Some time later her father died and news of this was brought to the caliph. He went dejectedly to the girl, and when she saw his gloom she got up, went to her room and stripped off her finery, exchanging it for mourning clothes. She raised a lament and when she was asked the reason for this, she said: ‘My father is dead.’ Her attendants went to tell this to the caliph, and he got up and went to ask her who had told her. ‘Your face, Commander of the Faithful,’ she replied, and when he asked how that was, she said: ‘Since I have been with you, this is the only time that I have seen you looking like this. Because of my father’s age he was the only one for whom I was afraid, but may you be granted life, Commander of the Faithful.’ His eyes filled with tears and he tried to console her for her loss. She stayed grieving for her father for some time, and then she joined him, may God have mercy on them both.
A story is also told that Harun al-Rashid, the Commander of the Faithful, being unable to sleep one night, got out of bed and began to walk from room to room but only became more and more restless. In the morning he ordered al-Asma‘i to be fetched. A eunuch went to the gatekeepers to pass on the caliph’s orders, and when al-Asma‘i came, the caliph was told. He ordered al-Asma‘i to be admitted, and welcomed him, telling him to be seated. Then he said: ‘I want you to tell me the best stories that you have heard about women’s poetry.’ ‘To hear is to obey,’ al-Asma‘i replied, and he went on: ‘I have heard a great deal, but there are only three verses, recited by three girls, that I admire.’
Morning now dawned and Shahrazad broke off from what she had been allowed to say. Then, when it was the six hundred and eighty-seventh night, SHE CONTINUED:
I have heard, O fortunate king, that al-Asma‘i said: ‘Commander of the Faithful, I have heard a great deal of this poetry but there are only three verses, which were recited by three girls, that I admire.’ ‘Tell me about them,’ ordered the caliph. AL-ASMA‘I REPLIED:
You must know, Commander of the Faithful, that while I was spending a year in Basra, one day when it was too hot for me, I searched for a place in which to have a nap but without success. I looked right and left and then I caught sight of a vaulted passage that had been swept out and sprinkled with water. In it was a wooden bench under an open window from which came a scent of musk. I entered the passage and sat down on the bench, intending to sleep, when I heard the sweet voice of a girl saying: ‘Sisters, we are here today to enjoy each other’s company, so come, let us put down three hundred dinars and each of us will recite a couplet of poetry, with the dinars going to whoever produces the most attractive and beautiful couplet.’
They willingly agreed to this and the senior recited:
It would delight me if the beloved visited me in my sleep,
But were this while I was awake, it would be more delightful still.
Then the second recited:
It was the beloved’s phantom that came to me in my sleep,
And I welcomed it with the warmest of greetings.
The youngest then recited:
I would ransom with my family and my life the one who, every night,
Is my bedfellow, whose fragrance is more sweet than musk.
I said: ‘If her beauty matches that of this couplet, then this is perfection.’ I got down from the bench and was about to leave when a girl came out and told me to sit down. I went back again and she gave me a sheet of paper written in the most beautiful of hands, with straight alifs, hollowed has and rounded was. It ran as follows: ‘We write to tell the shaikh, may God prolong his days, that we are three sisters who have sat to enjoy each other’s company. We have put down three hundred dinars to be taken by whichever of us produces the most attractive and beautiful couplet. We have appointed you to judge the contest, so give your decision, peace be on you.’ I asked her to bring me paper and an inkstand and in a short time she brought me out a silver inkstand and gilt pens. So I wrote these lines:
I tell of three girls who once spoke together,
And my words are those of a tried and tested man.
The three of them are like the early dawn,
And in their power is the lover’s tortured heart.
As eyes slept, they were hidden away from sight,
Turning from one who kept his distance.
Then they revealed what they were hiding in their hearts,
Yes, and they took poetry as a playful game.
A loving girl, proud and high-born, smiled,
Showing a sweet mouth with well-spaced teeth,
And said: ‘It would delight me if the beloved visited me in my sleep,
But were this while I was awake, it would be more delightful still.’
Her ornate line had finished with a smile.
Then her successor took a breath and, with emotion, said:
‘It was the beloved’s phantom that came to me in my sleep,
And I welcomed it with the warmest of greetings.’
The youngest made the best reply.
In the most pleasant and delightful words:
‘I would ransom with my family and my life the one who, every night,
Is my bedfellow, whose fragrance is more sweet than musk.’
I thought over what they said, to give my judgement,
Leaving no grounds for mockery to the wise,
And gave my verdict to the youngest one,
As what she said was nearest to the mark.
I gave the sheet of paper to the girl, who went back up into the house, and this was followed by a hubbub of dancing and clapping. I told myself that this was no place for me and so I got down from the bench and was about to leave when the girl called to me, saying: ‘Sit down, al-Asma‘i.’ ‘Who told you that I was al-Asma‘i?’ I asked her, and she replied: ‘Shaikh, even if we did not know your name, we would recognize your verses.’ So I sat down again and the door opened as the first girl came out carrying a bowl of fruit and another of sweetmeats. I helped myself to both and expressed my thanks, after which I was about to leave when again the girl called to tell me to sit down. I looked up and saw a pink hand in a yellow sleeve, which looked to me like the full moon showing through clouds. She threw me a purse containing three hundred dinars and said: ‘These are mine, but I pass them to you as a gift because of the verdict that you gave.’
‘Why did you prefer the youngest?’ asked the caliph, and al-Asma‘i replied: ‘May God grant you long life, Commander of the Faithful. The eldest said: “It would delight me if the beloved visited me in my sleep,” which is a restricted condition that may or may not be fulfilled. The next greeted a phantom which visited her in her sleep, but the youngest recalled that she had really slept with her lover, whose scent she had found sweeter than that of musk and for whom she was prepared to ransom her family and her life. No one is prepared to offer their life except for those whom they find dearer than themselves.’ ‘Well done, al-Asma‘i!’ exclaimed the caliph, and he handed him another three hundred dinars in exchange for his tale.
A story is also told that Ishaq al-Mausili once asked al-Rashid to give him leave for a day so that he might be alone with his family and his friends, and al-Rashid allowed him to take Saturday off. ISHAQ SAID:
I went home and began to prepare what I needed in the way of food and drink, telling the doorkeepers to shut the doors and to allow no one in to see me. When I was in my sitting room surrounded by my women-folk, a handsome and venerable-looking old man entered, wearing white robes and a soft shirt with a shawl over his head and a silver-handled stick in his hand. He diffused a sweet scent that filled the house and the portico. I was very angry that he had been allowed in and I thought of dismissing the doorkeepers, but the newcomer greeted me with the greatest courtesy, and after I had returned his greeting I told him to sit down. When he was seated he started to tell me stories about the Arabs and their poetry until my anger cooled, and I thought that my servants must have tried to please me by letting in a man of such culture and wit. I asked him if he would like some food and he said tha
t he did not need any, but when I asked if he wanted wine, he replied: ‘That is up to you.’ I then drank a ratl and poured the same for him, after which he said: ‘Abu Ishaq, will you sing something so that I may listen to this artistry of yours in which you outdo high and low alike?’ This annoyed me, but I composed myself and struck up a tune on my lute to which I sang. He said: ‘Well done, Abu Ishaq,’ and this made me even more angry, as I said to myself: ‘This fellow is not content with what he has done already, coming in without leave and making brash requests, but now he uses my name without knowing how to address me properly.’
The man now said: ‘If you will sing some more, I will repay you.’ So I decided to take the trouble and, picking up the lute, I sang, trying to do my very best because he had mentioned repayment.
Morning now dawned and Shahrazad broke off from what she had been allowed to say. Then, when it was the six hundred and eighty-eighth night, SHE CONTINUED:
I have heard, O fortunate king, that the man now said: ‘If you will sing some more, I will repay you.’ ISHAQ WENT ON:
So I decided to take the trouble and, picking up the lute, I sang, trying to do my very best because he had mentioned repayment. He was delighted and said again: ‘Well done, sir.’ He then asked my permission to sing himself and, although I said: ‘Do what you want,’ I thought that he must be feeble-witted to sing in my presence after he had listened to my own singing. But he took the lute and fingered it and I swear that it seemed to me to be speaking the purest Arabic in a beautiful, melodious tone. He then began to sing the following lines:
My heart is wounded. Who will give me for it
Another heart that has no wound?
No one was ready to do such a deal,
For who would buy the unsound with the sound?
The longing in my heart has made me groan,
Like a drunken man, wounded by wine.
By God, I thought that the door, the walls and everything in the house were answering him and singing with him, so beautiful was his voice, and it seemed to me that I could hear my own limbs and my clothes responding to him. I was so stupefied that because of my emotion I could neither speak nor move.
He then sang these lines:
Doves of the winding valley, return again;
I am sad as I wait to hear your voices.
I nearly died as they flew back to the thicket,
And I almost gave away my secrets when they came.
As they call loudly to one who is not there,
It is as though they had drunk wine or had gone mad.
I have never seen the like of these;
They weep but their eyes pour down no tears.
Then he produced more lines:
Breeze of Nejd, when you move from Nejd,
Your passing adds to the passion that I feel.
In the shining light of morning a dove calls.
Perched on branches of the ban tree and the myrtle,
Lamenting as a boy who weeps for love,
Showing such longing as I have never shown.
Men say that when the lover is near his love,
He grows bored, and that distance is a cure for passion.
I have tried both, and neither one cured me,
But to be near is better than to be far,
Though how can nearness be of help
When the beloved feels no love?
The stranger then said: ‘Ibrahim, sing this song that you have heard and follow the same technique in your singing. Then teach it to your slave girls.’ ‘Sing it again to me,’ I told him, but he replied: ‘You don’t need to have it repeated, for you have already grasped it all.’ Then, to my astonishment, he vanished in front of my eyes. I got up to fetch a sword and, having drawn it, I went to the door leading to the women’s quarters, which I found locked. ‘What did you hear?’ I asked the slave girls, and they said: ‘We heard the most delightful and beautiful singing.’ In my bewilderment I went to the house door, but this too was locked and, when I asked the doorkeepers about the shaikh, they said: ‘What shaikh? By God, no one has come in today.’ I had gone back to think the matter over when a voice came to me from the side of the house, saying: ‘There is nothing to fear, Abu Ishaq. It was I, Abu Murra,* who was with you today, but there is no need to be frightened.’ So I went to al-Rashid and told him what had happened, and he said: ‘Sing over to me the songs that you learned from him.’ So I struck the lute and discovered that these songs were firmly fixed in my heart. They delighted al-Rashid and he started drinking as he listened, although he was not given to indulging himself in wine, and he said: ‘I wish that Abu Murra would give me the pleasure of his company for one day as he gave it to you.’ He then ordered me to be presented with a gift, which I took and left.
SHAHRAZAD CONTINUED:
A story is also told on the authority of Masrur the eunuch that one night the Commander of the Faithful, Harun al-Rashid, was very wakeful and told him to see which poets were waiting at his door. MASRUR SAID:
I went out to the anteroom and found Jamil ibn Ma‘mar al-‘Udhri, whom I told to obey the caliph’s summons. ‘To hear is to obey,’ he said. He then went in with me, and when he came into the caliph’s presence, he greeted him ceremoniously and the caliph returned his greeting, telling him to be seated. ‘Jamil,’ he then said, ‘have you any remarkable stories?’ ‘Yes indeed, Commander of the Faithful,’ replied Jamil. ‘Which would you prefer – things that I have seen with my own eyes or others that I have heard?’ ‘Tell me about something that you have seen yourself,’ the caliph said. ‘Certainly, Commander of the Faithful,’ answered Jamil, ‘but pay me your full attention as you listen.’ At that, al-Rashid took a pillow of red brocade embroidered with gold and stuffed with ostrich feathers which he placed under his thighs and on which he rested his elbows, before telling Jamil to start his tale.
Jamil began: ‘You must know, Commander of the Faithful, that I was once deeply in love with a girl, whom I would visit time after time…’
Morning now dawned and Shahrazad broke off from what she had been allowed to say. Then, when it was the six hundred and eighty-ninth night, SHE CONTINUED:
I have heard, O fortunate king, that when Harun reclined on a brocaded pillow, he told Jamil to begin his story. JAMIL BEGAN:
You must know, Commander of the Faithful, that I was once deeply in love with a girl, whom I would visit time after time, as she was all that I could ask for and desire in this world. Then lack of pasturage forced her family to move and I did not see her for a while. I was drawn towards her and my longing for her so disturbed me that I told myself that I should go to her. One night, spurred on by this emotion, I got up, saddled my she-camel, put on my turban and dressed myself in old clothes, taking with me my sword and my spear. I mounted and rode off on my quest, travelling fast. It was a very dark night when I started, but in spite of that I made myself ride down into valleys and up hills, listening to the roars of lions, the howling of wolves and the cries of wild beasts on every side. I was distracted and my wits were wandering, but I did not stop calling on the Name of Almighty God.
While I was riding like this I was overcome by sleep, and while I was drowsing my camel led me out of my way. Then suddenly something struck me on the head and I was startled awake to find myself surrounded by trees, with streams nearby and birds singing their various songs on the branches. The trees were so tightly packed together that I had to dismount and lead my camel with my hand on its reins, but I used all my skill to win free of them and eventually I came out on to open ground. There I straightened the saddle and remounted without knowing where I was going or where fate would lead me. As I looked out over the desert, I caught sight of a fire at the upper end of it and so, urging on the camel, I set off in its direction. When I looked from closer at hand I could see that a tent was pitched there and a spear stuck in the ground with a pennon fixed to it, while horses were standing beside it and camels were pasturing freely.
As there were no others tents in sig
ht, I said to myself that there must be something of great significance in this one, and so I went up to it and called: ‘People of the tent, peace be on you together with God’s mercy and His blessing.’ From the tent there then emerged a nineteen-year-old youth, like a shining full moon, with a look of high courage in his eyes. He returned my greeting and added: ‘I think that you must have lost your way.’ ‘That is so,’ I confirmed, and I asked him to direct me. ‘My Arab brother,’ he said, ‘our country is a haunt of lions and this is a dark, gloomy and cold night. I’m afraid that you might fall prey to wild beasts, so stay and relax with me and tomorrow I will set you on your way.’ I dismounted from my camel and hobbled it with the end of its rein before taking off the outer clothes that I was wearing. When I had been sitting there for some time, the young man went and slaughtered a sheep before lighting a bright fire. From the tent he then produced fine spices and good salt, and he began to carve pieces of meat, roast them on the fire and pass them to me. While he did so he was mixing sighs with tears, and then with a loud groan he wept bitterly and recited these lines:
Nothing remains to him but failing breath,
And a eye whose pupil has faded.
In every joint throughout his limbs,
Disease has taken a firm hold.
Tears flow and his entrails burn,
But still he stays without a word.
Enemies weep in pity for him;
Alas for one pitied by those who should gloat.
The Arabian Nights: Tales of 1,001 Nights Page 99