About the hour of midnight, tables were spread, and the choicest viands of every description were brought in. Meanwhile she who occupied the throne issued orders to those in waiting to place a table and food before the stranger who sat retired on the border of the lake. The servants speedily obeyed; and having brought the table and food to Hatim, requested him to eat, as such was the will of their queen. “And what,” asked Hatim, “is the name of your fair and hospitable sovereign?”—“Ask no questions,” replied the attendant damsels, “as we are not at liberty to satisfy your curiosity. Accept the bounty thus offered you, and trouble not yourself with the name of the giver, it being a matter of no moment to you.”—“What you state,” rejoined Hatim, “is very reasonable; but unless you inform me of your sovereign’s name, be assured that I will not taste of her food.”
The fairy attendants returned to their queen, and informed her of the stranger’s refusal of her bounty, whereupon she again sent one of them to Hatim, requesting him in the meantime to eat of her food, and that to-morrow he should know all. Hatim still persisted in his previous request, and endeavored to lay hold of the fair messenger: but she flew beyond his reach, and took up her station at the foot of the throne in the humble posture of the other attendants. Again the song and dance were resumed, and thus the fair assembly passed the remainder of the night.
When the first rays of dawn began to emerge from the east, the whole scene vanished as it were into the bottom of the lake. Instantly the severed heads again rose from the water, and took their station on the branches of the tree, each in the place it had occupied the preceding day. Hatim now quitted the spot where he had spent the night, and once more sat down underneath the tree with his eyes fixed upon the heads, but chiefly upon that of the queen. Various were the plans he suggested to himself, though none of them seemed to promise success. He resolved, however, to use every exertion in the unfolding of this mystery, and, if possible, break the spell of the enchantment, whereupon he should claim the queen as his bride.
Thus another day passed by, and again the veil of darkness overshadowed the earth, when all the heads dropped from the tree into the lake, and the same scene which he had witnessed the preceding night was again presented to his view. He sat on the banks of the lake as before, and waited in anxious expectation the fulfilment of the queen’s promise. When midnight came he was presented with a table and food by the damsel whom he had addressed the preceding night. He reminded her of the queen’s promise, but was requested to eat of the food and ask no idle questions. “Never,” replied Hatim, “will I taste of the bounty of your mistress till you have informed me of her name.” The messenger returned to the queen, and told her of the result. Her Majesty requested Hatim first to taste of her bounty and then to come before her, when he should receive the information he desired.
Hatim then partook of the food offered him, and rose up to accompany the fairy attendant to the queen’s presence. The fairy plunged into the midst of the lake, and Hatim without hesitation followed her example. When his feet reached the bottom he opened his eyes, and beheld, not the lake, nor the stately tree, nor the fairy court, but a dreary waste which seemed to be the haunt of demons. His love for the fairy queen, however, was so powerful that he could think of nothing else. Forgetful of himself, he sorrowfully strayed through this wilderness for the space of seven days, when all at once he espied a man of venerable appearance dressed in green apparel, advancing towards him from the right-hand side.
When Hatim saw this aged man, he stood waiting his approach. The latter courteously saluted him, and expressed his surprise in finding him in that desert, which he said was called Jaras. “And how,” said Hatim, “have I chanced to come hither?”—“Did you not of your own accord,” replied the man in green, “plunge into the lake, though you must have known that all you beheld was enchantment? But at present you are a hundred farasangs distant from it!” Hatim on receiving this information, threw himself upon the earth in the deepest distress, saying, “Alas! how shall I be able to retrace my way? I must bid adieu to life, and yet attain not the object of my desire.”
The aged man, pitying Hatim, said to him, “What is your desire at present?”—“To return,” replied Hatim, “to the place whence I came.” The old man holding up a staff, desired him to shut his eyes and seize it in his hand. This Hatim had no sooner done than he found himself in his old quarters on the banks of the lake, where he beheld the tree with the heads suspended to its branches as formerly; but no trace of his venerable benefactor was to be found. He now sat down, thoughtfully contriving what course to adopt next, when all at once he resolved to climb the tree, and bring down the head of the queen. Thus determined he began to climb, but lo! the tree shook so violently that Hatim fell to the ground. Again he grasped the trunk of the tree, and finding that it ceased from shaking, he with great exertion climbed up about half way to its branches. But here a tremendous sound issued from the trunk of the tree, which was rent asunder, and Hatim was swallowed into the fissure, so that only half his body appeared without.
He deeply repented his temerity, and said to himself, “Now indeed my misery is complete! I have escaped from the enchanted desert, but this difficulty I see no possibility of overcoming.” In the agonies of despair, he exerted all his strength to release himself, but he found that his body every moment sunk deeper into the tree, till at length only his head and hands remained visible. In this state his breathing almost ceased, and he was about to close his eyes forever on this world, when, behold! the aged man in green stood before him, and said, “Heedless youth, why have you involved yourself in this calamity? Are you in good truth tired of your life, that you thus so freely peril it?”
Hatim was in no condition to reply, so he remained silent. Meanwhile the aged man struck the tree with his staff, and instantly the parts of it where Hatim was encased became smooth as oil. The aged man took him by the hands and drew him from his fetters, but his strength was so exhausted that he fell at the foot of the tree. When he recovered his senses, the venerable sage said to him, “Tell me, young man, what have you to do with trunkless heads, that you should thus involve yourself in such calamities?”—“I should like,” replied Hatim, “to know the mysterious cause of their being suspended here.”—“Listen to me,” said the aged man, “and I will satisfy your curiosity.
“There is a magician whose name is Sam Ahmar, and the head which you see highest on the tree is that of his daughter. This lady, who was exceedingly beautiful, fell in love with a youth about her own age, and wished to marry him. She requested her father’s consent, stating that she was now of age, and expected that her father would sanction the choice she had made. On hearing her declaration, the father became enraged, and inflicted this punishment upon his daughter. This tree, the lake, and all that you see before you are the effects of his enchantment. The magician’s residence is in a mountain about a hundred farasangs distant, and the name of this daughter is Zarīnpōsh. So powerful is he in his art, that when he pleases he transports himself hither in less than a day. The place of his abode is called the Red Mountain, and during his life no mortal can approach his daughter.”