The adventures of Hatim Taï, a romance

by Unknown

The governor was a man of years, and possessed of much information; he remembered, then, of having heard from the learned that a mountain of this name, of immense altitude, was situated towards the south in the regions of Zulmat. He informed Hatim of the same, and further, that there was close to the mountain a city of the same name, where the people were immortal; “in these regions,” concluded he, “diseases and death are unknown, nor is there a tomb to be seen in all the place.” On hearing this statement, Hatim was highly delighted, and said, “Thither I must go as soon as possible.”—“But how,” rejoined his aged friend, “can you go there unattended?”—“God will be my guide,” replied Hatim.

The governor then offered Hatim gold and costly jewels, of which he accepted a small portion for defraying his expense by the way; and having caused the rest to be distributed among the poor, he resumed his journey. In the course of three months he arrived at a large city, around which he saw no tombs or receptacles for the dead, whereby he was satisfied that it was the city alluded to by his informant and benefactor. When Hatim entered the city, the people crowded around him, and began to question him, saying, “Tell us, stranger, whence are you, and where are you going?”—“I am,” replied Hatim, “from Shahabad, and I am on my way to the mountain of Nida.”

“Stranger,” resumed the people, “abandon such thoughts: the mountain of Nida is far distant, and the road full of danger.”—“I fear no danger,” replied Hatim, “for my trust is in God, who is my conductor.”—“At least,” said they, “rest here for the night, as you are much fatigued.” Hatim accepted their hospitable invitation, and there reposed for the night.

It happened on that day that one of the inhabitants of the city fell sick; whereupon his relations assembled and instantly killed him, after which they divided his flesh into equal portions among themselves in order to be eaten. One of the people whom Hatim had conversed with on entering the city, being a relation to the slaughtered, received his portion of the flesh, and had it roasted for his evening meal in the house where Hatim resided. He then brought in a jug of water and two loaves, along with the flesh of his relation, and with eager hospitality addressed Hatim, saying, “Stranger, I invite you to partake of my repast, for never in your life have you tasted of similar fare.”—“I believe,” replied Hatim, “I have eaten of the flesh of every granivorous animal on the face of the earth; may I ask what animal has furnished this dish, since you imagine that I have not yet seen the like?” The man triumphantly replied, “What you say may be very true, but have you ever eaten of the flesh of man, for such is the dish now before you!”

On hearing this, Hatim remained horror-struck, and thought within himself that this must be the city of the cannibals of whom he had before heard accounts, and that most probably they killed and ate every stranger that came near them. His host seemed to read his thoughts, and accordingly broke silence, saying, “Yes, this is the city of the cannibals, and the time is coming, stranger, when some of us shall feast upon you.” Hatim, thus aroused, said to the man, “Is it possible, sir, that you kill the helpless stranger, and then devour him? Have you not the fear of God before your eyes?”—“Brave Arab!” resumed the cannibal, “we are not quite so bad as you suppose, for we do not slay the traveller who comes among us knowing nothing of our customs.”—“You told me just now,” replied Hatim, “that this is man’s flesh before me; I concluded that it must have been that of a stranger, and not of one of your own tribe.”—“Quite the contrary,” rejoined the man of hospitality; “it is the custom of our city that when any one falls sick, his relations assemble and kill him, in order to put him beyond suffering.”—“Accursed be such inhuman practices,” replied Hatim; “know you not that the Creator of the universe at one time visits his creatures with sickness; and again, when it pleases his divine will, bestows health? What, then, can be more heinous than to slay the sick with your own hands? The shedding of the innocent blood of so many thousands is a deed most revolting to humanity; nay, it is a sin for human eyes to look upon you.”

Hatim having thus spoken, rose up and fled into the desert. He halted not for the whole of that night, nor next day till sunset, when he thought himself far enough removed from the accursed city. Having slackened his pace a little, he continued to proceed leisurely till the following day, when the pangs of hunger quite overpowered him. Necessity forced him to commit what at another time he would have considered highly cruel—he killed a young fawn; and having kindled a fire with a flint, he sat down to dress some food. Meanwhile a lion stalked up to him; and Hatim, nothing daunted, said to the lion, “If thou art hungry, here is all the food that I possess: eat and be satisfied.”

The lion accordingly devoured the whole of the fawn, except the small portion that Hatim had on the fire; after which, he drank water from a fountain hard by and departed. Hatim having appeased his hunger, and allayed his thirst with water from the spring and such fruit as the jungle produced, resumed his journey. After he had traversed the parched desert for a great part of the day, his thirst became excessive. At length he perceived at a distance the appearance of mountains rising above the plain. The sight cheered him, as he expected soon to quench his thirst in the cool streams wherewith the hills are generally blessed. His disappointment, however, was grievous when he found nothing but heaps of moving sand raised by the blast of the simoom. Exhausted, he sat down underneath a solitary tree; and shortly after he observed a shekshar (a sort of water-fowl) close by him, its wings quite wet. He rose with renewed strength, and made towards the shekshar, which flew away at his approach. In that spot, however, he found a treasure—a spring of the purest water. He prostrated himself on the ground, and offered up thanks to the Bestower of Mercies; after which he allayed his thirst at the spring, and resumed his journey.

After a long march through the desert, he at length saw symptoms of human habitation. Towards evening, as he was entering a highly cultivated country, he beheld a large fire kindled in a field, around which a crowd of people had assembled. Hatim, supposing it to be some display of public rejoicing, approached the people, and said to them, “Tell me, my friends, what country is this? what is the cause of your cutting the hair of your heads and faces in that fanciful manner? what are you doing, thus assembled round the fire? and why this immense pile of dried wood?”—“This,” replied the people, “is the funeral pile of one of our male relations, whose body is now consuming in the sacred flame; and along with him, his widowed wife has burnt herself alive.”—“And do you not, then, bury your dead under the earth?” inquired Hatim, “and why did you cast the helpless widow into the flames? Assuredly the blood of the innocent is on your hands.”

“I perceive you are a stranger in this country,” replied the man whom Hatim had addressed: “this is the empire of India, and it is the custom of the Hindoos that the widowed wife should burn herself alive on the funeral pile of her husband. We have not cast her by force into the fire; she has burnt herself of her own free will.”—“Truly,” resumed Hatim, “it is a most dreadful custom to burn the living with the dead!” and having thus spoken, he betook himself to the road, for he looked on the Hindoos as little better than the cannibals from whom he had lately parted.

All night Hatim continued his journey, and ere noon the following day he came to a large village. Fatigued, and exhausted with hunger and thirst, he entered the house of one of the villagers to procure rest and refreshment. He asked a drink of water from the man of the house, who immediately brought him a pitcher full of churned milk, and another of sweet milk. The man of the house having placed the milk before Hatim, hospitably addressed him, saying, “Stranger, here are two sorts of drink, both cool and refreshing; take either you choose and allay your thirst, for your lips are parched with heat and fatigue.” Hatim took first the churned milk; and having drained it to the bottom, he was about to drink the sweet milk, when his host observed to him, “Stranger, you lack food as much as drink; the rice is ready boiled for my morning meal, let me bring you a part of it, which you may eat along with the milk.”