Tales of the Marvellous and News of the Strange (Hardcover Classics)

by Malcolm C (Tr Lyons

  Muhammad mounted and said goodbye to Khultukh, who wept and kissed him. ‘Don’t be sad,’ Muhammad told him, ‘but come to us, as the caliph will welcome you.’ Khultukh said goodbye and went back, while Masrur set off with Muhammad. When they got to Sarsar they were met by a mounted escort together with servants, and both groups went together to the caliph. He welcomed Muhammad and asked why he had hidden himself away. ‘Out of fear of you, Commander of the Faithful,’ Muhammad told him. ‘If you fear the Great and Glorious God,’ the caliph said, ‘you need fear no one whom God created.’

  He then ordered the Rumi slave girl to be produced, and she was brought in chains. ‘She is an ignorant creature,’ he said, ‘and instead of having her killed, I shall sell her and give the money to the poor and needy.’ Ja‘far was present, and when Muhammad told him what had happened to him he exclaimed: ‘By God, I have never heard of the like of this Khultukh!’ ‘Remind me to send him a robe of honour,’ the caliph told him, ‘and to give him an annual allowance of a thousand dinars from the state treasury of Basra.’ ‘To hear is to obey,’ said Ja‘far.

  Two days later Muhammad fell seriously ill to the great distress of Zubaida, al-Rashid and the whole court, who uttered prayers of supplication to God. He was close to death, and his life was despaired of, leading al-Rashid to forget about Khultukh.

  Khultukh himself had many friends, one of whom, an intimate of Muhammad son of.Sulaiman, told him that he was about to be arrested, as a result of which he fled away with no more than five dinars. He went to Wasit, where he hired a mule to take him to Baghdad. There he tried to find someone to take a note from him to Muhammad the Foundling, but failed, as they were all concerned by the critical state of Muhammad’s illness. Khultukh ate up all he had with him and then for two days he had no food at all. ‘How false people are!’ he exclaimed. ‘I came here not wanting anything from anyone.’ He went to work in the baths, where his good nature made him so popular that every day he earned two or three dirhams.

  After a month Muhammad’s illness subsided, prompting both al-Rashid and Zubaida to distribute alms. The doctor had recommended that he go to one of the public baths, where the smell would be good for him, and al-Rashid had ordered that he be taken there in secret without anybody knowing. As it happened, the baths to which they brought him were the ones where Khultukh worked. When he arrived with his escort and a servant carrying a candle, he was given a private room in which to sit. The baths were perfumed with ambergris and aloes, and he sat there like a golden branch.

  Khultukh looked up and, recognizing Muhammad when he saw him, he exclaimed in distress: ‘He must have been ill!’ He poured hot water over him, saying to himself: ‘Modesty prevents me from speaking. What do I have to distress me, now that I am making a regular living?’ Muhammad asked what he was muttering and said that he had hurt him. ‘How have I hurt you?’ asked Khultukh, and at that Muhammad looked hard at him and recognized him. ‘Khultukh, my father!’ he exclaimed, and Khultukh replied: ‘Yes, that is who I am. Come now. When you came here, did you not remember me?’ Muhammad got up, greeted him with an embrace and said: ‘Don’t blame me, Father. I didn’t recognize you. Excuse me, as I have just been ill for five months [sic].’ ‘I excuse you,’ said Khultukh, ‘and had I known that you were ill, I would have been deeply distressed.’ ‘I swear by al-Rashid’s life that you must sit down and I shall wash you,’ Muhammad told him. Khultukh took his seat, and the servant poured water over his head, while Muhammad rubbed his back.

  When he was slow in returning, al-Rashid told Masrur to find out why this was. ‘I hope nothing has happened to him,’ he said, ‘so go and hurry him up.’ Masrur went off and when he came to the baths he went in and saw Muhammad. ‘Master,’ he said, ‘what are you doing sitting there? You are a sick man. Don’t let the bath-man impose on you.’ ‘Do you recognize this man whom I am washing?’ Muhammad asked and when Masrur said ‘no’, he said: ‘This is my father, Khultukh.’ ‘By God!’ exclaimed Masrur and he then removed his clothes and said: ‘It is I who should be serving him,’ and he got up, embraced and kissed him, saying: ‘By the life of al-Rashid, no one is going to rub him down except me.’

  He had started to do this and was taking his time when al-Rashid said: ‘Ja‘far, I am worried. Go and see what is happening.’ Ja‘far got up and went that night to the baths, where he saw Muhammad pouring water over someone’s head and Masrur washing him. ‘Have you become bath attendants?’ he exclaimed in surprise. ‘Vizier,’ said Muhammad, ‘this is my father, Khultukh.’ ‘What, really?’ asked Ja‘far, and when Muhammad said ‘yes’, he too removed his clothes and poured water over him. When Khultukh kissed his hand he said: ‘Khultukh, people should serve a man like you.’

  When Ja‘far was slow in returning, al-Rashid exclaimed at the lack of news and got up himself and went with two servants to the baths, where he saw them all acting as attendants. When he asked about this, Muhammad, Ja‘far and the others laughed and said: ‘Master, how can we not serve someone like this?’ ‘Who is he?’ al-Rashid asked, and they told him it was Khultukh. ‘By God!’ exclaimed al-Rashid, and he stretched out his hand to take the bowl in order to pour water over Khultukh’s head. Khultukh got up and, after kissing the ground, said: ‘Spare me, master! Do you want me to be punished by my Lord?’ ‘Get up and put your clothes back on,’ al-Rashid told his people, ‘then come out, and tomorrow we shall interview Khultukh.’ Khultukh kissed his hand, and they all left for al-Rashid’s palace.

  When Khultukh went to him, al-Rashid told him to come close and said: ‘May God give you a good reward for the manly qualities you showed! My son, Muhammad, expressed his thanks to you so now tell me what happened to you.’ ‘Master,’ replied Khultukh, ‘I spent all my wealth and my life’s savings and took flight from your cousin Muhammad the son of Sulaiman al-Zainabi. When I got here I could find no one to take a note for me or to let Muhammad the Foundling know where I was and so I went and acted as a servant in the baths until he came and I introduced myself.’ ‘Fetch me a robe of honour,’ the caliph ordered, and when this had been brought he put it on Khultukh. Then he wrote immediately to summon his cousin Muhammad.

  When this Muhammad arrived al-Rashid asked him how he dared treat a man like Khultukh as he had. ‘Where is he, Commander of the Faithful?’ Muhammad asked, and al-Rashid said: ‘He is here with me,’ and went on to tell him what had happened to him. ‘By God, Commander of the Faithful,’ Muhammad said, ‘I never intended to do anything to him, but he took fright and fled away from me. His money is untouched and his house is locked and sealed.’ Khultukh came up, wearing the caliph’s robe of honour, and kissed the hand of Muhammad, who presented his excuses and said: ‘Come back with me to Basra.’ ‘I cannot leave the Commander of the Faithful and my master Muhammad,’ Khultukh replied, and Muhammad replied: ‘That is up to you.’

  Khultukh then told him: ‘I would like you to sell my house for me and send me what it fetches.’ ‘How much would you charge me for the whole thing?’ asked Muhammad. ‘If I bought it you would have no need to go there as you can certify to the sale here.’ Khultukh named a price of three thousand dinars; Muhammad said: ‘I shall send you five thousand,’ at which Khultukh concluded the sale.

  Muhammad went back to Basra and forwarded the five thousand dinars. After receiving them, Khultukh stayed with al-Rashid, and Muhammad the Foundling said: ‘He is to live in my apartment, as, thanks to the huge debt I owe him, I have a greater right to serve him than anyone else.’ This delighted Khultukh, who now did not have to ask permission before entering the caliph’s presence, as he was accepted as one of his intimates.

  This is the reward of good deeds, as a poet puts it:

  Who acts well never goes without reward;

  And kindness is not lost with God or man.

  This is the end of the story. Praise be to the One God and blessings and peace be on the best of His creation, our lord Muhammad, his family and his companions.

  Tale Sixteen
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br />   The Story of Ashraf and

  Anjab and the Marvellous Things

  That Happened to Them.

  In the Name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful

  They say – and God knows better – that al-Rashid had appointed his cousin Muhammad son of Sulaiman al-Zainabi as governor of Basra. Every year Muhammad would collect the city’s tribute, take it up to him in Baghdad and stay there for a month before going back to Basra.

  One year he brought the tribute as usual and, on reaching Baghdad, he handed it over to al-Rashid. He then went to see Zubaida, his cousin and, after greeting her and presenting his services, he left and began to walk through Baghdad to look at the sights. On his way past al-Karkh he met an old man wearing white robes, with a linen turban and a belt around his waist. This man kissed the ground in front of him and said: ‘Master, your servant is a slave-dealer who sells girls. I have one who would be suitable for the caliph al-Rashid. I should like you to do me the honour of coming to my house so that I may be set apart from all my fellows in this age. No one else deserves the girl.’

  When he heard this, Muhammad went with him to his house and took his seat on a couch in his room. After the man had sold a girl, a mamluk and a eunuch, he got up and, after fastening a curtain of gold thread, he raised it to show a chair of Chinese iron, on which was seated a girl like a shining sun in a clear sky. Her face was veiled and he asked for and was given her permission to raise it, showing a face round as a moon with tresses that hung down to her anklets.

  Muhammad exclaimed: ‘By God, I have never seen anyone lovelier than this in the whole world. ‘More than that,’ said the trader, ‘she can both read and write; she is versed in literature and is an artist on the lute.’ He turned to her and said: ‘Lady, I am told that you have a lovely voice,’ at which she recited the opening sura of the Qur’an and other verses from it in a voice sweeter than the poetry of Ishaq al-Mausili. He told her to go on, and she turned to a girl behind her and took a lute that she was holding. After touching its strings and testing it she sang:

  Our dwellings may be far apart,

  So that I cannot visit you,

  But still this love of mine remains constant,

  And God forbid that it should ever change!

  ‘By God,’ exclaimed Muhammad, ‘her beauty and her artistry fill me with wonder!’ The dealer began the auction, and the bidding started at a thousand dinars, going up until it stopped at two thousand. ‘Master,’ said the dealer to Muhammad, ‘you have made no bid for her.’ ‘Is no one going to go higher?’ he asked, and the dealer told him that they had all stopped, and no one would bid more. ‘How much is she worth?’ Muhammad asked, and the dealer said: ‘Three thousand dinars, and if you have the money, God bless you.’ He shook hands with Muhammad, who asked for an ink-well and paper on which three thousand dinars was noted as a charge to be paid by the caliph with an extra hundred dinars for the dealer.

  Muhammad then got up and so did the girl who put on a wrap of Dabiqi brocade. He took her hand and passed her to a servant, who brought her to al-Rashid’s palace, where he himself asked al-Rashid’s wife Zubaida to keep her while he went down to Basra, and then to send her after him. ‘Cousin,’ she said to him, ‘you know of the caliph’s reputation with women. It may be that he will see and admire this girl and then distress both you and me by taking her himself, as there is no one to match her in his palace. So take her and go off without saying anything about her to anyone who might tell the caliph, lest he remove her from you.’ Muhammad realized that this was credible enough and so he took the girl away and put her on a barge, while he finished his business in two days, before taking his leave of the caliph.

  He went down to Basra with the girl and installed her in his palace, showering her with favours and providing her with maids. He then married her and when he lay with her he discovered her to be a virgin and took the greatest delight in her. They remained like that for some time until one day she kissed his hand and, when he asked her about herself, she told him she was pregnant. ‘Praise be to God!’ he exclaimed, for he was a childless man, and he now distributed alms and gifts in his joy.

  When the term of her pregnancy was completed she fell into labour, surrounded by midwives and nurses in the palace. The child to whom she gave birth was a boy like a rising sun, and the good news spread throughout the palace, with people going to congratulate Muhammad and to ask him what the baby should be called. ‘Name him al-Ashraf,’ said Muhammad, and in his joy he distributed alms and had Basra closed down to universal delight. Almighty God, however, did not allow the child to drink any milk, and Muhammad, sorrowful and distracted, was sure that he was going to die. ‘See what you can do,’ he told his people, and they told him that at the palace gate was a slave-dealer who had a girl with a one-year-old black baby. ‘However this may be, bring the mother to me,’ ordered Muhammad, and they fetched the mother, who was black as pitch with a snub nose, red eyes and an unpleasant smell.

  When she was brought to al-Ashraf she took him on her lap and drew out her breast, which was like a sack of barley, while her teats were like black dung. She brought one up to the baby’s mouth as God the Great and Glorious had willed and used her fingers to put it into his mouth. He drank his fill until the milk dribbled from the sides of it to the astonishment of Muhammad. ‘By God,’ he exclaimed, ‘how strange it is that he drinks from this black girl and leaves untouched the milk of all the wet-nurses!’

  The black girl then took charge of al-Ashraf and suckled him with her own son, al-Anjab, until both of them had grown, when Muhammad provided them with a teacher. They were taught to write, and they studied literature, grammar, Arabic and everything they might need, after which they learned to ride, to shoot and how to act courageously. They grew up well, and Muhammad loved them dearly and was struck by how fond they were of each other. Because of his treatment of the black boy, people thought he must be Muhammad’s own son, and the boy himself used to call al-Ashraf ‘my brother’. By the time they were twelve, he was like a tower and looked twenty years old, with enough pitch blackness for twenty bathhouses.

  One day Muhammad was sitting with al-Ashraf’s mother, ‘Alam al-Husn, when he took a sheet of paper, dipped his pen in ink and wrote: ‘In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful; these are my instructions to whoever reads this note. I am Muhammad son of Sulaiman al-Zainabi. The only child of my body is my son al-Ashraf, the inheritor of my wealth and the perpetuator of my race. As for the black al-Anjab, I bought him and his mother for eighteen dinars. He is my son’s slave, to be sold or freed as my son wishes, and no one is to suspect me of being his father.’

  Muhammad wrote this in his own hand and then folded the paper and told ‘Alam al-Husn that he entrusted it to her and she should keep it with her. ‘Master,’ she said, ‘may good befall you! What is this?’ He said: ‘Take it and say nothing. No man can escape death, for this is a path that all must tread.’ She took the paper, set it in an amulet and placed it amongst her books.

  Three years after this Muhammad died, and Basra was handed over to his cousin Abu Ja‘far. Al-Anjab, his mother and their maids remained in the palace, while al-Ashraf, who was of a generous disposition, started eating, drinking and making lavish gifts. This angered al-Anjab, who went to his black mother and asked her what she thought of his brother’s behaviour. ‘Are you mad,’ she said. ‘Do you think that al-Ashraf is your brother?’ ‘What?’ he exclaimed, and she told him: ‘My son, you are his slave and I am his slave girl, as his father bought us both for eighteen dinars. He can sell you or free you as he wants, for the authority is his. Your father was a negro herdsman and his was a noble ‘Alid.’ ‘What am I if I am not his brother?’ exclaimed al-Anjab, who found this hard to bear, and he asked her whether she was the only person who knew about this and when she said ‘yes’ he left her.

  Ten days later he came back and told her that he wanted to spend the night with her, and she cordially agreed. When they both had eaten he got up to wa
sh his hands, and she spread him out a bed. As he slept she slept nearby, but he got up in the night and, as she lay sleeping, he took hold of her throat like an ‘ifrit, squeezing it until he had killed her. He then laid out her corpse and covered it over before leaving her room that same night. Next morning her maids found her dead and went to her mistress, shrieking: ‘Lady, al-Anjab’s mother is dead.’ This distressed the lady, and she had the corpse shrouded and buried.

  Al-Anjab waited for some days after this before going to al-Ashraf, whom he greeted, before saying: ‘Know, brother, that we held the sultanate, but I am not pleased that it has gone to our cousin, and this leaves me distressed.’ ‘Why is this?’ asked al-Ashraf, ‘for the earth belongs to Almighty God, and He bequeaths it to whichever of His servants He wishes.’ Al-Anjab told him: ‘After the deaths of our master and my mother, I can no longer stay in Basra.’ ‘What do you want?’ asked al-Ashraf, and al-Anjab told him that he wanted to take what he had inherited from his father and to go to Baghdad while his uncle al-Rashid was still caliph. Al-Ashraf agreed and went to tell his mother what he had said. She exclaimed with an oath: ‘Al-Anjab is no brother of yours! He is your slave who was bought by your father together with his mother for eighteen dinars, and if you wanted you could take him this instant to the slave-dealer and sell him.’ ‘Mother, what are you saying?’ he exclaimed, and she said: ‘Yes, my son. Now go, guard what is yours and say no more. Otherwise, if you don’t want to tell him, then put him off.’

  After remaining silent for a time al-Ashraf raised his head and said: ‘Mother, I cannot break his heart.’ ‘If you don’t,’ she told him, ‘this bastard will lose you your kingdom and your wealth.’ He paid no attention to her but sent for the trustees as well as al-Anjab. He then produced all that his father had left him in the way of gold, silver, utensils and dinars and divided them in two, telling his father’s trustees to give al-Anjab his share. They then divided the deeds covering properties and split these between themselves, but al-Anjab said: ‘I am going to Baghdad, so what can I do with properties? Buy them from me.’ When al-Ashraf had bought them for sixty thousand dinars, al-Anjab went up to Baghdad in a barge. On arrival he did not go into the city but went to the western side, where he bought a house with balconies overlooking the Tigris, together with mamluks and eunuchs.