found himself overwhelmed amidst swelling billows. Exhausted, he began to sink, and after some time he once more felt the ground underneath his feet. He opened his eyes and looked around him, but no trace could he see of the palace, the giant, the serpent, the garden, or the dark chamber where he had lately been. Before him lay a boundless desert, strewed apparently with dead bodies. On coming nearer he observed that a few of these wretches were still alive, while others were in the agonies of death.
Among the living, Hatim discovered the very waterman whom the snake had carried off. He made up to him, and said, “Brother, how came you here?” The waterman replied, “I was drawing water from the well, when a serpent carried me off, and having conveyed me hither, vanished from my sight. What that serpent is, or where it is gone to, I know not.” Hatim questioned various other individuals as to their coming thither, and from all of them received for answer that the serpent had brought them. He then explained to them the nature of the enchantment by which they were held, and how he had broken the spell by entering the mouth of the snake, and cutting to pieces the heart in the dark chamber. He concluded, saying, “Give praise to God, for your enemy is now vanquished, and you are at liberty to go wherever you please.” The wretched men replied, “It is a long time since some of us came hither, and we know not the way by which we were brought. Most of our number have died of hunger and thirst, and we also were despairing of life; God the Supreme has in his mercy destined thee to be our deliverer.”
Hatim, after giving them proper directions, took his leave, and proceeded on his journey to the capital of China. In the course of a few days he entered that vast empire, and arrived at one of their principal cities. The sentinels at the gate immediately seized him, and said, “Who are you, and whither do you go? You must come before our governor, and give an account of yourself before we can allow you to advance any further.” Hatim, thus roughly handled, said to them, “Good people, is it the custom of your empire to annoy travellers in this manner?”
The sentinels replied, “The reason why we detain you is this: The daughter of our governor asks three questions of every traveller that enters the city; if he give a satisfactory answer, he is permitted to go his way, and if not, he is put to death; from which circumstance our city is called the city of Be-dad or Injustice.” Hatim having no choice, accompanied the sentinels, meditating as to the nature of the questions which would be put to him. At length the sentinels presented him to the governor: the latter asked of him, “Stranger, whence come you, and what is your name?”—“I am from Yemen,” said he, “and on my way to the capital of China. As to my name, it does not concern you: no one ought to annoy the traveller unnecessarily; on the other hand, he is entitled to kind treatment and hospitality from your hand, if you wish to set a good example to the world, and do what is acceptable to God the Supreme.”
The governor replied, “A severe scourge has fallen upon our city, which has always been famous for equity, so as to have merited the appellation of Adālatabad (the city of justice); but now, owing to the violent caprice of my daughter, its present name is Bedadabad. For some time past every traveller that arrived in our city has on her account been put to death, and their blood has fallen upon my head.” After some meditation, Hatim said to him, “Why do you not slay your daughter at once?”—“Is it possible,” replied the governor, “for any man to be the murderer of his own child, nay, of his only child? It is not in my heart to put her to death.” When Hatim heard this appeal, his eyes shed tears as he replied, “Alas, miserable man! you have no remedy. May the Almighty Creator remove from you this heavy affliction.” The governor of Adālatabad then conducted Hatim to his daughter’s apartment. The lady arrayed herself in her finest apparel, and summoned Hatim into the apartment occupied by the women, where she reclined upon a throne of shining gold. Hatim was struck with her beauty, which excelled that of all other mortals. She gracefully stood up, and modestly drawing her veil over her face, received Hatim with extreme courtesy and affection, for the instant she beheld him her heart felt for him. She took him by the hand and seated him upon a splendid throne, while she herself occupied another beside him.
She then sent for her nurse, and said to her, “My dear mother, this traveller who has arrived to-day has won my heart, and is mutually enamoured of me. He seems of noble rank; but, alas! to-morrow his life shall be sacrificed.” The nurse replied, “Alas, my child! it is your destiny to act with violence and oppression towards travellers, not even excepting this comely and noble youth; but there is no saying whether he may not prove successful in executing your commands.”—“Let me but know,” said Hatim, “the nature of the task which the lady proposes, and the reason why so many travellers are sacrificed in this city, which is now proverbial for cruelty.”—“Noble youth,” the nurse replied, “every night this lady becomes possessed of an evil spirit, and utters the most incoherent expressions, after which she proposes three enigmas to such strangers as may be found within the city. If the latter fail in solving her riddles, she causes them to be instantly put to death. None of us her attendants can venture to remain near her at such times lest some evil might be our lot.”
On hearing this statement, Hatim replied, “Well, I shall soon know by experience whether longer life or immediate death be destined for me.” He was then presented with food: but he rejected it, saying, “I will not eat of your food until I have accomplished the service you may impose upon me; such is my vow. I consider it inconsistent with probity in a man to waste his time in eating and drinking, or wantonly to throw away his life and leave unfinished the business intrusted to him by another; forgive me, then, for refusing your bounty.”—“Generous youth,” said the nurse, “I am confident that you will succeed in this affair; you speak the sentiments of rectitude and honor.”
Night arrived, and all the servants and attendants abandoned the palace, and shut fast the gates behind them, leaving Hatim to his fate. About the end of the first watch the lady became frantic, and spoke incoherently whatever came into her mind. She wildly cast her eyes on Hatim, and thus addressed him: “Stranger, who are you, and what is your business here? Answer my riddle, or you shall die.”—“What is your riddle?” said Hatim; “let me hear it.”
The lady then proceeded with her first question, which Hatim, after mature reflection, was fortunate enough to solve to her satisfaction, though it was of a nature unsuited for publication to the world and is therefore left unuttered here. “Tell me,” she then said, “the answer to my second question, which is this: There is a fruit sweet beyond measure to the taste of all living creatures, whether genii, men, beasts or birds; what fruit is this of which all are so fond?” Hatim instantly replied, “The fruit you allude to is their offspring, which are dear to all.”—“Tell me now,” said the lady, “my third and last question, what is it that no one desires, and yet every one obtains?”—“That,” replied Hatim, “is death, which is destined for all men, though no one wishes it.”
When the three questions were thus solved, the lady remained silent for some time, when suddenly she was seized with convulsions so as to fall from her couch. At last a snake, black and frightful, issued from her nostrils and rushed towards Hatim. He seized his scimitar with the intention of cutting it to pieces, but considered that it would be cruelty, to which he was averse: he therefore took out the talisman given him by the bear’s daughter, and threw it at the venomous reptile. The snake became tame as a lamb, and suffered him to hold it in his hands and shut it up in a silver vessel, after which he dug a pit in the ground of the size of a man’s grave, and having buried it, he replaced the earth and secured it with bricks and clay.