One day, during the warm season, Kārdār, passing near the palace of Kāmgār, beheld this fair damsel walking in the garden, and became enamoured of her beauty; but having reason to believe that her father would not consent to bestow her on him, he resolved to devise some stratagem whereby he might obtain the object of his desires. “At the King’s return from the chase,” said he, “I’ll represent the charms of this damsel in such glowing colours, that he will not fail to demand her in marriage; and I’ll then contrive to excite his anger against her, in consequence of which he shall deliver her to me for punishment; and thus my designs shall be accomplished.”
One day after the King’s return from the hunting party, he desired Kārdār to inform him of the principal events which had occurred during his absence. Kārdār replied that his Majesty’s subjects had all been solicitous for his prosperity; but that he had himself seen one of the most astonishing objects of the universe. The King’s curiosity being thus excited, he ordered Kārdār to describe what he had seen; and Kārdār dwelt with such praises on the fascinating charms of Kāmgār’s daughter, that the King became enamoured of her, and said: “But how is this damsel to be obtained?”—Kārdār replied: “There is not any difficulty in this business; it is not necessary to employ either money or messengers: your Majesty needs only to acquaint her father with your wishes.”
The King approved of this counsel, and having sent for Kāmgār, mentioned the affair to him accordingly. Kāmgār, with due submission, declared that if he possessed a hundred daughters they should all be at his Majesty’s command; but begged permission to retire and inform the damsel of the honour designed for her. Having obtained leave, he hastened to his daughter, and related to her all that had passed between the King and him. The damsel expressed her dislike to the proposed connection; and her father, dreading the King’s anger in case of a refusal, knew not how to act. “Contrive some delay,” said she; “solicit leave of absence for a few days, and let us fly from this country!” Kāmgār approved of this advice; and having waited on the King, obtained leave to absent himself from court for ten days, under pretence of making the preparations necessary for a female on the eve of matrimony; and when night came on, he fled from the city with his daughter.
Next day the King was informed of their flight; in consequence of which he sent off two hundred servants to seek them in various directions, and the officious Kārdār set out also in pursuit of them. After ten days they were surprised by the side of a well, taken and bound, and brought before the King, who, in his anger, dashed out the brains of Kāmgār; then looking on the daughter of the unfortunate man, her beauty so much affected him, that he sent her to his palace, and appointed servants to attend her, besides a cook, who, at his own request, was added to her establishment. After some time Kārdār became impatient, and enraged at the failure of his project; but he resolved to try the success of another scheme.
It happened that the encroachments of a powerful enemy rendered the King’s presence necessary among the troops; and on setting out to join the army, he committed the management of affairs and the government of the city to Kārdār, whose mind was wholly filled with stratagems for getting the daughter of Kāmgār into his power.
One day he was passing near the palace, and discovered her sitting alone on the balcony; to attract her attention, he threw up a piece of brick or tile, and on her looking down to see from whence it came she beheld Kārdār. He addressed her with the usual salutation, which she returned. He then began to declare his admiration of her beauty, and the violence of his love, which deprived him of repose both day and night; and concluded by urging her to elope with him, saying that he would take as much money as they could possibly want; or, if she would consent, he was ready to destroy the King by poison, and seize upon the throne himself.
The daughter of Kāmgār replied to this proposal by upbraiding Kārdār with his baseness and perfidy. When he asked her how she could ever fix her affections on the man who had killed her father, she answered, that such had been the will of God, and she was resolved to submit accordingly. Having spoken thus, she retired. Kārdār, fearing lest she should relate to the King what had passed between them, hastened to meet him as he returned in triumph after conquering his enemies; and whilst walking along by the side of the King’s horse, began to inform his Majesty of all that had happened in his absence. Having mentioned several occurrences, he added, that one circumstance was of such a nature that he could not prevail on himself to relate it, for it was such as the King would be very much displeased at hearing.
The King’s curiosity being thus excited, he ordered Kārdār to relate this occurrence; and he, declaring that it was a most ungrateful task, informed him that it was a maxim of the wise men: “When you have killed the serpent, you should also kill its young.” He then proceeded to relate that, one day during the warm season, being seated near the door of the harem, he overheard some voices, and his suspicions being excited, he concealed himself behind the hangings, and listened attentively, when he heard the daughter of Kāmgār express her affection for the cook, who, in return, declared his attachment; and they spoke of poisoning the King in revenge for his having killed her father. “I had not patience,” added Kārdār, “to listen any longer.”—At this intelligence the King changed colour with rage and indignation, and on arriving at the palace, ordered the unfortunate cook to be instantly cut in two. He then sent for the daughter of Kāmgār, and upbraided her with the intention of destroying him by poison. She immediately perceived that this accusation proceeded from the malevolence of Kārdār, and was going to speak in vindication of herself, when the King ordered her to be put to death; but being dissuaded by an attendant from killing a woman, he revoked the sentence of death; and she was tied hands and feet, and placed upon a camel, which was turned into a dreary wilderness, where there was neither water nor shade, nor any trace of cultivation.
Here she suffered from the intense heat and thirst, to such a degree that, expecting every moment to be her last, she resigned herself to the will of Providence, conscious of her own innocence. Just then the camel lay down, and on that spot where they were a fountain of delicious water sprang forth; the cords which bound her hands and feet dropped off: she refreshed herself by a hearty draught of the water, and fervently returned thanks to Heaven for this blessing and her wonderful preservation. On this the most verdant and fragrant herbage appeared around the borders of the fountain; it became a blooming and delightful spot, and the camel placed himself so as to afford his lovely companion a shade and shelter from the sunbeams.
It happened that one of the King’s camel-keepers was at this time in pursuit of some camels which had wandered into the desert, and without which he dared not return to the city. He had sought them for several days amidst hills and forests without any success. At length on coming to this spot he beheld the daughter of Kāmgār and the camel, which at first he thought was one of those he sought, and the clear fountain with the verdant banks, where neither grass nor water had ever been seen before. Astonished at this discovery, he resolved not to interrupt the lady, who was engaged in prayer; but when she had finished, he addressed her, and was so charmed by her gentleness and piety, that he offered to adopt her as his child, and expressed his belief that, through the efficacy of her prayers, he should recover the strayed camels.