by Bruce Lansky
Medina checked the room, and finding none, reassured the sultan he had no cause for concern. But he told her, “Tell this to no one, for I do not wish others to think I fear snakes.”
Medina agreed, but the very next day the sultan found her discussing the matter with Jamal. Malik burned with rage. He stared harshly at Medina and shouted, “I am betrayed! Medina, I divorce you, I divorce you, I divorce you. Now go, return to the house of your father.”
Medina fled the palace in tears. Jamal confronted the sultan immediately. “O Great Sultan, rule forever. You know the law says a man can have only four wives. Already you have had three. You cannot keep divorcing every woman I bring you.”
“Who shall stop me?” Malik demanded, for his heart had grown cold. “I am the sultan. I make the laws. If I wish to marry every woman in the kingdom and divorce them all, I shall. Now go, find me a new wife.”
As Jamal left the palace to prepare for his journey, his heart grew heavy. He believed no woman could ever win the sultan’s heart. And so it was that word of the sultan’s foul temper spread throughout Persia faster than the grand vizier’s camel could carry him. And no woman would agree to marry the sultan because they all feared him.
Now, the grand vizier had two daughters of his own. The youngest, Dayana, was a simple young woman who enjoyed the ordinary tasks and pleasures of daily life and had no desire to live in a palace. But the grand vizier’s oldest daughter, Chardae, was not only beautiful and wise, but as independent as the wind. Several years ago she had run away to see the world.
So it was that when Jamal returned from his unsuccessful journey to find the sultan a fourth wife, he was greeted at the door by Dayana and Chardae who had recently returned from her travels. “Daughter, you have returned to me,” Jamal said joyfully when he saw her. He embraced her warmly. “Have you now come to your senses and given up your rebellious behavior?”
Chardae responded with a smile. “Father, you are the one who called me rebellious. I told you when I left that I wanted to see the world, and so I did. What is wrong with that?”
“But traveling alone is not allowed for a woman.”
“It’s a silly rule,” Chardae said. “Furthermore, I dressed as a man and traveled with a group of storytellers. I was never alone. Father, the sights I saw and the stories I could tell you of far-off lands and strange peoples would hold you spellbound many a night. But I can see you still do not approve, so I shall speak of it no more. I am not here to argue with you.”
“Then what has brought you back to me, little one?” Jamal asked.
“Word of the death of the sultan’s wife and the troubles it has brought the people of Persia reached me. How does the sultan fare?”
And so Jamal told his oldest daughter of his difficulty in finding the sultan a suitable wife. As he finished, he said, “And now I have failed in my duty to find someone enough like Kalila to please Malik.”
“Perhaps that is the reason for your failure, Father. I knew Kalila. She was her own person. No one could ever begin to match her.”
“Then what hope is there?” the grand vizier exclaimed.
“Do not worry,” Chardae replied. “I shall marry the sultan.”
“Have you lost all of your senses?” Jamal shouted. “You are nothing like his first wife! He’ll divorce you in an instant and then you shall be disgraced, just as the women before you have been.”
“Do not be troubled, Father. I have a plan. I returned to this land with the hope of marrying Malik. I have had enough traveling for one lifetime. Now I wish to marry.”
“Then marry another. Marry someone who will not divorce you and leave you in dishonor.”
But Chardae would not be swayed. “I do this not only for myself, Father, but for the women of Persia. You have told me of the sultan’s vow to marry and divorce every woman in the land. I cannot allow him to bring such dishonor to my sisters.”
When Jamal realized he could not persuade Chardae to drop her plan, he said, “Very well. You are as stubborn as ever, but since I have no other bride to offer, I will present you to the sultan tomorrow. But, please tell me your plan.”
“In a moment, Father. First, there is something I must ask of my sister.” Chardae turned to her. “Dayana, will you agree to help me with my plan at the wedding and afterward? Otherwise, I may fail.”
Dayana agreed eagerly. She had sorely missed her sister in the years that Chardae had been traveling and did not wish to see her dishonored. So Chardae explained her plan to avoid the sultan’s wrath.
The next morning Jamal entered the court of the sultan, who was in a foul temper. “You have been gone for a year, Jamal,” Malik said without the pretense of formality. “Have you found me a new wife?”
“O Great Sultan, rule forever,” Jamal said politely. “I present to you my own daughter, Chardae.”
Malik was shocked. As the grand vizier’s daughter entered the court, Malik shouted, “Are you mad, Jamal? Have you forgotten my vow never to love again? Your daughter will be dishonored before the sun sets!”
But before Jamal could reply, Chardae spoke up. “Sultan, it was my choice to marry you. If I do not please you, I will accept your decision.”
Malik glared at her. “No woman alive can please me. You would be better off to tie a millstone around your neck and jump into the sea.”
Chardae’s composure was not shaken. “No matter how hopeless it may be, I still wish to marry you.”
“Very well,” Malik said. “We shall be wed this very day.”
And so it was. That night, after the wedding, Dayana was still helping her sister move in when Malik entered the room. He ordered Dayana to leave, but she begged a favor of the sultan.
“O Great Sultan, rule forever,” Dayana said. “I ask only one thing. My sister has been away quite some time. Before I leave her, please grant that I may hear some of the tales of her travels and the people she encountered.”
The sultan thought about this. “I see no harm in it,” he said. “Very well. If Chardae is willing, she may speak of these travels.”
“I am willing, dear husband,” Chardae replied. And so she began to tell a fascinating tale about a peasant boy and a magic lamp. Dayana listened with great pleasure, and as the tale grew in excitement, even the sultan was anxious to hear what happened next. But just as the tale reached the most exciting moment, Chardae yawned.
“I grow weary,” she said. “I will have to finish this tale another time.”
“But I must know how it ends,” Malik insisted.
“I am truly sorry, dear husband, but I cannot keep my eyes open a minute longer.”
“Very well,” Malik allowed.
On the second night, when she finished the tale of the magic lamp, both the sultan and Dayana applauded. “You must tell another,” Dayana insisted, and the sultan agreed.
This time, Chardae told the tale of a young man who discovered a carpet that could fly and take him on incredible journeys across great distances. Once again, just as the story was at its most suspenseful moment, Chardae yawned and insisted she must sleep before continuing her tale.
“All right,” Malik said. “But you must promise to tell me how it turned out tomorrow night.”
On the third night, Chardae finished her tale and this time it was the sultan himself who demanded to hear another. So Chardae began a third tale about a smart young lad who outwitted forty thieves. And again, at the most exciting moment, Chardae begged to be allowed to rest, and the sultan agreed.
And so it went, night after night. Each time Chardae finished a tale, Dayana or the sultan insisted she tell another. And each time the story reached its most exciting point, Chardae would stop for the night.
As the days passed, Chardae faced many situations in which her diplomatic skills as a sultan’s wife were tested. Some of the time she succeeded brilliantly, surpassing even Malik’s expectations. At other times she fell short, not being as well-trained in the art of ruling as Kalila had been. Whenever
Chardae failed, Malik would take her aside and say, “I would be well within my rights to divorce you.” But then he would remember the tale Chardae had told the night before, and he would be so anxious to learn the outcome, he would forgive her.
Time passed and Chardae made fewer and fewer mistakes, until her skill at aiding Malik in ruling surpassed that of Kalila. Soon Malik took to asking Chardae to repeat some of her tales to visitors from foreign lands. News of the sultan’s wife and her fascinating tales spread throughout the world. But not once did she ever repeat a tale she had not yet finished telling to Malik. The stories Chardae told lasted for a thousand and one nights. When she finished her final tale, Malik said, “Time has proven you, Chardae. You are nothing like my beloved Kalila, but I have come to love you nevertheless. Let us produce an heir to signify our love.” And so they did.
For the rest of his days the sultan ruled with fairness and justice, just as he had done in his youth. And so it was that the kingdom of Persia was saved. The sultan’s wife, Chardae, came to be known as Scheherazade, which means “savior of her people.” The tales she told were written down and came to be known as The Arabian Nights.
Lian and the Unicorn
AN ORIGINAL STORY BY VIVIAN VANDE VELDE
Long ago, Lian lived in the Chinese emperor’s palace and helped her parents prepare food in the imperial kitchens. In all of her fourteen years she had never met the prince.
Oh, she’d caught an occasional glimpse of him here and there and could see he was handsome and always surrounded by friends and attendants. And she’d certainly helped prepare food for his many parties and banquets. But unlike the emperor, who made a point of thanking the kitchen staff at the beginning of the New Year festival, or the empress, who gave the palace servants presents on their birthdays, the prince was always too busy to come to the kitchen.
That was why Lian was surprised to see him one spring afternoon when she was out in the meadow collecting flowers and blossoms for the emperor’s dinner table.
As he walked closer to her, Lian could see that the prince was even more handsome than she had thought. He wore a fine silk robe woven in red thread for happiness and a silk jacket embroidered with dragons. Suddenly she was very conscious of the grass stains on the knees of her simple servant’s robe and of the way her hair was coming loose from its braid.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” she greeted the prince, bowing low.
The prince put a finger to his lips, but then shook his head. “Too late,” he said.
“Too late for what, Your Majesty?” Lian asked, bowing again.
“A deer was standing at the edge of the trees,” the prince explained. “It ran away when you spoke.”
Lian nodded. “Many animals come to the meadow when I’m working quietly—badgers, squirrels, deer—”
“—And unicorns?” interrupted the prince.
“Yes,” Lian said, surprised that he had asked.
“I’ve never seen a unicorn,” the prince said. “No matter how quiet I am.”
“Ah,” Lian said. “That’s because unicorns don’t like quiet. They like music.”
“Music? What do you mean?”
Lian put down her basket of flowers and reached into the sleeve of her robe. She pulled out the little wooden flute the empress had given her on her tenth birthday. Then she sat down on the soft grass and played a gentle tune.
“That’s very pretty,” the prince said as he sat down next to her. “Continue.”
“But I have flowers to gather and pots to scrub and ...”
The prince waved airily. “Someone else can do that. Play.”
He was, after all, the prince, so Lian played. And played. And played. Until suddenly she heard the prince take in a sharp breath.
Lian looked up and saw a unicorn peeking out from between two trees on the edge of the meadow. “Continue,” the prince whispered.
Lian kept playing, and the unicorn came closer—closer than any unicorn had ever come to her before. Lian decided the reason was that her music sounded so happy. After all, she was sitting here in the meadow next to the prince himself.
The unicorn came closer still. Lian caught her own breath in amazement and almost missed a note, for up close the creature was more beautiful than she had imagined. It was the size of a small horse, pure white, with a horn that looked as much like gold as anything she’d seen in the palace. And its eyes were green, the color of jade—she saw that clearly, because the unicorn was looking directly at her.
“Keep playing,” the prince told her, his voice the barest whisper.
The unicorn tossed its head and stamped its feet as though nervous, but still it came closer, until it stood right before Lian and the prince. Then the unicorn lay down in the grass at their feet, listening to Lian’s music, smelling of wildflowers. Lian could not resist the urge to reach out and pet it. Its mane was as soft as it looked. The unicorn shivered but otherwise remained motionless.
Lian caught a glimpse of some people watching at the edge of the meadow. Before she could ask him who they were, the prince said, “Keep playing. They are my attendants.”
Lian couldn’t understand why so many of the prince’s servants were nearby. She looked back at the prince and saw that he now held a length of rope, which he had kept concealed in his jacket pocket.
Lian took the flute from her lips. “No,” she said, even though she was talking to the emperor’s son. Suddenly, the flute felt like ice in her hands.
But it was too late. The prince dropped a loop of rope around the unicorn’s neck. But the unicorn still didn’t move and looked only at her.
“Thank you,” the prince said to her, as though she had wanted to help.
“I’m sorry,” Lian whispered, bending forward to the unicorn’s ear. Did unicorns understand human speech? She found the courage to glare at the prince.
“You won’t harm it, will you?” she asked, feeling guilty about her role in the capture.
“Of course not,” the prince said. “I want to build a zoo. It will have one of every species of bird and animal that lives in my father’s empire. But the unicorn will be my most prized attraction.”
Lian thought the unicorn looked much better in the meadow than it ever would in a zoo. “I’m sorry,” she told the creature again.
“You’re being silly,” the prince snapped as his men came out from hiding among the trees and gathered around him.
They congratulated him and shouted “Well done!”—a compliment Lian did not think he deserved.
Then the prince tried to leave, but the unicorn wouldn’t get up, no matter how hard the prince tugged on the rope.
When she saw that the prince wouldn’t give up, and the unicorn would get hurt, Lian bowed and said, “Your Majesty, allow me.”
The unicorn got to its feet when she took the rope. As she led the unicorn through the woods and back toward the palace, Lian thought about the prince. Now that she had finally met him, she was sorely disappointed.
The prince was so delighted with the unicorn, he gave Lian’s family three gold pieces. Together with the money her parents had been saving, they had enough to retire from the imperial kitchens and buy a teahouse near the palace.
“You must visit the palace every day,” the prince commanded Lian. Lian realized he didn’t want her to visit him; he only wanted her there to tame the unicorn.
Day after day, Lian walked from the teahouse to the palace. Day after day, she watched the prince harness the unicorn to a specially designed wagon that he would ride in so people throughout the land could admire him and gape at his unicorn. Day after day, she grew angrier.
One day the prince was out until after dark. Watching from the shadows, Lian noticed that the unicorn was covered with mud and could barely walk. As the prince unhitched the wagon and led the tired unicorn to its pen, Lian thought, “Unicorns are the symbol of wisdom; this prince is foolish.”
Once the stableboy locked the unicorn in its pen and returned the key to the
prince, Lian came out and stood by the gate. As soon as the unicorn saw her, it raised its tired head and stood proudly for her.
Lian knew what she had to do. She climbed over the wall. It was high enough to keep a horse from getting out, but as everyone knows, a unicorn is very different than a horse.
She jumped down into the pen, and the unicorn immediately came over to greet her. “You poor creature,” Lian said. “I’m here to rescue you.”
The unicorn looked at the gate. “Maybe it can understand me,” she thought. But when she said, “I don’t have the key. You’ll have to jump the wall,” the unicorn didn’t seem to understand her. It didn’t look at the wall; it only looked at her.
Lian gently took the unicorn’s head in her hands and turned it in the direction of the wall. “Jump,” she said, making shooing motions.
Instead, the unicorn got down on its knees and gently nuzzled her leg.
Was the unicorn inviting her to get on its back?
Being a kitchen servant, Lian had never ridden on a horse. Nevertheless, she climbed on the unicorn’s back, her arms securely around its neck, and whispered “Ready” in its ear.
Carefully, the unicorn got up on its feet and slowly circled the pen, allowing Lian to get used to its gait. It circled faster and faster. Suddenly, they were galloping at full speed toward the wall. Lian held on tight and closed her eyes. Then they were off the ground flying over the wall. After what seemed an impossibly long time, they hit the ground, still running, and gradually slowed down. They were on the other side.
Lian thought they’d head for the forest. But the unicorn circled around to the back of the palace instead, to the smaller pens and cages where the prince kept the animals he’d captured while his zoo was being built.
“Of course,” Lian thought. “They need to be rescued, too.” As the unicorn walked up to the nearest cage, Lian leaned over and unhooked the latch. The cages were not locked because the prince wasn’t worried about anyone stealing common animals. The unicorn walked her around the courtyard as she leaned over to unfasten the latches and open every cage. She released a panda, a tree shrew, a tiger, a fox, a goat, and three different kinds of monkeys. Instead of running away, the animals waited for her to finish opening the rest of the cages.