Arabian Nights and Days (22 page)

“ ‘We are not concerned with your religion,' the king said, ‘and our traditions are sacrosanct.'

“The man was buried alive with the corpse of his wife. Our peace of mind was disturbed by this and we looked to the future with horror. I began to observe my wife apprehensively. Whenever she complained of some minor indisposition my whole being was shaken. When she became pregnant and was in labor pains, her state of health deteriorated and I quickly fled into the forest, where I stayed. Then, one day, a ship passed by close to the shore, so I threw myself into the water and swam toward it, calling out for help. When I was almost on the point of drowning they picked me out of the water.”

As though addressing himself, the sultan muttered, “Traditions are the past and of the past there are things that must become outdated.”

It seemed to Sindbad that the sultan had something more to say, so he kept silent. However, Shahriyar said, “Continue, Sindbad.”

“I also learned, Your Majesty, that freedom is the life of the spirit and that Paradise itself is of no avail to man if he has lost his freedom. Our ship met with a storm which destroyed it, not one of its men escaping apart from myself. The waves hurled me onto a fragrant island, rich with fruits and streams and with a moderate climate. I quenched my hunger and thirst and washed, then went off into the interior to seek out what I could find. I came across an old man lying under a tree utterly at the end of his resources.

“ ‘I am decrepit, as you see, so will you carry me to my hut?' he said, pointing with his chin. I did not hesitate about picking him up. I raised him onto my shoulders and took him to where he had pointed. Finding no trace of his hut, I said, ‘Where's your dwelling, uncle?'

“In a strong voice, unlike that with which he had first addressed
me, he said, ‘This island is my dwelling, my island, but I need someone to carry me.'

“I wanted to lower him from my shoulders, but I couldn't tear his legs away from my neck and ribs; they were like a building held in place by iron.

“ ‘Let me go,' I pleaded, ‘and you will find that I am at your service when you need me.'

“He laughed mockingly at me, ignoring my pleas. He thus condemned me to live as his slave so that neither waking nor sleeping was enjoyable, and I took pleasure in neither food nor drink, until an idea occurred to me. I began to squeeze some grapes into a hollow and left the juice to ferment. Then I gave it to him to drink until he became intoxicated and his steel-like muscles relaxed and I threw him from my shoulders. I took up a stone and smashed in his head, thus saving the world from his evil. I then spent a happy period of time—I don't know how long—until I was rescued by a ship.”

Shahriyar sighed and said, “What many things we are in thrall to in this world! What else did you learn?”

“I learned too, Your Majesty,” said Sindbad, “that man may be afforded a miracle, but it is not sufficient that he should use it and appropriate it; he must also approach it with guidance from the light of God that shines in his heart. As before, my ship sank and I took refuge on an island that deserves the name ‘island of dreams': an island rich with beautiful women of every kind. My heart was taken by one of them and I married her and was happy with her. When the people felt they trusted me they fastened feathers under my arms and told me that I could fly any time I wanted. I was overjoyed and rushed to embark upon an experience that no other man had tried before me. But my wife said to me secretly, ‘Be careful to mention God's name when you are in the air or else you will be burnt up.'

“I immediately realized that the Devil was in their blood and, shunning them, I flew off, determined to escape. I floated in the air for a long time with no other objective but to reach my city. I went on until I reached it, having despaired of doing so, so praise be to God, Lord of the Worlds.”

The ruler was silent for a while, then said, “You have seen such wonders of the world as no human eye has seen, and you have learned many lessons, so rejoice in what God has bestowed upon you in the way of wealth and wisdom.”

Shahriyar rose to his feet, his heart surging with overpowering emotions. He plunged into the garden above the royal walkway as a faint specter amid the forms of giant trees under countless stars. Voices of the past pressed in on his ears, erasing the melodies of the garden; the cheers of victory, the roars of anger, the groans of virgins, the raging of believers, the singing of hypocrites, and the calling of God's name from atop the minarets. The falseness of specious glory was made clear to him, like a mask of tattered paper that does not conceal the snakes of cruelty, tyranny, pillage, and blood that lie behind it. He cursed his father and his mother, the givers of pernicious legal judgments and the poets, the cavaliers of deception, the robbers of the treasury, the whores from noble families, and the gold that was plundered and squandered on glasses of wine, elaborate turbans, fancy walls and furniture, empty hearts and the suicidal soul, and the derisive laughter of the universe.

He returned from his wanderings at midnight. He summoned Shahrzad, sat her down beside him, and said, “How similar are the stories of Sindbad to your own, Shahrzad!”

“All originate from a single source, Your Majesty,” said Shahrzad.

He fell silent as though to listen to the whispering of the branches and the chirping of the sparrows.

“Does Your Majesty intend to go out on one of his nightly excursions?”

“No,” he said listlessly. Then in a lowered voice, “I am on the point of being bored with everything.”

“A wise man does not become bored, Your Majesty,” she said with concern.

“I?” he asked with annoyance. “Wisdom is a difficult requirement —it is not inherited as a throne is.”

“The city today enjoys your upright wisdom.”

“And the past, Shahrzad?”

“True repentance wipes away the past.”

“Even if the ruler concerned himself with killing innocent young girls and the cream of the men of judgment?”

“True repentance…” she said in a trembling voice.

“Don't try to deceive me, Shahrzad,” he interrupted her.

“But, Majesty, I am telling the truth.”

“The truth,” he said with resolute roughness, “is that your body approaches while your heart turns away.”

She was alarmed—it was as if she had been stripped naked in the darkness.

“Your Majesty!” she called out in protest.

“I am not wise but also I am not stupid. How often have I been aware of your contempt and aversion!”

“God knows…” she said, her voice torn with emotion, but he interrupted her. “Don't lie, and don't be afraid. You have lived with a man who was steeped in the blood of martyrs.”

“We all extol your merits.”

Without heeding her words, he said, “Do you know why I kept you close by me? Because I found in your aversion a continued torment that I deserved. What saddens me is that I believe that I deserve punishment.”

She could not stop herself from crying, and he said gently, “Weep, Shahrzad, for weeping is better than lying.”

“I cannot,” she exclaimed, “lead a life of ease and comfort after tonight.”

“The palace is yours,” he said in protest, “and that of your son who will be ruling the city tomorrow. It is I who must go, bearing my bloody past.”

“Majesty!”

“For the space of ten years I have lived torn between temptation and duty: I remember and I pretend to have forgotten; I show myself as
refined and I lead a dissolute life; I proceed and I regret; I advance and I retreat; and in all circumstances I am tormented. The time has come for me to listen to the call of salvation, the call of wisdom.”

“You are spurning me as my heart opens to you,” she said in a tone of avowal.

“I no longer look to the hearts of humankind,” he said sternly.

“It is an opposing destiny that is mocking us.”

“We must be satisfied with what has been fated for us.”

“My natural place is as your shadow,” she said bitterly.

“The sultan,” he said with a calm unaffected by emotions, “must depart once he has lost competence; as for the ordinary man, he must find his salvation.”

“You are exposing the city to horrors.”

“Rather am I opening to it the door of purity, while I wander about aimlessly seeking my salvation.”

She stretched out her hand toward his in the darkness, but he withdrew his own with the words “Get up and proceed to your task. You have disciplined the father and you must prepare the son for a better outcome.”

Sindbad thought he would be able to enjoy the pleasures of work and evening conversation until the end of his life, but there came to him a dream. When he awoke he could not forget it and its effect did not disappear. What was this yearning? Was he fated to spend his life being tossed about by sea waves? Who was it who was calling to him from beyond the horizon? Did he want from the world more than it had already given him? He closed his warehouse in the evening and set off for the house of Abdullah al-Balkhi, telling himself that the sheikh would have the solution. On the way to the sheikh's room he caught a glimpse of Zubeida his daughter, and the ground shook under him. His visit took on a new perspective, one that had not previously occurred to him. He found that the sheikh had with him the doctor Abdul Qadir
al-Maheeni. He sat down, hesitant and confused, then said, “Master, I have come to ask for the hand of your daughter.”

The sheikh pierced him with a smile and said, “Not at all—you came for another reason.”

Sindbad was taken aback and said nothing.

“My daughter, since her husband Aladdin was killed, has devoted herself to the Path.”

“Marriage does not divert one from the Path.”

“She has said her final word on this.”

Sindbad gave a sad sigh and the sheikh asked him, “Why did you really come to me, Sindbad?”

There was a long silence, which seemed to divide pretension and truth. Then he whispered, “Anxiety, master.”

“Has your business been hit by a slump?” asked Abdul Qadir al-Maheeni.

“He who finds no tangible reason for anxiety is nonetheless anxious,” said Sindbad.

“Speak out, Sindbad,” said the sheikh.

“It is as though I have received a call from beyond the seas.”

“Travel,” said Abdul Qadir al-Maheeni simply. “For in journeys there are numberless benefits.”

“I saw in a dream the roc fluttering its wings,” said Sindbad.

“Perhaps it is an invitation to the skies,” said the sheikh.

“I am a man of seas and islands,” said Sindbad submissively.

“Know,” said the sheikh, “that you will not attain the rank of the devout until you pass through six obstacles. The first of these is that you should close the door of comfort and open that of hardship. The second is that you should close the door of renown and open that of insignificance. The third is that you should close the door of rest and open that of exertion. The fourth is that you should close the door of sleep and open that of wakefulness. The fifth is that you should close the door of riches and open that of poverty. The sixth is that you should close the door of hope and open the door of readiness for death.”

“I am not of that elite,” Sindbad said courteously. “The door of devoutness is wide open for others.”

“What you have uttered is the truth,” said the doctor Abdul Qadir al-Maheeni.

“If you want to be at ease,” the sheikh said to Sindbad, “then eat what falls to your lot, dress in what you find at hand, and be satisfied with what God has decreed for you.”

“It suffices me that I worship God, master,” said Sindbad.

“God has looked into the hearts of his saints and some of them are not suited to bearing a single letter of gnosis, so He has kept them busy with worship,” said the sheikh.

“He has seen and he has heard,” said the doctor, addressing the sheikh. “I am happy for him.”

“Blessed is he who has but one worry and whose heart is not occupied with what his eyes have seen and his ears heard,” said the sheikh.

“Calls have poured down from a thousand and one wondrous places.”

The sheikh recited:

Al-Maheeni looked at the sheikh for some time, then said, “He is traveling, master, so bid him farewell with a kind word.”

The sheikh smiled gently and said to Sindbad, “If your soul is safe from you, then you have discharged its right; and if people are safe from you, then you have discharged their rights.”

Sindbad bent over his hand and kissed it, then looked at the doctor in gratitude. He was about to get to his feet when the doctor placed his hand on his shoulder and said, “Go in peace, then return laden with diamonds and wisdom, but do not repeat the mistake.”

A confused look appeared in Sindbad's eyes and al-Maheeni said to him, “The roc had not previously flown with a man, and what did you
do? You left it at the first opportunity, drawn by the sparkle of diamonds.”

“I hardly believed I would make my escape.”

“The roc flies from an unknown world to an unknown world, and it leaps from the peak of Waq to the peak of Qaf, so be not content with anything for it is the wish of the Sublime.”

And it was as if Sindbad had drunk ten drafts of wine.

H
e abandoned throne and glory, woman and child. He deposed himself, defeated before his heart's revolt at a time when his people had forgotten his past misdeeds. His education had required a considerable time. He did not venture on the decisive step until the fear within him had gone out of control and his desire for salvation prevailed. He left his palace at night, wearing a cloak and carrying a stick and giving himself over to fate. Before him were three possibilities: to travel as Sindbad had done; to go to the house of al-Balkhi; or to take time to think things over.

His feet led him to an empty space close by the green tongue of land where a strange sound came to his ears. He listened under a crescent moon in a clear sky and was sure that it was the sound of a group of people mourning. Could it be someone was lamenting in this open space? He moved cautiously toward the sound until he came to a stop behind a date palm. He saw a rock like a dome, with men sitting squat-legged in front of it in a straight line. They continued their lamentation. His curiosity aroused, various thoughts came to his mind by turns. Then one of the men rose, went to the rock, and rained down blows upon it
with his fist. Then, after returning to where he was sitting, he continued his lamentation with the others. Shahriyar looked keenly at the men and recognized several who had previously been his subjects: Suleiman al-Zeini, al-Fadl ibn Khaqan, Sami Shukri, Khalil Faris, Hasan al-Attar, and Galil al-Bazzaz. He thought of intruding upon their session to find out what they were about but caution restrained him. Before dawn one of them rose and said, “The time has come for us to return to the abode of torment.”

They stopped wailing and rose to their feet as they promised one another to meet up the next day. Then, like specters, they made off toward the city.

What was the meaning of this?

Drawing near to the rock, he circled right round it. It was nothing but a rock in the form of an uneven dome, a place anybody would pass by without noticing. Going up to it and feeling its surface, he found it to be rough. Several times he brought his fist down upon it, then was about to turn away when there came a strong sound that seemed to come from several directions. Underneath the rock an arched entrance revealed itself. He drew back, trembling with fear, but then he saw a gentle light and breathed in a fragrant and intoxicating smell. Fear left him. It was this door that the men were yearning to open and for which they had shed tears. He approached and put his head inside; he looked around and was captivated by the atmosphere. Hardly had he entered than the door closed behind him. He found himself in a passage, the charm of which took hold of him completely: illuminated though without any apparent light, sweet-smelling though without any window; redolent with a beautiful fragrance though there was no garden. Its floor was shining white, carved out of some unknown metal, its walls emerald, its roof embellished with coral of complementary colors; at the end of the passage was a gateway, shining as though inlaid with diamonds. Forgetting what was behind him, he proceeded unhesitatingly. He thought he would reach the gateway in a matter of a minute or two, but he found
himself walking for a long time while the passage remained as it was, becoming no shorter and with temptation pouring out from its sides. He was apprehensive that it might be a road without an end, but he did not think of returning, nor of stopping; he enjoyed the fruitless never-ending walk. When he was about to forget that his walk had a purpose, he found himself drawing close to a limpid pond, behind which stood a burnished mirror. He heard a voice saying, “Do what seems good to you.”

Quickly he obeyed his sudden desires, stripped off his clothes, and plunged into the water. The throbbing water massaged him with angelic fingers, penetrating right inside him. Emerging from the water, he stood in front of the mirror and saw himself as new in the skin of a beardless young man, with a strong and perfectly proportioned body and a handsome face that breathed youthful manliness, with parted black hair and with a mustache just sprouting. “Praise be to the Almighty who is capable of everything!” he whispered.

He looked to his clothes and found trousers of Damascene silk, a Baghdadi cloak, a Khurasani turban, and Egyptian slippers. Putting them on, he became a wonder to behold.

He continued walking and found himself in front of the gateway. Before him was an angelic young girl he had not seen before.

“Who are you?” she asked with a smile.

“Shahriyar,” he answered in confusion.

“What is your trade?”

“A fugitive from his past.”

“When did you leave the place you live?”

“An hour ago at the most.”

“How weak you are at arithmetic,” she said, unable to stop herself from laughing.

They exchanged a long look, then the young girl said, “We have waited for you a long time—the whole city is expecting you.”

“Me?” he asked in astonishment.

“It is expecting the bridegroom promised to its exalted queen.”

She made a gesture with her hand and the gateway opened, giving out a sound like the plaintive moaning of the rebab.

Shahriyar found himself in a city not of human making: in beauty, splendor, elegance, cleanliness, fragrance, and climate. In all directions were buildings and gardens, streets and squares, decorated with all sorts of flowers, the saffron ground spread over with pools and streams. The city's inhabitants were all women, not a man among them, and they were all young with the beauty of angels. Noticing the newcomer, they hurried to the royal highway leading to the palace.

As though he were a vagabond among his own people, he was dazzled by the palace. He believed now that his old palace was nothing but a filthy hut. The young girl led him to the throne room, where the queen sat resplendent on her throne between two flanks of pearl-like young maidens.

The young girl prostrated herself before the queen and said, “Your promised bridegroom, Your Majesty.”

The queen gave a smile that made him lose his heart. He, in turn, prostrated himself with the words “I am nothing but Your Majesty's slave.”

“No, you are my partner in love and the throne,” said the queen in a voice like the sweetest of tunes.

“Duty demands I reveal to you that in the past I lived a long life until I approached old age.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” said the queen sweetly.

“I am talking about the grip of time, Your Majesty.”

“We are acquainted with time only as a faithful friend who neither oppresses nor betrays.”

“Praise be to the Almighty, Who is capable of everything,” whispered Shahriyar.

For forty days the city celebrated the marriage.

The time was passed in love and contemplation—and worship too has its time, and it can be expressed in drinking, singing, and dancing.

It appeared to Shahriyar that he was in need of a thousand years to uncover the hidden secrets of the garden, and a thousand years or more to know the reception hall of the palace and its wings. Then, one day, in the company of the queen, he passed by a small door of pure gold, in whose lock was a key of gold decorated with diamonds; on it was a card on which was written in black handwriting “Do not approach this door.”

“Why this warning, my beloved?” he asked the queen.

“We live here in complete freedom,” she answered with her usual sweetness, “so that we regard mere advice as an unforgivable insult.”

“Or does it issue from you as a royal command?”

“The form of the imperative,” she said quietly, “is used with us only in matters of love, which has existed as you see it for millions of years.”

Once when embracing her, he had asked his wife, “When will we have a child?”

“Do you think of this when we have been married only a hundred years?”

“Only a hundred years?”

“No more than that, my love.”

“I had reckoned it as a matter of days.”

“The past has not yet been erased from your head.”

“Anyway,” he said, as though apologizing, “I am happier than a human being has ever been.”

“You will know true happiness,” she said to him as she kissed him, “when you forget the past completely.”

Whenever he passed by the forbidden door he looked at it with interest, and whenever he had been away from the wing where it was, he returned to it. It pressed upon his mind and his emotions and he began to say to himself, “Everything is clear except for this door.”

One day his resistance weakened and he submitted to a secret call. Seizing an opportunity when the servants were not attentive, he turned the key. The door opened easily, giving out a magical sound and releasing a delightful fragrance. He entered, his heart agitated but full of hope. The door closed and there appeared before him a giant more terrible than anything he had seen. Pouncing upon him, the giant lifted him up like some little bird between his hands. In remorse Shahriyar called out, “Let me go, by your Lord!”

Complying with his plea, he returned him to the ground.

Shahriyar looked about him wildly.

“Where am I?” he asked.

The desert, the night, the crescent moon, the rock, the men, and the continued wailing. Shahriyar and his stick and the polluted air of the city.

“Mercy! Mercy!” he screamed from a wounded heart, and brought his fist down on the rock several times until the blood flowed from it.

But the truth took hold of him and he was overcome by despair. His back became bowed and he became old. There was no choice. He went toward the men with faltering steps and threw himself down at the
end of the row. He soon broke into tears like them under the crescent moon.

Before dawn the men went away as usual. He did not go nor did he cease to weep. Then someone, walking in the night alone, approached him and asked, “What makes you weep, man?”

“That is no business of yours,” answered Shahriyar crossly.

“I am the chief of police,” said the other, searching his face, “and I have not overstepped the bounds of my authority.”

“My tears,” said Shahriyar, “will not disturb the peace.”

“Leave that for me to judge and answer me,” said Abdullah al-Aqil, as he went on scrutinizing his face.

“All creatures weep from the pain of parting,” said Shahriyar after a silence. It was as though he were heedless of the whole situation.

“Have you no place of abode?” asked Abdullah al-Aqil with a mysterious smile.

“None.”

“Would you like to dwell under the date palm close to the green tongue of land?”

“Perhaps,” he said with indifference.

Said the man gently:

“I give you the words of a man of experience, who said: ‘It is an indication of truth's jealousy that it has not made for anyone a path to it, and that it has not deprived anyone of the hope of attaining it, and it has left people running in the deserts of perplexity and drowning in the seas of doubt; and he who thinks that he has attained it, it dissociates itself from, and he who thinks that he has dissociated himself from it has lost his way. Thus there is no attaining it and no avoiding it—it is inescapable.' ”

Then Abdullah al-Aqil went off in the direction of the city.