The Arabian Nights: Tales of 1,001 Nights

by vol 02 (tr Malcolm C

  Morning now dawned and Shahrazad broke off from what she had been allowed to say. Then, when it was the three hundred and seventy-third night, SHE CONTINUED:

  I have heard, O fortunate king, that when the vizier had told his wife about al-Ward, he asked for her advice. ‘Wait till I pray to ask for God’s help,’ she told him, a prayer which she then performed with two raka‘s.

  When she had finished, she told her husband: ‘In the middle of the Sea of Treasures there is a mountain called “the Mountain of the Mother Who Lost Her Child” ’ – for a reason that will be given later – ‘which can only be reached with difficulty. That is where to put her.’ The vizier agreed that they should build a strong castle for their daughter on that mountain, deliver supplies there year by year and give her attendants to keep her company and wait on her. He collected carpenters, builders and architects whom he sent to the mountain, and there they built a well-fortified castle whose like had never been seen. He then prepared provisions and travelling equipment, after which he went at night to visit his daughter and told her that she was to go on a journey. Her heart warned her that she was to be separated from her beloved, and when she went out and saw the preparations that had been made for travel, she wept bitterly and wrote a message on the door to tell Uns al-Wujud of the depth of her passion, a message that would make the hairs rise on his skin, melt solid rock, and cause tears to flow. These were the lines:

  By God, dwelling, if the beloved passes in the morning

  And gestures with a lover’s salutation,

  Return from me a pure and fragrant greeting.

  Where I shall be in the evening I do not know.

  I have no knowledge of where I am to go;

  They took me off quickly and secretly,

  Sheltered by night. The woodland birds,

  Roosting on their branches, weep and lament for me.

  The tongue of silence cries out: ‘Woe

  For lovers’ bitter parting!’

  I saw that the cups of separation had been filled,

  And Time was forcing me to drink its unmixed wine.

  I mixed this with the virtue of patience, excusing myself,

  But patience cannot now console me for your loss.

  When she had finished writing this, she mounted and rode off with her escort, crossing open country, deserts, and smooth and rough ground until they reached the Sea of Treasures, by whose shore they pitched camp. They then prepared a large boat for her, on which both she and her household embarked. Her escort’s instructions were that, when they had reached the mountain and brought their passengers to the castle, they were to sail back in the boat, disembark and then break it up. They set out and did as they were ordered, but on their way back they were shedding tears over what had happened.

  So much for them, but as for Uns al-Wujud, after waking up and performing the morning prayer, he mounted and set off to present his services to the king. He followed his usual route by the vizier’s door, where he hoped that he might see some of the vizier’s servants as he had been in the habit of doing. When he looked at the door, there written on it he saw the lines that have already been quoted. He became distraught, his entrails were consumed by fire, and although he went home, he could find no rest and no powers of endurance. He waited, a prey to distress and passion, until nightfall and then, without telling anyone, he went out in disguise at dead of night, wandering aimlessly without knowing where he was going.

  He travelled all night and part of the next day until the mountains burned in the fierce heat of the sun and he was oppressed by thirst. Catching sight of a tree, beside which there was a stream of running water, he made for it and sat down in its shade by the bank of the stream. He wanted to drink, but he could not taste the water in his mouth; his colour had changed; his face was yellow and the exertion of walking had made his feet swell. He wept bitterly and through his tears he recited these lines:

  Passion for the beloved makes the lover drunk;

  With each increase the sweeter it becomes.

  Here is a wandering lover, led astray by love;

  He has no refuge or provisions for his cheer.

  What pleasure does life bring for such a one

  Parted from his loved ones? That would be strange indeed.

  My passion for them melts me with its fire;

  My cheeks are flooded by my tears.

  Shall I catch sight of them or find someone

  From their spring camping grounds to cure my wretched heart?

  When he had finished these lines he wept until the ground was dampened by his tears, after which he got up quickly and left the place. As he was walking through the wastes, he suddenly found himself confronted by a lion. Its neck seemed smothered by its mane, its head was as big as a dome, its mouth wider than a door and it had teeth like an elephant’s tusks. When he saw this beast, he felt sure that he was as good as dead and, turning towards Mecca, he recited the confession of faith and prepared for death. But he had read in books that a lion would allow itself to be deceived by flattering words and would be pleased by praise, and so he started to address it, saying: ‘Lion of the forest, lord of the open lands, terrible hunter, father of fighters, sovereign of the wild beasts, I am a lover moved by longing and slain by separation from my beloved. When I parted from her, I went out of my mind, so listen to my words and pity the torments of my love.’ When the lion heard this, it drew back and sat on its haunches, raising its head towards Uns al-Wujud and making playful gestures to him with its tail and its paws.

  When he saw that, he recited these lines:

  Lion of the desert, would you kill me now,

  Before I meet the one whose love has captured me?

  I am no prey for you; there is no fat on me;

  And my beloved’s loss has made me ill.

  Parting from her has worn me down;

  And I am now a shape wrapped in a shroud.

  Abu Harith, lion of the fights,

  Do not make censurers crow over me in my grief.

  I am a lover drowned in my own tears;

  Parting from my loved one has wracked me with distress.

  In the dark night I only think of her,

  So I forget that, for all my love, I do still live.

  When Uns al-Wujud had finished reciting these lines, the lion got up and walked towards him…

  Morning now dawned and Shahrazad broke off from what she had been allowed to say. Then, when it was the three hundred and seventy-fourth night, SHE CONTINUED:

  I have heard, O fortunate king, that when Uns al-Wujud had finished reciting these lines, the lion got up and walked towards him in a gentle manner, its eyes brimming with tears, and when it reached him, it licked him and walked in front of him, gesturing as if to say ‘follow me’. Uns al-Wujud did this and for some time the lion walked on with him at its heels until it had led him up a mountain and then down it again to where he saw footprints in the desert, and these he recognized as belonging to the people who had taken al-Ward. He followed the tracks and when the lion saw this and realized that it was the trail of his beloved’s escort, it went off on its way.

  As for Uns al-Wujud, he walked on for several days and nights until the trail led him to the shore of a sea noisy with the sound of breaking waves, and there it broke off. He realized that those he was pursuing must have put out to sea and, as he had no hope of following them, he shed tears and recited these lines:

  The loved ones are far away and I cannot endure;

  How can I walk to them over the sea depths?

  How can I bear it? My inmost parts have been destroyed

  Through love for them; sleep turns to wakefulness.

  From that day when they journeyed from their lands,

  My heart has been consumed with blazing fire.

  My tears flow like Saihun, Jaihun and the Euphrates,

  Pouring more copiously than any flood of rain.

  Because of them my eyelids fill with sores;

  My heart is burned
by sparks from the fires of love.

  Armies of love and longing have launched their assault,

  While the army of my patience is broken in retreat.

  I have risked my life as a sacrifice to their love,

  And this to me was the least of all my risks.

  May God not hold it wrong that my eyes lighted on

  That beauty which is more splendid than the moon.

  I have been cast down by the wide-eyed girls

  Whose arrows struck my heart, but needed no bow-string.

  She deceived me with the softness of her pliancy,

  As supple as the ban tree’s branch.

  I hoped for the grant of union to help me

  In the sorrowful and distressing paths of love,

  But I stayed there, a prey to grief,

  And all I suffer is from the magic of her glance.

  On finishing these lines he wept until he fainted, only recovering consciousness a long time later. He looked right and left but could see no one on the shore. As he was afraid of being attacked by wild beasts, he climbed a high hill and while he was there he heard the sound of a human voice coming from a cave. He listened and discovered that this was a hermit who had abandoned the world and devoted himself to worship. He knocked thrice at the door of the cave, but the hermit neither answered nor came out to him. So he sighed deeply and recited these lines:

  How can I travel to my goal,

  Leaving behind my care, distress and weariness?

  Terrors of every kind have bleached my heart,

  Together with my hair, young as I am.

  I have found no helper in my love,

  No friend to lighten passion and distress.

  How long am I to struggle with this passionate love?

  Fortune, it seems, has turned against me now.

  Pity an ardent lover in distress,

  Who drank the cup of separation and abandonment.

  His entrails consumed by his heart’s fire;

  The pain of parting robbed him of his wits.

  How terrible was the day I reached her house

  And saw what there was written on the door.

  I watered the earth distractedly with tears,

  Hiding my plight from strangers and those near to me.

  Hermit who shelters in your cave,

  Perhaps you tasted love and then were carried off.

  But after all this pain and difficulty,

  Were I to reach my goal, care and trouble would be forgotten.

  When he finished his poem, the door of the cave opened. He heard someone uttering words of sympathy and went in to greet the hermit, who returned his greeting and asked him his name. ‘My name is Uns al-Wujud,’ he replied, and when the hermit then asked why he had come there, he told him the whole story from beginning to end in all its details. The hermit shed tears and said: ‘I have been here for twenty years and until yesterday I had never seen a single soul, but then I heard the noise of weeping and appeals for help. I looked towards the source of the sounds and I saw a large group of people, as well as tents that had been set up by the shore. The people launched a boat in which a number of them embarked and put out to sea. Later some of them brought the boat back, and after breaking it up they set off on their way. I imagine that those who made the outward journey and did not return are the ones you are looking for. If that is so, then you have great cause for distress, and your behaviour is to be excused. But there has never been a lover who has not had to endure sorrows.’

  He then recited these lines:

  Uns al-Wujud, you may think me free from care,

  But longing and passion twist and untwist me,

  As from my earliest days I have known love,

  Ever since I used to be a suckling child.

  I have pursued it for years, coming to know it well,

  And if you ask it about me, it knows me too.

  I drank the cup of passion, with its anguish and its grief,

  And it has wasted me away, so thin as I am now.

  Once I was strong, but my strength is no more;

  The army of my endurance was destroyed,

  Crushed by the swords her glances wield.

  No union without harshness is found in your love;

  For opposites face each other throughout Time,

  And passion has forbidden all who love

  To seek the seditious heresy of forgetfulness.

  When the hermit finished reciting these lines, Uns al-Wujud got up and embraced him…

  Nights 375 to 394

  Morning now dawned and Shahrazad broke off from what she had been allowed to say. Then, when it was the three hundred and seventy-fifth night, SHE CONTINUED:

  I have heard, O fortunate king, that when the hermit finished reciting these lines, Uns al-Wujud got up and embraced him and they wept together until the hills resounded to the sound of their laments. This went on until they both fell unconscious, and when they recovered, they swore an oath of brotherhood in the sight of Almighty God. The hermit then told Uns al-Wujud that in his prayers that night he would ask for God’s guidance as to what should be done, and to this Uns al-Wujud agreed.

  So much for him, but as for al-Ward, when her escort brought her to the mountain and took her into the castle, she wept to see it and to see the preparations that had been made there, saying: ‘By God, this is a lovely place, but it lacks the presence of the beloved in it.’ On the island she noticed birds and she told one of her attendants to trap them in snares and to put every one he caught in cages inside the castle, which he did. She then sat by a window and thought over what had happened to her. This added to her passionate longing and, with tears falling, she recited these lines:

  To whom can I complain of the passion that I feel,

  Of my sorrows and of my parting from my love?

  A fire burns here between my ribs,

  But I hide it for fear of those who watch.

  I have become thin as a tooth-pick now,

  Through parting, burning love and lamentations.

  Where is my love, that he might look and see

  How I have now become a leafless tree?

  They have wronged me by hiding me away

  In a place where the beloved cannot come.

  I send a thousand greetings with the sun,

  Both when it rises and then when it sets,

  To my beloved, whose beauty shames the moon

  When he appears, more slender than a branch.

  I tell the rose that tries to match his cheek:

  ‘You don’t resemble it unless you’re mine,’*

  While the cool moisture of his mouth

  Would chill the heat of burning fire.

  How can I forget you, heart and soul of mine,

  Who brings me sickness but are my doctor and my love?

  Later, in the darkness of night, in the throes of passion, remembering what she had lost, she recited:

  The night is dark and lovesickness galls me;

  Desire excites the pain from which I suffer.

  The anguish of parting is fixed within my heart;

  I am reduced to nothing by my cares.

  Passion distracts me; longing consumes me,

  And tears reveal the secret I would hide.

  I do not know how to deal with this love,

  Because of feebleness, weakness and pain.

  My heart is a hell of burning flame,

  Whose blazing heat tortures my inner parts.

  I could not bring myself to say farewell

  On the day they left. Alas for my sorrow and for my regret!

  You who tell them of my plight, it is enough

  That I endure what is written for me by the pen of fate.

  By God, I shall never break my compact to love them;

  The oaths of love are to be held sacred.

  Night, greet those I love, and let them know,

  As you yourself can witness, that I have not slept.

  So much for al-Ward
fi’l-Akmam, but as for Uns al-Wujud, the hermit instructed him to go down into the valley and to fetch him some palm-tree fibres, which he did, and the hermit then plaited them into the kind of net that is used for carrying straw. Next he told Uns al-Wujud that within the valley there were marrows which would grow up and then wither on their roots. Uns al-Wujud was to fill the net with these marrows, tie it up, put it into the water, board it and then head out for the open sea. ‘It may be,’ the hermit told him, ‘that in this way you will get what you seek, for it is only by risking your life that you can reach your goal.’ ‘To hear is to obey,’ said Uns al-Wujud.

  He then left, with the hermit’s blessing, to carry out these instructions, and after travelling through the valley he did what he had been told. When he had got out to sea with his net, a wind rose and carried it along until he was out of the hermit’s sight. He continued to float, riding on the crest of a wave one moment and the next carried down into its trough, confronted by the wonders and perils of the sea, until after three days fate cast him up on the Mountain of the Mother Who Lost Her Child. He landed weak and giddy as a fledgling, distressed by hunger and thirst, but on the island he discovered streams of running water, birds singing on the branches and fruit trees growing either singly or in pairs. After eating some of the fruits and drinking from the streams, he started to walk, when in the distance he saw something white and carried on until he reached it. It turned out to be, as he discovered, a strongly fortified castle, whose gate, when he got to it, he found to be shut.