The eunuch carried it back quickly to the camp, where Hasan’s mother took it and tasted it. When she noted how flavoursome it was and how well it had been cooked, she realized who must have cooked it and gave a shriek before falling in a faint, to the astonishment of Shams al-Din. He sprinkled rosewater over her and after a time she recovered. ‘If my son is still in this world,’ she exclaimed, ‘it was he and no one else who cooked these pomegranate seeds. It has to have been my son, Hasan. No one else can cook it except him, for I taught him the recipe.’ When Shams al-Din heard this, he was overjoyed and exclaimed: ‘How I long to see my brother’s son! Will time unite me with him? But it is only from Almighty God that I may seek a meeting with him.’
He got up immediately and went to his escort, ordering twenty men to go the cookshop, demolish it, and tie up the cook with his own turban. ‘Then,’ he said, ‘drag him here by force, but without injuring him in any way.’ The men agreed to do this, and Shams al-Din himself rode immediately to the palace of the governor of Damascus, whom he met and to whom he showed the letters that he had brought with him from the sultan. The governor kissed them and then placed them on his head, before asking: ‘Where is the man you are looking for?’ ‘He is a cook,’ replied Shams al-Din, and the governor instantly ordered his chamberlains to go to his shop. They went and found the shop demolished with all its contents smashed, for when Shams al-Din had gone to the governor’s palace, his men had carried out his orders. They sat there waiting for him to return, while Hasan was asking: ‘What could they have seen in the dish of pomegranate seeds that led to all this?’
Shams al-Din returned with the governor’s permission to carry away Hasan. When he entered his tent, he ordered the cook to be produced and he was brought in, tied up with his own turban. Hasan wept bitterly on seeing his uncle and said: ‘Master, what offence do you charge me with?’ ‘Was it you,’ asked Shams al-Din, ‘who cooked these pomegranate seeds?’ ‘Yes,’ said Hasan, ‘and did you find anything in them that entitles you to cut off my head?’ ‘For you this would be the best and lightest punishment,’ said Shams al-Din. ‘Master,’ said Hasan, ‘are you not going to tell me what I did wrong?’ ‘Yes, immediately,’ said Shams al-Din, but he then called to the servants to bring the camels. They took Hasan with them, put him in a box, locked it and set off, travelling until nightfall. Then they halted and ate some food. They took Hasan out of his box, gave him something to eat and then put him back in it. They followed this pattern until they reached Qamra, when Hasan was taken out of his box and was again asked whether it was he who had cooked the pomegranate seeds. When he still said yes, Shams al-Din ordered him to be fettered, which was done and he was put back in the box.
The party then travelled on to Cairo, where they halted at the Raidaniya camping ground. Shams al-Din ordered Hasan to be taken out and he ordered a carpenter to be fetched whom he told to make a wooden cross. ‘What are you going to do with it?’ asked Hasan. ‘I will garrotte you on it and then nail you to it, before parading you around the whole city,’ Shams al-Din told him. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’ asked Hasan. ‘Because of your ill-omened cooking of the pomegranate seeds, for you cooked them without enough pepper,’ replied Shams al-Din. ‘Are you really doing all this to me because the dish lacked pepper?’ said Hasan. ‘Was it not enough for you to keep me shut up, giving me only one meal a day?’ ‘There was not enough pepper,’ said Shams al-Din, ‘and the only punishment for you is death.’ Hasan was both astonished and sorry for himself. ‘What are you thinking about?’ asked Shams al-Din. ‘About superficial minds like yours,’ replied Hasan, ‘for if you had any intelligence you would not treat me like this.’ ‘We have to punish you,’ said Shams al-Din, ‘so as to see that you don’t do this kind of thing again.’ ‘The least part of what you have done to me is a punishment,’ said Hasan, but Shams al-Din insisted that he must be strangled.
While all this was going on, the carpenter was preparing the wood before his eyes. This went on until nightfall when Shams al-Din took Hasan and threw him into the box, saying: ‘The execution will take place tomorrow.’ He then waited until he was sure that Hasan was asleep, when he got up, lifted the chest and, after mounting his horse, he placed the box in front of him. He entered the city and rode on until he came to his house. To his daughter, Sitt al-Husn, he said: ‘Praise be to God who has reunited you with your cousin. Get up and arrange the furnishings of the house as they were on your wedding night.’ The household was roused and the candles were lit, while Shams al-Din produced the paper on which he had drawn a plan showing how the furniture was to be arranged. Everything was put in its place, so that anyone looking at it would be in no doubt that this was as it had been on the actual wedding night.
Shams al-Din gave instructions that Hasan’s turban should be placed where he himself had left it, as should his trousers and the purse that was beneath the mattress. He then told his daughter to wear no more than she had been wearing when left alone with her bridegroom on her wedding night. ‘When your cousin comes in,’ he said, ‘tell him that he has been a long time in his visit to the latrine and then invite him to pass the rest of the night with you. Talk with him until daybreak, and I shall then explain the whole affair to him.’ Next, he took Hasan out of the chest, having first removed the fetters from his feet. He stripped off the clothes that he was wearing, so that he was left in a thin nightshirt with no trousers.
The sleeping Hasan knew nothing about what was happening, but, as fate had decreed, he turned over and woke up to find himself in a brilliantly lit hallway. ‘This is a confused dream,’ he said to himself, but he then walked a short way to a second door, and, on looking, he found himself in the room in which his bride had been unveiled for him. There was the alcove and the chair and he could see his turban and his other things. He was astonished at this sight and hesitated, moving forwards and then backwards. ‘Am I asleep or awake?’ he asked himself, wiping his forehead and saying in amazement: ‘By God, this is the room of the bride who was unveiled for me; but where am I, for I was in a box?’
While he was talking to himself, Sitt al-Husn suddenly lifted the bottom of the alcove curtain and said: ‘Master, are you not going to come in? You have been a long time in the latrine.’ When he heard her voice and looked at her face, he laughed and said: ‘I am in a confused dream.’ He went into the alcove, where he sighed, and, thinking over his experiences, he was filled with confusion, particularly at the sight of the turban, his trousers and the purse with the thousand dinars, and was at a loss to grasp what had happened. ‘God knows better,’ he said, ‘but this is a muddled dream.’ ‘What are you so astonished about?’ asked Sitt al-Husn. ‘You weren’t like that at the beginning of the night.’ Hasan laughed and asked: ‘How long have I been away from you?’ ‘Bless you,’ she said, ‘and may the Name of God encompass you, you left to attend to yourself and then come back. Are you out of your mind?’ Hasan laughed when he heard that and said: ‘You are right, but when I left you I took leave of my senses in the latrine and dreamt that I was a cook in Damascus and had been there for ten years, when a boy, a great man’s son, came in with a eunuch.’
At that, he rubbed his hand over his forehead and found the scar on it. ‘By God, lady,’ he said, ‘that almost seems to be true, because he struck me on the forehead and broke the skin, and it seemed as though I was awake at the time.’ He went on: ‘It was as though we had just gone to sleep in each other’s arms and then I had this dream and I appeared to have arrived in Damascus with no turban and no trousers and then worked as a cook.’ After remaining perplexed for a time, he said: ‘By God, I seemed to see that I had cooked a dish of pomegranate seeds and had put on too little pepper, but I suppose that I must have been asleep in the latrine and I must have seen all this in a dream.’ ‘What else did you see?’ asked Sitt al-Husn. Hasan told her, and then he said: ‘By God, if I had not woken up, they would have crucified me.’ ‘What for?’ she asked. ‘Because there was too little pepper on the pomegranate
seeds,’ he replied. ‘It seemed as though they had wrecked my shop and broken up my utensils and put me in a box. Then they brought a carpenter to make a cross for me and they were going to garrotte me. Thank God that all this happened in a dream and not in real life.’ Sitt al-Husn laughed and clasped him to her breast as he clasped her to his, but then he thought for a while and said: ‘By God, it seemed as though it was real, but I don’t know why that should be.’ He was still perplexed when he fell asleep, muttering alternately ‘I was asleep’ and ‘I was awake’.
That went on until morning, when his uncle Shams al-Din came in and greeted him. Hasan looked at him and said: ‘By God, aren’t you the man who ordered me to be tied up and crucified and ordered my shop to be wrecked because there was not enough pepper on the pomegranate seeds?’ ‘Know, my son,’ said Shams al-Din, ‘that the truth is now revealed and what was hidden has been made clear. You are the son of my brother and I only did all this to make sure that it was you who slept with my daughter that night. I could only be certain of this because you recognized the room and recognized your turban and your trousers, your gold, the note that you wrote and the one that your father, my brother, wrote. For I had never seen you before and could not identify you. I have brought your mother with me from Basra.’ He then threw himself on Hasan in tears. When Hasan heard what his uncle had to say, he was lost in astonishment and, embracing his uncle, he wept from excess of joy.
‘The reason for all this,’ Shams al-Din told him, ‘was what happened between me and your father.’ He then told him the story of this and of why Hasan’s father, Nur al-Din, had gone to Basra. He sent for ‘Ajib, and when his father saw him, he said: ‘This is the one who hit me with the stone.’ ‘He is your son,’ Shams al-Din told him. Hasan threw himself on the boy and recited these lines:
I have wept over our separation, and for long
Tears have been pouring from my eyes.
I vowed, were Time to join us once again,
My tongue would never speak the word ‘parting’.
Delight has now launched its attack on me,
And my great joy has made me weep.
As soon as he had finished speaking, in came his mother, who threw herself on him and recited:
On meeting, we complained of the great suffering of which we speak.
It is not good to send complaints by messengers.
She then told him what had happened to her after he had vanished, and he told her of his own sufferings, and they then gave thanks to God for having reunited them. Two days after his arrival, Shams al-Din went to the sultan. On entering, he kissed the ground before him and greeted him with a royal salute. The sultan, who was glad to see him, smiled at him and told him to come nearer. He then asked him what he had seen in his travels and what had happened to him. Shams al-Din told him the story from beginning to end. ‘Praise be to God,’ said the sultan, ‘for the achievement of your desire and your safe return to your family and children. I must see your nephew, Hasan of Basra, so bring him to court tomorrow.’ Shams al-Din agreed to this – ‘If God Almighty wills’ – and then took his leave and went out. When he got home he told his nephew that the sultan wanted to see him. ‘The servant obeys the order of his master,’ said Hasan, and he accompanied his uncle to the sultan’s court. When he was in the sultan’s presence, he greeted him with the greatest respect and courtesy, and began to recite:
The one you have ennobled now kisses the ground,
A man whose quest has been crowned with success.
You are the lord of glory; those who rest their hope on you
Obtain what will exalt them in this world.
The sultan smiled, motioning him to sit, and so he took his seat near his uncle, Shams al-Din. The sultan then asked him his name, to which he replied: ‘The meanest of your servants is known as Hasan of Basra, and night and day he invokes blessings on you.’ The sultan was pleased with what he said and wanted to put his apparent knowledge and good breeding to the test. ‘Do you remember any poetry that describes a mole?’ he asked. ‘Yes,’ said Hasan, and he recited:
There is a dear one at the thought of whom
My tears fall and I wail aloud.
He has a mole, in beauty and in colour
Like the pupil of the eye or the heart’s core.
The sultan approved of these lines and courteously asked him to produce more. So he recited:
Many a mole has been compared to a musk grain,
But this comparison is not to be admired.
Rather, admire the face encompassing all its beauty,
So that no single part is missing from the whole.
The sultan rocked with delight and said: ‘Give me more, may God fill your life with blessing.’ Hasan then recited:
You, on whose cheek the mole
Is like a grain of musk set on a ruby,
Grant me your union, and do not be harsh,
You who are my heart’s wish and its nourishment.
‘Well done, Hasan,’ said the sultan. ‘You have shown great proficiency. Now explain to us how many meanings does the word khal, or “mole”, have in Arabic.’ ‘Fifty-eight,’ was his reply, ‘although some say fifty.’ ‘Correct,’ said the sultan, who then asked him if he knew how beauty can be particularized. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘It comprises brightness of face, clear skin, a well-shaped nose, sweet eyes, a lovely mouth, a witty tongue, an elegant frame and the qualities of refinement, while its perfection is found in the hair. The poet al-Shihab al-Hijazi has combined all these in a poem written in the rajaz metre:
Say, brightness is in the face; the skin is clear.
Let that be what you see.
Beauty is rightly ascribed to the nose,
While sweetness is attributed to eyes.
Yes, and men talk of mouths as beautiful.
Learn this from me, and may you not lack rest.
The tongue has wittiness and the frame elegance,
Whereas refinement lies in the qualities,
And perfect loveliness, they say, is in the hair.
Listen to my verse, and hold me free from blame.’
The sultan was pleased with what Hasan had said and felt well disposed towards him. He then asked him to explain the meaning of the proverbial expression ‘Shuraih is more cunning than the fox’. ‘Know, your majesty,’ replied Hasan, ‘may God Almighty aid you, that in the plague days Shuraih went to Najaf. Whenever he was going to pray, a fox would come and stand opposite him, imitating what he was doing and distracting him from his prayer. When that had gone on for a long time, one day he took off his shirt and put it on a cane, with its sleeves spread out. He then put his turban on top of the cane, tied a belt around the middle and set it up in the place where he prayed. The fox came up as usual and stood in front of it, at which Shuraih came up from behind and seized the animal. This is the explanation of the saying.’
When the sultan heard his explanation, he said to Shams al-Din: ‘This nephew of yours is a man of perfect breeding, and I do not believe that his match is to be found in all Egypt.’ Hasan rose, kissed the ground before the sultan, and took his seat like a mamluk in front of his master, and the sultan, delighted at having discovered the extent of his knowledge of the liberal arts, gave him a splendid robe of honour and invested him with an office that would help him to live well.
Hasan rose and, after kissing the ground again, he prayed for the sultan’s enduring glory, and then asked permission to leave with his uncle Shams al-Din. When this was granted, he left and he and his uncle returned home. Food was brought and after they had finished eating a pleasant meal, Hasan went to his wife’s apartment and told her what had happened to him in the sultan’s court. She said: ‘He is bound to make you one of his intimate companions and shower gifts and presents on you. By God’s grace, you are like a great light spreading the rays of your perfection, wherever you may be, on land or sea.’ He said to her: ‘I want to compose an ode in his honour, so as to increase the love that he feels for me in
his heart.’ ‘A good idea,’ she agreed. ‘Produce good concepts and elegant expressions and I’m sure that he will find your poem acceptable.’
Hasan then went off by himself and wrote some well-formed and elegantly expressed lines. They ran as follows:
I have a heroic patron, soaring to the heights of greatness,
And treading on the path of generous and noble men.
His justice brings security to every land,
And for his enemies he has barred the path.
He is a lion, pious and astute;
If you call him king or angel, he is both.*
Those who ask him for favours are sent back rich.
There are no words to sum him up.
On the day of generosity, he is the shining dawn,
While on the day of battle, he is darkest night.
Our necks are fettered with his generosity,
And by his favours he masters the freeborn.
God grant us that he may enjoy long life,
Defending him from all that may bring harm.
When he had finished composing this piece, he sent it to the sultan with one of his uncle’s slaves. The sultan studied it with delight and read it out to those who were in attendance on him. They were enthusiastic in their praise, and the sultan summoned Hasan and told him when he came: ‘From this day on, you are my intimate companion, and I have decreed for you a monthly allowance of a thousand dirhams, in addition to what I have already assigned you.’ Hasan rose and thrice kissed the ground before the sultan, praying for his lasting glory and long life. From then on, he enjoyed lofty status; his fame spread throughout the lands, and he lived in the greatest comfort and ease with his uncle and his family until he was overtaken by death.
The Arabian Nights: Tales of 1,001 Nights: Volume 1 Page 24