Nur al-Din asked him whether he wanted to hear the story in prose or verse. ‘Prose,’ said the caliph, ‘is only speech, but poetry is strung pearls.’ At that, Nur al-Din looked down at the ground and recited:
Friend, I have abandoned sleep;
Exile has made my cares increase.
My father was affectionate,
But he left me and went down to the grave.
With him my fortune perished,
And I became broken in heart.
He bought for me a girl,
Whose pliant figure put the boughs to shame.
All my inheritance I spent on her,
And I gave generously to the generous.
My cares increased; I offered her for sale,
Though pangs of parting were not what I wished.
When bids were called for by the auctioneer,
The highest came from a depraved old man.
At this, my anger blazed up and I snatched
Her hand away from that old scoundrel’s grasp.
The wretch struck me in anger, and the fire
Of evil-doing kindled in his heart.
I hit him with my right hand and my left
In anger, until my distress was cured.
I was afraid and went back to my house,
Hiding away for fear of enemies.
The ruler of the land ordered me to be seized;
His chamberlain, a man of rectitude,
Warned me that I should flee out of their reach,
Thus saddening my jealous enemies.
Sheltered by darkness we then left our house,
Looking to come and stay here in Baghdad.
Fisherman, I have no treasures I can give,
Except for what I have already given.
But here you have the darling of my heart;
Be sure it is my own heart that I give.
When he had finished these lines, the caliph asked him to explain the affair, and Nur al-Din told him what had happened from beginning to end. When the caliph understood the situation, he asked: ‘Where are you making for now?’ and Nur al-Din replied: ‘God’s lands are wide.’ The caliph then said: ‘I shall write you a note to take to the sultan Muhammad ibn Sulaiman al-Zaini and when he reads it, he will do you no harm or injury.’
Morning now dawned and Shahrazad broke off from what she had been allowed to say. Then, when it was the thirty-eighth night, SHE CONTINUED:
I have heard, O auspicious king, that the caliph said: ‘I shall write you a note to take to the sultan Muhammad ibn Sulaiman al-Zaini and when he reads it, he will do you no harm or injury.’ ‘Is there in this world a fisherman who writes to kings?’ asked Nur al-Din. ‘This is something that can never be.’ ‘That is true,’ replied the caliph, ‘but I shall tell you the reason. Muhammad and I studied in the same school with one and the same teacher, and I was his monitor. He then enjoyed good fortune and became a sultan, while God demoted me and made me a fisherman, but every time I write to ask him for something, he does what I ask, and this would be true even if I sent him a thousand requests a day.’ ‘That is good,’ said Nur al-Din. ‘Write and let me see it.’ So the caliph took an inkstand and a pen and wrote: ‘In the Name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful. To continue: this letter is sent from Harun al-Rashid ibn al-Mahdi to Muhammad ibn Sulaiman al-Zaini, who enjoys my gracious favour and whom I have appointed as my lieutenant in one part of my kingdom. This letter is brought to you by Nur al-Din ‘Ali, son of the vizier Ibn Khaqan. As soon as it reaches you, depose yourself from your sultanate and invest him with it. Do not disobey my order. Peace be on you.’ The caliph then gave the letter to Nur al-Din, who kissed it, placed it in his turban and set off at once on his journey.
So much for him, but as for the caliph, Shaikh Ibrahim looked at him dressed as he was as a fisherman, and said: ‘You vilest of fishermen, you take three dinars for bringing us a couple of fish worth twenty nusfs, and then you want to take off the girl as well?’ When he heard this, the caliph shouted at him and made a sign to Masrur, who came out of hiding and attacked Ibrahim. Ja‘far, meanwhile, had sent one of the gardener’s boys to the gatekeeper of the palace to fetch some royal robes. The boy, having carried out the errand, kissed the ground in front of the caliph, who took off what he was wearing, handed it to the boy, and then put on the clothes that had been brought for him. Ibrahim, who had been looking on, was flabbergasted at what he saw and sat biting his nails distractedly and saying: ‘Am I asleep or awake?’ The caliph looked at him and said: ‘Shaikh Ibrahim, what is this state that you are in?’ At that, Ibrahim recovered from his drunkenness, threw himself on the ground and recited:
Forgive the crime that caused my foot to slip.
The servant seeks generosity from his master.
I admit that I have followed the demands of sin,
But where are those of forgiveness and generosity?
The caliph forgave him and ordered that the girl be taken to the royal palace, where he gave her a room of her own and assigned her servants. ‘Know,’ he told her, ‘that I have sent your master to be sultan of Basra, and, if God Almighty wills it, I shall despatch him a robe of honour, and shall send you to join him.’
So much for them, but as for Nur al-Din, he travelled on to Basra, where he went up to the sultan’s palace and gave a loud shout. The sultan heard him and sent for him. On entering Nur al-Din kissed the ground, and then produced his note and handed it over. When he saw that the Commander of the Faithful had addressed it in his own hand, the sultan rose to his feet, kissed it three times, and said: ‘To hear is to obey Almighty God and the Commander of the Faithful.’ He then summoned the four qadis and the emirs, and was about to abdicate when al-Mu‘in arrived. The sultan handed him the note, but when he saw it he tore it into pieces, took the pieces in his mouth, chewed them and then spat them out.
The sultan was angry and said: ‘Wretch, what prompted you to do this?’ ‘By your life, master,’ said al-Mu‘in, ‘this fellow has never met the caliph or his vizier; he is the spawn of a scheming devil, who has come across a blank sheet of paper signed by the caliph, and has used it for his own ends. The caliph cannot have sent him to take the sultanate from you without an official rescript or a diploma of investiture. He has never, never, never come from the caliph! Had the tale been true, the caliph would have sent a chamberlain with him, or a vizier, but he has come alone.’ ‘What is to be done, then?’ asked the sultan. ‘Send him with me,’ said al-Mu‘in. ‘I will take him off your hands and despatch him with a chamberlain to Baghdad. If what he says is true, he can come back to us with a rescript and a diploma, and if he cannot produce these, I shall punish him as his crime deserves.’
When the sultan heard what al-Mu‘in had to say, he agreed to hand over Nur al-Din to him. Al-Mu‘in then took him to his house and shouted to his servants, who stretched him out and beat him until he fainted. He then had heavy fetters put on his feet and took him to the prison, where he called out for the gaoler, a man named Qutait, who came and kissed the ground before him. ‘Qutait,’ said al-Mu‘in, ‘I want you to take this man and throw him into one of your underground dungeons and torture him night and day.’ ‘To hear is to obey,’ said the gaoler. He took Nur al-Din into the prison and shut the door on him, but then gave orders for the stone bench behind the door to be swept, and on it he laid a mattress and a leather mat. He let Nur al-Din sit on this, loosed his fetters and treated him well. Every day al-Mu‘in would send word to him, telling him to beat Nur al-Din, but instead he protected him, and this went on for forty days.
On the forty-first day, a gift came from the caliph. When the sultan saw it, he admired it and consulted his viziers about it. ‘It may be meant for the new sultan,’ said one of them, but al-Mu‘in said: ‘The right thing to have done would have been to kill him as soon as he came.’ ‘By God,’ said the sultan, ‘you have reminded me of him. Go and fetch him and then cut off his head.’ ‘To hear is to obey,’ said al-Mu‘in, and he added: ‘I wis
h to have it proclaimed in the city that whoever wants to enjoy the spectacle of the execution of Nur al-Din ‘Ali should come to the palace. Everyone, high or low, will come to watch and I shall have had my revenge as well as bringing distress to those who envy me.’
The sultan gave him permission to do as he wanted, and so al-Mu‘in, glad and happy, went to the wali and ordered him to have the proclamation made. When the people heard it, they all shed tears of grief, even the children in their schools and the common people in the shops. Some raced to get places to watch the spectacle, while others went to the prison in order to accompany Nur al-Din. Al-Mu‘in, escorted by ten mamluks, went there, and he was asked by Qutait what he wanted. ‘Bring me this wretch,’ replied the vizier. ‘He is in the worst of states because of his frequent beatings,’ said Qutait, and he then went in and found Nur al-Din reciting:
Who will help me in my affliction?
My disease has increased and its cure is hard to find.
Separation has affected my heart’s blood and my last breath of life,
While Time has changed my friends, making them foes.
Are there any here with pity and compassion
To weep for my state or answer to my cry?
The pangs of death are easy for me to bear;
I have abandoned all hopes of a pleasant life.
O Lord, in the name of our guide, the chosen bringer of good news,
Ocean of knowledge, lord of intercessors,
I call on You to rescue me and to forgive my fault,
Removing from me hardship and distress.
When he had finished speaking, the gaoler removed his clean clothes and, after giving him dirty ones to put on, he brought him to al-Mu‘in. At the sight of his enemy who wanted to kill him, Nur al-Din wept and said: ‘Do you feel secure against the blows of time? Have you not heard the words of the poet:
Where are the mighty Persian kings? They hoarded treasures,
But the treasures are gone, as are the kings.’
‘Know, vizier,’ he added, ‘that it is God, Great and Glorious, who acts according to His wish.’ ‘Are you trying to frighten me by saying this?’ asked al-Mu‘in. ‘Today I shall have you executed in spite of all the people of Basra, without any thought for the consequences. Let Time do what it wants, for I shall not listen to your advice but rather to the words of another poet:
Let the days act as they will; be content with your present fate.
How well another poet has written:
He who outlives his enemy by a day has won his heart’s desire.’
Al-Mu‘in then ordered his servants to place Nur al-Din on the back of a mule. They were unhappy with this order and said to Nur al-Din: ‘Let us stone this man and cut him to pieces, even if this costs us our lives.’ ‘No, never,’ replied Nur al-Din. ‘Have you not heard what the poet said:
Inevitably I have an allotted time to live,
And when its days are finished, I shall die.
Were lions to drag me to their lair,
They could not end my life, if time were still assigned to me.’
As Nur al-Din was being led along, it was proclaimed: ‘This is the least of requitals for those who invent lies against kings.’ They continued to lead him around Basra until they halted with him under the window of the palace and set him on the execution mat. The executioner came up to him and said: ‘Master, I am a slave acting under orders in this matter. If you have any needs, let me know so that I may fulfil them for you, as your life must end when the sultan shows his face from that window.’ Nur al-Din looked right and left, before and behind, and then recited:
I see the sword, the swordsman and the mat,
And I lament humiliation and my great misfortune.
Do I see no compassionate friend to give me help?
I have asked you; now reply to me.
The span of my life is over and my death is near.
Will none show mercy and win God’s reward for this,
Looking at my plight, relieving my distress
With a drink of water, to lessen my suffering?
The people wept for him and the executioner brought a drink of water which he was offering to him when al-Mu‘in rose from his place and dashed the jug from his hand, breaking it. He shouted to the executioner, ordering him to strike off Nur al-Din’s head. Nur al-Din was blindfolded and the people were in uproar, shouting at al-Mu‘in. Then there was a tumultuous noise and the people all turned to each other, wondering what to do. While they were in this state of confusion, suddenly a dust cloud could be seen rising and filling the sky and the open country. The sultan, sitting in his palace, noticed it and told his servants to find out what was happening. ‘First, let us execute this man,’ said al-Mu‘in, but the sultan told him to wait until they had learned the news.
The dust was that of Ja‘far the Barmecide, the caliph’s vizier, who was riding with his retinue. The reason for his coming was that the caliph had spent thirty days without thinking of the story of Nur al-Din and without being reminded of it by anyone. Then, one night he came to Anis al-Jalis’s room where he heard her sobbing and reciting in a beautiful and charming voice the lines of the poet:
Whether you are far from me or near,
Your image never leaves me, and your name
Is never absent from my tongue.
She then wept even more, and when the caliph opened the door of her room, he saw her sitting there in tears. When she caught sight of him, she threw herself on the ground, kissed his feet three times and recited:
You of pure race, well-born,
Well-planted, ripe and fruitful branch,
I remind you of the promise that you made,
In your great generosity. God forbid that you forget!
‘Who are you?’ asked the caliph. ‘I am the gift given you by Nur al-Din ‘Ali and I want you to fulfil the promise that you made me, when you said that you would send me to him with a letter of appointment. Thirty days have now passed, during which I have not tasted sleep.’ At that, the caliph summoned Ja‘far and said: ‘For thirty days I have heard no news of Nur al-Din, and I cannot but think that the sultan may have killed him. I swear by my head and by the graves of my fathers and my forefathers, if any harm has been done to him, I shall destroy whoever caused it, even if he were my dearest friend. I want you to go at once to Basra and to find out what the sultan has done with Nur al-Din. If you spend any longer away than the length of the journey warrants, I will cut off your head. You are to tell my cousin, the sultan, the story of Nur al-Din, and that I sent him off with a letter from me. If you find that he has done anything other than what I ordered in my letter, then you are to bring him and al-Mu‘in in whatever state you find them, and you are not to be away for any longer than the journey requires.’ ‘To hear is to obey,’ replied Ja‘far.
The vizier made his preparations immediately and travelled to Basra, where news of his coming preceded him to the sultan. When he arrived, he noticed the disturbance and the thronging crowds. He asked what the matter was and was told about Nur al-Din. When he heard this, he hurried to the sultan and explained his errand, adding that if Nur al-Din had come to any harm, the caliph would execute whoever was responsible. He then arrested both the sultan and al-Mu‘in, keeping them confined, while he ordered the release of Nur al-Din, whom he installed as the new ruler.
Ja‘far stayed in Basra for three days, this being the fixed period for hospitality, and on the morning of the fourth day, Nur al-Din turned to him and said: ‘I should like to see the Commander of the Faithful.’ Ja‘far instructed the ex-sultan, Muhammad ibn Sulaiman al-Zaini, to make ready to leave, telling him that they would set out for Baghdad after the morning prayer, to which Muhammad replied: ‘To hear is to obey.’ After the prayer, they all started off, taking with them al-Mu‘in, who was beginning to regret what he had done. Nur al-Din rode beside Ja‘far and they went on to Baghdad, the House of Peace, where they came into the caliph’s presence. When the caliph was told about
Nur al-Din and how he had been found on the point of death, he went up to him and said: ‘Take this sword and cut off the head of your enemy.’ Nur al-Din took the sword and advanced towards al-Mu‘in, who looked at him and said: ‘I acted according to my nature, so do you act according to yours.’ Nur al-Din then threw away the sword, looked at the caliph and said: ‘He has got round me by these words.’ Then he recited:
When he came, he deceived me by a trick;
The noble man is deceived by soft words.
‘Leave him, then,’ said the caliph and, turning to Masrur, he said: ‘Masrur, do you cut off his head,’ at which Masrur rose and beheaded al-Mu‘in. The caliph then promised to grant Nur al-Din a wish. ‘Master,’ he replied, ‘I have no need of the sultanate of Basra. My only wish is to have the honour of serving you and to see your face.’ The caliph willingly granted his request and he then sent for Anis al-Jalis. When she came, he showered gifts on them both, gave them one of the palaces of Baghdad and assigned them allowances. Nur al-Din was made one of his boon companions, and he stayed with him, enjoying the most pleasurable of lives until the time of his death.
‘This story,’ said Shahrazad, ‘is no more remarkable than that of the merchant and his sons.’ ‘How is that?’ asked the king. ‘I have heard, O auspicious king,’ she replied, ‘that once upon a time there was a wealthy merchant who had a son like the full moon, with an eloquent tongue, named Ghanim ibn Ayyub, known as the slave of love, whose wits had been stolen away. Ghanim had a sister named Fitna, who was unique in her beauty. Their father died, leaving them great wealth.’
The Arabian Nights: Tales of 1,001 Nights: Volume 1 Page 38