Morning now dawned and Shahrazad broke off from what she had been allowed to say. Then, when it was the hundred and ninety-third night, SHE CONTINUED:
I have heard, O fortunate king, that the duenna said: ‘My lady, don’t joke with me like this; it goes beyond all bounds and might cost us our lives, for if it came to your father’s ears, who could save us from him?’ ‘There was a young man sleeping with me last night,’ insisted the princess, ‘and he was one of the most handsome of men.’ ‘May you keep your wits,’ said the old woman. ‘There was nobody with you here last night.’
At that point, the princess looked at her hand and found on her finger Qamar al-Zaman’s ring, while she could not find her own. She said to her duenna: ‘Damn you, you miserable traitress! Do you lie to me and tell me that there was nobody here with me last night, perjuring yourself before God?’ ‘By God,’ replied the duenna, ‘I have not lied to you or perjured myself.’ Budur in a fury then drew a sword that she had by her and with this she struck the woman and killed her. At that, the eunuch, the slave girls and the king’s concubines cried out against her and, going to her father, they told him of the state that she was in. He went immediately to see his daughter and asked her what the matter was. ‘Father,’ she asked, ‘where is the young man who slept beside me last night?’ Then she went out of her mind and started to roll her eyes right and left, after which she tore her robe from top to bottom. When her father saw this, he told the slave girls to restrain her, which they did, fettering her and placing an iron chain round her neck which was fastened to the palace window. They then left her.
So much for her, but as for her father, King al-Ghayur, when he saw what had happened to his daughter, his heart was constricted by sorrow, as his love for her meant that he could not easily deal with the situation. He had the doctors, astrologers and devisers of talismans brought to him, and he then promised his daughter’s hand in marriage together with half of his kingdom to whoever could cure her, although he added: ‘If anyone approaches her but fails in this, I will cut off his head and fix it to the palace gate.’ Those who did fail were executed and their heads fixed to the gate until the princess had cost forty doctors their heads and forty astrologers had been crucified. No one would approach her any longer, no doctor was capable of curing her, and the problem baffled the wise men and the masters of talismans.
As for the princess, she was suffering from an excess of passion and was ravaged by the pangs of love, as a result of which she shed tears and recited:
You who are my moon, my love for you is my antagonist;
Your memory keeps me company in the dark of night.
I pass the night with fire burning within my ribs,
Its heat rivalling the fire of hell.
I am afflicted by an excess of burning passion
Whose torture has become excruciating for me.
She then sighed and went on:
I send greetings to lovers, wherever they may be,
And my wishes are directed towards my love.
My greetings to them are not those of one who says farewell;
They are frequent and their numbers still increase.
I love you and I love your lands,
But I am far from that which I desire.
When the princess had finished her recitation, she wept until her eyes became inflamed and her cheeks changed colour, and she stayed like that for three years.
Princess Budur had a foster brother named Marzuwan who had been absent all this time on a journey to the farthest parts of the lands. His affection for the princess was greater than the love of brothers and when he came back, he went to his mother and asked her about his sister. ‘My son,’ replied his mother, ‘your sister has gone mad and for three years she has had an iron chain around her neck, as none of the doctors or the wise men have been able to cure her.’ When Marzuwan heard this, he said: ‘I must go to see her in the hope of finding out what is wrong with her, so that I may be able to cure her.’ His mother agreed to this, but told him to wait until next day to give her time to think of a way to help him.
She then walked to Budur’s palace and met the eunuch who was acting as doorkeeper, to whom she gave a present. She told him: ‘I have a married daughter who was brought up with Princess Budur. When Budur suffered this misfortune, my daughter felt for her, and I want you, of your kindness, to let her come to visit her for an hour and then to go back home without anyone knowing about it.’ ‘That could only be done at night,’ said the eunuch, ‘but when the king leaves after his visit to his daughter, you may take her in.’
The old woman kissed the eunuch’s hand and went home. She waited until the following evening, and then, when the time had come, she got up immediately and took her son Marzuwan, whom she had dressed in women’s clothes. Holding his hand in hers, she brought him to the palace, going on until she had taken him to the eunuch after the king had left Budur’s room. When the eunuch saw her, he stood up and told her to go in, but not to sit there too long. The old woman took her son in, and when he saw the state in which Budur was, he greeted her after his mother had removed his woman’s dress. He then brought out some books that he had with him and, after lighting a candle, he recited some formulae of exorcism. Budur looked at him and, recognizing him, she said: ‘We have heard no news of you, brother, since you went on your travels.’ ‘That is true,’ he replied, ‘but God has brought me back safely. I was going to make a second trip but I was stopped by what I heard about you. I was so distressed that I have come to see whether I can rescue you from this condition.’ ‘Brother,’ she said, ‘do you suppose that what has come over me is madness?’ ‘Yes,’ he said, to which she replied: ‘By God, it is not that but, rather, it is as the poet put it:
They said: “Your beloved has driven you mad.”
I told them: “Only the mad can savour life’s delight.
The lover will never recover while he lives,
And love will instantly overthrow the maddened lover.
Yes, I am mad, so bring me the one who caused my madness,
And if he cures it, then do not blame me.” ’
Realizing that she was in love, Marzuwan said: ‘Tell me the story of what has happened to you, as I may be able to do something to help you.’
Morning now dawned and Shahrazad broke off from what she had been allowed to say. Then, when it was the hundred and ninety-fourth night, SHE CONTINUED:
I have heard, O fortunate king, that Marzuwan told Budur: ‘Tell me the story of what has happened to you, as it may be that God will enable me to to rescue you.’
‘Listen to my tale, then, brother,’ said Budur. ‘I woke from my sleep in the last third of the night and when I sat up, I saw beside me a young man of indescribable beauty, like a branch of the ban tree or a shoot of bamboo. I thought that it must have been my father who had told him to come in order to tempt me, for he had tried to induce me to marry when the kings had asked him for my hand and I had refused. It was this suspicion that kept me from waking the young man up, for I was afraid that if I did anything or embraced him, he might tell my father. Then, in the morning, I found his ring on my finger in place of my own, which he must have taken from me. This is my story and the reason for my madness. From the moment that I saw him, my heart has been his and because of the depth of my love and my passion, I have not tasted sleep or concerned myself with anything apart from tears, weeping and the reciting of poetry by night and by day.’ Then, through her tears, she recited these lines:
Since I fell in love, are there pleasures to be enjoyed,
While that gazelle is pasturing on lovers’ hearts?
He sets no store by lovers’ blood;
In him the heart of the emaciated lover melts away.
Because of him, I am jealous of my eyes and thoughts,
And one part of me keeps watch over another.
The arrows of his eyelids strike and pierce the heart.
Shall I see my beloved before my death,
Whi
le in this world I still have some life left?
I hide away his secret but my tears
Betray my love, of which the watcher learns.
The nearness of his union is far from me;
While he is distant, memories are close.
The princess then said to Marzuwan: ‘Brother, see what you can do to help me in my misfortune.’ For a time, he kept his head bent towards the ground, not knowing, in his astonishment, what to do. He then looked up and said: ‘I am sure that all this really happened to you, but the affair of the young man baffles me. So I shall explore all the lands to seek a cure for you. It may be that God will allow me to succeed, but you will have to be patient and not become anxious.’ He then took his leave of her, urging her to remain steadfast, and as he left, she recited these lines:
Distant you may be, but your phantom comes
As a familiar visitor to my heart,
And wishes bring you close; the lightning flash
Is slow when set against perceptive thought.
Do not stay far from me, light of my eyes,
For if you do, no light can then anoint them.
Marzuwan walked to his mother’s house, where he slept that night. In the morning, he made his preparations for travel, moving from city to city and from island to island for a whole month, before reaching a city called al-Tayrab. He walked around it, sniffing out news, in the hope of finding a cure for the princess. Up till then, whenever he entered a city or passed by one, the reports he heard were that she had gone mad. In al-Tayrab, he was told that Qamar al-Zaman, King Shahriman’s son, was ill and was affected by a melancholy madness. Marzuwan asked the name of his city and was told that he lived in the Khalidan Islands, a full month’s journey by sea from al-Tayrab, while by land the journey would take six months. Accordingly, he embarked on a ship that was sailing there, and after a month’s voyage with a favourable wind the ship was close to its destination. Just then, however, when all that it had to do was to put to shore, a storm wind blew up, which dismasted it and tore the sails which collapsed into the sea, so that the ship with all its contents was overturned.
Morning now dawned and Shahrazad broke off from what she had been allowed to say. Then, when it was the hundred and ninety-fifth night, SHE CONTINUED:
I have heard, O fortunate king, that when this happened, every man tried to save himself, while as for Marzuwan, he was swept on by the waves until he came beneath Qamar al-Zaman’s royal palace. As had been fated, this was the day on which Shahriman’s courtiers and state officials were in the habit of meeting to present their services. The king himself was seated with his son’s head in his lap, while a eunuch was driving away the flies. For two days past, Qamar al-Zaman had not spoken or eaten, nor had he drunk anything, and he was now thinner than a spindle. The vizier was standing at his feet near the window that overlooked the sea. He looked out and saw Marzuwan struggling on the point of death with the current. Feeling pity for him, the vizier went up to the king and said: ‘Your majesty, I ask your permission to go down to the palace courtyard and open the gate in order to rescue a drowning man and save him from his difficulties. If I do this, it may be that God will save your son from his own predicament.’ ‘Vizier,’ replied the king, ‘my son has suffered enough for you and because of you. If you bring in this drowning man, he will discover what is going on here and, on seeing the state my son is in, he will gloat over my misfortune. I swear by God that if he comes and sees my son and then goes away and tells our secrets to anyone at all, I shall cut off your head before I cut off his, for it is you who are responsible for what has happened to us from beginning to end. But do what you want.’
The vizier went and opened the postern gate of the palace leading to the sea, and after taking twenty paces down the causeway, he went out into the sea. Seeing Marzuwan on the point of death, he reached out his hand towards him, grasped him by the hair and pulled him out of the water. Marzuwan was half dead, his belly full of water and his eyes protruding, but the vizier waited until he had recovered consciousness and then took off his clothes, giving him others to wear and providing him with one of his servant’s turbans. He then said: ‘Know that I have saved you from drowning, so take care not to cause my death and your own.’
Morning now dawned and Shahrazad broke off from what she had been allowed to say. Then, when it was the hundred and ninety-sixth night, SHE CONTINUED:
I have heard, O fortunate king, that when the vizier saved Marzuwan, he said: ‘Know that I have saved you from drowning, so take care not to cause my death and your own.’ ‘How is that?’ asked Marzuwan. ‘You are now about to go up and move among emirs and viziers, all of whom are keeping silent and saying nothing for the sake of the king’s son, Qamar al-Zaman.’ When Marzuwan heard him mention Qamar al-Zaman, he realized that this was the man about whom he had been hearing throughout the lands and for whom he had come in search. He pretended ignorance, however, asking the vizier who Qamar al-Zaman might be. The vizier replied: ‘He is the son of King Shahriman; he is ill and bedridden, but restless, and he neither eats, drinks or sleeps by night or by day. He is close to his end; we have despaired of his life and are certain that he is about to die. Take care not to look at him for any length of time or to look anywhere except at your feet, for otherwise your life and mine will be forfeited.’ ‘By God, vizier,’ said Marzuwan, ‘I hope that, of your kindness, you will tell me why it is that this young man whom you have described for me has fallen into such a state.’ ‘I don’t know the reason,’ said the vizier, ‘but three years ago his father asked him to marry and he refused. His father became angry and shut him up and then next morning he claimed that, while lying in bed, he had seen by his side a lovely girl of indescribable beauty. He told us that he had exchanged the ring on her finger for his own. We don’t know the real meaning of this tale, but for God’s sake, my son, when you come up to the palace with me, don’t look at the prince but go on your way, for the king is very angry with me.’
‘By God,’ said Marzuwan to himself, ‘this is the one I have been looking for.’ He then followed the vizier up to the palace, where the vizier took his seat at Qamar al-Zaman’s feet. Marzuwan walked straight up to stand in front of him, gazing at him. The vizier almost died of fear and started to look at Marzuwan and to wink at him, trying to get him to go. Marzuwan, for his part, ignored him and kept on looking until he was certain that here was the object of his search.
Morning now dawned and Shahrazad broke off from what she had been allowed to say. Then, when it was the hundred and ninety-seventh night, SHE CONTINUED:
I have heard, O fortunate king, that Marzuwan looked at Qamar al-Zaman and realized that here was the object of his search. ‘Glory be to God,’ he exclaimed, ‘who has given him a figure like hers, cheeks like her cheeks and the same complexion.’ Qamar al-Zaman opened his eyes and listened to what Marzuwan was saying, and when Marzuwan saw this, he recited the following verses:
You are emotional, I see, a prey to melodious sorrow,
Swayed by accounts of beauties.
Is it love or arrows that have wounded you?
For you are like a wounded man.
Come, then, pour wine and sing for me
Of Sulaima, Rabab, Tan‘um.
There is many a sun produced by grapes
Whose zodiacal sign is in the depth of the wine jug,
Rising with the cupbearer and setting in my mouth.
I am jealous of the clothes she wears,
Which she puts on over her tender skin.
I envy cups that kiss her mouth,
Set to her lips, where kisses should be placed.
You should not think a sword thrust has killed me;
I have been shot by arrows from her eyes.
We met and I found that the fingers she had dyed
Were like the juice pressed from the ‘andam tree.
I asked: ‘Did you dye your hands after I left?
Is this how to reward the passionate slave of love?’
With the words of one who does not hide her love:
‘By your life, this is not dye that I have used;
Do not suspect me falsely, without cause.
When I saw you set off, you who had been
My arm, my hand, my wrist, I wept
With tears of blood at parting, wiping them with my hand,
And so my fingers became red with blood.’
Had I forestalled her tears with my own tears of love,
I would have cured myself before feeling remorse,
But she wept first. Her weeping prompted mine;
I said: ‘Merit is his who is the first to act.
The Arabian Nights: Tales of 1,001 Nights: Volume 1 Page 96