BOOK V.
Hatim’s journey to the mountain of Nida.
The historians inform us, that as Hatim was journeying toward the desert of Nida he continued to ask his way in every city and town through which he passed. In the course of six months, as he was approaching a large city, he saw all the inhabitants assembled in a spacious plain outside the walls. Hatim thought, “What can be the cause of this concourse? I must go and inquire.” With this view, he was hastening towards them; and as soon as the people saw him, they exclaimed, “Welcome, stranger; may your arrival be happy; we are waiting for you.”
When Hatim found himself amidst the crowd, he looked around him, and saw, to his surprise, large tables furnished with food and drink of every variety. He also observed a coffin laid out in state, and surrounded by the relatives of the deceased. The chief of the assembly, addressing Hatim, said, “Such are our customs, stranger, that when any of our people die, whether rich or poor, we thus assemble in the plain without the city, and prepare a banquet of the most delicious viands. At the same time, it is one of our rules that we taste not of the food, nor bury our dead, till the arrival of a stranger among us. When a stranger arrives, we make him first eat of our fare, after which we ourselves feast. This is now the seventh day that we have been here without attaining the object of our expectation. Every day we had the feast ready; and when evening came, and the stranger arrived not, we sent the food back to the city for our wives and children, for they are not prohibited from eating. As for ourselves, we have neither eaten bread nor drunk water for the last seven days. You may guess, then, noble stranger, with what joy we this day hail your arrival. We shall now bury our dead and break our long fast.”
Hatim observed to them, “What becomes of your dead, and how do you contrive to live should it so happen that no stranger visits you for the space of a month?”—“That,” replied they, “is a rare, nay, an improbable case, for we are never above a week without seeing a stranger; and if it should happen that none comes, we are allowed to break our fast on the fifteenth day, and thus we do every fifteenth day till the stranger arrives: such is our law. With regard to our dead, no decay takes place till the end of at least a month.”—“And may I ask,” rejoined Hatim, “what would you do with your dead, if you should not be visited by a stranger even in the course of a month?”—“If, by the expiration of that period,” replied they, “the dead body should become offensive, we bury it, and in such a case all the inhabitants of the city, both men and women, are made to fast by day for six months after, and we are allowed only to take a little food after sunset. This penance we undergo for the good of the soul of the deceased; for when the body thus putrifies, we look upon it as a proof that the deceased had led a sinful life, and we accordingly offer up our prayers in his behalf before the throne of the Most High.”
Hatim still continued his inquiries, saying, “But if in these six months of fasting another should die, what would you do?”—“We should keep him in the same way,” they replied, “till the arrival of a stranger among us, or failing this at the end of a month, we should bury him if necessary, and betake ourselves to fasting and prayer on his behalf till the expiration of six months, after which we should hold a feast, and bestow alms in abundance on the poor of our city, and give gifts to all that are in need, and do acts of kindness towards one another. We then walk in procession to the tomb of the deceased, where we again distribute money among the poor and helpless, after which we resume our usual occupations.”
While Hatim stood wrapt in wonder at this singular custom, the people bore the dead body into the interior of the house, and having stretched it on an elegant couch, they embalmed it with costly perfumes, and burnt frankincense around it; after which they brought in the food that they were to eat, and carried the same seven times around the couch. This done, the food was brought out and placed on tables, when the chief of the assembly, addressing Hatim, said, “Worthy stranger, stretch forth thine hand and taste of our food. Thy compliance will greatly oblige us, as we shall then be at liberty to appease our hunger.” Hatim ate of the food as requested, and after him all the people sat down and ate. The remains of the feast they sent back to the city for their women and children to feed on. They then changed their raiment, each clothing himself in clean apparel; and having sent the clothes they had cast off to the fullers, they took up the dead body and proceeded towards the desert.
As they were about to depart, the chief said to Hatim, “Brave stranger, I hope you are not to leave us immediately; if, then, you choose to rest a few days in our city, every attention shall be paid to you.” Hatim willingly accepted the invitation; and having entered the city, a splendid mansion was appointed for his residence, and the choicest food and drink placed before him. Nor was this all; damsels of surpassing beauty were sent to entertain him with their enchanting society.
Hatim could not help wondering in his own mind at the strange customs of the city where he happened to arrive; however, he ate temperately of the food presented to him, and paid not the least regard to the beautiful damsels. In the course of a week the governor of the city, informed of Hatim’s affable disposition and temperate habits, sent for him; and after the usual salutations, said to him, “Noble stranger, I am so delighted with the accounts I hear of you, that I beg of you to take up your residence among us, and my own daughter shall be your wife.” Hatim, having thanked the governor for his kind offer, said that he had business on hand which admitted of no delay. “At least,” resumed the governor, “let me know the object of your journey, and I will do my utmost to aid you, or even accompany you in person, if it will in any way serve you.”—“Truly, sir,” said Hatim, “I am indebted to you for your goodness, but I should be sorry to let any one accompany me through the fatigues and perils which await me.”—“At all events,” said the governor, “let me know your business.”—“Willingly,” replied Hatim; “and if you can direct me on my way, it will serve me as much as if you accompanied me.”
Hatim then related every circumstance connected with Husn Banu, and her lover Munir; and how he had himself solved four of the lady’s questions, and was then in quest of the solution of the fifth, which was, to bring an account of the mountain of Nida. “It is now,” concluded Hatim, “six months since I left Shahabad; I have wandered through many cities, and made inquiries of every person I met, but no one has been able to give the necessary information. If you, noble sir, can tell me where the mountain of Nida is situated, it will serve me as effectually as if you accompanied me thither.”