Prevod

It is also related that in ancient times, in ages long past, there lived in the land of Basra a merchant who had two sons and a great fortune. God, the All-Hearing, the All-Knowing, decreed that the merchant should pass into the mercy of Almighty God, leaving his wealth behind him. His sons prepared his body for burial and laid him to rest, then divided his possessions equally between them. Each took his share, and they opened two shops, one as a coppersmith and the other as a goldsmith. One day, as the goldsmith sat in his shop, a Persian came walking through the crowded market. Passing the young man’s shop, he examined his work with a practiced eye and admired it. The young goldsmith’s name was Hasan. The Persian nodded and said, “By God, you are a fine goldsmith.” He continued to study his handiwork, while Hasan looked into an ancient book he held in his hand. The people, meanwhile, were taken up with the young man’s beauty, his handsome figure, and his graceful bearing. When the hour of afternoon prayer came and the shop emptied, the Persian approached him and said, “My son, you are a fine young man. What is that book? I have no son, and I know a craft finer than any other in the world.” But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her permitted tale untold.

When it was the seven hundred and seventy-ninth night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that when the Persian approached Hasan the goldsmith, he said to him, “My son, you are a fine young man. What is that book? I have no son, and I know a craft finer than any other in the world. Many people have begged me to teach it to them, but I have refused them all. Yet my heart inclines me to teach it to you, to make you my son and raise a barrier between you and poverty, so that you may be free of this trade and the toil of hammer, charcoal, and fire.” Hasan said, “My master, when will you teach me?” “Tomorrow,” he replied, “I shall come and turn copper into pure gold before your eyes.” Hasan rejoiced, bade the Persian farewell, and went home to his mother. He entered, greeted her, and ate with her, so bewildered that he scarcely knew what he was doing. “What is the matter, my son?” she asked. “Beware of listening to people, especially Persians. Do not do anything they tell you, for they are cheats who practice alchemy, swindling people out of their money and consuming it unlawfully.” He replied, “Mother, we are poor people, with nothing to tempt anyone to cheat us. A Persian did come to me, but he is a pious old man, with every sign of righteousness upon him. God has simply moved him to take pity on me.” His mother fell silent in anger, while her son’s heart was so preoccupied, and his delight in the Persian’s promise so great, that he could not sleep that night.

When morning came, he rose, took his keys, and opened the shop. Presently the Persian appeared. Hasan stood up to greet him and tried to kiss his hands, but the man refused and would not allow it. “Hasan,” he said, “prepare the crucible and set up the bellows.” Hasan did as he was told and kindled the charcoal. The Persian asked, “My son, have you any copper?” “I have a broken tray,” he answered. The Persian told him to bear down on it with the shears and cut it into small pieces. Hasan obeyed, threw the pieces into the crucible, and worked the bellows until the metal ran like water. Then the Persian reached into his turban and drew out a folded paper. He opened it and sprinkled half a dirham’s weight of its contents into the crucible, a substance resembling yellow kohl. He told Hasan to work the bellows, and Hasan obeyed until the metal became an ingot of gold. At the sight, Hasan was astonished and beside himself with joy. He took up the ingot and turned it over, then filed it and found it to be pure gold of the very finest quality. Almost out of his senses with delight, he bent to kiss the Persian’s hand, but the man said, “Take this ingot to the market, sell it, collect the price at once, and say nothing.” Hasan went to the market and gave the ingot to a broker, who tested it on the touchstone and found it to be pure gold. Bidding opened at ten thousand dirhams, and the merchants bid against one another until it sold for fifteen thousand. Hasan collected the money and went home, where he told his mother everything that had happened. “Mother,” he said, “I have learned this craft.” She laughed at him and said, “There is no power and no strength save in God, the Most High, the Almighty.” But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her permitted tale untold.

When it was the seven hundred and eightieth night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that when Hasan the goldsmith told his mother what the Persian had done and said, “I have learned this craft,” she replied, “There is no power and no strength save in God, the Most High, the Almighty,” then fell silent in anger. In his ignorance, Hasan took a mortar to the Persian, who was sitting in the shop, and set it before him. “My son,” the man asked, “what do you intend to do with this mortar?” “We shall put it in the fire and make it into gold ingots.” The Persian laughed. “My son, are you mad, that you would take two ingots to market in a single day? Do you not know that people would grow suspicious of us and we should lose our lives? Once I have taught you this craft, my son, practice it no more than once a year. That will keep you from one year to the next.” “You are right, my master,” Hasan replied. Then he sat down in the shop, set up the crucible, and threw charcoal on the fire. “My son, what do you want?” the Persian asked. “Teach me this craft.” The Persian laughed and said, “There is no power and no strength save in God, the Most High, the Almighty! My son, you have little sense and are quite unfit for this craft. Has anyone ever learned such an art by the roadside or in a marketplace? If we practice it here, people will say we are making alchemical gold. The authorities will hear of us, and we shall lose our lives. If you wish to learn, my son, come home with me.” Hasan rose, closed the shop, and set off with the Persian. But on the way he remembered his mother’s words, and a thousand doubts passed through his mind. He stopped and stood for a while with his head bowed. The Persian turned, saw him standing there, and laughed. “Are you mad? How can I have your welfare at heart while you imagine I mean to harm you?” Then he added, “If you are afraid to come to my house, I shall go to yours and teach you there.” “Yes, uncle,” Hasan said. “Then lead the way.” Hasan walked ahead to his house, with the Persian following, until they reached it. Hasan went inside, found his mother, and told her that he had brought the Persian, who was waiting at the door. She spread the furnishings and put the room in order for them, then withdrew when she had finished. Hasan invited the Persian in, and he entered.

Then Hasan took a platter and went to the market to fetch something to eat. He returned with food, set it before the Persian, and said, “Eat, my master, so that bread and salt may bind us. May Almighty God take vengeance on whoever betrays the bond of bread and salt.” “You speak truly, my son,” the Persian replied. Then he smiled and said, “My son, who truly knows the worth of bread and salt?” He drew near, and he and Hasan ate their fill. Then he said, “Hasan, my son, bring us some sweets.” Hasan went to the market and brought back ten domes of sweetmeat, delighted by the Persian’s words. He set the sweets before him, and they ate together. “May God reward you, my son,” the Persian said. “You are the sort of man whom people should befriend, entrust with their secrets, and teach whatever will benefit him.” Then he said, “Hasan, bring the equipment.” Hasan could scarcely believe his ears. He dashed out like a colt set loose in a spring meadow, reached the shop, gathered his tools, and returned to set them before the Persian. The Persian brought out a paper packet and said, “Hasan, by the bond of bread and salt, were you not dearer to me than my own son, I would never reveal this craft to you. I have no more of this elixir than what is in this packet. Watch carefully as I compound the ingredients and set them before you. Know, Hasan, my son, that for every ten ratls of copper you must add half a dirham of the substance in this paper, and the ten ratls will become pure, refined gold.” He went on, “Hasan, my son, this packet contains three Egyptian ounces. When it is used up, I shall make you more.” Hasan took the packet and saw a yellow substance finer than the first. “My master,” he asked, “what is it called? Where is it found, and what is it made from?” The Persian laughed, his designs on Hasan growing bolder. “What are all these questions?” he said. “Work and keep silent.” He took a bowl from the house, cut it into pieces, and threw them into the crucible. He sprinkled a little of the substance from the packet over them, and they became an ingot of pure gold.

At the sight, Hasan rejoiced exceedingly and became so absorbed in the ingot that his wits deserted him. The Persian quickly drew a little packet from his turban, opened it, and put its contents into a piece of sweetmeat. “Hasan,” he said, “you have become my son, dearer to me than my own life and wealth. I have a daughter whom I shall give you in marriage.” Hasan replied, “I am your servant, and whatever kindness you show me will find its reward with Almighty God.” “My son,” said the Persian, “be patient and take your time, and good fortune will come to you.” Then he handed him the piece of sweetmeat. Hasan took it, kissed his hand, and put it in his mouth, knowing nothing of what fate held in store. He swallowed it, and his head fell before his feet as he lost all knowledge of the world. When the Persian saw the calamity that had overtaken him, he rejoiced exceedingly, sprang to his feet, and said, “Now I have you, you wretch, you Arab dog! For many years I have searched for you, Hasan, and at last I have found you.” But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her permitted tale untold.

When it was the seven hundred and eighty-first night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that when Hasan the goldsmith ate the piece of sweetmeat the Persian had given him and fell unconscious to the floor, the Persian rejoiced and said, “For many years I have searched for you, and at last I have found you.” Then he girded himself, bound Hasan’s arms behind his back, and tied his feet to his hands. He emptied a chest of its contents, put Hasan inside, and locked it. Then he emptied another chest and filled it with all Hasan’s money and the gold ingots he had made the first and second times, and locked that too. He hurried out to the market, fetched a porter to carry the two chests, and led the way to a ship at anchor. This ship had been made ready for the Persian, and its captain was awaiting him. When the sailors saw him, they came forward, took the chests, and carried them aboard. The Persian called to the captain and all the crew, “Up with you! Our business is done, and we have gained what we sought.” The captain shouted to the sailors, “Weigh anchor and unfurl the sails!” And the ship sailed away before a fair wind.

Such was the case with the Persian and Hasan. As for Hasan’s mother, she waited until nightfall without hearing so much as a sound or a word of news from him. Then she came to the house and found it open, with no one inside, and neither the chests nor the money to be found. She knew that her son was lost and that fate had overtaken him. She slapped her face, tore her clothes, and cried and wailed, saying, “Alas, my son! Alas, fruit of my heart!” Then she recited these verses:

My patience fails, my anguish grows; since you have gone, my sobbing and my yearning never cease. By God, I have no patience now that we are parted; how can I bear the loss of all my hope? How can I savor sleep without my loved one? Who finds delight in a life brought low? You left, and house and household stand forlorn; the clear springs of my joy are clouded. You were my help in every hardship, my honor among people, my standing and my refuge. May no day keep you far beyond my sight, unless it brings the hope of your return. Then she wept and lamented until morning. Her neighbors came in and asked about her son, and she told them what had happened to him with the Persian, believing that she would never see him again. She wandered through the house in tears. As she walked about, she saw two lines written on the wall and fetched a learned man to read them to her. They ran:

My Layla’s phantom came at dawn, when sleep had overcome me and my companions lay slumbering in the wilderness. But when we woke to greet the vision passing in the night, the world lay empty and the beloved’s dwelling far away. When Hasan’s mother heard these verses, she cried out, “Yes, my son, the house is desolate, and your dwelling is far away!” Her neighbors took their leave after praying that she might be granted patience and soon be reunited with him. Hasan’s mother continued to weep through the hours of night and the watches of the day. She built a tomb in the middle of the house and inscribed Hasan’s name upon it, with the date of his disappearance. She would scarcely leave that tomb, and such was her life from the day her son departed. So much for her. As for her son Hasan and the Persian, the Persian was a Magian who bitterly hated Muslims and killed any of them who fell into his power. He was a vile, malicious alchemist, such as the poet described:

A dog is he, the son of a dog, with a dog for his grandsire; no good can come of a dog begotten by a dog. This accursed man’s name was Bahram the Magian. Every year he took a Muslim and slaughtered him in pursuit of a hidden treasure. Once his trick against Hasan the goldsmith had succeeded, he sailed with him from morning until night. The ship put in to shore until dawn, and when the sun rose and they sailed again, the Persian ordered his slaves and servants to bring him the chest containing Hasan. They brought it, and he opened it, lifted Hasan out, held vinegar beneath his nose, and blew a powder into his nostrils. Hasan sneezed, vomited up the drug, and opened his eyes. Looking right and left, he found himself in the middle of the sea, the ship sailing onward and the Persian sitting beside him. He knew then that the accursed Magian had tricked him and that he had fallen into the very danger his mother had warned him against. He uttered the words that never shame the lips that speak them: “There is no power and no strength save in God, the Most High, the Almighty. We belong to God, and to Him we shall return. O God, be gentle with me in what You have decreed, and grant me patience under Your trial, Lord of all worlds.” Then he turned to the Persian and spoke gently. “My father, what is this that you have done? What has become of the bread and salt, and the oath you swore to me?” The Persian looked at him and said, “You dog! Does such a man as I honor bread and salt? I have killed nine hundred and ninety-nine boys like you, and you will make the thousandth.” He shouted at him, and Hasan fell silent, knowing that the arrow of fate had struck him. But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her permitted tale untold.

When it was the seven hundred and eighty-second night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that when Hasan found himself in the power of the accursed Persian, he spoke gently to him, but to no avail. The man shouted at him, and he fell silent, knowing that the arrow of fate had struck him. Then the accursed man ordered his arms to be unbound, and they gave him a little water. The Magian laughed and said, “By Fire and Light, by Shade and Burning Heat, I never thought you would fall into my net. But the Fire gave me power over you and helped me capture you, so that I may accomplish my purpose, return, and offer you as a sacrifice to it, that it may be pleased with me.” Hasan said, “You have betrayed the bond of bread and salt.” The Magian raised his hand and struck him such a blow that he fell with his teeth against the deck and lost consciousness, tears running down his cheeks. Then the Magian ordered a fire to be kindled. “What will you do with it?” Hasan asked. “This is the Fire, the mistress of light and sparks, which I worship,” he replied. “If you will worship it as I do, I shall give you half my wealth and marry you to my daughter.” Hasan cried out, “Woe to you! You are nothing but an unbelieving Magian, worshipping fire instead of the Almighty King, Creator of night and day. What a calamity for religion!” The Magian grew angry. “Will you not agree with me, you Arab dog, and embrace my faith?” But Hasan would not consent. Then the accursed Magian rose and prostrated himself before the fire, and ordered his servants to throw Hasan face down. They did so, and the Magian began to beat him with a whip of plaited leather until his sides were torn. He cried for help, but no help came; he begged for protection, but no one would protect him. He raised his eyes to the All-Subduing King and entreated Him by His chosen Prophet. His endurance was spent, and tears ran down his cheeks like rain as he recited these two verses:

Patience with Your decree, my God: I shall endure, if this be pleasing in Your sight. They wrong us, they transgress and tyrannize; may You in kindness pardon what is past. Then the Magian ordered the slaves to sit him up and bring him food and drink. They brought them, but he refused to eat or drink. Throughout the voyage the Magian tormented him night and day, while Hasan endured and prayed humbly to Almighty God. The Magian’s heart remained hardened against him. They sailed on for three months, and Hasan was in torment all the while. At the end of the three months, Almighty God sent a wind against the ship. The sea turned black, and the force of the wind tossed the vessel violently. The captain and crew said, “By God, all this is because of this boy, whom the Magian has tortured for three months. Such deeds are not lawful before Almighty God.” They rose against the Magian and killed his servants and all his followers. When he saw them killing his servants, the Magian was certain he would perish and feared for his life. He untied Hasan, stripped off his ragged clothes, dressed him in fresh garments, and made peace with him, promising to teach him the craft and return him to his own country. “My son,” he said, “do not hold what I have done against me.” Hasan replied, “How can I ever trust you now?” “My son,” he said, “were there no sin, there would be no forgiveness. I did all this only to test your patience. You know that all things lie in God’s hands.” The captain and sailors rejoiced at Hasan’s deliverance. He prayed for them and praised and thanked Almighty God. The winds subsided, the darkness lifted, and a fair breeze made their voyage pleasant.

Then Hasan said to the Magian, “Persian, where are you bound?” “My son,” he replied, “I am bound for the Mountain of Clouds, where the elixir we use in alchemy is to be found.” The Magian swore by Fire and Light that Hasan had nothing more to fear from him. Hasan’s heart was reassured, and he rejoiced at the Magian’s words. He ate, drank, and slept beside him, and the man clothed him from his own wardrobe. They traveled for another three months, until the ship anchored beside a long shore covered in pebbles, white, yellow, blue, black, and every other color. When the ship came to rest, the Persian rose and said, “Hasan, get up and come ashore. We have reached our goal.” Hasan rose and went ashore with him. The Magian entrusted his affairs to the captain, then walked with Hasan until they were far from the ship and out of sight. He sat down and took from his pocket a copper drum and a silken drumstick embroidered with gold and inscribed with talismans. He beat the drum, and when he had finished, a cloud of dust rose from the depths of the wilderness. Hasan marveled at what he had done, grew afraid, and regretted having left the ship with him. His face changed color. The Magian looked at him and said, “What is the matter, my son? By Fire and Light, you have nothing more to fear from me. Had my purpose not required someone bearing your name, I would never have brought you off the ship. Expect nothing but good. That dust is raised by mounts that will carry us, helping us cross this wilderness and easing its hardships.” But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her permitted tale untold.

When it was the seven hundred and eighty-third night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that the Persian said, “That dust is raised by mounts that will carry us, helping us cross this wilderness and easing its hardships.” A little later the dust cleared, revealing three swift riding camels. The Persian mounted one, Hasan another, and they loaded their provisions on the third. They traveled for seven days and came to a broad expanse of land, where they saw a domed pavilion resting on four pillars of red gold. They dismounted, entered beneath the dome, and ate, drank, and rested. Hasan happened to glance aside and saw a lofty building. “What is that, uncle?” he asked. “A palace,” the Magian replied. “Shall we not go inside,” said Hasan, “to rest and look about?” The Magian drew away and said, “Do not speak to me of that palace. My enemy is there, and a certain adventure befell me there, but this is not the time to tell you of it.” Then he beat the drum, and the camels came. They mounted and traveled for seven days. On the eighth day the Magian asked, “Hasan, what do you see?” “I see clouds and mist stretching from east to west.” The Magian replied, “Those are neither clouds nor mist, but a mighty, towering mountain against which the clouds break. No cloud ever rises above it, so immense is its height. That is the mountain I seek, and what we need is on its summit. It was for this that I brought you with me, and through your hands my purpose will be fulfilled.” At this Hasan despaired of life. He said to the Magian, “By what you worship, and by the faith you profess, what is this thing for which you have brought me?” The man answered, “Alchemy cannot succeed without a certain herb that grows where the clouds pass and break apart. That place is this mountain, and the herb grows on its summit. Once we have obtained it, I shall show you what this craft can do.” In his fear Hasan said, “Yes, my master.” He had given up hope of life and wept at being parted from his mother, his family, and his homeland, regretting that he had disobeyed her. He recited these two verses:

Consider how your Lord ordains: gladness may come to you with swift relief. Do not despair when hardship overtakes you; how often hardship hides a wondrous kindness. They traveled on until they reached the mountain and stood at its foot. Hasan saw a palace on the summit and asked the Magian, “What is that palace?” “It is the dwelling of jinn, ghouls, and devils,” he replied. Then the Magian dismounted from his camel and told Hasan to do the same. He went up to him, kissed his head, and said, “Do not hold against me what I have done to you. I shall keep you safe when you go up to the palace. You must not cheat me of anything you bring from there; you and I shall share it equally.” “I hear and obey,” Hasan replied. Then the Persian opened a sack and took out a hand mill and a measure of wheat. He ground the wheat, kneaded the flour into three flat loaves, kindled a fire, and baked them. Next he took out the copper drum and the embroidered drumstick and beat the drum. The camels appeared, and he chose one, slaughtered it, and stripped off its hide. Turning to Hasan, he said, “Listen, Hasan, my son, to my instructions.” “Yes,” Hasan answered. “Get inside this hide. I shall sew it up around you and leave you on the ground. Vultures will come, carry you away, and fly with you to the mountain’s summit. Take this knife with you. When they have finished flying and you know they have set you down on top, cut open the hide and come out. The birds will be frightened and fly away. Then look down from the mountain and call to me, so that I can tell you what to do.” He put the three loaves and a flask of water inside the hide with him, sewed it up around him, and withdrew. A vulture came, carried him away, flew to the summit, and set him down there. When Hasan knew that the vulture had laid him on the mountain, he slit the hide, emerged, and called to the Magian. Hearing his voice, the Magian rejoiced and danced for delight. “Go behind you,” he called, “and tell me whatever you see.” Hasan went and found many human remains, with a great quantity of wood beside them. He told the Magian everything he had seen. “That is what we are seeking,” the man replied. “Take six bundles of the wood and throw them down to me, for that is what we use in alchemy.” Hasan threw down the six bundles. When the Magian saw that they had reached him, he called, “You wretch! I have obtained all I wanted from you. Stay on the mountain if you wish, or throw yourself down and die.” Then the Magian went away. Hasan said, “There is no power and no strength save in God, the Most High, the Almighty. This dog has deceived me.” He sat mourning his fate and recited these verses:

When God decrees a thing for any man, though he possess good sense and hearing and sight, He stops his ears and blinds his heart, and plucks his reason from him as one plucks a hair. Then, when His judgment is fulfilled, He gives him back his reason, that he may reflect. Do not ask of what has happened, “How did it happen?” For everything is by decree and destiny. But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her permitted tale untold.

When it was the seven hundred and eighty-fourth night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that when Hasan had climbed the mountain and thrown down what the Magian wanted, the man reviled him, abandoned him, and went away. Hasan said, “There is no power and no strength save in God, the Most High, the Almighty. This accursed dog has deceived me.” Then he rose, looked right and left, and walked across the mountaintop, certain in his heart that he must die. He wandered until he reached the mountain’s farthest edge, where he saw beside it a blue sea, seething with foam and crashing waves, each wave like a mighty mountain. He sat down, recited what he could of the Quran, and asked Almighty God to ease his suffering, either through death or through deliverance from these afflictions. Then he said the funeral prayer over himself and threw himself into the sea. By Almighty God’s protection, the waves bore him safely onward until, through His power, he came out of the water unharmed. Hasan rejoiced and praised and thanked Almighty God. Then he set off in search of something to eat. As he walked, he found himself at the place where he and Bahram the Magian had rested. After walking a little farther, he came upon a great palace soaring into the air and approached it. It was the palace he had asked the Magian about, when the man had told him, “My enemy is in that palace.” Hasan said, “By God, I must enter it. Perhaps I shall find relief there.” When he reached it, he saw that the door stood open. He went in and found a raised bench in the entrance hall. On it sat two maidens, lovely as twin moons, playing at a chessboard set before them. One raised her head, saw him, and cried out in delight, “By God, this is a human being! I think he must be the one Bahram the Magian has brought this year.” When Hasan heard her, he flung himself before them and wept bitterly. “My ladies,” he said, “I am indeed that unfortunate man.” The younger girl said to her elder sister, “Bear witness, sister, that under God’s covenant and pledge this man is my brother. I shall die if he dies and live if he lives, rejoice in his joy and grieve in his grief.” Then she rose, embraced and kissed him, took him by the hand, and led him into the palace, with her sister beside her. She removed his ragged clothes, brought him a suit of royal garments, and dressed him in them. Then she prepared food of every kind and set it before him. She and her sister sat and ate with him, saying, “Tell us what happened between you and that wicked dog of a sorcerer, from the moment you fell into his hands until you escaped him. Then we shall tell you all that has passed between us and him, from beginning to end, so that you may be on your guard if you see him.”

When Hasan heard their words and saw how warmly they welcomed him, his heart grew calm and his wits returned. He told them everything that had happened to him with the Magian, from first to last. “Did you ask him about this palace?” they asked. “Yes,” he replied. “I asked him, and he said, ‘I do not like it to be mentioned. That palace belongs to devils and demons.’” The two girls grew exceedingly angry. “Has that unbeliever called us devils and demons?” “Yes,” Hasan answered. His younger sister said, “By God, I shall kill him in the most dreadful way and deprive him of the very air of this world!” Hasan asked, “How will you reach him and kill him?” “He is in a garden called al-Mushayyad,” she replied, “and I shall certainly kill him soon.” Her sister said to her, “Hasan has spoken truly, and all he has told us about that dog is true. Now tell him our whole story, so that he may remember it.” The younger girl said, “Know, my brother, that we are daughters of a king. Our father is one of the mighty kings of the jinn, with armies, followers, and servants from among the marids. Almighty God granted him seven daughters by one wife. But his folly, jealousy, and pride were boundless, and he would not give any of us in marriage. He summoned his viziers and companions and asked them, ‘Do you know a place where no visitor, whether human or jinn, ever comes, a place rich in trees, fruit, and rivers?’ They asked, ‘What would you do with it, King of the Age?’ ‘I wish to lodge my seven daughters there,’ he replied. They said, ‘O King, the palace on the Mountain of Clouds would suit them. It was built by an ifrit of the rebellious marids who rose against Solomon, peace be upon him. Since his death no one, neither jinn nor human, has lived there, for it is remote and no one can reach it. Trees, fruit, and rivers surround it, and running water sweeter than honey and colder than snow flows about it. No one suffering from white patches, leprosy, or any other ailment drinks of it without being cured that very instant.’ When our father heard this, he sent us to this palace with troops and soldiers, and provided us with all we needed. Whenever he wished to ride, he would beat a drum, and all the troops would appear. He chose whichever of them he wished to mount, and the rest departed. When our father wishes us to visit him, he orders his followers among the sorcerers to fetch us. They come, take us, and bring us into his presence, so that he may enjoy our company and we may ask him for what we need. Then they return us to our home. We have five other sisters, who have gone hunting in this wilderness, where wild beasts are beyond counting. We take turns in pairs to stay behind and prepare the food. Today it was the turn of this sister of mine and me, so we stayed to cook for them. We had been asking God, glorified and exalted, to grant us a human being to keep us company. Praise be to God, who has brought you to us! Be at ease and take comfort; no harm will come to you.”

Hasan rejoiced and said, “Praise be to God, who has guided us to the path of deliverance and moved hearts to pity us.” Then she rose, took him by the hand, and led him into a chamber, where she brought out such fabrics and furnishings as no one could have procured. An hour later their sisters returned from the hunt. The two girls told them Hasan’s story, and they rejoiced at his coming, entered his chamber, greeted him, and congratulated him on his deliverance. He stayed with them in the happiest comfort and delight. He went hunting with them and slaughtered the game they caught, and he grew at ease in their company. He continued in this way until his body recovered, his wounds healed, and his strength returned. He grew stout and well nourished through the kindness they showed him and his life among them in that place. He wandered at leisure with them through the richly adorned palace and all its gardens and flowers. They soothed his heart and entertained him with their conversation, until all his loneliness had vanished. The girls’ joy in him increased, and his delight in them was greater still. Then his younger sister told the others what Bahram the Magian had said, and how he had called them devils, demons, and ghouls. They swore to her that they would certainly kill him. When the following year came, the accursed man appeared with a handsome young Muslim, beautiful as the moon, whom he had put in chains and tormented cruelly. He brought him to a halt below the palace where Hasan had first come upon the girls. Hasan was sitting beside the river beneath the trees. At the sight of him, his heart pounded, his face changed color, and he struck his palms together. But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her permitted tale untold.

When it was the seven hundred and eighty-fifth night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that when Hasan the goldsmith saw the Magian, his heart throbbed, his face changed color, and he struck his palms together. He said to the maidens, “For God’s sake, my sisters, help me kill this accursed man! Here he is, delivered into your hands, with a young Muslim captive of noble family whom he subjects to every kind of cruel torment. I mean to kill him and soothe my heart, to free this young man from his suffering and earn a heavenly reward. Then the young Muslim may return to his own country and be reunited with his brothers, his family, and his loved ones. Let this be an act of charity on your behalf, for which Almighty God will reward you.” The maidens answered, “We hear and obey God and you, Hasan.” Then they veiled their faces, donned their armor, and girded on their swords. They brought Hasan one of their finest steeds, equipped him fully, and armed him well. They all rode out together and found that the Magian had slaughtered and skinned a camel and was tormenting the young man, saying, “Get inside this skin!” Hasan came up behind him, and the Magian knew nothing of his presence until Hasan shouted, startling him out of his wits. Then he advanced upon him and said, “Stay your hand, accursed one, enemy of God and of the Muslims! You dog, you traitor, you worshipper of fire, follower of the wicked! Do you worship fire and light, and swear by shade and scorching heat?” The Magian turned and saw Hasan. “My son,” he said, “how did you escape? Who brought you down to earth?” Hasan answered, “God delivered me, and has ordained that your soul be taken by the hands of your enemies, for all the torment you inflicted upon me along the road, you unbeliever, you heretic! Now you are trapped, having strayed from the path. No mother, brother, or friend can save you now, nor any solemn pledge. You yourself said, ‘Whoever betrays bread and salt, God will take vengeance on him.’ You betrayed bread and salt, and God has delivered you into my hands. Escape from me is far beyond your reach.” The Magian said, “By God, my son, you are dearer to me than my own soul, dearer than the light of my eyes!” But Hasan stepped forward and swiftly struck him on the shoulder, and the sword flashed out through the straps of his armor. God hastened his soul to the Fire, and an evil resting place it is.

Then Hasan took the leather bag the Magian had carried, opened it, and drew out the drum and drumstick. He struck the drum, and swift riding camels came to him like lightning. He freed the young man from his bonds and mounted him on one of the camels, loading the others with provisions and water for him. “Go on your way,” he told him. And the young man departed, after God had delivered him from distress at Hasan’s hands. When the maidens saw that Hasan had struck down the Magian, they rejoiced exceedingly. They gathered around him, marveling at his courage and the strength of his arm, thanking him for what he had done and congratulating him on his safety. “Hasan,” they said, “you have done a deed that has soothed our hearts and pleased the Glorious King.” He returned with the maidens to the palace and lived among them, eating and drinking, playing and laughing. So pleasant did he find his life with them that he forgot his mother.

While he was enjoying this delightful life with them, a great cloud of dust rose from the depths of the wilderness, darkening the air. The maidens said to him, “Get up, Hasan, and go into your chamber and hide. Or, if you prefer, go into the garden and conceal yourself among the trees and vines. You will come to no harm.” He rose and went into his chamber, hiding there and locking the door from within. After a while the dust cleared, revealing an immense army, like a surging sea, sent by the king, the maidens’ father. When the troops arrived, the maidens lodged them in the finest quarters and entertained them for three days. Then they asked them how they fared and what news they brought. “We have come from the king to fetch you,” they answered. “What does the king want with us?” the maidens asked. Their spokesman replied, “One of the kings is holding a wedding feast, and your father wishes you to attend and enjoy the festivities.” “How long shall we be away from our home?” they asked. “The time it takes to travel there and back, and a stay of two months,” the men replied. The maidens went into the palace to Hasan and told him what had happened. “This place is yours,” they said, “and our house is your house. Be of good cheer and take comfort. Do not be afraid or grieve, for no one can reach us here. Keep your heart at ease and your spirits light until we return to you. Here are the keys to our chambers. But, brother, we ask you by the bond of brotherhood between us not to open this door, for you have no need to open it.” Then they bade him farewell and departed with the army, leaving Hasan alone in the palace. His heart grew heavy, his patience failed, and his anguish increased. He felt desolate and grieved bitterly at their absence. Spacious though the palace was, it seemed to close in upon him. Finding himself lonely and forlorn, he thought of them and recited these verses:

“All the wide world has narrowed in my sight, and every thought within me has grown dark. Since my beloved friends departed, all my peace is troubled, and tears overflow my eyes. Sleep has forsaken me since we were parted, and all my inmost thoughts are clouded over. Will time, I wonder, bring us back together, restore my loved companions and our evening talk?” And morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the seven hundred and eighty-sixth night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that after the maidens left him, Hasan sat alone in the palace, his heart heavy at their absence. He began going out alone to hunt in the wilderness, bringing back his game, slaughtering it, and eating by himself. His loneliness and unease grew worse. He rose and wandered through the palace, exploring every part of it. He opened the maidens’ chambers and saw such treasures there as would dazzle any beholder, yet he took pleasure in none of them because the maidens were away. A fire burned in his heart over the door his sister had warned him not to open, bidding him never approach it or unlock it. He said to himself, “My sister can only have forbidden me to open this door because there is something inside that she wishes no one to see. By God, I shall get up and open it and see what lies within, even if it be death itself!” He took the key and opened the door. He saw no treasure inside, but at the far end was a staircase built of Yemeni onyx. He climbed it until he reached the roof of the palace. “Is this what she forbade me to see?” he said to himself. He walked about the roof and looked down upon grounds below the palace filled with fields and gardens, trees and flowers, wild creatures and birds that sang and praised God, the One, the All-Subduing. As he gazed upon these delightful grounds, he saw a roaring sea with waves crashing against one another. He continued wandering to right and left around the palace until he came to a pavilion resting on four columns. Within it he saw a sitting place inlaid with every sort of precious stone: rubies, emeralds, balas rubies, and other gems. It was built of bricks of gold, silver, ruby, and green emerald. In the middle of the pavilion was a pool filled with water, over which stood a trellis of sandalwood and fragrant aloeswood, latticed with rods of red gold and green emerald and adorned with all manner of jewels and pearls, each pearl as large as a pigeon’s egg. Beside the pool stood a couch of fragrant aloeswood, inlaid with pearls and gems and interlaced with red gold. It held every kind of colored stone and precious metal, arranged in matching patterns. Around it birds sang in different tongues, praising Almighty God in their lovely voices and varied languages. Neither Chosroes nor Caesar had ever possessed the like of this pavilion. Hasan was astonished at what he saw, and sat down there to gaze about him.

As he sat marveling at the beauty of its workmanship, the splendor of its pearls and rubies, and all the artistry it contained, he marveled too at the fields and at the birds praising God, the One, the All-Subduing. He contemplated the signs of Almighty God’s power in the building of so magnificent a pavilion. Suddenly ten birds came flying from the direction of the land, making straight for the pavilion and its pool. Hasan supposed they were coming to drink its water, and hid himself lest they see him and fly away. They alighted on a great and lovely tree and moved about it. Among them he saw one magnificent bird, the fairest of them all, with the others surrounding it and attending upon it. Hasan wondered at this. The bird began pecking at the other nine and lording it over them, while they fled from it, and Hasan stood watching from afar. Then they settled on the couch, and each bird slit its skin with its claws and stepped out of it. The skins proved to be garments of feathers, and from them emerged ten virgin maidens whose beauty put the radiance of the moon to shame. Having stripped off their garments, they all descended into the pool to bathe, playing and teasing one another. The one who surpassed the others began splashing them and ducking them beneath the water. They fled from her, and none dared lay a hand on her. At the sight of her Hasan lost his senses and his reason was stolen away. He understood that this was why the maidens had forbidden him to open the door. Love seized him as he beheld her beauty and grace, her stature and perfect proportions, while she played and laughed and splashed the water. Hasan stood watching them, sighing because he was not among them. The young maiden’s beauty bewildered his mind; his heart was caught in the snare of love for her and trapped in the net of desire. His eyes gazed on, a consuming fire burned in his heart, and his soul urged him toward wrongdoing. He wept with longing for her beauty and loveliness, and flames blazed within him on her account. The fire grew fiercer, its sparks unquenchable, and his passion left signs he could not conceal. Then the maidens came out of the pool, while Hasan stood watching them, unseen by them, marveling at their beauty and loveliness, their delicate charm and graceful ways. Turning his gaze, he saw the eldest maiden naked, and what lay between her thighs was revealed to him: a great rounded mound, four-sided, like a bowl of silver or crystal. It recalled the poet’s words:

“When I lifted her garment from the surface of her cunt, I found it as tight as my temper and my means. I thrust half of it into her, and she sighed. ‘Why this?’ I asked. ‘For the rest,’ she replied.” When they came out of the water, each put on her clothes and ornaments. The eldest maiden dressed in a green robe, and in her beauty she surpassed the loveliest women of every land. The radiance of her face outshone the brightest full moons; her graceful swaying surpassed the branches, and the mere thought of her disdain bewildered the mind. She was as the poet described:

“A lively maiden appeared, from whose cheek the sun must borrow its light. She came in a green gown, like green branches about a pomegranate blossom. ‘What is this garment called?’ I asked. She answered in words of charming grace: ‘We tore open our lovers’ gallbladders, and a fragrance rose that tears the heart with bitterness.’” And morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the seven hundred and eighty-seventh night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that when Hasan saw the maidens come out of the pool, and the eldest among them robbed him of his reason with her beauty and loveliness, he recited those verses. Once the maidens had dressed, they sat talking and laughing, while Hasan stood watching them, drowned in the sea of his love and lost in thought. He said to himself, “By God, my sister only told me not to open this door because of these maidens, fearing I might fall in love with one of them.” He gazed upon the charms of this maiden, who was the fairest creature God had made in her time, surpassing all humankind in beauty. Her mouth was like Solomon’s seal; her hair was blacker than the night of estrangement to a sorrowing, distracted lover; her brow was like the new moon of the feast at Ramadan’s end. Her eyes resembled a gazelle’s, her nose was delicately arched and shining, her cheeks were like anemones, her lips like coral, and her teeth like pearls strung on necklaces of gold. Her neck was a column of silver above a figure slender as a ben-tree branch. Her belly had folds and contours before which the distracted lover would offer prayers, and her navel could hold an ounce of sweet-scented musk. Her thighs were full and plump, like columns of marble or two cushions stuffed with ostrich down, and between them lay something like the mightiest of eagles, or a hare with its ears cropped, with planes and corners of its own. This maiden surpassed the branches of the ben tree and the stems of bamboo in the beauty of her figure. She was as the lovesick poet said:

“A tender maiden whose saliva tastes of honey, whose glance is keener than an Indian blade; her movements put the swaying bough to shame, and when she smiles, lightning flashes from her mouth. I compared her cheek to roses ranged in bloom; she turned away and said, ‘Who dares compare it to a rose? He likened my breast to a pomegranate, without shame—where has a pomegranate a branch like that which bears my breast? By my beauty, by my eyes and my heart’s blood, by the paradise of union with me and the sigh within my breast, if he returns to such comparisons, I shall deny him the delight of my embrace, then torment him with disdain. They say the garden holds roses ranged in bloom, but its roses are not my cheeks, nor its branches my figure. If he has my equal in the gardens, what has he come to seek with me?’” The maidens continued laughing and playing, while he stood watching them, forgetting food and drink, until the afternoon was drawing on. Then the maiden said to her companions, “Daughters of kings, the day is growing late, our country is far away, and we have wearied of staying here. Rise, and let us return home.” Each of them rose and put on her feather garment. Once they slipped inside their garments, they became birds as before and all flew off together, with the maiden in their midst. Hasan despaired of them. He tried to rise and go downstairs, but could not stand, and tears streamed down his cheeks. His passion grew more intense, and he recited these verses:

“May I be denied faithfulness to my pledge if, since you left, I have known the sweetness of sleep. My eyes have not closed since we were parted, nor has repose been sweet since your departure. In sleep I seem to see you—would that the visions of sleep were true! I long for sleep though I have no need of it, in hope that I may meet you in a dream.” Then Hasan moved a little way, scarcely knowing his path, until he reached the lower part of the palace. He crawled on until he came to the door of his bedchamber, entered, and locked it behind him. He lay down sick, neither eating nor drinking, drowned in the sea of his thoughts, and wept and lamented his fate until morning. When morning came, he recited these verses:

“At evening the birds took flight and cried; no blame rests on one who dies of longing. I hide the tale of love as long as I can live, but when fierce yearning overcomes me, it may be told. The image of one whose face is like the morning light came by night, yet the night of my passion has no dawn. I mourn them while the carefree sleep, and the winds of love have made a plaything of me. I gave my tears, then my wealth and my heart’s blood, my reason and my soul—and generosity is gain. The ugliest of hardships and injuries is open hostility from the beautiful. They say union with lovely women is forbidden, yet the shedding of lovers’ blood is allowed. What can the wasted lover do but give his life? He offers it freely—is love a jest? I cry out in longing and anguish for my beloved; all the distracted lover’s strength amounts to lamentation.” When the sun rose, he opened his chamber door, climbed to the place where he had been before, and sat facing the pavilion until night approached. None of the birds came, though he sat waiting for them. He wept so bitterly that he fainted and fell senseless to the ground. When he recovered, he crawled downstairs to the lower part of the palace. Night had fallen, and the whole world seemed to close in upon him. He spent the night weeping and lamenting his fate until morning came and the sun shone upon the hills and plains. He neither ate nor drank nor slept, nor could he find any rest. By day he was bewildered, by night wakeful, dazed and drunken with his thoughts and the violence of his love. He recited the words of the lovesick poet:

“You who shame the shining morning sun, and unknowingly put the branches to disgrace, will the days ever grant your return, and quench the fires kindled in my breast? Shall we meet and be joined in an embrace, your cheek against mine, your breast against my breast? Whoever says that love is sweet should know that love has days more bitter than aloes.” And morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the seven hundred and eighty-eighth night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that as Hasan the goldsmith’s passion increased, he recited poetry alone in the palace, with no one to keep him company. While he was in the depths of his distraction, a cloud of dust rose from the wilderness. He hurried downstairs and hid, knowing that the owners of the palace had returned. Before long the army had dismounted and surrounded the palace, and the seven maidens alighted and entered, taking off their weapons and armor. But the youngest maiden, his sister, did not remove her armor. She went straight to Hasan’s chamber and, not finding him there, searched for him until she found him in one of the bedchambers. He was weak and wasted, his body exhausted, his bones frail, his face yellow, and his eyes sunken from lack of food and drink and from all the tears he had shed for love of the maiden. When his sister, the jinni maiden, saw him in this condition, she was so astonished that her senses deserted her. She asked how he fared, what was wrong with him, and what had befallen him. “Tell me, brother,” she said, “so that I may find a way to relieve your suffering. I would give my life for yours.” He wept bitterly and recited:

“A lover whose beloved has departed has nothing left but sorrow and affliction. Within him is sickness, outwardly he wastes with grief; his beginning is remembrance and his end is brooding.” When his sister heard this, she marveled at his eloquence, the beauty of his expression, and the way he answered her in verse. “Brother,” she said, “when did you fall into this condition? When did this happen to you? I see you speaking poetry and shedding floods of tears. By God, brother, and by the love between us, tell me how you fare and reveal your secret to me. Hide nothing of what happened while we were away, for my heart is heavy and my happiness troubled on your account.” He sighed, and his tears fell like rain. “Sister,” he said, “I fear that if I tell you, you will not help me obtain what I desire, but will leave me to die choking on my grief.” “No, by God, brother,” she answered, “I will never abandon you, even if it costs me my life.” So he told her what had happened and what he had seen when he opened the door. He explained that the cause of his suffering and affliction was his love for the maiden he had seen, and that for ten days he had tasted neither food nor drink. Then he wept bitterly and recited these two verses:

“Restore my heart and happiness to my breast, and sleep to my eyes—then leave me if you will. Do you claim the nights have changed the covenant of love? Perish the one who changes!” His sister wept at his tears, her heart softened at his plight, and she pitied him, a stranger far from home. “Brother,” she said, “be of good cheer and take comfort. I will risk myself beside you and give my life to please you. I will devise some means, even if it costs me all I treasure and my very life, to fulfill your desire, if Almighty God wills. But, brother, I charge you to keep this secret from my sisters. Do not reveal your condition to any of them, lest both you and I lose our lives. If they ask whether you opened the door, tell them, ‘I never opened it. I was only troubled by your absence, longing for you and sitting alone in the palace.’” “Yes,” he said, “that is the right course.” He kissed her head, and his spirits revived and his heart grew light. He had been afraid of his sister because he had opened the door, but she restored him to life after fear had almost destroyed him. Then he asked her for something to eat. She rose and left him, going to her sisters in sorrow and tears over his condition. They asked what was wrong, and she told them that she was troubled about her brother, who was ill and had taken no food for ten days. They asked what had caused his illness. “Our absence,” she replied. “We left him lonely. These few days away seemed longer to him than a thousand years. He is not to blame, for he is a stranger and alone, and we left him without anyone to keep him company or cheer his heart. After all, he is still young. Perhaps he remembered his family and his mother, who is an old woman, and imagined her weeping for him through the watches of the night and the hours of the day, grieving for him without cease. Our company used to console him.”

When her sisters heard her words, they wept in sorrow for him and said, “By God, he is not to blame.” Then they went out to the army and dismissed it. They came in to Hasan and greeted him, and when they saw his altered looks, his yellow face, and his wasted body, they wept with pity. They sat beside him, kept him company, and cheered his heart with conversation, telling him all the wonders and marvels they had seen and what had passed between the bridegroom and the bride. For a whole month the maidens stayed beside him, comforting him and treating him tenderly, yet each day his illness grew worse. Whenever they saw him in this condition they wept bitterly, and the youngest wept most of all. After the month had passed, the maidens longed to ride out to hunt and give chase. They resolved to do so and asked their youngest sister to ride with them. “By God, sisters,” she said, “I cannot go out with you while my brother is in this condition. Until he recovers and his suffering leaves him, I shall stay beside him and nurse him.” When they heard this, they praised her kindness and said, “You will be rewarded for all you do for this stranger.” They left her with him in the palace and rode out, taking provisions for twenty days. And morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the seven hundred and eighty-ninth night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that when the maidens rode out to hunt and give chase, they left their youngest sister with Hasan in the palace. Once they had gone, and she knew they had traveled a considerable distance, she turned to her brother and said, “Brother, get up and show me the place where you saw the maidens.” “In God’s name, most gladly,” he answered. He rejoiced at her words and felt certain he would attain his desire. He tried to rise and go with her to show her the place, but he could not walk, so she took him in her arms and carried him to the roof of the palace. There he showed her the place where he had seen the maidens, the sitting place, and the pool. His sister said, “Brother, describe them to me and tell me how they came.” He described what he had seen, dwelling particularly on the maiden he loved. When she heard his description, she recognized her; her face grew pale and her whole manner changed. “Sister,” he said, “your face has grown pale and your manner has changed.” She answered, “Brother, know that this maiden is the daughter of one of the mightiest kings of the jinn. Her father rules over men and jinn, magicians and soothsayers, clans and followers, many provinces and countries, and immense wealth. Our father is one of his viceroys. No one can withstand him, so great are his armies, so vast his kingdom, and so abundant his wealth. He has allotted to the daughters you saw a territory a full year’s journey in length and breadth. Beyond that, a great river surrounds the region, so that no one, whether human or jinn, can reach it. He has twenty-five thousand maidens who wield swords and thrust with spears. Each one, when she mounts her horse and puts on her armor, is a match for a thousand valiant horsemen. He has seven daughters who possess all the courage and horsemanship of those other maidens, and more besides. Over the region I have described he has appointed his eldest daughter, the oldest of her sisters, whose courage, horsemanship, cunning, trickery, and magic enable her to overcome everyone in her kingdom. The maidens who accompany her are the officers of her court, her attendants, and her chosen companions. These feather skins in which they fly are the work of the magicians of the jinn. If you wish to possess this maiden and marry her, sit here and wait for her, for they come to this place at the beginning of every month. When you see them arrive, hide yourself. Take care not to show yourself, or we shall all lose our lives. Understand what I tell you and keep it in mind. Sit somewhere near them, where you can see them but they cannot see you. When they take off their garments, fix your eyes on the feather garment belonging to the eldest, the one you desire. Take it and nothing else, for it is what carries her back to her country. If you possess it, you possess her. Beware of her deceiving you by saying, ‘You who stole my garment, give it back to me. Here I am with you, before you, and in your power.’ If you give it back, she will kill you, lay our palaces waste, and kill our father. Consider well what your fate would be. When her companions see that her garment has been stolen, they will fly away and leave her sitting alone. Then go up to her, seize her by the hair, and pull her toward you. Once you have drawn her to you, you will possess her and she will be in your power. After that, guard the feather garment carefully. As long as you have it, she will remain in your grasp and your captivity, for she cannot fly to her own country without it. When you have seized her, carry her downstairs to your chamber, but do not let her know that you took the garment.”

When Hasan heard his sister’s words, his heart was reassured, his fear subsided, and his pain departed. He stood upright on his feet and kissed his sister’s head. Then he and his sister went down from the roof of the palace and passed the night below, while he tended to his recovery until morning. When the sun rose, he got up, opened the door, and climbed to the roof, where he sat until evening. His sister came up with food and drink, changed his clothes, and he slept. She continued caring for him in this way each day until the new month began. When he saw the crescent moon, he began watching for them. As he waited, they came toward him like lightning. At the sight of them he hid where he could see them but they could not see him. The birds alighted, each settling in a place and splitting open its garment. The maiden he loved did the same, close to where Hasan was hiding, then went down into the pool with her companions. Hasan rose and crept a little way, keeping himself concealed, and God sheltered him from their sight. He took the garment without any of them seeing him, for they were playing together. When they had finished, they came out, and each put on her feather garment. His beloved came to put on hers but could not find it. She cried out, struck her face, and tore her clothes. Her companions came to her and asked what was wrong, and she told them her feather garment was missing. They wept and screamed and struck their faces. When night fell, they could not remain beside her, so they left her on the palace roof. And morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the seven hundred and ninetieth night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that when Hasan took the maiden’s garment, she searched for it but could not find it, and her companions flew away and left her alone. When Hasan saw them fly away and disappear, he listened and heard her saying, “You who have taken my garment and left me naked, I beg you to return it and cover my nakedness. May God never let you taste anguish such as mine!” When Hasan heard her words, his love robbed him of his reason, his passion for her increased, and he could no longer bear to remain apart from her. He rose from his hiding place and ran until he rushed upon her and seized her. He drew her to him and carried her down to the lower part of the palace, brought her into his chamber, and threw his cloak over her while she wept and bit her hands. He locked the door upon her and went to his sister, telling her that he had secured the maiden and brought her down to his chamber. “She is sitting there now,” he said, “weeping and biting her hands.” When his sister heard this, she rose and went to the chamber. She entered and found the maiden weeping in sorrow. She kissed the ground before her and greeted her. The maiden said, “King’s daughter, is this how people such as you behave toward the daughters of kings, committing such shameful deeds? You know that my father is a mighty king, that the kings of the jinn tremble before him and fear his power. He has magicians, sages, soothsayers, devils, and rebellious spirits whom no one can withstand, and under his command are hosts whose number God alone knows. How can it be fitting for you, daughters of kings, to shelter mortal men in your house and reveal our affairs and yours to them? How else could this man have reached us?” Hasan’s sister answered, “King’s daughter, this mortal is a man of perfect honor. He has no shameful intention; he only loves you. Women were created for men, and had he not loved you, he would not have fallen ill on your account and nearly lost his life for love of you.” She told her all that Hasan had related of his love for her, and what the maidens had done when they flew there and bathed. Of them all, she said, he had admired none but her, for all the others were her handmaids; she had ducked them beneath the water, and not one had dared lay a hand on her.

When the maiden heard her words, she despaired of escape. Hasan’s sister rose and left her, then brought her a sumptuous change of clothes and dressed her in it. She brought food and drink, and they ate together. She comforted her heart and soothed her fears, treating her with gentleness and kindness and saying, “Have mercy on one who looked upon you once and was slain by love of you.” She continued coaxing and consoling her, speaking to her with tender and gracious words, while the maiden wept until dawn. Then her heart grew calmer and she ceased weeping, knowing that she had been caught and could not escape. She said to Hasan’s sister, “King’s daughter, this is what God has decreed for me: exile and separation from my country, my family, and my siblings. I must bear with gracious patience what my Lord has ordained.” Hasan’s sister set aside for her a chamber finer than any other in the palace, and stayed beside her, entertaining and comforting her until she grew content, her heart opened, and she laughed. Her distress and sorrow at being parted from her family and homeland, her sisters, her parents, and her kingdom passed away. Then Hasan’s sister went out to him and said, “Go in to her in her chamber, and kiss her hands and feet.” He entered and did so, then kissed her between the eyes and said, “O queen of beauties, life of souls and delight of all beholders, set your heart at ease. I took you only so that I might be your slave until the Day of Resurrection, and this sister of mine is your handmaid. My lady, I desire nothing but to marry you according to the law of God and His Messenger, then travel to my country, where you and I shall live in the city of Baghdad. I shall buy you slave girls and servants, and I have a mother, one of the best of women, who will wait upon you. There is no country more beautiful than ours. Everything in it is finer than what is found in any other land, and its people are kind and fair of face.”

While he was speaking to her and trying to comfort her, though she would not answer him with a single word, there came a knock at the palace gate. Hasan went out to see who was there and found that the girls had returned from hunting. Delighted, he welcomed and greeted them; they prayed for his health and safety, and he offered the same prayers for them. They dismounted and entered the palace, and each went to her own chamber, took off her worn clothes, and put on fine garments. They went out hunting and caught a great many gazelles, wild cattle, hares, beasts of prey, hyenas, and other creatures. Some they brought forward to be slaughtered, and the rest they kept in the palace. Hasan stood among them with his waist girded, slaughtering the animals for them, while they played and made merry, delighted with their sport. When the slaughtering was done, they sat down to prepare something for their midday meal. Hasan approached the eldest girl and kissed her head, then went from one to another, kissing each upon the head. “Brother,” they said, “you have shown us great humility. We marvel at the depth of your affection for us, for you are a mortal man, while we are of the jinn.” His eyes filled with tears, and he wept bitterly. “What is the matter?” they asked. “Why do you weep? You have clouded our happiness today with your tears! Perhaps you long for your mother and your homeland. If that is so, shall we make you ready and take you home to those you love?” “By Allah,” he replied, “I have no wish to leave you.” “Then which of us has troubled you and made you so unhappy?” Ashamed to say that his love for the maiden alone distressed him, and afraid they would reproach him, he remained silent and told them nothing of his plight. Then his sister rose and said, “He has caught a bird out of the air, and he wants you to help him wed her.” They turned to him and said, “We are all at your service, and whatever you ask, we shall do. But tell us your story, and conceal nothing of your circumstances.” He said to his sister, “Tell them my story, for I am ashamed before them and cannot speak to them of such things.” And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the seven hundred and ninety-first night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that Hasan said to his sister, “Tell them my story, for I am ashamed and cannot speak to them of such things.” His sister said, “My sisters, when we went away and left him alone in this dwelling, the palace seemed oppressive to him, and he feared someone might come upon him. You know how flighty mortals are. Feeling lonely and downhearted, he opened the door leading to the palace roof, climbed up, and sat there overlooking the valley, keeping watch toward the gate for fear someone might approach the palace. One day, while he was sitting there, ten birds came flying toward the palace and alighted beside the pool above the pavilion. He watched the fairest of the birds pecking at the others, not one of whom dared lift a hand against her. Then they put their claws into their collars, tore open their feather garments, and stepped out of them, each becoming a maiden like the moon on the night of its fullness. They took off their clothes while Hasan stood watching them, then entered the water and began to play. The eldest maiden ducked the others beneath the water, and not one dared raise a hand against her. She was the fairest of face, the most graceful of figure, and the most neatly dressed. They remained so until the afternoon drew near, then came out of the pool, put on their clothes, slipped into their feather garments, wrapped themselves in them, and flew away. His heart was consumed with longing and burned with love for the eldest bird. He regretted not having stolen her feather garment, and fell ill. He stayed upon the palace roof, waiting for her, refusing food, drink, and sleep. So he continued until the new moon appeared. As he sat there, they came as usual, took off their clothes, and went down into the pool. He stole the eldest maiden’s garment, knowing she could not fly without it, and hid it for fear they might discover him and kill him. Then he waited until the others had flown away, seized her, and brought her down from the palace roof.”

Her sisters asked, “Where is she?” “She is with him in such-and-such a chamber,” she replied. “Describe her to us, sister.” She said, “She is lovelier than the full moon, her face brighter than the sun, her saliva sweeter than wine, her figure more slender and graceful than a bough. She has wide, dark eyes, a moon-bright face, a radiant brow, a breast like a jewel, two breasts like pomegranates, cheeks like apples, a belly folded into soft curves, a navel like an ivory casket filled with musk, and legs like two columns of marble. She captures hearts with her kohl-dark eyes, her slim waist, her full hips, and speech that soothes the burning soul. Her figure is exquisite, her smile lovely, and she is like the moon at its fullest.”

When the girls heard this description, they turned to Hasan and said, “Show her to us.” Distraught with love, he rose and led them to the chamber where the king’s daughter was. He opened it and entered, with them following behind. When they saw her and beheld her beauty, they kissed the ground before her, marveling at her lovely form and delicate grace. They greeted her and said, “By Allah, daughter of the greatest of kings, this is a momentous affair! If you had heard how women speak of this mortal, you would marvel at him all your life. He is deeply devoted to you. Yet, daughter of the king, he seeks no dishonor; he desires you only in lawful marriage. Had we known that women could do without men, we would have denied him his wish. Nor did he send you a messenger: he came to you himself. He has told us that he burned the feather garment; otherwise, we would have taken it from him.” Then one of the girls came to an agreement with her and acted as her representative in the marriage contract. She concluded the marriage between her and Hasan, clasped his hand in hers, and gave the maiden to him in marriage with her consent. They celebrated her wedding as befitted a king’s daughter and brought him to his bride. Hasan rose, opened the door, lifted the veil, and broke her maiden seal. His love for her grew, and his passion deepened. Having attained his desire, he congratulated himself and recited these verses:

“Your figure bewitches, your eyes are dark and wide; your face drips with the very essence of beauty. You have taken the noblest form within my eyes: half of you is ruby, a third of you a jewel, a fifth of you is musk, a sixth is ambergris. You are like a pearl—indeed, more radiant still. Eve never bore another such as you, nor is your equal found in the gardens of eternity. If you choose to torment me, such is the law of love; if you choose to pardon, the choice is yours. O ornament of the world, O utmost wish, who could endure to turn away from your fair face?” And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the seven hundred and ninety-second night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that when Hasan went in to the king’s daughter and took her maidenhead, he found great delight in her, and his love and longing increased. He recited the verses already mentioned. The girls were standing at the door, and when they heard the poetry, they said to her, “Daughter of the king, have you heard what this mortal says? How can you blame us, when he has composed poetry out of love for you?” Hearing this, she grew cheerful and happy, and her heart was eased. Hasan remained with her for forty days in happiness, delight, pleasure, and joy. Every day the girls provided fresh festivities and favors, gifts and precious presents. He lived happily among them, and the king’s daughter found such pleasure in their company that she forgot her family. After those forty days, Hasan dreamed as he slept that his mother was grieving for him. Her bones had grown frail, her body wasted, her complexion yellow, and her whole condition changed, while he himself was flourishing. Seeing him in such a state, she said, “My son Hasan, how can you live in comfort in this world and forget me? Look at what has become of me since you left! I never forget you, and my tongue will not cease speaking your name until I die. I have made a grave for you here in my house, so that I may never forget you. Shall I live, my son, to see you here beside me and have us reunited as we were before?” Hasan woke weeping and lamenting, with tears pouring down his cheeks like rain. He became sorrowful and dejected; his tears would not cease, sleep would not come, and he could find neither rest nor patience. In the morning the girls came in, greeted him, and tried to cheer him as usual, but he paid them no heed. They asked his wife what ailed him. “I do not know,” she replied. “Ask him what is wrong,” they said. She approached him and asked, “What is the matter, my lord?” He sighed in distress and told her what he had seen in his dream, then recited these two verses:

“We are left troubled and bewildered, seeking a reunion for which there is no way. The calamities of love increase upon us, and heavy is the burden love lays upon our hearts.” His wife told them what he had said. When the girls heard his verses, they pitied him and said, “Go, in Allah’s name. We cannot prevent you from visiting her; rather, we shall help you in every way we can. But you must visit us and not forsake us, even if you come only once a year.” “I hear and obey,” he replied. At once the girls rose and prepared provisions for him. They furnished his bride with jewels, robes, and precious things beyond description, and made ready gifts that no pen could number. Then they beat the drum, and swift riding camels came to them from every direction. They chose enough to carry everything they had prepared, mounted Hasan and his bride, and loaded for them twenty-five chests of gold and fifty of silver. They traveled with them for three days, covering a journey of three months. Then they bade them farewell and prepared to turn back. His youngest sister embraced him and wept until she fainted. When she recovered, she recited these two verses:

“Would that the day of parting had never been! It has left no sleep within our eyes. It has scattered the company that joined us to you, and shattered our strength and our bodies.” When she had finished her verses, she bade him farewell and charged him, once he had reached his country, rejoined his mother, and set his heart at rest, not to neglect visiting her once every six months. “If any trouble distresses you,” she said, “or you fear some misfortune, beat the Magian’s drum. The riding camels will come to you; mount and return to us, and do not delay.” He swore to do so, then implored them to turn back after they had said their farewells. They grieved at parting from him, and his youngest sister grieved most of all. She could find neither rest nor patience, but wept night and day. Such was their case. As for Hasan, he traveled night and day with his wife across wildernesses and deserts, valleys and rugged country, through the midday heat and the hours before dawn. Allah decreed their safety, and they arrived unharmed in the city of Basra. They continued until they made their camels kneel at the door of his house. Then he dismissed the camels and approached the door to open it. He heard his mother weeping in a plaintive voice, from a heart that had tasted the torment of fire, and reciting these verses:

“How can one taste sleep when slumber has deserted him, and he keeps vigil through the night while others rest? Once he possessed wealth, family, and honor; now he is a stranger in his home, alone. An ember burns between his ribs; he sighs with a longing beyond which no longing can be. Passion has gained dominion over him, and passion rules: he laments his suffering, though he is steadfast. His state in love proclaims him sorrowful and brokenhearted, and his tears bear witness.” Hasan wept when he heard his mother’s tears and lamentations. Then he knocked loudly at the door. “Who is there?” his mother asked. “Open,” he answered. She opened the door and looked at him. The moment she recognized him, she fell unconscious. He tended her gently until she revived, then embraced her, and she embraced and kissed him. He carried his belongings and baggage into the house, while the maiden watched Hasan and his mother. When his mother’s heart was at last at ease, and Allah had reunited her with her son, she recited these verses:

“Time has softened toward my plight and pitied my long anguish. It has granted me what I desired and removed the foe I feared. I shall forgive its former sins, even the wrong it did in turning the hair upon my temples white.” And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the seven hundred and ninety-third night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that Hasan’s mother sat talking with him and asked, “How did you fare with the Persian, my son?” “Mother,” he replied, “he was no mere Persian, but a Magian who worshipped fire instead of the Almighty King.” He told her what the man had done to him: how he had taken him away, enclosed him in a camel’s hide and sewn it around him, and how the birds had carried him up and set him on the mountain. He told her of the dead men he had seen upon the mountain, whom the Magian had tricked and abandoned there once they had served his purpose; how he had hurled himself from the mountain into the sea, and how Allah Most High had preserved him and brought him to the girls’ palace. He told her how one of the girls had taken him as her brother and how he had stayed with them, and how Allah had brought the Magian to the very place where he was. He told her of his love for the maiden and how he had caught her, and related her whole story, until Allah had brought mother and son together again. Hearing his tale, his mother marveled and praised Allah Most High for his health and safety. Then she rose to examine the baggage and asked him about it. He told her what it contained, and she was overjoyed. She went to the maiden to speak with her and make her welcome, but when her eyes fell upon her, she was dazzled by her loveliness. Delighted, she marveled at her beauty, her figure, and her graceful proportions. Then she said to him, “My son, praise be to Allah for your safety and your unharmed return!” His mother sat beside the maiden, keeping her company and setting her heart at ease. Early the next morning she went down to the market and bought ten outfits of the finest clothes in the city. She brought splendid furnishings for her, dressed her, and adorned her with every lovely thing. Then she turned to her son and said, “My son, with all this wealth we cannot live in this city. You know we are poor people, and people will suspect us of practicing alchemy. Let us travel to Baghdad, the Abode of Peace, and live under the Caliph’s protection. You can take a shop and buy and sell, fearing Allah Almighty, and He will make this wealth prosper for you.”

Hasan approved his mother’s counsel. He rose at once, went out, and sold the house. Then he summoned the riding camels, loaded them with all his wealth and possessions, mounted his mother and his wife, and set out. He traveled until he reached the Tigris, where he hired a vessel for Baghdad and transferred to it all his wealth, belongings, his mother, his wife, and everything he possessed. Then he boarded, and the vessel carried them onward with a fair wind for ten days, until Baghdad came into view. They rejoiced at the sight, and the vessel brought them into the city. He went ashore immediately and rented a storeroom in one of the khans, then moved his possessions there from the vessel and spent the night in the khan. In the morning he changed his clothes. When the broker saw him, he asked what he needed and what he was looking for. “I want a fine, spacious house,” he replied. The broker showed him the houses he had available, and Hasan took a liking to one that had belonged to a vizier. He bought it for a hundred thousand gold dinars and paid the price. Then he returned to the khan where he was staying and moved all his wealth and belongings into the house. He went to the market and bought the vessels, furnishings, and other things the house required. He also bought servants, among them a young slave boy to serve in the household. For three years he lived peacefully with his wife in the sweetest happiness and delight. She bore him two sons, one of whom he named Nasir and the other Mansur.

After that time, he remembered his sisters, the girls, their kindness to him, and how they had helped him attain his desire. Longing to see them, he went to the city’s markets and bought jewelry, precious fabrics, and delicacies such as they had never seen or known. His mother asked why he was buying these gifts. “I have resolved to visit my sisters,” he said, “who showed me every kindness. The prosperity I enjoy comes from their generosity and their goodness to me. I wish to go and see them, and return soon, if Allah Most High wills.” “My son,” she said, “do not stay away from me.” He replied, “Mother, be mindful of how you treat my wife. Her feather garment is in a chest buried in the ground. Guard it carefully, lest she find it, take it, and fly away with her children, leaving me unable to discover any news of them, so that I die of grief. Mother, I warn you not to mention this to her. Know that she is the daughter of a king of the jinn, and among all their kings none is greater than her father, nor has more soldiers or wealth. She is the foremost lady of her people and her father’s dearest treasure, and she is exceedingly proud. Serve her yourself, and do not let her go out of the door, look out of a window, or peer over a wall. I fear even the blowing wind for her, and if any worldly misfortune were to befall her, I would kill myself on her account.” His mother said, “Allah forbid that I should disobey you, my son! Am I mad, that you should give me such instructions and I should disregard them? Go, my son, with an easy heart. You will return safely and find her here, if Allah Most High wills, and she will tell you how I have treated her. But, my son, stay no longer than the journey requires.” And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the seven hundred and ninety-fourth night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that when Hasan wished to set out to visit the girls, he entrusted his wife to his mother’s care as we have related. By the decree of fate, his wife overheard what he said to his mother, though neither of them knew it. Hasan then rose, went outside the city, and beat the drum. The riding camels came to him, and he loaded twenty of them with treasures from Iraq. He bade farewell to his mother, his wife, and his children, one of whom was a year old and the other two. Then he returned to his mother and repeated his instructions before mounting and setting out for his sisters. For ten days he traveled night and day through valleys and mountains, over plains and rugged ground. On the eleventh day he reached the palace and went in to his sisters with the gifts he had brought. When they saw him, they rejoiced and congratulated him on his safe arrival. His own sister adorned the palace inside and out. They accepted his gifts, lodged him in a chamber as before, and asked after his mother and his wife. He told them that his wife had borne him two sons. When his youngest sister saw him safe and well, she was overjoyed and recited this verse:

“Whenever the wind passes, I ask it for news of you; none but you has ever passed through my heart.” He remained their honored guest for three months, amid happiness, delight, pleasure, festivities, and hunting. Such was his story. As for his mother and his wife, after Hasan’s departure his wife stayed with his mother for one day and then a second. On the third day she said, “Glory be to Allah! Am I to live with him for three years without ever going to the bathhouse?” She began to weep. His mother took pity on her and said, “My daughter, we are strangers here, and your husband is away. If he were here, he would attend to your needs. As for me, I know no one. But I shall heat water for you, my daughter, and wash your hair in the bath here at home.” “My lady,” she replied, “if you said such a thing to one of your slave girls, she would demand to be sold in the market rather than remain with you. Yet men may be excused, my lady, for they are jealous, and their minds tell them that if a woman leaves her house she may commit some indecency. But women are not all alike, my lady. You know that if a woman sets her heart on something, no one can overcome her, keep watch over her, guard her, prevent her from going to the bath or anywhere else, or stop her from doing whatever she chooses.” Then she wept, cursed her own fate, and lamented her plight and her exile. Her mother-in-law took pity on her and recognized the truth of what she said. She rose, prepared the things they would need for the bath, and took her to the bathhouse.

When they entered the bathhouse and undressed, all the women began to gaze at her, glorifying Allah Almighty and marveling at the beautiful form He had created. Every woman who passed the bathhouse came in to look at her. Word of her spread through the city, and women flocked around her until the bathhouse was packed so tightly that there was scarcely room to move. As it happened, one of the slave girls of the Commander of the Faithful, Harun al-Rashid, came to the bathhouse that day. Her name was Tuhfa the Lute Player. Seeing the crowds of women and girls filling the place, she asked what was happening. They told her of the maiden, and she went over to look at her. As she studied her, she was bewildered by her beauty and loveliness, and glorified Allah, majestic in His glory, for the lovely forms He had created. She did not go in to bathe, but sat gazing in astonishment at the maiden until she had finished washing and come out to put on her clothes, which added beauty to her beauty. Leaving the hot room, the maiden sat upon the carpets and cushions while the women looked at her. She turned toward them, then went out. Tuhfa the Lute Player, the Caliph’s slave girl, rose and followed her until she learned where she lived. Then she bade her farewell and returned to the Caliph’s palace. She went straight into the presence of Lady Zubayda and kissed the ground before her. “Tuhfa,” Lady Zubayda asked, “why have you been so long at the bath?” “My lady,” she replied, “I have seen a marvel whose like I have never seen among men or women. It so occupied and bewildered me, and so confounded my mind, that I did not even wash my hair.” “What was it, Tuhfa?” she asked. “My lady, I saw a young woman at the bath with two little sons like two moons. No one has ever seen, or ever will see, her equal. There is no beauty like hers in the whole world. By your bounty, my lady, if you told the Commander of the Faithful of her, he would kill her husband and take her from him, for no other woman is like her. I asked about her husband and was told that he is a merchant named Hasan al-Basri. I followed her from the bathhouse until she entered her home, and saw that it was the vizier’s house with two gates, one facing the river and the other facing the land. I fear, my lady, that the Commander of the Faithful may hear of her, break the sacred law, kill her husband, and marry her.” And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the seven hundred and ninety-fifth night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that when the Commander of the Faithful’s slave girl saw Hasan al-Basri’s wife and described her beauty to Lady Zubayda, she said, “My lady, I fear the Commander of the Faithful may hear of her, break the sacred law, kill her husband, and marry her.” Lady Zubayda said, “Woe to you, Tuhfa! Has this young woman attained such beauty and loveliness that the Commander of the Faithful would sell his faith for worldly pleasure and break the sacred law on her account? By Allah, I must see this maiden! If she is not as you describe, I shall have your head struck off, you wicked girl! There are three hundred and sixty slave girls in the Commander of the Faithful’s palace, as many as the days of the year, and not one has the qualities you describe.” “My lady,” she replied, “by Allah, there is none like her in all Baghdad, nor among Persians or Arabs. Allah Almighty has never created her equal.” Then Lady Zubayda summoned Masrur. He came and kissed the ground before her. “Masrur,” she said, “go to the vizier’s house with two gates, one facing the river and one facing the land, and bring me the young woman who lives there, her children, and the old woman with her. Be quick, and do not delay.” “I hear and obey,” said Masrur.

He left her presence and went to the house, where he knocked at the door. The old woman, Hasan’s mother, came and asked, “Who is there?” “Masrur, servant of the Commander of the Faithful,” he replied. She opened the door and he entered. They exchanged greetings, and she asked what he wanted. “Lady Zubayda, daughter of al-Qasim,” he said, “wife of the Commander of the Faithful Harun al-Rashid, the sixth of the descendants of al-Abbas, the Prophet’s uncle—Allah bless him and grant him peace—summons you, your son’s wife, and her children. The women have told her about the maiden and her beauty.” Hasan’s mother said, “Masrur, we are strangers here. The girl’s husband is my son, and he is away from the city. He has not given either her or me permission to go out to anyone Allah Most High has created. I fear something may happen, and when my son returns he may kill himself. Be so kind, Masrur, as not to burden us beyond what we can bear.” “My lady,” Masrur replied, “if I knew there was any danger to you in this, I would not insist that you come. The lady merely wishes to see her, and then she may return. Do not refuse, lest you regret it. Just as I take you there, so I shall bring you back here safely, if Allah Most High wills.” Hasan’s mother could not refuse him. She went in, made the maiden ready, and brought her out with her children. They followed Masrur, who led them to the Caliph’s palace and brought them before Lady Zubayda. They kissed the ground before her and prayed for her. The maiden’s face was veiled. Lady Zubayda said to her, “Will you not uncover your face so that I may see it?” The maiden kissed the ground before her and unveiled a face that put the full moon in the heavens to shame. Lady Zubayda stared at her, letting her eyes roam over her, and the palace shone with the radiance of her face. Zubayda was astounded by her beauty, as was everyone in the palace. All who saw her were so beside themselves that they could not speak.

Then Lady Zubayda rose, drew the maiden to her feet, embraced her, and seated her beside her on the couch. She ordered the palace to be adorned, then called for an outfit of the finest clothes and a necklace of the most precious jewels. She dressed the maiden in them and said, “Mistress of beauties, you have delighted me and filled my eyes. What treasures do you possess?” The maiden replied, “My lady, I have a feather garment. If I put it on before you, you would see a most wondrous feat, whose beauty all who beheld it would speak of for generations.” “Where is this garment of yours?” she asked. “My husband’s mother has it. Ask her to give it to me.” Lady Zubayda said, “Mother, by the regard you bear my life, go and fetch her feather garment, so that she may entertain us with what she can do. Then you may take it back.” The old woman said, “My lady, she is lying. Have we ever seen a woman with a garment of feathers? Such things belong only to birds.” The maiden said to Lady Zubayda, “By your life, my lady, she has a feather garment of mine in a chest buried in the storeroom of the house.” Lady Zubayda took from her own neck a jeweled necklace worth the treasuries of Chosroes and Caesar, and said, “Mother, take this necklace.” She handed it to her and said, “By my life, go and fetch that garment so that we may see it. Afterward, you may take it back.” But the old woman swore that she had never seen the garment and knew nothing of its whereabouts. Lady Zubayda shouted at her, took the key from her, and summoned Masrur. When he appeared, she said, “Take this key, go to the house, unlock it, and enter the storeroom whose door is such-and-such. In the middle of it is a chest. Dig it up, break it open, and bring me the feather garment inside it.” And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the seven hundred and ninety-sixth night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that Lady Zubayda took the key from Hasan’s mother and gave it to Masrur, saying, “Take this key, open such-and-such a storeroom, dig up the chest, break it open, and bring me the feather garment inside.” “I hear and obey,” he replied. He took the key from Lady Zubayda’s hand and set out. The old woman, Hasan’s mother, rose and went with him, weeping and regretting that she had yielded to the maiden and accompanied her to the bathhouse. The maiden had asked to go to the bath only as a stratagem. The old woman entered the house with Masrur and opened the storeroom door. He went in, brought out the chest, took the feather garment from it, wrapped it in a towel, and carried it to Lady Zubayda. She took it and turned it over, marveling at its fine workmanship, then handed it to the maiden and asked, “Is this your feather garment?” “Yes, my lady,” she replied, and joyfully reached out and took it from her. She examined it and found it as sound as when she had worn it, with not a feather missing. Delighted, she rose from Lady Zubayda’s side, unfolded the garment, gathered her children into her arms, and wrapped herself in it. By the power of Allah Almighty, she became a bird. Lady Zubayda and everyone present were astonished, and all marveled at what she had done. Then the maiden swayed, walked, danced, and played, while those present stared in wonder at her actions. She said to them in a clear voice, “My lords and ladies, is this pleasing?” “Yes, mistress of beauties,” they replied. “Everything you have done is pleasing.” “What I shall do now,” she said, “is finer still, my lords and ladies.” She spread her wings, flew up with her children above the dome, and alighted on the roof of the hall. They gazed up at her and said, “By Allah, this is a strange and beautiful feat, such as we have never seen!” Then, as the maiden was about to fly away to her own country, she remembered Hasan and said, “Listen, my lords and ladies.” And she recited these verses:

O you who have left this dwelling and hastened away to those you love, do you suppose I lived in bliss among you, and that life with you was free of sorrow? When I was captured and fell into the snare of love, love made itself my prison and set my homeland far beyond my reach. When my robe was hidden, he felt certain I could no longer call upon the One, the All-Subduing. He charged his mother to guard it in a private chamber, and dealt with me unjustly and cruelly. I heard their words and kept them in my memory, hoping for abundant blessings yet to come. My visit to the bath became the means, until all minds were bewildered at the sight of me. Al-Rashid’s wife marveled at my beauty as she looked me over, right and left. I cried, “O wife of the Caliph, I have a robe of splendid feathers in which I take great pride. Were it upon me, you would behold such wonders as would banish weariness and scatter grief.” The Caliph’s wife asked, “Where is it?” I answered, “In the house of the man who hid it.” Masrur rushed off and brought it to her, and behold, it shone with light. I took it from his hand and unfolded it, examining its opening and its buttons. Then I slipped inside it with my children, spread my wings, and flew away. O mother of my husband, tell him when he comes: if he desires reunion with me, he must leave his home. When she had finished her verses, Lady Zubayda said to her, “Will you not come down and stay with us, that we may feast our eyes upon your beauty, O queen of lovely women? Glory be to Him who bestowed such eloquence and beauty upon you!” She replied, “What is past can never return.” Then she said to the mother of poor, sorrowful Hasan, “By God, my lady, mother of Hasan, I shall miss you. When your son returns, if the days of separation weigh upon him, and he yearns for nearness and reunion, and the winds of love and longing stir him, let him come to me in the Islands of Waq.” Then she flew away with her children and made for her own country. When Hasan’s mother saw this, she wept, beat her face, and sobbed until she fainted. When she recovered, Lady Zubayda said to her, “My lady pilgrim, I never knew this would happen. Had you told me, I would not have interfered. Only now have I learned that she is one of the flying jinn. Had I known her nature, I would never have allowed her to put on the robe or let her take her children. But, my lady, forgive me.” The old woman, finding herself powerless, replied, “You are forgiven.” Then she left the Caliph’s palace and walked on until she reached her house. There she began beating her face until she fainted. When she came to her senses, she longed for the young woman and her children, and for the sight of her son, and recited these verses:

On the day of parting, your departure made me weep with grief that you were leaving home. I cried out in the burning anguish of separation, and tears wore sores upon my eyelids. This is farewell—but shall we ever meet again? Your departure has stripped me of all concealment. Would that they returned to their old faithfulness! Perhaps, if they returned, my happy days would return as well. Then she rose and dug three graves in the house, and wept over them through the hours of the night and at either end of the day. As her son’s absence lengthened, and her anxiety, longing, and sorrow grew, she recited these verses:

Your image lies between my closing eyelids; your memory is with me in every heartbeat and every stillness. My love for you has flowed into my bones as water flows into the fruit upon the boughs. A day without the sight of you constricts my breast, and even those who blame me excuse my grief. O you whose love has taken possession of me, for whom my love has passed into madness, fear the Merciful in your dealings with me, and show compassion: loving you has made me taste the terrors of death. And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the seven hundred and ninety-seventh night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that Hasan’s mother wept through the hours of the night and at either end of the day over the loss of her son, his wife, and his children. Such was her case. As for her son Hasan, when he reached the maidens, they made him swear to remain with them for three months. After that, they furnished him with money and prepared ten loads for him, five of gold and five of silver, together with one load of provisions. They sent him on his way and went out with him, but he implored them to turn back. They came forward to embrace him in farewell, and the youngest girl approached him, clasped him in her arms, and wept until she fainted. She recited these two verses:

When will your nearness quench the fire of separation, and we put an end to parting and be as once we were? The day of separation has terrified and wounded me, and this farewell, my dear ones, has only deepened my weakness. Then the second girl came forward, embraced him, and recited these two verses:

To bid you farewell is to bid farewell to life; to lose you is to lose my dearest companion. Your absence is a fire that sears my heart; your presence is, to me, the land of bliss. Then the third came forward, embraced him, and recited these two verses:

If we did not say farewell when we parted, it was neither from weariness nor any unkind intent. You are truly my very soul: how could I choose to bid my soul farewell? Then the fourth girl came forward, embraced him, and recited these two verses:

Nothing made me weep but the news of his departure, whispered to me by the one who came to say farewell. Those very words you placed within my hearing, you drew forth again in tears from my eyes. Then the fifth girl came forward, embraced him, and recited these two verses:

Do not depart! I have not the strength to bear your absence and bid you a traveler’s farewell. I have neither patience enough to face separation nor tears enough to shed upon an abandoned dwelling. Then the sixth girl came forward, embraced him, and recited these two verses:

When the ships bore them away, I said, while longing plundered my heart, “Had I the sovereign power to wield, I would seize every ship by force.” Then the seventh girl came forward, embraced him, and recited these two verses:

When farewell confronts you, be patient, and let not distance fill you with dread. Look for a swift return: once you have left farewell behind, they will come back. Then Hasan bade them farewell and wept until he fainted from the pain of parting with them. He recited these verses:

On the day of separation my tears flowed freely, pearls I strung into necklaces from my eyes. The camel-driver urged their mounts away, and I could find no fortitude, no patience, nor even my own heart within me. I bade them farewell, then turned away in sorrow, leaving the familiar comfort of our haunts and homes. I took the road again—may that road know no blessing!—and nothing consoled my soul but the hope of seeing you on my return. O my companion, listen to the tales of love: far be it from your heart to hear my words and fail to understand. O soul, since you have parted from them, part also from the sweetness of life, and cherish no hope of living on. Then he pressed onward night and day until he reached Baghdad, the Abode of Peace and sanctuary of the Abbasid Caliphate, knowing nothing of what had happened after his departure. He entered the house to greet his mother and found her body wasted and her bones frail from ceaseless lamentation, sleeplessness, weeping, and wailing, until she was as thin as a toothpick and could not answer him. He dismissed the riding camels and went up to her. Seeing her in this condition, he searched the house for his wife and children but found no trace of them. Then he looked in the storeroom and found it open, and the chest open too, with no robe inside. At once he knew that she had gained possession of the feather robe and flown away, taking her children with her. He returned to his mother and found that she had recovered from her swoon. He asked her about his wife and children, and she wept and said, “My son, may God grant you a great reward for bearing their loss. Here are their three graves.” When he heard his mother’s words, he gave a terrible cry and fell unconscious, remaining so from early morning until noon. His mother’s grief was added to her grief, and she despaired of his life. When he recovered, he wept, beat his face, tore his clothes, and wandered bewildered through the house. Then he recited these two verses:

Others before me have complained of the pain of separation, and parting has struck terror into the living and the dead. But of a sorrow such as my ribs enclose, I have neither heard nor seen the like. When he had finished his verses, he took his sword and drew it, then went to his mother and said, “Unless you tell me the truth of what happened, I shall strike off your head and kill myself.” She said, “My son, do not do that, and I will tell you.” Then she added, “Sheathe your sword and sit down, so that I may tell you what happened.” When he had sheathed his sword and sat beside her, she repeated the story from beginning to end, saying, “My son, had I not seen her weeping to go to the bath, and feared that you would return and she would complain to you and make you angry with me, I would never have taken her there. And had Lady Zubayda not grown angry with me and taken the key from me by force, I would never have brought out the robe, even if it cost me my life. My son, you know that no hand can contend with the hand of the Caliphate. When they brought her the robe, she took it and turned it over, thinking that something might be missing from it. Finding it untouched, she rejoiced, took her children, and fastened them about her waist. Then she put on the feather robe, after Lady Zubayda, in honor of her and her beauty, had taken off all her own finery and given it to her. Once she had put on the feather robe, she shook herself and became a bird. She walked about the palace while they watched, marveling at her loveliness and beauty. Then she flew up above the palace, looked down at me, and said, ‘When your son returns, if the nights of separation weigh upon him, and he yearns for nearness and reunion with me, and the winds of love and longing stir him, let him leave his homeland and go to the Islands of Waq.’ That is what happened to her in your absence.” And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the seven hundred and ninety-eighth night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that when Hasan heard his mother’s words, as she told him all his wife had done when she flew away, he gave a terrible cry and fell unconscious. He remained so until the end of the day. When he recovered, he beat his face and writhed upon the ground like a snake. His mother sat weeping at his head until midnight. When he came out of his swoon, he wept bitterly and recited these verses:

Stop and behold the state of him whom you forsake; perhaps, after your cruelty, you will take pity on him. If you look upon him, you will not know him for his sickness—as though, by God, you had never known him at all. He is but a dead man, slain by love of you, numbered among the dead except for his moaning. Do not imagine separation is an easy thing: it is grievous to the yearning heart, and death itself is less bitter. When he had finished his verses, he rose and wandered through the house, lamenting, weeping, and sobbing for five days, during which he tasted neither food nor drink. His mother went to him and implored him, beseeching him by solemn oaths to cease his weeping, but he would not heed her words. He went on weeping and sobbing while his mother tried to comfort him, yet he heard nothing she said. Then he recited these verses:

Is this how every lover’s devotion is repaid, or is this the way of those wide-eyed gazelles? Are there not honeycombs arrayed between their lips, or a tavern of golden wine? Tell me the tale of those whom love has slain, for shared suffering is a solace to every grieving soul. Beyond that place of prayer there is a spring whose pebbles are like hidden pearls. Even had I the sight of Zarqa al-Yamama, I could not have seen from Bariq a living soul in Jayrun. You cast your eyes along the mountain passes, turning them now to the left, now to the right. Hasan remained in this state, weeping until morning. Then his eyes closed in a doze, and he saw his wife grieving and in tears. He awoke with a cry and recited these two verses:

Your image never leaves me for a moment; I have given it the noblest place within my heart. But for the hope of reunion I would not live an instant, and but for your phantom in my dreams I would never sleep. When morning came, his sobbing and weeping increased. His eyes were never dry, his heart was sorrowful, he lay awake at night and ate little. He remained in this condition for a full month. When that month had passed, it occurred to him to travel to his sisters, so that they might help him achieve his purpose of finding her. He had the riding camels brought, loaded one she-camel with choice gifts from Iraq, and mounted another. Then he charged his mother to look after the house and put all his belongings in safekeeping, except for a few things he left at home. He set out for his sisters, hoping to find help with them in rejoining his wife. He traveled on until he reached the maidens’ palace on the Mountain of Clouds. When he entered, he presented them with the gifts, and they rejoiced in them and congratulated him on his safe arrival. They said, “Our brother, why have you come back so soon? You have been gone only two months.” He wept and recited these verses:

I find my soul consumed with thoughts of its lost beloved, unable to enjoy life or its sweetness. My sickness is a malady whose cure is unknown; who but its own physician can heal a sickness? O you who have denied me the sweetness of sleep, you have left me questioning the wind about you whenever it blows. It has so lately passed my beloved, whose beauty draws a flood of tears from my eyes. O traveler who comes near that land, perhaps a breath of its fragrance will bring our hearts to life. When he had finished his verses, he gave a terrible cry and fell unconscious. The maidens sat around him, weeping over him until he recovered. When he came to his senses, he recited these two verses:

Perhaps, perhaps, fate will turn its reins and bring my beloved back, though time is jealous. Perhaps my fortune will favor me and my desires be fulfilled, for one turn of events may yet give way to another. When he had finished his verses, he wept until he fainted. When he recovered, he recited these two verses:

By God, O source and summit of my sickness and my pain, are you content? For I am content with all that love brings. Do you forsake me without fault or cause? Return to me, and show mercy for the estrangement I have suffered. When he had finished his verses, he wept until he fainted. When he recovered, he recited these verses:

He has forsaken sleep and kept company with wakefulness; his eyes lavish the tears they once held dear. In longing they weep tears like garnets, ever swelling and increasing with the passage of time. O people of love, longing has bestowed on me a fire whose fuel lies between my ribs. Whenever I remember you, not a tear flows from me but it holds lightning and thunder. When he had finished his verses, he wept until he fainted. When he recovered from his swoon, he recited these verses:

Have you submitted to love and torment as we have? Is your love for us as ours for you? May God confound love—how bitter it is! Would that I knew what love wants of us. Though distance separates us, your lovely faces appear before our eyes wherever we may be. My heart is occupied with memories of your dwelling, and the singing of doves stirs me to rapture. O dove who spends the night calling to its mate, you have increased my longing and made sorrow my companion. You have left my eyes unwearied in their weeping for dear ones who have withdrawn their faces from our sight. I yearn for them at every moment, every hour; I long for them at night, when darkness closes in. When his sister heard his words, she came out to him and found him lying unconscious. She cried out and beat her face, and her sisters heard her and came out. Seeing Hasan lying unconscious, they gathered around him and wept over him. The moment they saw him, they understood the grief and distraction, the longing and passion that had overtaken him. They asked him what had happened, and he wept and told them how, during his absence, his wife had flown away, taking her children with her. They grieved for her and asked what she had said when she left. He answered, “My sisters, she said to my mother, ‘Tell your son, when he returns, if the nights of separation weigh upon him, and he yearns for nearness and reunion with me, and the winds of love and longing stir him, let him come to me in the Islands of Waq.’” When they heard his words, they exchanged meaningful glances as recollection stirred in them. Each looked at her sister while Hasan watched them. Then they bowed their heads to the ground for a time, before raising them and saying, “There is no power and no strength save in God, the Most High, the Almighty.” Then they said to him, “Stretch your hand toward the sky. If you can reach the sky, you can reach your wife.” And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the seven hundred and ninety-ninth night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that when the maidens said to Hasan, “Stretch your hand toward the sky. If you can reach it, you can reach your wife and children,” his tears ran down his cheeks like rain until they soaked his clothes, and he recited these verses:

Rosy cheeks and lovely eyes have stirred my heart, and patience fled when sleeplessness drew near. Fair and tender women have wasted my body with their coldness, until scarcely a trace of life remains for others’ eyes to see. Dark-eyed beauties, swaying like gazelles upon the dunes, unveil a splendor that would ensnare the hearts of saints. They move like the garden breeze in the evening; through love of them, sorrow and unrest have taken hold of me. Among them I have pinned my hopes upon one beauty, for whom my heart burns in a blaze of fire: a tender, swaying maiden, delicate of limb, with dawn upon her face and dusk within her hair. She has set my heart aflame; how many a hero has been brought to anguish by fair women’s eyelids and their eyes! When he had finished his verses, he wept, and the maidens wept at his weeping. Compassion and protective affection for him overcame them, and they began soothing him, urging him to patience, and praying that he might be reunited with his family. His sister turned to him and said, “My brother, take heart and be comforted. Be patient, and you will attain your desire. Whoever is patient and deliberate gains what he wishes, and patience is the key to deliverance. As the poet has said:

Let destiny run with loosened reins, and never lie down to sleep with a troubled mind. Between the closing of an eye and its opening, God changes one condition to another. Then she said to him, “Strengthen your heart and steel your resolve. A man whose allotted span is ten years will not die at nine. Weeping, grief, and sorrow bring illness and infirmity. Stay here with us until you have rested, and I shall devise a way for you to reach your wife and children, if God Most High wills.” He wept bitterly and recited these two verses:

Though I might be cured of sickness in my body, I should not be cured of sickness in my heart. There is no remedy for the maladies of love except the union of the lover and beloved. Then he sat beside his sister, and she talked with him, comforted him, and asked what had caused his wife to leave. He told her how it had happened, and she said, “By God, my brother, I meant to tell you to burn the feather robe, but Satan made me forget.” She continued to talk gently with him and soothe him, but as the matter dragged on and his distress increased, he recited these verses:

A beloved I have cherished has taken possession of my heart, and there is no averting what God has decreed. An Arab beauty, endowed with every loveliness—a gazelle, yet it is in my heart that she grazes. Though patience and resource fail me in my love for her, I weep, knowing that weeping is of no avail. A beauty of seven years and seven, like a crescent moon that has reached five nights and five and four. When his sister saw his anguish and distraction, and the torments of his passionate love, she went to her sisters with tearful eyes and a sorrowful heart. She wept before them, threw herself upon them, kissed their feet, and begged them to help her brother attain his desire and be reunited with his wife and children. She made them pledge to devise a means of bringing him to the Islands of Waq. She went on weeping before her sisters until she brought them to tears, and they said, “Take heart. We shall do all we can to reunite him with his family, if God wills.” He stayed with them for a full year, and his eyes never ceased to shed tears. Now his sisters had a paternal uncle, their father’s full brother, whose name was Abd al-Quddus. He was very fond of the eldest girl, and once each year he visited her and attended to her needs. The maidens had told him Hasan’s story, what had happened to him with the Magian, and how he had succeeded in killing him. Their uncle had rejoiced at this and given the eldest girl a pouch of incense, saying, “My brother’s daughter, if any matter troubles you, any misfortune befalls you, or any need arises, cast some of this incense into the fire and call me to mind. I shall come to you at once and fulfill your need.” This had been on the first day of the year. So the girl said to one of her sisters, “A whole year has passed, and my uncle has not come. Get up, strike a light, and bring me the box of incense.” The girl rose joyfully, brought the box, opened it, and took out a little incense, which she handed to her sister. The eldest took it, threw it into the fire, and called her uncle to mind. Before the incense had finished burning, a cloud of dust appeared at the far end of the valley. After a little while the dust cleared, revealing an old man riding an elephant, which trumpeted beneath him. When the maidens caught sight of him, he began signaling to them with his hands and feet. Soon he reached them, dismounted from the elephant, and entered. They embraced him, kissed his hands, and greeted him. Then he sat down, and the maidens talked with him and asked about his absence. He said, “Just now I was sitting with your uncle’s wife when I smelled the incense, so I came to you upon this elephant. What do you want, my brother’s daughter?” She replied, “Uncle, we have missed you. The year has passed, and it is not your custom to stay away from us for more than a year.” He said to them, “I have been busy, and I had intended to come to you tomorrow.” They thanked him, prayed for him, and sat talking with him. And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundredth night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that as the maidens sat talking with their uncle, the eldest said to him, “Uncle, we told you the story of Hasan al-Basri, whom Bahram the Magian brought here, and how he killed him. We also told you of the young woman, the daughter of the Supreme King, whom he took, and of the hardships and terrors he endured, and how he captured the king’s daughter, married her, and traveled with her to his own country.” He said, “Yes. What happened to him after that?” She replied, “She betrayed him. She had borne him two sons, and while he was away she took them and departed for her own country. She said to his mother, ‘When your son returns, if the nights of separation weigh upon him, and he desires nearness and reunion with me, and the winds of love and longing stir him, let him come to me in the Islands of Waq.’” He shook his head and bit his finger, then lowered his head toward the ground and began tracing in the earth with his finger. Then he looked to the right and left and shook his head, while Hasan watched him from a place of concealment. The maidens said to their uncle, “Give us an answer, for our hearts are breaking.” He shook his head at them and said, “My daughters, this man has wearied himself and cast his life into terrible peril and dreadful danger. He cannot make his way to the Islands of Waq.” At this, the maidens called Hasan. He came out, approached Shaykh Abd al-Quddus, kissed his hand, and greeted him. The shaykh was pleased to see him and seated him beside him. The maidens said to their uncle, “Uncle, explain to our brother the truth of what you have said.” He said to Hasan, “My son, put aside this grievous torment. You cannot reach the Islands of Waq, even if the flying jinn and the wandering stars were at your command. Between you and those islands lie seven valleys, seven seas, and seven mighty mountains. How can you reach such a place? Who will take you there? I implore you by God, turn back while you may, and do not torment your soul.”

When Hasan heard the words of Shaykh Abd al-Quddus, he wept until he fainted, and the maidens sat around him, weeping at his weeping. The youngest girl tore her clothes and beat her face until she too fainted. When Shaykh Abd al-Quddus saw them in such distress, anguish, and sorrow, his heart softened and he was moved to pity. “Be still,” he said. Then he said to Hasan, “Take heart, and rejoice in the fulfillment of your desire, if God Most High wills.” He added, “My son, rise, gather your strength, and follow me.” Hasan rose to his feet, bade the maidens farewell, and followed him, rejoicing that his desire was to be fulfilled. Shaykh Abd al-Quddus summoned the elephant, which came to him. He mounted it and seated Hasan behind him, then traveled with him for three days and nights, swift as flashing lightning, until they reached a great blue mountain whose stones were all blue. In that mountain was a cavern with a door of Chinese iron. The shaykh took Hasan’s hand and helped him down, then dismounted himself and released the elephant. He went up to the cavern door and knocked. The door opened, and out came a hairless black slave, like an ifrit, holding a sword in his right hand and a steel shield in the other. When he saw Shaykh Abd al-Quddus, he cast the sword and shield from his hands, approached him, and kissed his hand. Then the shaykh took Hasan by the hand and entered with him, and the slave closed the door behind them. Hasan saw that the cavern was enormous and spacious, with a vaulted passage. They walked on for about a mile, until they emerged into a vast open tract. They made for a corner where there were two great doors cast in yellow brass. Shaykh Abd al-Quddus opened one of them, went inside, and closed it, saying to Hasan, “Sit here by this door, and take care not to open it or enter. I shall go in and return to you shortly.”

The shaykh remained inside for one full hour. Then he came out leading a saddled and bridled horse that flew when it moved, and when it flew, no dust could catch it. The shaykh brought it to Hasan and said, “Mount.” Then he opened the second door, revealing a wide wilderness. Hasan mounted the horse, and the two of them went out through the door and proceeded into the wilderness. The shaykh said to Hasan, “My son, take this letter and ride this horse to the place where it carries you. When you see it halt at the entrance to a cavern like this one, dismount, lay its reins over the pommel of the saddle, and let it go. It will enter the cavern, but do not follow it. Remain at the entrance for five days, and do not lose patience. On the sixth day, a black old man will come out to you, wearing black garments, with a long white beard reaching down to his navel. When you see him, kiss his hands, take hold of the hem of his robe and place it upon your head, and weep before him until he takes pity on you. He will ask what you need. When he says, ‘What is your need?’ give him this letter. He will take it from you without speaking, then go inside and leave you there. Stay where you are for another five days, and do not lose patience. On the sixth day, wait for him to come out. If he comes to you himself, know that your need will be fulfilled. But if one of his servants comes out to you, know that whoever comes intends to kill you. That is all. And know, my son, that whoever hazards his life brings destruction upon himself.” And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and first night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that when Shaykh Abd al-Quddus gave Hasan the letter, he told him what would befall him, saying, “Whoever hazards his life brings destruction upon himself. If you fear for your life, do not cast it into peril. But if you have no fear, go and do as you wish, for I have explained everything to you. If you wish to return to your companions, here is the elephant, ready to carry you to my brother’s daughters. They will send you back to your own country and restore you to your homeland, and God will grant you someone better than this girl to whom you have bound your heart.” Hasan said to the shaykh, “How can life be sweet to me unless I attain my desire? By God, I shall never turn back until I reach my beloved or death overtakes me.” Then he wept and recited these verses:

Bereft of my beloved, with my yearning ever growing, I stood calling out in my brokenness and humiliation. In longing for her I kissed the dust of her dwelling, but gained nothing save an increase in my grief. May God watch over those who have departed, whose memory remains within my heart: I have kept company with pain and parted from delight. They tell me to be patient, yet they have carried patience away, and on the day of their departure they set my sighs aflame. Nothing struck terror into me but farewell, and the words, “When you are far away, remember me, and do not forget our companionship.” To whom shall I turn, in whom shall I hope, now that I have lost them, who were my hope in ease and hardship? Alas for my grief when I turned back from bidding farewell, while your hateful enemies rejoiced at my return! Alas, this is the very thing I dreaded! O anguish, burn still more fiercely in my heart! If my loved ones are gone, there is no life after them; but if they return, what joy and gladness will be mine! By God, my tears have never ceased to flow for their loss: one tear follows another. When Shaykh Abd al-Quddus heard his verses and his words, he knew that Hasan would not abandon his purpose, that words could have no effect upon him, and that he was determined to hazard his life, even at the cost of his soul. He said, “Know, my son, that the Islands of Waq are seven islands, with a mighty army composed entirely of virgin maidens. The inhabitants of the inner islands are devils, rebellious spirits, sorcerers, and all manner of tribes. Whoever enters their land never returns. No one has ever reached them and come back. I implore you by God, return to your family while you may. Know that the girl you seek is the daughter of the king of all these islands. How can you reach her? Listen to me, my son, and perhaps God will grant you someone better in her place.” Hasan replied, “By God, my lord, even if I were cut to pieces for love of her, I should only grow in love and rapture. I must see my wife and children and enter the Islands of Waq. If God Most High wills, I shall not return except with her and my children.” Shaykh Abd al-Quddus said to him, “Then you are determined to make the journey?” He replied, “Yes. All I ask of you is to pray that I may receive help and assistance. Perhaps God will soon reunite me with my wife and children.” Then he wept from the greatness of his longing and recited these verses:

You are my heart’s desire, the fairest of humankind; I cherish you as dearly as my hearing and my sight. You have possessed my heart, which is your dwelling place; since you departed, my lords, my life has been clouded with sorrow. Never suppose that I shall turn away from loving you: your love has left this wretched man in fear. You vanished, and with you vanished all my joy; the clearest peace has turned to deepest gloom. You left me watching the stars in anguish, weeping tears that fall like pouring rain. O night, how long you seem to one who lies awake, watching the moon’s bright face in the torment of desire! O wind, if you pass the place where they have settled, carry my greetings to them, for life is short. Tell them something of the pain I have endured: my loved ones know nothing of my plight. When Hasan had finished his verses, he wept so bitterly that he fainted. When he recovered, Sheikh Abd al-Quddus said to him, “My son, you have a mother. Do not make her taste the anguish of losing you.” Hasan replied, “By God, my lord, I shall never return without my wife, unless death overtakes me.” Then he wept and lamented, and recited these verses:

By love itself, distance has not changed my pledge to you; I am not one to betray a solemn promise. Such longing fills me that, were I to describe it, people would say that madness had seized me. Passion and grief, sobbing and burning sorrow—how can a man in such a state find peace? When he had finished his verses, the sheikh knew that he would not abandon his purpose, even at the cost of his life. He handed him the letter, prayed for him, and instructed him in what he must do. “In this letter,” he said, “I have earnestly commended you to Abu al-Ruwaysh ibn Bilqis bint Mu‘in. He is my sheikh and my teacher, and all humans and jinn submit to him and fear him.” Then he said, “Go with God’s blessing.” Hasan set out and gave the horse its head, and it flew with him faster than lightning. For ten days he rode swiftly on, until he saw before him an enormous shape, blacker than night, blocking the space between east and west. As he approached it, the horse neighed beneath him, and horses gathered as thick as rain, beyond all counting, with no end to their numbers. They began rubbing themselves against his horse, and Hasan was frightened and alarmed. He continued on, surrounded by the horses, until he reached the cavern Sheikh Abd al-Quddus had described. The horse stopped at its entrance. Hasan dismounted and laid its reins upon the saddle, and the horse went into the cavern. Hasan remained at the entrance as Sheikh Abd al-Quddus had commanded, pondering what his fate would be, bewildered and distraught, not knowing what awaited him. Dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and second night

She said, “I have heard, O fortunate king, that when Hasan dismounted from the horse, he stood at the cavern’s entrance, wondering how his adventure would end and what would befall him. For five days and nights he remained there, sleepless and sorrowful, brooding over his separation from his family and homeland, his friends and companions, his eyes weeping and his heart grieving. Then he remembered his mother and reflected upon his plight, his separation from his wife and children, and all he had endured, and recited these verses:

You hold the cure for my heart, yet my heart is wasting away, and tears stream from my eyes. Separation and sorrow, yearning and exile, far from my homeland, with longing supreme. I am only a lover consumed by desire, whom calamity has struck far from the one he loves. If love has cast me into misfortune, what noble soul has never suffered adversity? Hasan had scarcely finished his verses when Sheikh Abu al-Ruwaysh came out to him. He was black and dressed in black. Hasan recognized him from the description Sheikh Abd al-Quddus had given him, and flung himself upon him, rubbing his cheeks against his feet. He took the sheikh’s foot, placed it upon his head, and wept before him. “What do you need, my son?” asked Sheikh Abu al-Ruwaysh. Hasan held out the letter and handed it to him. The sheikh took it and entered the cavern without giving him any answer. Hasan sat weeping in his place by the entrance, just as Sheikh Abd al-Quddus had told him. He remained there for five days, his anxiety mounting, his fear growing, and sleep never coming to him. He wept and complained of the pain of separation and his long sleeplessness, then recited these verses:

Glory to the Almighty Lord of Heaven! Surely the lover lives in torment. Whoever has not tasted love knows nothing of the bitterness of suffering. Were I to hold back my tears, I should find rivers of blood instead. How many a friend has hardened his heart and delighted in my misery! When he turns to me in kindness and questions me, I say, “I am not weeping for you. I went to put on my cloak, and its edge struck my eye.” The wild beasts have wept for my loneliness, and so have the creatures of the air. Hasan continued weeping until dawn appeared. Then Sheikh Abu al-Ruwaysh came out to him dressed in white, and beckoned him to enter. Hasan went in, and the sheikh took him by the hand and led him into the cavern. He rejoiced, certain that his wish had been granted. The sheikh walked on with Hasan beside him for half a day, until they reached an arched doorway fitted with a steel door. He opened it, and they entered a vaulted passage built of onyx inlaid with gold. They continued until they reached a spacious marble hall, at whose center was a garden filled with every kind of tree, flower, and fruit. Birds sang sweetly among the branches, praising God, the King, the All-Subduing. The hall had four iwans facing one another. In each was a sitting room with a fountain, and on every corner of each fountain stood the figure of a lion in gold. In each room was a chair upon which a man sat, with a great many books before him. Golden censers stood before them, holding fire and incense, and each sheikh had pupils reading books under his instruction. When Hasan and his guide entered, they rose and paid them reverence. Abu al-Ruwaysh approached and signaled to them to dismiss those present. They did so, and the four sheikhs rose and sat before him, asking about Hasan. Sheikh Abu al-Ruwaysh turned to Hasan and said, “Tell these men your story and everything that has happened to you, from beginning to end.” Hasan wept bitterly and told them his tale. When he had finished, all the sheikhs cried out, “Is this the man whom the Magian had the vultures carry up to the Mountain of Clouds inside a camel’s hide?” “Yes,” Hasan replied. They turned to Sheikh Abu al-Ruwaysh and said, “Our sheikh, Bahram tricked him into ascending the mountain, but how did he come down? And what wonders did he see upon its summit?” Sheikh Abu al-Ruwaysh said, “Hasan, tell them how you descended, and describe the wonders you saw.” So he related everything that had happened from first to last: how he had gained the upper hand over Bahram and killed him, how his wife had deceived him and flown away with his children, and all the terrors and hardships he had endured. Those present marveled at his adventures. Then they turned to Sheikh Abu al-Ruwaysh and said, “O sheikh of sheikhs, by God, this young man is truly unfortunate. We hope you will help him recover his wife and children.” Dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and third night

She said, “I have heard, O fortunate king, that when Hasan told the sheikhs his story, they said to Sheikh Abu al-Ruwaysh, ‘This young man is truly unfortunate. We hope you will help him recover his wife and children.’ Sheikh Abu al-Ruwaysh replied, ‘My brothers, this is a grave and dangerous undertaking. I have never seen anyone so weary of life as this young man. You know how difficult the Islands of Waq are to reach. No one has ever gone there without risking his life, and you know the strength of their people and their allies. I have sworn never to set foot upon their soil or interfere in any of their affairs. How is this man to reach the daughter of the supreme king? Who can bring him to her or help him in this enterprise?’ They said, ‘O sheikh of sheikhs, love has consumed this man. He has risked his life and come to you with a letter from your brother, Sheikh Abd al-Quddus. You are therefore bound to help him.’ Hasan rose, kissed Abu al-Ruwaysh’s foot, lifted the hem of his robe and laid it upon his head, and wept. ‘I implore you by God,’ he said, ‘to reunite me with my children and my wife, even if it costs me my life and my heart’s blood.’ Those present wept at his tears and said to Sheikh Abu al-Ruwaysh, ‘Earn the heavenly reward for helping this unfortunate man. Show him kindness for the sake of your brother, Sheikh Abd al-Quddus.’ He replied, ‘This poor young man does not know what lies before him, but we will help him as far as we can.’ Hasan rejoiced at his words, kissed his hands and those of everyone present, one after another, and begged for their help. Then Abu al-Ruwaysh took paper and an inkwell, wrote a letter, sealed it, and gave it to Hasan. He also handed him a leather pouch containing incense and the means of making fire, including a fire steel, and said, ‘Guard this pouch carefully. Whenever you fall into trouble, burn a little of this incense and call my name, and I shall come to you and deliver you.’

Then he ordered one of those present to summon an ifrit of the flying jinn at once. When the ifrit appeared, the sheikh asked, “What is your name?” “Your servant Dah nash ibn Faqtash,” he replied. Abu al-Ruwaysh said, “Come closer.” He approached, and Sheikh Abu al-Ruwaysh put his mouth to the ifrit’s ear and whispered something to him. The ifrit nodded. Then the sheikh said to Hasan, “My son, rise and mount the shoulder of this flying ifrit, Dahnash. When he lifts you into the heavens and you hear the angels praising God in the air, do not join in their praises, or both you and he will perish.” Hasan replied, “I shall not utter a word.” The sheikh went on, “Hasan, after carrying you away, he will set you down before dawn on the second day in a land as pure and white as camphor. When he leaves you there, walk alone for ten days until you reach the city gate. Enter the city and ask for its king. When you come before him, greet him, kiss his hand, and give him this letter. Whatever directions he gives you, attend to them carefully.” Hasan replied, “I hear and obey.” He rose and went with the ifrit, while the sheikhs stood, prayed for him, and charged the ifrit to take good care of him.

The ifrit lifted Hasan onto his shoulder and soared with him into the heights of heaven. He traveled with him for a day and a night, until Hasan heard the angels praising God in the sky. When morning came, he set him down in a land as white as camphor, then left him and departed. Finding himself on the ground with no one beside him, Hasan walked for ten days and nights until he reached the city gate. He entered and asked for the king. They directed him to the palace and said, “His name is King Hassun, ruler of the Land of Camphor. He has armies and soldiers enough to fill the earth from end to end.” Hasan asked leave to enter, and permission was granted. When he came before the king, he found him a mighty sovereign and kissed the ground before him. The king asked, “What is your business?” Hasan kissed the letter and handed it to him. He took it and read it, then moved his head thoughtfully for a while before saying to one of his attendants, “Take this young man and lodge him in the guesthouse.” The attendant took him there, and Hasan stayed for three days, eating and drinking, with no companion but the servant assigned to him. This servant talked with him, kept him company, and asked his story and how he had come to those lands. Hasan told him everything that had happened and explained his present plight.

On the fourth day, the servant took him before the king, who said, “Hasan, you have come to me wishing to enter the Islands of Waq, as the sheikh of sheikhs has told us. My son, I shall send you on your way before long, but your road is full of dangers and thirsty wildernesses, fraught with terrors. Be patient, however, and all shall be well. I shall find some means of bringing you to your goal, if God Most High wills. Know, my son, that there is an army of Daylamites here who wish to enter the Islands of Waq. They are equipped with weapons, horses, and every provision, yet they have been unable to enter. But for the sake of the sheikh of sheikhs, Abu al-Ruwaysh, son of the daughter of accursed Iblis, I cannot send you back to him with your wish unfulfilled. Ships from the Islands of Waq will soon be arriving here; they are due before long. When one arrives, I shall put you aboard and instruct the sailors to look after you and take you to the Islands of Waq. Whoever asks about you and your circumstances, tell him, ‘I am a kinsman by marriage of King Hassun, ruler of the Land of Camphor.’ When the ship anchors at the Islands of Waq and the captain tells you to go ashore, do so. You will see many platforms all along the shore. Choose one and sit beneath it without moving. When night falls and you see the army of women gathering around the merchandise, reach out, take hold of the mistress of the platform beneath which you are hiding, and beg her protection. Know, my son, that if she grants it, your wish will be fulfilled, and you will reach your wife and children. But if she refuses, mourn for yourself, abandon all hope of life, and know that you are doomed. My son, you are risking your life. I can do no more for you than this. Peace be with you.” Dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and fourth night

She said, “I have heard, O fortunate king, that after King Hassun had spoken these words to Hasan and given him the instructions we have mentioned, saying, ‘I can do no more for you than this,’ he added, ‘Know that without the protection of the Lord of Heaven, you would never have reached this place.’ When Hasan heard King Hassun’s words, he wept until he fainted. When he recovered, he recited these two verses:

A fixed span of life is allotted me; when its days are spent, I shall die. Were lions in their thickets to wrestle with me, I would overcome them while my time remained. When Hasan had finished his verses, he kissed the ground before the king and said, “Great king, how many days remain before the ships arrive?” “One month,” he replied. “They stay here for two months to sell their cargoes, then return to their country. Do not expect to sail in them before six full months have passed.” The king then ordered Hasan to return to the guesthouse, and commanded that he be supplied with all the food, drink, and clothing he needed, of a quality fit for kings. Hasan stayed there for a month. At the month’s end, the ships arrived, and the king went out with the merchants, taking Hasan with him. Hasan saw a ship carrying people as countless as pebbles, whose number none but their Creator could know. The ship lay offshore, with small boats carrying its merchandise to land. Hasan remained with them while the crew unloaded their goods, and they bought and sold. When only three days remained before departure, the king summoned Hasan, provided him with everything he needed, and bestowed lavish gifts upon him. Then he called for the captain of that ship and said, “Take this young man aboard with you, and tell no one about him. Carry him to the Islands of Waq, leave him there, and do not bring him back.” The captain replied, “I hear and obey.”

Then the king warned Hasan, saying, “Tell none of your fellow passengers anything about your circumstances. Let no one discover your story, or you will perish.” “I hear and obey,” Hasan replied. He took leave of the king, praying that he might enjoy a long and enduring reign and victory over all his enemies and those who envied him. The king thanked him and prayed for his safety and the fulfillment of his wish. Then he entrusted him to the captain, who placed him in a chest and lowered him into a small boat. He did not bring him aboard the ship until everyone was busy loading merchandise. The ships then sailed, and remained at sea for ten days. On the eleventh day they reached land, and the captain put Hasan ashore. There he saw platforms whose number only God could know. He walked on until he reached one unlike any other and hid beneath it. When night fell, a host of women came like swarming locusts, marching on foot with drawn swords in their hands, their bodies sheathed in mail. Seeing the goods, they busied themselves with them, then sat down to rest. One of them sat on the platform beneath which Hasan was hiding. He caught the edge of her robe, laid it upon his head, and flung himself before her, kissing her hands and feet and weeping. “You there,” she said, “get up before anyone sees you and kills you.” Hasan came out from beneath the platform, stood, kissed her hands, and said, “My lady, I place myself under your protection.” Then he wept and said, “Have pity on a man separated from his family, his wife and children, who has hurried to rejoin them, risking his life and his heart’s blood. Show me mercy, and be certain that Paradise will be your reward. If you will not receive me, I implore you by Almighty God, who veils our faults, to keep my secret.” The woman merchant stared at him as he spoke. When she heard his words and saw his pleading, she pitied him and her heart softened toward him. She knew that only some great matter could have brought him to such a place at the risk of his life. Then she said to Hasan, “My son, be at ease and take comfort. Set your heart and mind at rest. Return to your place and hide beneath the platform as before until tomorrow night. God will do as He wills.” Then she left him, and Hasan crept beneath the platform once more.

The women soldiers spent the night burning candles scented with fragrant aloeswood and raw ambergris until morning. At daybreak, the ships returned to the shore, and the merchants busied themselves moving goods and merchandise until nightfall. Hasan remained hidden beneath the platform, his eyes weeping and his heart grieving, unaware of what fate held in store. While he was there, the woman merchant whose protection he had sought came to him and handed him a coat of mail, a sword, a gilded belt, and a spear. Then she went away, afraid of the soldiers. When Hasan saw these things, he knew that she had brought them for him to wear. He rose, put on the mail, fastened the belt about his waist, slung the sword beneath his arm, and took the spear in his hand. Then he sat upon the platform, his tongue never ceasing to invoke God Most High and beg Him to keep him concealed. Dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and fifth night

She said, “I have heard, O fortunate king, that when Hasan took the weapons given him by the young woman merchant whose protection he had sought, and who had told him, ‘Sit beneath the platform and let no one discover your circumstances,’ he armed himself and sat upon the platform, his tongue never ceasing to invoke God and ask Him to keep him concealed. While he sat there, torches, lanterns, and candles appeared, and the army of women approached. Hasan rose and mingled with the soldiers, becoming as one of them. When dawn was near, the army set off, with Hasan among them, until they reached their tents. Each woman entered her own, and Hasan went into one of the tents, which proved to belong to the woman whose protection he had sought. On entering, she laid aside her weapons and took off her mail and veil. Hasan also put down his weapons, then looked at his hostess. He found her blue-eyed and large-nosed, a veritable calamity, as ugly as any creature could be, with a pockmarked face, scant eyebrows, broken teeth, wrinkled cheeks, gray hair, and a mouth running with drool. She was as the poet said of one like her:

Nine calamities lurk in the corners of her face, and any one of them reveals Hell itself. With hideous face and loathsome form, she looks like a pig rooting through filth. She was an old hag like a speckled snake. When she looked at Hasan, she marveled and said, “How did this man reach these lands? In which ship did he come? And how did he survive?” She began questioning him about his circumstances, astonished that he had reached that place. Hasan fell at her feet, rubbed his face against them, and wept until he fainted. When he recovered, he recited these verses:

When will the days permit us to meet and bring us together after separation? When shall I enjoy what I desire from my beloved—a brief reproach that ends while love remains? If the Nile flowed as my tears flow, it would leave no dry land in the world. It would flood the Hijaz and the land of Egypt, Syria too, and the land of Iraq. All this is because you turn away, beloved. Be gentle with me, and promise we shall meet. When he had finished his verses, he took the hem of the old woman’s robe, laid it upon his head, and began weeping and begging her protection. Seeing his burning grief, his yearning, pain, and anguish, the old woman’s heart softened toward him. She granted him protection and said, “Have no fear.” Then she asked him his story, and he related everything that had happened to him from beginning to end. She marveled at his tale and said, “Set your heart and mind at rest. You have nothing more to fear. You have reached the place where your desire shall be fulfilled and your need satisfied, if God Most High wills.” Hasan rejoiced greatly at this. Then the old woman sent for the commanders of the army. It was the last day of the month. When they appeared before her, she said, “Go out and proclaim throughout the army that all are to depart early tomorrow morning. Let not one remain behind, for whoever does so shall lose her life.” They replied, “We hear and obey.” They went out and proclaimed throughout the army that it would depart early the next morning, then returned and reported to her. Hasan now knew that she was the army’s commander, whose judgment governed it and whose authority was supreme.

Hasan did not take off his armor that day. The old woman with whom he was staying was named Shawahi, and was known as Umm al-Dawahi, Mother of Calamities. She had scarcely finished giving her orders when dawn broke. The whole army left its quarters, but the old woman did not go with them. When the soldiers had departed and their quarters stood empty, Shawahi said to Hasan, “Come closer, my son.” He approached and stood before her. She turned to him and said, “Why have you risked your life and entered these lands? How could you consent to your own destruction? Tell me the truth about all your affairs and conceal nothing from me. Do not be afraid, for you are now under my pledge. I have granted you protection, taken pity on you, and felt compassion for your plight. If you tell me the truth, I shall help you fulfill your wish, even if lives must be lost and elders perish in the undertaking. Now that you have reached me, you have nothing more to fear. I shall never allow anyone in all the Islands of Waq to do you harm.”

He told her his story from beginning to end, explaining about his wife and the birds, how he had captured her from among the ten, how he had married her and lived with her until she bore him two sons, and how she had taken her children and flown away when she discovered where the feather robe was hidden. He concealed nothing of his story, from its beginning to that very day. When the old woman heard his words, she moved her head and said, “Glory to God, who preserved you, brought you here, and guided you to me! Had you fallen into anyone else’s hands, you would have lost your life and your wish would have gone unfulfilled. But your sincere purpose, your love, and your great longing for your wife and children have brought you within reach of your desire. Had you not loved her and been distraught for her, you would never have risked your life in this way. Praise be to God for your safety! We are now bound to fulfill your wish and help you attain your purpose, so that you may soon gain what you seek, if God Most High wills. But know, my son, that your wife is on the seventh of the Islands of Waq, and between us and that island lie seven months’ travel by night and day. From here we journey until we reach a country called the Land of Birds, where their cries and the beating of their wings are so loud that we cannot hear one another speak.” Dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and sixth night

She said, “I have heard, O fortunate king, that the old woman said to Hasan, ‘Your wife is on the seventh island, the great island among the Islands of Waq, seven months’ journey from here. We travel from this place to the Land of Birds, where their flight and the beating of their wings are so tumultuous that we cannot hear one another speak. We journey through that land for eleven days and nights, then emerge into a country called the Land of Wild Beasts. There the cries of beasts and hyenas, the howling of wolves and the roaring of lions are so loud that we can hear nothing. We travel through that country for twenty days, then emerge into a land called the Land of the Jinn. Their shrieking, the flames that rise from them, the sparks and smoke flying from their mouths, their heaving breaths and wild unruliness block the road before us, deafening our ears and blinding our eyes until we can neither hear nor see. None of us may look behind, or she will perish. In that place, each rider lays her head upon the pommel of her saddle and does not raise it for three days. After that, we come to a mighty mountain and a flowing river adjoining the Islands of Waq. Know, my son, that all the soldiers in this army are virgin girls. Our sovereign is a woman from the seven Islands of Waq. To cross all seven islands takes a full year for a rider pressing steadily onward. On the bank of this river stands a mountain called Mount Waq. The name refers to a tree whose branches resemble human heads. When the sun rises upon it, all these heads cry out, saying, “Waq! Waq! Glory to the King, the Creator!” When we hear their cries, we know that the sun has risen. Likewise, when the sun sets, the heads cry out again, “Waq! Waq! Glory to the King, the Creator!” and we know that the sun has set. No man is permitted to live among us, reach us, or set foot upon our soil. From this shore it is a month’s journey to the queen who rules this land. All the inhabitants of that country are under her command, as are tribes of rebellious jinn and devils, and sorcerers whose number none but their Creator knows. If you are afraid, I shall send someone with you to take you to the coast, and find someone to carry you aboard a ship and bring you home. But if your heart is set on staying with us, I shall not prevent you. I shall cherish you as my own eyes until your wish is fulfilled, if God Most High wills.’ Hasan replied, ‘My lady, I shall not leave you until I am reunited with my wife or lose my life.’ She said, ‘That is a simple matter. Set your heart at rest, and you shall gain what you seek, if God Most High wills. I shall certainly tell the queen about you, so that she may help you attain your purpose.’ Hasan prayed for her, kissed her hands and head, and thanked her for her kindness and great generosity. He traveled with her, pondering what his fate might be and the terrors of his exile. Then he began to weep and sob, reciting these verses:

A breeze has blown from my beloved’s dwelling, and you see me wandering, overcome by longing. The night of union is a radiant dawn; the day of separation is blackest night. Bidding the beloved farewell is bitter and hard; parting from a dear companion is a grievous blow. To none but my beloved do I complain of that coldness, for in all the world I have no intimate friend. To forget you is impossible: no hateful faultfinder can console my heart. O peerless beauty, peerless is my love; O matchless one, my heart is lost. Whoever professes love for you yet fears reproach deserves reproach himself. Then the old woman ordered the departure drum to be beaten, and the army moved off. Hasan traveled beside her, drowning in a sea of thoughts, lamenting and reciting poetry. The old woman urged him to be patient and tried to comfort him, but he could not come to himself or take in what she said. They journeyed on until they reached the first of the seven islands, the Island of Birds. When they entered it, Hasan thought the world had been overturned, so terrible was the clamor. His head ached, his wits scattered, his sight failed, and his ears were stopped. He was terrified and certain he would die. ‘If this is the Land of Birds,’ he said to himself, ‘what must the Land of Wild Beasts be like?’ When the old woman Shawahi saw him in this state, she laughed and said, ‘My son, if this is how you fare on the first island, what will become of you when you reach the others?’ He prayed to God and humbled himself before Him, begging for help in enduring this trial and for the fulfillment of his desire.

They traveled on until they had crossed the Land of Birds, left it behind, and entered the Land of the Jinn. When Hasan saw it, he was afraid and regretted having entered it with them. Then he sought the help of God Most High and continued on. At last they escaped from the Land of the Jinn and reached the river. They halted beneath a lofty mountain and pitched their tents upon the riverbank. The old woman placed a marble seat beside the river for Hasan, inlaid with pearls, jewels, and bars of red gold, and he sat upon it. The troops advanced, and she paraded them before him. Then they pitched their tents around him and rested for a while, after which they ate, drank, and slept in peace, for they had reached their own country. Hasan wore a veil over his face so that nothing showed but his eyes. A group of girls approached his tent, took off their clothes, and went into the river. Hasan watched them bathing as they played and enjoyed themselves, unaware that he was looking at them, for they thought him one of the daughters of kings. His member stiffened as he watched them naked and saw between their thighs every variety: smooth and rounded, plump and fleshy, thick-lipped, full, broad, and abundant. Their faces were like moons, their hair like night falling over day, for they were the daughters of kings. The old woman then set up a couch for him and seated him upon it. When the girls had finished, they came out of the river naked as the moon on the night of its fullness. The entire army had assembled before Hasan, for the old woman had ordered a proclamation that they should all gather before his tent, strip off their clothes, and go down into the river to bathe, in case his wife was among them and he might recognize her. As each company passed, the old woman questioned him, and he replied, ‘She is not among these, my lady.’ Dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and seventh night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that the old woman questioned Hasan about the maidens, company after company, in the hope that he might recognize his wife among them. But whenever she asked him about a company, he answered, “She is not among these, my lady.” At last a maiden came forward behind all the rest, attended by thirty serving girls, all full-breasted virgins. They took off their clothes and went down into the river with her, and she began to sport with them, tossing them into the water and plunging them beneath it. They continued thus for an hour, then came out of the river and sat down. Her attendants brought her towels of silk embroidered with gold, which she took and dried herself with. Then they brought her clothes, robes, and jewels of the workmanship of the jinn. She put them on and rose, walking with a swaying grace among the troops, accompanied by her maidens. When Hasan saw her, his heart leaped, and he said, “Of all people, she most resembles the bird-maiden I saw in the lake at the palace of my maiden sisters. She sported with her attendants just as this one does.” The old woman asked, “Hasan, is this your wife?” He answered, “No, by your life, my lady, this is not my wife, nor have I ever seen her before. Among all the maidens I have seen on this island, there is none like my wife, none with her stature, her perfect proportions, her loveliness and beauty.” “Describe her to me,” said the old woman, “and tell me all her features, so that I may picture her in my mind. I know every maiden in the Islands of Waq, for I am captain of the maidens’ army and have authority over them. If you describe her to me, I shall recognize her and contrive to win her for you.” Hasan said, “My wife has a lovely face and a stately figure, smooth cheeks and firm breasts, great dark eyes and full calves, white teeth and a sweet tongue. Her ways are graceful, and she is like a swaying bough. Her form is exquisite, her lips red; her eyes seem lined with kohl, and her lips are delicate. On her right cheek is a mole, and on her belly, beneath her navel, a mark. Her face shines like the full moon, her waist is slender, and her hips are heavy. The moisture of her mouth heals the sick, as though it were the water of Kawthar or Salsabil.” The old woman said, “Tell me more of her charms, and may God increase your enchantment with her.” Hasan answered, “My wife has a beautiful face, smooth cheeks, a long neck, and kohl-dark eyes. Her cheeks are like anemones, her mouth like a carnelian ring, and her gleaming smile dispenses with winecup and wine jug. She is fashioned in the very mould of grace, and between her thighs stands the throne of the caliphate. No sanctuary among the holy places can match hers, as the poet said:

‘The name of that which has bewildered me has letters widely known: four within five, and six within ten.’ Then Hasan wept and sang this ballad: ‘My anguish for you is that of an Indian who has lost his bowl, or a runner with a bowl fastened to his right foot, or a wasted invalid with gaping wounds, or one who has set the seven against the twenty.’ The old woman bowed her head toward the ground for a while, then raised it to Hasan and said, “Glory be to God, whose majesty is great! Hasan, you have brought calamity upon me. Would that I had never known you! For the woman you have described is indeed your wife: I have recognized her by her features. She is the eldest daughter of the Supreme King, and she rules over all the Islands of Waq. Open your eyes and consider your plight; if you are asleep, awake! You can never reach her, and even if you reach her, you cannot win her, for the distance between you is like that between heaven and earth. Turn back at once, my son, and do not cast yourself into destruction and drag me with you. I fear that she is not destined to be yours. Return whence you came, lest we both lose our lives.” She feared for herself and for him. When Hasan heard her words, he wept bitterly until he fainted. The old woman kept sprinkling water on his face until he came to himself, and then he wept until his tears soaked his clothes, so great were the grief and anguish her words had brought him. He despaired of life and said to her, “My lady, how can I turn back after coming all this way? I never imagined that you would be unable to accomplish my desire, especially since you are captain of the maidens’ army and have authority over them.” She answered, “By God, my son, choose one of these maidens, and I will give her to you in place of your wife, lest you fall into the hands of the rulers, when I shall have no means of saving you. For God’s sake, listen to me: choose any one of these maidens except that one, and return at once to your own country in safety. Do not make me drink the bitterness of grief for you. By God, you have cast yourself into terrible trouble and dreadful danger, from which no one can rescue you.” Hasan bowed his head and wept bitterly, then recited these verses:

“I said to those who blame me, ‘Do not blame me: my eyelids were created only for tears.’ The fountains of my eyes have brimmed and overflowed upon my cheeks, while my beloved has forsaken me. Leave me to love: my body has wasted away, for in love I cherish my madness. Beloved, my longing for you has grown; why will you not have mercy on me? You turned away after pledges and promises, betrayed our companionship, and abandoned me. On the day of parting, when you departed, I was given the bitter draught of your disdain. O heart, melt away with love for them! O eyes, pour forth your tears!” And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and eighth night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that when the old woman said to Hasan, “For God’s sake, my son, listen to me, choose one of these maidens other than your wife, and return at once to your country in safety,” he bowed his head, wept bitterly, and recited the verses already given. When he had finished his poem, he wept until he fainted, and the old woman kept sprinkling water on his face until he recovered. Then she turned to him and said, “My lord, return to your own country. If I take you into the city, both your life and mine will be lost, for when the queen learns of it, she will reproach me for bringing you into her country and her islands, which no son of Adam has ever reached. She will kill me for bringing you with me and letting you look upon those virgins whom you saw in the water, though no male has touched them and no husband has approached them.” Hasan swore that he had never looked upon them with an evil eye. She said, “My son, return to your own country, and I will give you wealth, treasures, and precious things enough to make you independent of all women. Listen to me and turn back at once. Do not risk your life; I have given you good counsel.” When Hasan heard her words, he wept and rubbed his cheeks upon her feet, saying, “My lady, my mistress, delight of my eyes, how can I return after reaching this place without seeing the one I seek? I have drawn near my beloved’s dwelling and hoped that we might soon meet. Perhaps reunion is yet to be my portion.” Then he recited these verses:

“O sovereigns of beauty, be gentle with those held captive by eyes whose dominion has outstripped the realm of Chosroes. Your fragrance surpasses the scent of musk, and your loveliness outshines the rose in bloom. Wherever you dwell, the air is paradise, and from there the east wind wafts its perfume. You who reproach me, cease your blame and counsel: your counsel is a cruel thing. What right have you to chide and blame my passion when you have never understood it? Languishing eyes have taken me captive and hurled me into love by force. I scatter tears as I string my verses: take my tale in poetry and prose. The redness of a cheek has melted my heart, and all my limbs burn like embers. Tell me, you two: if I abandon my own tale, with what other tale shall I ease my breast? All my life I have loved slender beauties; yet God may bring about some change hereafter.” When Hasan had finished his poem, the old woman’s heart softened, and she took pity on him. She turned to him and comforted him, saying, “Be of good cheer, let your eyes be comforted, and free your mind from care. By God, I shall risk my life with yours until you attain your desire or death overtakes me.” Hasan’s heart was gladdened and his breast relieved, and he sat talking with the old woman until the end of the day. When night came, the maidens all dispersed: some went into their palaces in the city, while others spent the night in the tents. The old woman took Hasan with her into the city and set aside a secluded place for him, lest anyone discover him and inform the queen, who would kill both him and the person who had brought him. She waited on him herself and warned him of the might of the Supreme King, his wife’s father. But he wept before her and said, “My lady, I have chosen death for myself and come to hate the world if I cannot be reunited with my wife and children. I shall hazard my life: either I shall attain my desire or I shall die.”

The old woman began to ponder how she might bring him to his wife and reunite them, and what device she could employ for this poor man, who had cast his life into peril and would not be turned from his purpose by fear or anything else, having already renounced his own life. As the proverb says, “The lover does not heed the words of one whose heart is free.” Now the maiden they had seen was queen of the island where they were staying, and her name was Nur al-Huda. This queen had seven maiden sisters living with their father, the Supreme King, who ruled over the seven islands and all the lands of Waq. His throne was in the greatest city of that country, and his eldest daughter, Nur al-Huda, governed the city where Hasan now was and all its surrounding territories. When the old woman saw Hasan burning with longing to be reunited with his wife and children, she rose and went to Queen Nur al-Huda’s palace. She entered her presence and kissed the ground before her. The queen owed much to the old woman, for she had brought up all the king’s daughters and had authority over them all; they honoured her, and the king held her dear.

When the old woman entered Queen Nur al-Huda’s presence, the queen rose, embraced her, seated her beside her, and asked about her journey. She replied, “By God, my lady, it was a blessed journey, and I have brought you a gift which I shall lay before you.” Then she said, “My daughter, queen of the age and time, I have brought a strange thing with me, and I wish to tell you of it so that you may help me fulfil its need.” “What is it?” asked the queen. The old woman told her Hasan’s story from beginning to end, trembling like a reed in a raging wind, until she fell before the king’s daughter and said, “My lady, a man sought my protection on the shore. He had been hiding beneath the bench, and I granted him refuge. I brought him with me among the maidens’ army, bearing arms so that no one would recognize him, and took him into the city.” Then she said, “I warned him of your might and told him of your valour and strength, but whenever I frighten him, he weeps, recites poetry, and says to me, ‘I must see my wife and children, or die. I will not return to my country without them.’ He has risked his life and come to the Islands of Waq. Never in my life have I seen a human being with a stouter heart or greater courage, but love has utterly mastered him.” And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and ninth night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that when the old woman told Queen Nur al-Huda Hasan’s story, she said, “Never have I seen anyone with a stouter heart, but love has utterly mastered him.” When the queen heard her words and understood Hasan’s story, she became exceedingly angry and bowed her head toward the ground for a while. Then she raised it, looked at the old woman, and said, “You ill-omened old woman! Has your wickedness gone so far that you bring males with you into the Islands of Waq and admit them to my domain without fearing my wrath? By the king’s head, were it not that you brought me up, I would put you and him to the most hideous death this very hour, so that travellers might take warning from your fate, accursed woman, and no one would ever attempt such an outrageous deed as yours, which no one before has dared! But go out and bring him here at once, so that I may see him.” The old woman left her presence bewildered, scarcely knowing where to go, and saying, “God has brought all this calamity upon me from this queen through Hasan.” She went on until she came to Hasan and said, “Rise and speak to the queen, you whose last hour is near.” He rose and went with her, his tongue never ceasing to invoke God Most High, saying, “O God, be gentle with me in what You decree, and deliver me from Your trials.” She led him on until she brought him before Queen Nur al-Huda, instructing him on the way in what he should say to her. When he stood before Nur al-Huda, he saw that she wore a veil over her face. He kissed the ground before her, greeted her, and recited these two verses:

“May God preserve your glory amid joy, and grant you the full enjoyment of His gifts. May our Lord increase your honour and majesty, and may the Almighty uphold you against your foes.” When he had finished, the queen motioned to the old woman to question him in her presence, so that she might hear his answers. The old woman said, “The queen returns your greeting and asks: What is your name? From what country do you come? What are the names of your wife and children, for whose sake you have come? And what is the name of your native city?” His heart now steady and fortune lending him aid, he answered, “O queen of this age and time, peerless wonder of all days, my name is Hasan, the much-afflicted, and my native city is Basra. As for my wife, I do not know her name. Of my children, one is called Nasir and the other Mansur.” When the queen heard his account, she asked, “From where did she take her children?” He answered, “O queen, from the city of Baghdad, from the palace of the caliphate.” She asked, “Did she say anything to you when she flew away?” He said, “She told my mother, ‘When your son returns, and the days of separation grow long for him, and he yearns for nearness and reunion, and the winds of longing stir him, let him come to me in the Islands of Waq.’” Queen Nur al-Huda moved her head, then said, “Had she not wanted you, she would never have said these words to your mother. If she did not desire you and long to have you near her, she would not have told you where she was or summoned you to her country.” Hasan said, “O mistress of sovereigns, ruler over every king and pauper, I have told you all that happened and concealed nothing. I seek refuge with God and with you against injustice. Have mercy on me, and earn the reward and recompense of helping me. Aid me to be reunited with my wife and children; soothe my anguish, comfort my eyes with the sight of my children, and grant me the favour of seeing them.” Then he wept, lamented, and complained, and recited these two verses:

“I shall thank you with all my strength as long as the ringdove mourns, though I can never discharge the debt I owe. Never have I enjoyed a blessing already bestowed without finding you its source and cause.” Queen Nur al-Huda bowed her head toward the ground and moved it for a long while. Then she raised it and said to him, “I have taken pity on you and feel compassion for you. I have resolved to show you every maiden in the city and throughout my island. If you recognize your wife, I shall deliver her to you; but if you do not, I shall kill you and hang your body at the old woman’s door.” Hasan answered, “I accept this from you, O queen of the age.” Then he recited these verses:

“You set my passion on its feet, then sat at ease; you kept my wounded eyelids wakeful, then slept. You pledged that you would not put me off, but when you took the reins, you betrayed me. I loved you as a child, before I knew what love was: do not kill me, for I seek redress. Have you no fear of God in killing a lover who spends the night watching the stars while others sleep? By God, my people, when I die, write upon my gravestone: ‘Here lies one enslaved by love.’ Perhaps some youth like me, whom love has afflicted, will see my grave and offer me a greeting.” When he had finished his poem, he said, “I consent to the condition you have imposed. There is no power and no strength save in God the Great.” Queen Nur al-Huda then ordered that not a maiden should remain in the city without coming up to the palace and passing before him. She commanded the old woman Shawahi to go down into the city herself and bring every maiden there to the queen’s palace. The queen began admitting the maidens to Hasan a hundred at a time, until there was not one in the city whom she had not shown him. But he did not see his wife among them. The queen asked, “Have you seen her among these?” He answered, “By your life, O queen, she is not among them.” Her anger against him grew fierce, and she said to the old woman, “Go in and bring out everyone in the palace, and show them to him.” When all the women in the palace had been shown to him, he still did not see his wife among them, and he said to the queen, “By your head, O queen, she is not among them.” The queen grew angry and shouted to those around her, “Seize him, drag him face down over the ground, and strike off his head, so that no one after him will risk his life to spy upon our affairs, trespass upon our country, and set foot upon our land and islands!” They dragged him on his face, threw the skirts of his robe over him, covered his eyes, and stood above his head with drawn swords, waiting for permission. Shawahi then approached the queen, kissed the ground before her, took the hem of her robe and raised it above her own head, saying, “O queen, by the claim of the nurture I gave you, do not be hasty with him. You know that this poor man is a stranger who has risked his life and endured things no one before him has endured. God Most High, the Almighty and Glorious, preserved him from death because his allotted life was not yet spent. He heard of your justice and entered your country under your protection. If you kill him, travellers will spread the report that you hate strangers and put them to death. In any case, he is in your power and doomed to your sword if his wife is not found in your country. Whenever you wish him brought before you, I can bring him back. Moreover, I granted him protection only because I trusted in your generosity, on account of my having brought you up. I even assured him that you would bring him to his desire, knowing your justice and compassion. Had I not known these qualities in you, I would never have brought him into your country. I said to myself, ‘The queen will be entertained by him, by the poetry he recites and his sweet, eloquent words, which are like pearls upon a string.’ He has entered our country and eaten our food, and so he has a claim upon us.” And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and tenth night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that when Queen Nur al-Huda ordered her servants to seize Hasan and strike off his head, the old woman sought to soften her heart, saying, “He has entered our country and eaten our food, and so he has a claim upon us, especially since I promised to bring him before you. You know that separation is hard, and that separation kills, above all separation from one’s children. Of all the women, you alone remain: show him your face.” The queen smiled and said, “How could he be my husband and have fathered children by me, that I should show him my face?” Then she ordered him to be brought in. They brought him before her and made him stand in her presence, and she unveiled her face. When Hasan saw it, he gave a great cry and fell unconscious. The old woman tended him gently until he recovered, and when he came to himself, he recited these verses:

“O breeze that blows from the land of Iraq into the far corners of the land of Waq, tell my beloved that I have died from the bitter taste of love. O people of love, show kindness and compassion: my heart has melted with the torments of separation.” When he had finished his poem, he rose and looked at the queen, then uttered so mighty a cry that the palace nearly fell upon those within it. He collapsed unconscious, and the old woman tended him until he revived. She asked him what ailed him, and he said, “This queen is either my wife or the person in all the world who most resembles my wife.” And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and eleventh night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that when the old woman asked Hasan what ailed him, he told her, “This queen is either my wife or the person in all the world who most resembles my wife.” The queen said to the old woman, “Woe to you, nurse! This stranger is mad or out of his senses, for he keeps staring into my face with his eyes wide open.” The old woman replied, “O queen, he is to be excused; do not hold it against him. As the proverb says, ‘There is no cure for one sick with love; he and a madman are alike.’” Hasan then wept bitterly and recited these two verses:

“I see the traces they have left and melt with longing, shedding my tears in the places where they dwelt. I beseech Him who tried me with their absence to favour me by bringing them back.” Then Hasan said to the queen, “By God, you are not my wife, but you resemble her more than anyone else.” Queen Nur al-Huda laughed until she fell back and rolled onto her side. Then she said, “My dear fellow, compose yourself, look at me carefully, and answer what I ask you. Put aside your madness, bewilderment, and distraction, for your deliverance is near.” Hasan replied, “O mistress of sovereigns, refuge of rich and poor, when I looked upon you I lost my senses, for you are either my wife or the person who most resembles her. Now ask me whatever you wish.” She said, “In what does your wife resemble me?” He answered, “My lady, all that you possess of loveliness, beauty, grace, and charm resembles her: the perfect proportions of your figure, the sweetness of your speech, the redness of your cheeks, the fullness of your breasts, and all the rest.” The queen turned to Shawahi, Mother of Stratagems, and said, “Mother, take him back to the place where he was staying with you, and attend him yourself while I investigate his case. If this man is honourable, and knows how to cherish kindness, companionship, and affection, then we must help him accomplish his desire, especially since he has entered our land and eaten our food, after enduring the hardships of travel and the terrors of danger. But when you have brought him to your house, commend him to the care of your servants and return to me quickly. God Most High willing, all will be well.” The old woman went out, took Hasan to her house, and ordered her maidservants, servants, and attendants to wait upon him, bring him everything he needed, and neglect nothing that was due to him. Then she returned swiftly to the queen, who ordered her to arm herself and take a thousand brave horsemen with her. Shawahi obeyed, put on her armour, and mustered the thousand horsemen. When she stood before the queen and reported that they were ready, the queen ordered her to travel to the city of her father, the Supreme King, stay with his daughter Manar al-Sana, her sister, and say to her, “Dress your two sons in the two tunics I made for them, and send them to their aunt, for she longs to see them.” She added, “Mother, I charge you to keep Hasan’s affair secret. When you have taken the children, tell her, ‘Your sister invites you to visit her.’ Once she has given you her sons and set out with them to make the visit, bring them here swiftly, leaving her to follow at her leisure. Come by a different road from the one she takes, and travel night and day. Beware of letting anyone learn of this affair. I swear by every oath that, if my sister proves to be his wife and her sons his sons, I shall not prevent him from taking her, nor stop her from travelling with him and her children.” And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and twelfth night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that the queen said, “I swear by God, and by every oath, that if she proves to be his wife, I shall not prevent him from taking her. Rather, I shall help him take her and help her travel with him to his own country.” The old woman trusted her words, not knowing what she concealed in her heart. For the wicked woman had secretly resolved that if her sister was not his wife, and her children did not resemble him, she would kill him. Then the queen said to the old woman, “Mother, if my surmise is right, his wife will be my sister Manar al-Sana. God knows best. These features are hers, and all the qualities he has described of surpassing beauty and dazzling loveliness are found in none but my sisters, especially the youngest.” The old woman kissed her hand, returned to Hasan, and told him what the queen had said. He was beside himself with joy and rose to kiss the old woman’s head. She said, “My son, do not kiss my head; kiss me on the mouth, and let this kiss be the sweetmeat celebrating your deliverance. Be of good cheer, let your eyes be comforted, and keep your heart glad. Do not shrink from kissing me on the mouth, for I am the means of your reunion with her. Take heart and be comforted; let your breast be light, your eyes glad, and your soul at peace.” Then she bade him farewell and departed, and Hasan recited these two verses:

“I have four witnesses to my love for you, though every case requires but two: the beating of my heart, the trembling of my limbs, the wasting of my body, and the faltering of my tongue.” Then he recited these two verses also:

“There are two things for which, though my eyes wept blood until their sight was gone, they could not pay a tenth of what is due: the prime of youth, and separation from beloved friends.” The old woman armed herself, took with her a thousand armed horsemen, and set out for the island where the queen’s sister lived. She travelled until she reached her, for the journey between Nur al-Huda’s city and her sister’s was three days. When Shawahi reached the city and went up to the queen’s sister, Manar al-Sana, she greeted her, conveyed her sister Nur al-Huda’s greetings, and told her how much she longed to see her and her children. She also told her that Queen Nur al-Huda reproached her for failing to visit. Queen Manar al-Sana said, “My sister is in the right, and I have been remiss in not visiting her. But I shall visit her now.” She ordered her tents to be taken outside the city and pitched, and gathered suitable gifts and precious things to take to her sister. Her father the king looked out through the palace windows and saw the tents standing. He asked about them and was told, “Queen Manar al-Sana has pitched her tents along that road because she intends to visit her sister Nur al-Huda.” When the king heard this, he prepared an army to escort her to her sister, and brought out from his treasuries wealth, food, drink, precious objects, and jewels beyond description. The king’s seven daughters were full sisters, born of one father and one mother, except for the youngest. The eldest was named Nur al-Huda, the second Najm al-Sabah, the third Shams al-Duha, the fourth Shajarat al-Durr, the fifth Qut al-Qulub, the sixth Sharaf al-Banat, and the seventh Manar al-Sana. She was the youngest, and Hasan’s wife, and was their sister on their father’s side only. The old woman approached Manar al-Sana and kissed the ground before her. Manar al-Sana asked, “Do you need something, mother?” She answered, “Your sister Queen Nur al-Huda bids you change your two sons’ clothes, dress them in the two tunics she had made for them, and send them to her with me. I shall take them ahead and be the first to bring her the glad news of your coming.” When Manar al-Sana heard the old woman’s words, she bowed her head toward the ground, her colour changed, and she remained thus for a long while. Then she stirred, raised her head toward the old woman, and said, “Mother, my heart trembled and began to pound when you mentioned my two sons. Since their birth, no one among jinn or humankind, male or female, has looked upon their faces. I am jealous even of the breeze that passes over them.” The old woman said, “What are these words, my lady? Do you fear for them from your own sister?” And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and thirteenth night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that the old woman said to Lady Manar al-Sana, “What are these words, my lady? Do you fear for them from your own sister? Come to your senses! You cannot refuse the queen in this matter, for she would reproach you. Yet, my lady, your sons are little, and you are excused for fearing for them, for love is ever prone to suspicion. But, my daughter, you know my tenderness and love for you and your children. I brought you all up before them. I shall take charge of them and carry them with me; I would spread my cheek beneath them and open my heart to shelter them within it. I need no instructions about caring for them. Be of good cheer and let your eyes be comforted. Send them to her; I shall arrive no more than a day or two before you.” She continued urging her until she yielded, fearing her sister’s anger and not knowing what fate held hidden for her. She consented to send them with the old woman. Then she called for them, bathed them, made them ready, changed their clothes, dressed them in the two tunics, and entrusted them to the old woman. Shawahi took them and sped away like a bird by a different road from the one their mother would take, just as Queen Nur al-Huda had instructed her. She pressed on anxiously with the children until she reached Queen Nur al-Huda’s city. She crossed the sea with them, entered the city, and brought them to their aunt, Queen Nur al-Huda. When the queen saw them, she rejoiced, embraced them, clasped them to her breast, and seated one upon her right thigh and the other upon her left. Then she turned to the old woman and said, “Bring Hasan now. I have given him my pledge of safety and sheltered him from my sword. He has found sanctuary in my house and placed himself under my protection, after enduring terrors and hardships and escaping the perils of death, whose anguish ever increases. Yet even now he is not safe from drinking death’s cup and drawing his last breath.” And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and fourteenth night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that when Queen Nur al-Huda ordered the old woman to bring Hasan before her, the old woman said, “He has suffered terrors and hardships and passed through dangers of death whose sorrows ever increase; even now he is not safe from drinking its cup and drawing his last breath.” Then she asked the queen, “If I bring him before you, will you reunite him with the two boys? And if they prove not to be his sons, will you pardon him and send him back to his own country?” When the queen heard her words, she flew into a terrible rage and said, “Woe to you, you ill-omened old woman! How long will you keep scheming on behalf of this stranger, who has dared to defy us, tear away our veil, and pry into our affairs? Does he think he can come to our land, look upon our faces, sully our honor, and return safely to his own country? Then he would expose our affairs among his people, and news of us would reach all the kings in every quarter of the earth. Merchants would carry our story in every direction, saying, ‘A mortal entered the Islands of Waq, crossed the lands of sorcerers and soothsayers, passed through the country of the jinn and the lands of beasts and birds, and returned unharmed!’ That shall never be! I swear by Him who created and raised the heavens, who spread out and leveled the earth, who created all creatures and numbered them: if those boys are not his sons, I shall kill him, and I myself will strike off his head.” Then she shouted at the old woman, who fell down in fright, and set the chamberlain and twenty mamluks upon her, saying, “Go with this old woman and bring me the young man staying in her house, without delay.” The old woman was dragged out with the chamberlain and the mamluks, her face pale and her limbs trembling. She went to her house and entered Hasan’s room. At her approach he rose, kissed her hands, and greeted her, but she did not return his greeting. “Get up,” she said, “and speak to the queen. Did I not tell you to return to your country and warn you against all this? Yet you would not listen. I offered to give you something beyond anyone else’s power to bestow, and told you to go home at once, but you neither obeyed me nor heeded my words. Instead, you defied me and chose destruction for us both. Now face what you have chosen, for death is near. Get up and speak to this wicked harlot, this brutal tyrant!” Hasan rose, broken in spirit, sorrowful and afraid, saying, “O Giver of Peace, preserve me! O God, deal gently with me in the affliction You have decreed for me, and shelter me, O Most Merciful of the merciful!” Despairing of life, he went with the twenty mamluks, the chamberlain, and the old woman. They brought him before the queen, and he found his two sons, Nasir and Mansur, sitting in her lap while she played with them and entertained them. The moment his eyes fell upon them, he recognized them, uttered a mighty cry, and fell senseless to the ground from the joy of seeing his sons. And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and fifteenth night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that when Hasan’s eyes fell upon his sons, he recognized them, uttered a mighty cry, and fell senseless to the ground. When he recovered, he recognized his sons and they recognized him. Moved by their natural affection, they slipped out of the queen’s lap and came to stand beside Hasan, and God Almighty gave them speech to say, “Our father!” The old woman and all those present wept in compassion and pity for them, saying, “Praise be to God, who has reunited you with your father!” When Hasan came to himself, he embraced his sons, then wept until he fainted again. On recovering, he recited these verses:

By all that you are, my heart could not endure our parting, even were reunion death. Your phantom tells me, “Tomorrow we shall meet”—but shall I live till tomorrow, despite my foes? By all that you are, my beloved masters, since the day you left, no sweetness of life has ever pleased me. If God decrees that I must die for love of you, I shall die among the greatest martyrs of love. A gazelle has her pasture in the hidden places of my heart, yet her form has fled my eyes as sleep has fled them. If she denies before the court that she has shed my blood, there upon her cheeks the blood bears witness. When the queen was certain that the two little ones were Hasan’s sons, and that her sister, Lady Manar al-Sana, was the wife he had come to seek, she became more furious with her than words can tell. And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and sixteenth night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that when Queen Nur al-Huda was certain that the two little ones were Hasan’s sons, and that her sister Manar al-Sana was the wife he had come to seek, she became more furious with her than words can tell. She shouted in Hasan’s face, and he fainted. When he recovered, he recited these verses:

You are far away, yet closest of all to my heart; you are absent, yet present within my breast. By God, I have never turned from you to another, and I bear the tyranny of time with patience. Nights pass and end while I remain in love with you, and in my heart are sighs and raging fire. Once I could not bear an hour apart—how can I bear it now, when months have passed? I am jealous when a little breeze blows over you, for I am jealous of all that touches slender beauties. When Hasan finished his poem, he fell senseless. When he recovered, he found that they had dragged him out upon his face. He rose and walked away, stumbling over the skirts of his robe, scarcely believing that he had escaped what he had suffered at her hands. This grieved the old woman Shawahi, but the queen’s fury was so great that she dared not speak to her on his behalf. When Hasan left the palace, he wandered bewildered, not knowing where to turn or where to go. Wide as the earth was, it had grown too narrow for him. He could find no one to speak with him or keep him company, no one to comfort or advise him, no one to whom he could turn for refuge. He became certain he would perish, for he could not travel, knew no one who would travel with him, and did not know the road. Nor could he cross the Valley of the Jinn, the land of wild beasts, and the Islands of the Birds. He despaired of life and wept over his fate until he fainted. When he recovered, he thought of his children and his wife, of her coming to her sister, and of what might befall her at the hands of the queen. Then he regretted coming to these lands and refusing to heed anyone’s advice, and recited these verses:

Let my eyes weep for the loss of those I love: comfort is beyond my reach, and my affliction grows. I have drunk the bitter cup of parting undiluted; who has the strength to bear the loss of loved ones? You have spread the carpet of reproach between us—O carpet of reproach, when will you be rolled away? I kept vigil while you slept, though you claimed I had forgotten my love for you, when it was solace itself I had forgotten. My heart is consumed by longing for reunion; you are my physicians—may you be preserved from every ill. Have you not seen what your rejection has done to me? I have humbled myself before the worthy and the worthless alike. I concealed my love, but passion proclaims it, and my heart is forever seared by love’s fires. Have pity on my plight and show me mercy, for I have kept our covenant in secret and in whispered prayer. Will the days ever bring us together again? You are my heart’s desire, and my soul yearns for you. My heart is wounded by separation; would that you might send me some word of your love to cherish. When he had finished his poem, he went on walking until he came outside the city. There he found the river and followed its bank, not knowing where he was going.

Such was Hasan’s case. As for his wife, Manar al-Sana, she intended to set out on the second day after the old woman’s departure. As she was preparing to leave, the chamberlain of her father the king came in and kissed the ground before her. And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and seventeenth night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that as Manar al-Sana was preparing to leave, the chamberlain of her father the king came in, kissed the ground before her, and said, “O queen, your father, the Supreme King, sends you greetings and summons you to his presence.” She rose and went with the chamberlain to learn what her father wanted. When he saw her, he seated her beside him upon the throne and said, “My daughter, last night I had a dream, and I fear for you because of it. I fear that this journey of yours will bring you lasting sorrow.” “Why, Father?” she asked. “What did you see in your dream?” He replied, “I dreamed that I entered a treasury and saw great riches, jewels, and many rubies. Yet of all that treasure and all those jewels, only seven stones pleased me, and they were the finest there. From those seven I chose one, the smallest and loveliest, and the most radiant of them all. Delighted by its beauty, I took it in my palm and carried it out of the treasury. When I passed through the door, I opened my hand joyfully and kissed the jewel. Just then a strange bird, unlike any bird of our country, came from a distant land, swooped down upon me from the sky, snatched the jewel from my hand, and flew back with it to the place from which I had brought it. Grief, sorrow, and anguish overcame me, and such terror seized me that I awoke. I woke heartsick and grieving for that jewel. Then I summoned the interpreters of dreams and told them what I had seen. They said, ‘You have seven daughters, and you will lose the youngest of them. She will be taken from you by force, against your will.’ You, my daughter, are the youngest of my daughters, the dearest to me and the most cherished. Now you are setting out to visit your sister, and I do not know what may befall you at her hands. Do not go; return to your palace.” When Manar al-Sana heard her father’s words, her heart fluttered and she feared for her sons. She bowed her head toward the ground for a while, then raised it to her father and said, “O king, Queen Nur al-Huda has prepared a feast for me and is awaiting my arrival from hour to hour. She has not seen me for four years, and if I fail to visit her she will be angry with me. At most I shall stay with her a month, then return to you. Who could enter our country and reach the Islands of Waq? Who could reach the White Land and the Black Mountain, and then the Island of Camphor and the Castle of the Birds? How could anyone cross the Valley of the Birds, then the Valley of Beasts, then the Valley of the Jinn, and afterward enter our islands? Were a stranger to enter them, he would drown in seas of destruction. Set your heart at ease and let your mind be at rest about my journey, for no one has the power to set foot upon our land.” She continued pleading with him until he graciously gave her permission to depart. And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and eighteenth night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that she continued pleading with him until he graciously gave her permission to depart. He then ordered a thousand horsemen to travel with her and escort her to the river, where they were to remain until she reached her sister’s city and entered her palace. He commanded them to wait for her until they could escort her back to her father. Her father charged her to stay with her sister for two days, then return at once. “I hear and obey,” she replied. She rose and went out, and her father went with her to bid her farewell. His words had left their mark upon her heart, and she feared for her children; yet caution is no defense against the onslaught of destiny. She traveled swiftly for three days and nights until she reached the river and pitched her tents upon its bank. Then she crossed with some of her servants, attendants, and viziers. When she reached Queen Nur al-Huda’s city, she went up to the palace and entered her sister’s presence. There she saw her two sons weeping beside the queen and crying, “Our father!” Tears streamed from her eyes, and she wept. She clasped her sons to her breast and said, “Have you seen your father? Accursed be the hour in which I left him! Had I known he was still alive in this world, I would have taken you to him.” Then she lamented for herself, her husband, and her weeping sons, and recited these verses:

O my beloved, despite distance and estrangement, I yearn for you and love you wherever you may be. My eyes turn ever toward your dwelling places, and my heart longs for the days I spent with you. How many nights we passed together, innocent of suspicion, two lovers gladdened by faithfulness and tenderness! When her sister saw her clasping her sons to her and heard her say, “I myself have done this to myself and my children, and laid my own house waste,” Nur al-Huda gave her no greeting. Instead she said, “You harlot! Where did you get these two children? Did you marry without your father’s knowledge, or did you commit fornication? If you committed fornication, you deserve exemplary punishment. And if you married without our knowledge, why did you leave your husband, take your sons, separate them from their father, and come to our country?” And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and nineteenth night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that Queen Nur al-Huda said to her sister Manar al-Sana, “And if you married without our knowledge, why did you leave your husband, take your sons, separate them from their father, and come to our country, concealing your children from us? Did you think we would never learn of it? God Most High, who knows all hidden things, has revealed your affairs to us, exposed your condition, and laid bare your shame.” Then she ordered her attendants to seize her. They took hold of her, bound her arms behind her, and shackled her in iron. The queen beat her cruelly until her flesh was torn, suspended her by her hair, and cast her into prison. Then she wrote a letter to her father, the Supreme King, telling him what had happened: “A man of humankind has appeared in our country, and my sister Manar al-Sana claims that she lawfully married him and bore him two sons. She concealed them from you and from us, revealing nothing of her conduct until this mortal man, whose name is Hasan, came to us. He told us that he had married her and that she had lived with him for a long time, then taken her two sons and departed without his knowledge. As she left, she told his mother, ‘Tell your son, if longing overcomes him, to come to me in the Islands of Waq.’ We detained this man, and I sent the old woman Shawahi to bring her and her sons to me. She made ready and came. I had ordered the old woman to bring the two boys first, arriving with them before their mother, and so she did. Then I sent for the man who claimed that my sister was his wife. When he came before me and saw the boys, he recognized them. Thus I became certain that they were his sons and she his wife. I knew that the man had spoken truthfully and that no blame lay with him; the disgrace and fault lay with my sister. Fearing that our honor would be exposed before the people of our islands, when this wicked, treacherous woman came before me, I grew angry with her, beat her severely, and suspended her by her hair. I have now informed you of her case. The decision is yours, and whatever you command, we shall do. You know that this affair brings scandal upon us and disgrace upon both you and us. If the islanders hear of it, we shall become a laughingstock among them. You must therefore send us a swift reply.”

She gave the letter to a messenger, who carried it to the king. When the Supreme King read it, he became furiously angry with his daughter Manar al-Sana and wrote to his daughter Nur al-Huda: “I place her fate in your hands and grant you authority over her life. If matters are as you have described, kill her and do not consult me further.” When her father’s letter reached her and she read it, she sent for Manar al-Sana. They brought her before her, drenched in blood, her arms bound behind her with her own hair, weighed down by heavy iron fetters, and clothed in haircloth. They made her stand before the queen, abject and humbled. Seeing herself in such deep humiliation and disgrace, she remembered her former glory, wept bitterly, and recited these two verses:

O Lord, my enemies strive to destroy me and declare that I shall not escape. I have set my hope in You to undo their deeds: O Lord, You are the refuge of the fearful and the hopeful. Then she wept so bitterly that she fell unconscious. When she recovered, she recited these two verses:

Calamities have grown familiar with my soul, and I with them, after estrangement—for the generous heart is quick to befriend. My sorrows are not of a single kind: praise be to God, I have thousands of them. Then she recited these two verses as well:

How often a calamity leaves a man unable to endure, yet with God lies the way of escape. It tightened round me, but when its rings were drawn fast, it opened, though I had thought it never would. And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and twentieth night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that when Queen Nur al-Huda ordered her sister, Queen Manar al-Sana, brought before her, they made her stand in her presence with her arms bound, and she recited the verses already given. Then her sister had a wooden ladder brought, laid her upon it, and ordered them to bind her on her back against its rungs. She stretched out her arms and tied them with ropes, then uncovered her head and wound her hair around the wooden ladder. All compassion for her had been torn from her heart. When Manar al-Sana saw herself in such humiliation and disgrace, she cried out and wept, but no one came to her aid. “My sister,” she said, “how has your heart grown so hard toward me that you have no pity for me or for these two little children?” Hearing this only hardened the queen further. She cursed her and said, “You lovesick harlot! May God have no mercy on anyone who pities you! How should I pity you, you traitor?” Manar al-Sana, stretched out and bound, replied, “I appeal to the Lord of Heaven against you for the accusations with which you insult me, though I am innocent of them. By God, I did not commit fornication; I married him lawfully. My Lord knows whether what I say is true. My heart is bitter against you for your cruelty toward me. How can you accuse me of fornication without knowledge? But my Lord will deliver me from you; and if your charge against me is true, God will punish me for it.” Her sister pondered these words, then said, “How dare you speak to me in this way?” She rose and beat her until she fainted. They sprinkled water upon her face until she recovered. Her beauty had been marred by the severity of the beating, the tightness of her bonds, and the humiliation she had suffered. Then she recited these two verses:

If I have committed an offense and done a wrongful deed, I repent of what is past and come to you asking forgiveness. When Nur al-Huda heard her verses, she flew into a terrible rage and said, “Do you recite poetry before me, you harlot, and seek excuses for the mortal sins you have committed? I had meant to let you return to your husband, that I might see your shamelessness and brazen conduct for myself; for you glory in your wickedness, your obscenity, and your grievous sins.” Then she ordered the servants to bring palm rods, and they brought them. She rose, bared her forearms, and rained blows upon her sister from head to foot. Then she called for a braided whip which, had an elephant been struck with it, would have sent it running. With this she lashed her back, her belly, and every part of her body until she lost consciousness. When the old woman Shawahi saw what the queen was doing, she fled from her presence, weeping and calling down curses upon her. The queen shouted to the servants, “Bring her to me!” They ran after her, seized her, and brought her before the queen, who ordered her thrown to the ground and said to the slave girls, “Drag her out on her face.” So they dragged her from the queen’s presence.

Such was their case. As for Hasan, he rose, striving to master himself, and walked along the riverbank toward the wilderness, bewildered and sorrowful. He had despaired of life and was so distraught by his suffering that he could no longer distinguish night from day. He walked on until he came near a tree and found a sheet of paper hanging from it. He took it in his hand and looked at it, and found these verses written upon it:

I ordered your affairs when you were an unborn child within your mother’s womb. I filled her heart with tenderness toward you, so that she freely gave you her embrace. I am sufficient for you against whatever brings you care or sorrow. Rise, then, and turn to Us in supplication: We shall take your hand in your distress. When he finished reading the paper, he became certain that he would escape his affliction and succeed in reuniting his family. Then he walked a few steps and found himself alone in a dangerous wilderness, with no one to keep him company. His heart fluttered with loneliness and fear, and his limbs trembled in that dreadful place. He recited these verses:

O east wind, if you pass through the land of my beloved, bear them my abundant greetings. Tell them I am held captive by longing, and that my passion surpasses every passion. Perhaps a breeze of kindness may blow from them and bring life to a lover whose very bones are crumbling. And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and twenty-first night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that when Hasan read the paper, he became certain that he would escape his affliction and succeed in reuniting his family. Then he rose and walked a few steps, only to find himself alone in a dangerous place, with no one to keep him company. He wept bitterly and recited the verses we have mentioned. Then he walked a little farther along the riverbank and came upon two young boys, sons of sorcerers and soothsayers. Before them lay a copper rod engraved with talismans, and beside it a leather cap made in three panels, inscribed with names and seals in steel. The rod and the cap lay on the ground, and the boys were quarreling and fighting over them until blood flowed between them. One cried, “No one shall have the rod but me!” and the other cried, “No one shall have the rod but me!” Hasan stepped between them, pulled them apart, and asked, “What is the cause of this quarrel?” They replied, “Uncle, judge between us, for God Most High has sent you to us to settle our dispute justly.” “Tell me your story,” he said, “and I shall judge between you.” They said, “We are full brothers. Our father was one of the great sorcerers and lived in a cave in this mountain. He died and left us this cap and this rod. My brother says, ‘No one shall have the rod but me,’ and I say, ‘No one shall have it but me.’ Judge between us and put an end to our quarrel.” When Hasan heard their words, he asked, “What is the difference between the rod and the cap, and what are they worth? To all appearances, the rod is worth six small coins, and the cap three.” “You do not know their virtues,” they replied. “What are their virtues?” he asked. They said, “Each possesses a wondrous secret. The rod is worth the revenue of all the Islands of Waq and their territories, and so is the cap.” Hasan said, “My sons, for God’s sake, reveal their secret to me.” They replied, “Uncle, their secret is mighty indeed. Our father lived a hundred and thirty-five years, laboring over their making until he had perfected them completely. He placed within them a hidden mystery, endowed them with marvelous powers, and engraved them in the likeness of the revolving heavens. By their means he could undo every talisman. When he had finished making them, death, which none can escape, overtook him. As for the cap, its secret is that whoever puts it on his head vanishes from the sight of all people: no one can see him as long as he wears it. As for the rod, its secret is that whoever possesses it commands seven tribes of jinn. All serve the rod and are subject to its command and authority. Whoever possesses it and strikes the earth with it will have their kings bow before him, and all the jinn will be at his service.”

When Hasan heard these words, he bowed his head toward the ground for a while, then said to himself, “By God, with this rod and cap I shall triumph, if God Most High wills it. I have more right to them than these boys. This very moment I shall devise a way to take them, so that with their aid I may save myself, my wife, and my children from this tyrannical queen, and we may leave this dark land, from which no mortal can find deliverance or escape. Perhaps God has brought me to these two boys for no other purpose than that I should obtain the rod and cap from them.”

Then he raised his head and said to the boys, “If you wish this dispute settled, I shall put you to a test. Whoever defeats his brother shall take the rod, and whoever loses shall take the cap. By testing you and distinguishing between you, I shall know what each of you deserves.” They said, “Uncle, we entrust you with testing us and judging between us in whatever way you choose.” Hasan asked, “Will you listen to me and abide by my decision?” “Yes,” they replied. He said, “I shall take a stone and throw it. Whichever of you reaches it first and picks it up before his brother shall have the rod; the one who falls behind and fails to reach it shall have the cap.” They said, “We accept your proposal and are content with it.” Then Hasan took a stone and threw it with all his strength, so far that it vanished from sight. The boys raced after it. When they were far away, Hasan picked up the cap and put it on, took the rod in his hand, and moved from his place to test the truth of what they had said about their father’s secret. The younger boy reached the stone first, picked it up, and brought it back to the place where Hasan had been, but found no trace of him. He called to his brother, “Where is the man who was to judge between us?” His brother replied, “I cannot see him, and I do not know whether he has risen to the highest heaven or sunk to the lowest earth.” They searched for him but could not see him, though Hasan stood there all the while. Then they cursed one another and said, “The rod and cap are gone, and neither you nor I have them! Our father told us this very thing would happen, but we forgot what he said.” Then they turned back the way they had come. Hasan entered the city wearing the cap and carrying the rod, and none of the people saw him. He entered the palace and went up to the room where Shawahi, mistress of wiles, was staying. He went in wearing the cap, so she did not see him, and approached a shelf above her head on which stood glassware and porcelain. He shook it with his hand, and everything upon it fell to the ground. Shawahi, mistress of wiles, cried out and slapped her face. Then she rose, put the fallen things back in their places, and said to herself, “By God, I can only suppose that Queen Nur al-Huda has sent a devil to play this trick upon me. I ask God to deliver me from her and preserve me from her wrath. O Lord, if this is the vile way she beats her own sister, who is so dear to their father, what would she do to a stranger like me if she grew angry with her?” And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and twenty-second night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that after the old woman, mistress of wiles, said, “If Queen Nur al-Huda treats her own sister in this fashion, what would become of a stranger if she grew angry with her?” she went on, “I adjure you, O devil, by the Tender, the Bountiful, the Exalted in majesty and mighty in dominion, Creator of humankind and jinn, and by the inscription upon the seal of Solomon son of David—peace be upon them both—to speak to me and answer me!” Hasan answered, “I am no devil. I am Hasan, the lovesick, the wandering, the bewildered.” Then he took the cap from his head and appeared before the old woman, who recognized him. She took him aside into a private place and said, “What has happened to your wits, that you have come in here? Go and hide! This wicked woman has inflicted such torments upon your wife, who is her own sister—what will she do if she catches you?” Then she told him everything that had befallen his wife, and of the misery, punishment, and torture she was suffering. She also told him how she herself had been ill-treated, then said, “The queen regrets having let you go. She has sent men to bring you back, promising whoever does so a hundredweight of gold and my own rank in her service. She has sworn that if they bring you back, she will kill you, your wife, and your sons.” Then the old woman wept and showed Hasan what the queen had done to her. Hasan wept and said, “My lady, how can I escape this country and this tyrannical queen? What means can I find to rescue my wife and sons and return with them to my own land?” The old woman said, “Alas for you! Save yourself!” He replied, “I must rescue her and my sons from her, against her will.” “How will you rescue them against her will?” asked the old woman. “Go and hide, my son, until God Most High grants relief.” Then Hasan showed her the copper rod and the cap. At the sight of them she rejoiced exceedingly and said, “Glory be to Him who gives life to bones when they have crumbled to dust! By God, my son, you and your wife were as good as dead, but now you, your wife, and your sons are saved. I know this rod, and I know its owner: he was my master, who taught me sorcery. He was a mighty magician and spent a hundred and thirty-five years perfecting this rod and cap. When he had finished them, the death that none can escape overtook him. I heard him say to his two sons, ‘My sons, these things are not destined for you. A stranger from a foreign land will come and take them from you against your will, and you will not know how he does it.’ They said, ‘Father, tell us how he will manage to take them.’ He replied, ‘I do not know.’ How did you obtain them, my son?” He told her how he had taken them from the boys. When she heard his account, she rejoiced and said, “My son, now that your wife and children are as good as restored to you, listen to what I tell you. I can no longer remain with this wicked woman after she has dared to abuse and disgrace me. I shall leave her and go to the Cave of the Sorcerers, to dwell among them and live with them until I die. As for you, my son, put on the cap, take the rod in your hand, and go to the place where your wife and children are. Strike the ground with the rod and say, ‘O servants of these names!’ Its servants will appear before you. If one of the chiefs of the tribes comes to you, command him to do whatever you wish.” Then Hasan bade her farewell and went out. He put on the cap, took the rod with him, and entered the place where his wife was held. He found her reduced to utter misery, bound upon the ladder with her hair fastened to it, her eyes weeping and her heart sorrowful. She was in the most wretched state, knowing no way to escape. Her sons played beneath the ladder, and she watched them and wept for them and for herself because of all that had befallen her, enduring the cruelest torment and painful blows. When he saw her in this dreadful condition, he heard her reciting these verses:

Nothing remains but a faltering breath, an eye whose pupil has grown dim, and a lover whose heart is ablaze, yet who utters not a word. Even his gloating enemy pities him at the sight—alas for one whom even his enemy pities! When Hasan saw the torment, humiliation, and degradation she was suffering, he wept until he fainted. When he recovered and saw his two sons playing while their mother lay unconscious from the intensity of her pain, he took the cap off his head. They cried out, “Father!” He covered his head again, and their cries roused their mother from her swoon. She did not see her husband, but only her two sons, weeping and crying, “Father!” Hearing them call for their father and weep, she too began to weep; her heart broke and her very entrails seemed torn apart. From a shattered heart and a soul in anguish she cried, “Where are you two, and where is your father?” Then she remembered the days when they had all been together, and all that had befallen her since their separation. She wept so bitterly that her tears wounded her cheeks and soaked the ground. Her cheeks were awash with tears, yet she had no free hand with which to wipe them away. The flies feasted upon her skin, and she found no solace save in weeping and reciting poetry. She chanted these verses:

I remembered the day of parting, after bidding my beloved farewell, and on my homeward way my tears ran in rivers. The camel-driver urged their mounts onward, and I was left without patience, without strength, without even my heart. I turned back, not knowing the road, nor waking from my anguish, my yearning, and my pain. What hurt me most upon my return was a gloating enemy who came to me in the guise of one meek with sympathy. O soul, since the beloved is far away, bid farewell to the sweetness of life, and hope no more to endure. My friend, listen to the tales of love—far be it from your heart to fail to understand my words! I tell of passion in an unbroken chain of marvels and wonders, as though I were al-Asma‘i himself. And morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and twenty-third night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that when Hasan entered his wife’s presence, he saw his two sons and heard her reciting the verses we have mentioned. She had turned to right and left to discover why her sons were crying out and calling to their father, but she saw no one. Finding no one there, she wondered why her sons should speak of their father at such a moment. Such was their case. As for Hasan, when he heard her poetry, he wept until he fainted, his tears streaming down his cheeks like rain. He drew near the two boys and took off the cap. They saw him, recognized him, and cried, “Father!” Their mother wept when she heard them speak of their father, and said, “There is no resisting God’s decree.” Then she said to herself, “How strange! Why should they speak of their father now, and call to him?” She wept and recited these verses:

The dwelling stands empty of its radiant lamp. O my eyes, pour forth your tears! They have departed; how can I endure without them? I swear that neither heart nor patience remains with me. O you who have gone away, yet dwell within my heart, is there any returning after this, my lords? What harm if they returned, and I rejoiced in their company, and they took pity on my streaming tears and anguish? On the day of parting they made the clouds of my eyes pour down, yet, wondrously, the fire within my ribs was not quenched. I hoped they would remain, but fate denied me their presence, and separation dashed my hopes. By God, our beloved ones, return to us! Enough tears have flowed from my eyes. Hasan could no longer endure it, and took the cap off his head. His wife saw him, and when she recognized him she gave a cry that startled everyone in the palace. Then she said, “How did you reach this place? Did you descend from heaven or rise out of the earth?” Her eyes brimmed with tears, and Hasan began to weep. “Man,” she said, “this is no time for tears or reproaches. The decree has been fulfilled, sight has been blinded, and the Pen has written what God ordained from eternity. For God’s sake, go back whence you came and hide, lest someone see you and tell my sister, and she slaughter both you and me.” Hasan said to her, “My lady, sovereign over every queen, I have risked my life to come here. Either I shall die, or I shall deliver you from your plight and take you and my two sons back to my own country, despite that wicked sister of yours.” When she heard his words, she smiled and laughed, then shook her head for a long while. “Alas, my soul,” she said, “none but Almighty God can deliver me from this plight. Save yourself and go; do not cast your life into destruction. She has a vast army that no one can withstand. Even supposing you took me away, how could you reach your own country and escape these islands and their treacherous terrain? Along the road you have already seen marvels and wonders, terrors and hardships from which not even the rebellious jinn could escape. Go at once, and do not add care to my care or grief to my grief. Do not claim that you can deliver me from this. Who could bring me to your country through these valleys, these waterless lands, and these deadly places?” Hasan answered, “By your life, light of my eyes, I will neither leave this place nor journey home without you.” She said, “Man, how can you accomplish such a thing? What manner of being are you? You do not know what you are saying. Even if you commanded jinn, ifrits, sorcerers, spirit hosts, and their helpers, no one could escape these places. Save yourself while you can, and leave me. Perhaps God will bring about some change in our affairs.” Hasan said to her, “Lady of all fair women, I have come to deliver you with this rod and this cap.”

Then he told her the story of the two boys. While he was still speaking, the queen entered and overheard their conversation. At the sight of her, he put on the cap. She said to her sister, “You shameless creature, whom were you talking to?” “Who is here to speak to me,” she replied, “except these two children?” The queen took up the whip and began to lash her while Hasan stood watching. She went on beating her until she fainted, then ordered her to be moved elsewhere. They untied her and carried her away, and Hasan followed them to the place where they took her. They flung her down unconscious and stood looking at her. When she came to herself, she recited these verses:

I have regretted our separation with a sorrow that sent tears streaming from my eyes. I have vowed that, if time should bring us together again, my tongue will never speak of parting. I shall say to the envious, “Die of grief! By God, I have attained my heart’s desire!” Joy has overflowed within me, till the very greatness of my happiness has made me weep. O eyes, why has weeping become your habit, in gladness as in sorrow? When she had finished her verses, the maidservants left her. Then Hasan took off the cap, and his wife said to him, “Look, my husband, at what has befallen me! All this is because I disobeyed you, defied your command, and went away without your leave. For God’s sake, do not hold my sin against me. Know that a woman does not learn her husband’s worth until she is parted from him. I sinned and did wrong, but I ask Almighty God’s forgiveness for what I have done. If God reunites us, I shall never disobey you again.” And morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and twenty-fourth night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that Hasan’s wife pleaded with him, saying, “Do not hold my sin against me. I ask Almighty God’s forgiveness.” Hasan, whose heart ached for her, replied, “You did no wrong; the fault was mine alone. I went away and left you with someone who did not know your worth or value you as you deserved. Know, beloved of my heart, fruit of my soul, and light of my eyes, that God, glory be to Him, has given me the power to rescue you. Would you have me take you to your father’s home, there to fulfill whatever God has ordained for you, or will you journey at once to our own country, now that deliverance has come?” She answered, “Who but the Lord of Heaven can deliver me? Go back to your own country and abandon this hope. You do not know the perils of this land. If you will not heed me, you will soon see.” Then she recited these verses:

All the devotion you desire is yours to claim from me; why, then, are you angry and turn away? Whatever may have happened, far be it that our old affection should be forgotten and its bond undone. The slanderer had always kept his distance, but when he saw us turn from one another, he stepped between us. I trust that you will think well of me, though the slanderer speaks in ignorance and urges you against me. We shall keep the secret of our love, though the sword of reproach be drawn against us. All day I remain in longing, hoping some messenger from you will come with tidings of forgiveness. Then she and her two sons began to weep. The maidservants heard them and came in, finding Queen Manar al-Sana and her sons in tears, but seeing no sign of Hasan. They wept out of pity for them and called down curses upon Queen Nur al-Huda. Hasan waited patiently until night came and the guards appointed over her had gone to their beds. Then he rose, girded his waist, came to his wife, and unbound her. He kissed her head, clasped her to his breast, and kissed her between the eyes. “How long we have yearned for our home,” he said, “and to be together there again! Is this reunion a dream, or are we awake?” Then he took up his elder son, while she carried the younger, and they left the palace under God’s protecting veil. They went on until they reached the outer gate enclosing the queen’s palace, and found it locked. Hasan said, “There is no power and no strength save in God, the Most High, the Almighty. To God we belong, and to Him we return.” They despaired of escape. “O Deliverer from affliction!” Hasan cried, striking one hand against the other. “I reckoned with everything and considered every outcome except this. When daylight overtakes us, they will seize us. What can we do?” Then Hasan recited these two verses:

You thought well of the days when they were kind, and did not fear the evil fate might bring. The nights were peaceful, and you were deceived by them; yet it is in the clearest nights that trouble comes. Then Hasan wept, and his wife wept at his tears and at the humiliation and suffering fate had brought upon her. Hasan turned to his wife and recited these two verses:

Time opposes me as though I were its enemy, and every day confronts me with some fresh misery. If I seek good, time brings me its contrary; if one day is clear, the next brings cloud and sorrow. He also recited these two verses:

Time has turned hostile, not knowing that I am strong and calamities are slight. It spent the night showing me how fiercely misfortune can strike; I spent the night showing it what patience can endure. His wife said to him, “By God, there is no release for us except to take our own lives and be rid of this terrible suffering. Otherwise morning will find us enduring grievous torture.” While they were speaking, a voice outside the gate said, “By God, my lady Manar al-Sana and your husband Hasan, I will not open the gate unless you agree to what I ask of you.” At these words they fell silent and were about to return to the place they had left. But the voice said, “Why have you fallen silent? Why do you not answer me?” Then they recognized the speaker: it was the old woman Shawahi, Mistress of Wiles. They said to her, “Whatever you command, we will do. Only open the gate, for this is no time for talk.” She answered, “By God, I will not open it until you swear to take me with you and not leave me with this harlot. Whatever befalls you shall befall me: if you are saved, I am saved; if you perish, I perish. This wicked woman, who beds other women, despises me and torments me every hour on your account. And you, my daughter, know my worth.” Once they recognized her, their fears were eased, and they swore the solemn oaths she required. When they had sworn to her satisfaction, she opened the gate, and they went out. Outside they found her astride a great red earthenware jar of Rum, with a rope of palm fiber about its neck. It rolled beneath her, racing faster than a Najdi colt. She went ahead of them, saying, “Follow me, and fear nothing. I know forty branches of magic; with the least of them I could turn this city into a raging sea of clashing waves, and enchant every girl within it into a fish. All this I could do before dawn. I have refrained from such harm only for fear of her father the king, and out of regard for her brothers, who are mighty in their hosts of helpers, spirit clans, and servants. But now I shall show you the marvels of my magic. Let us go with Almighty God’s blessing and help.” Hasan and his wife rejoiced and felt certain of deliverance. And morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and twenty-fifth night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that when Hasan, his wife, and the old woman Shawahi had left the palace and felt certain of their escape, they made their way beyond the city. Hasan took the rod in his hand, struck the ground with it, and, summoning his courage, said, “Servants of these names, appear before me and show me your brethren!” At once the earth split open, and ten ifrits emerged, each with his feet in the depths of the earth and his head among the clouds. They kissed the ground before Hasan three times and said with one voice, “At your service, our lord and ruler! What is your command? We hear and obey. If you wish, we shall dry up the seas for you and move mountains from their places.” Hasan rejoiced at their words and the swiftness of their answer. Taking heart and strengthening his resolve, he said, “Who are you? What are your names? To what tribes do you belong? Of what people, tribe, and clan are you?” They kissed the ground again and answered with one voice, “We are seven kings, each ruling seven tribes of jinn, devils, and rebellious spirits. We seven kings command forty-nine tribes of every kind of jinn, devil, and rebellious spirit, with their clans and helpers: those who fly, those who dive, those who dwell in mountains, wildernesses, and deserts, and those who inhabit the seas. Command us as you will, for we are your servants and slaves. Whoever possesses this rod is master of us all, and we owe him obedience.” When Hasan heard this, he rejoiced greatly, as did his wife and the old woman. Then he said to the jinn, “I wish you to show me your clans, your soldiers, and your helpers.” They replied, “Our lord, if we show you our clans, we fear for you and your companions. They are vast hosts, of many forms, shapes, colors, faces, and bodies. Some of us are heads without bodies, and some bodies without heads; some have the shapes of wild creatures, and others of beasts of prey. If you insist, we must first show you those in the shapes of wild creatures. But what do you require of us at this moment, my lord?” Hasan said, “I wish you to carry me, my wife, and this good woman to the city of Baghdad this very hour.” At these words they bowed their heads. “Why do you not answer?” he asked. They replied with one voice, “Our lord and ruler, we have lived since the days of our master Solomon son of David, peace be upon them both. He made us swear that we would carry no child of Adam upon our backs, and from that time to this we have borne no human being upon our shoulders or backs. But we shall at once saddle horses of the jinn to carry you and your companions to your country.” Hasan asked, “How far is Baghdad from here?” “Seven years’ journey for a rider traveling at full speed,” they answered. Hasan marveled and asked, “How, then, did I reach this place in less than a year?” They replied, “God moved the hearts of His righteous servants to pity you. Otherwise you could never have reached these lands or seen them with your own eyes. Shaykh Abd al-Quddus, who mounted you upon the elephant and upon the blessed steed, carried you in three days over a distance that would take a swift rider three years. As for Shaykh Abu al-Ruwaysh, who entrusted you to Dahnash, he carried you in a day and a night over another three years’ journey. This was through the blessing of Almighty God, for Shaykh Abu al-Ruwaysh is descended from Asaf ibn Barkhiya and knows the Greatest Name of God. From Baghdad to the Palace of the Maidens is a year’s journey, and that makes seven years.” Hasan was filled with wonder at their words and said, “Glory be to God, who makes the difficult easy, mends the broken, brings the distant near, and humbles every stubborn tyrant! He has eased every hardship for me, brought me to these lands, placed these beings at my command, and reunited me with my wife and my two sons. I do not know whether I am asleep or awake, sober or drunk!” Then he turned to them and asked, “If you mount us upon your horses, how many days will they take to bring us to Baghdad?” They replied, “They will bring you there in less than a year, after you have endured great hardships, trials, and terrors, and crossed waterless valleys, desolate wastes, wildernesses, and many deadly places. Nor, my lord, can we guarantee your safety from the people of these islands.” And morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and twenty-sixth night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that the jinn said to Hasan, “We cannot guarantee your safety, my lord, from the people of these islands, from the wrath of the Great King, or from these sorcerers and soothsayers. They may overpower us, take you from us, and bring us into trouble. Then everyone who hears of it will say, ‘You were in the wrong. How could you trespass against the Great King, carry human beings out of his country, and take his daughter with you as well?’ If you alone were with us, the matter would be easy. But He who brought you to these islands can bring you to your country and soon reunite you with your mother. Take courage, trust in God, and have no fear. We remain at your service until we bring you home.” Hasan thanked them and said, “May God reward you.” Then he added, “Make haste with the horses.” “We hear and obey,” they answered. They stamped upon the earth, which split open, and disappeared into it for a while. Then they returned, bringing three horses, saddled and bridled. Before each saddle hung a pair of saddlebags, one side holding a leather vessel full of water, the other filled with provisions. They brought the horses forward. Hasan mounted one and seated a son before him; his wife mounted the second and seated the other son before her. The old woman climbed down from her jar and mounted the third horse, and they set out. They rode all night until morning, then turned aside from the road toward a mountain, their tongues never ceasing to praise God. They traveled all day along the foot of the mountain. As they went, Hasan saw ahead of him what looked like a mountain rising in a column, tall as smoke ascending into the sky. He recited a passage of the Quran and sought refuge in God from Satan the Accursed. The dark shape grew clearer as they approached, until they found it to be an ifrit. His head was like a vast dome, his tusks like hooks, his nostrils like ewers, his ears like shields, his mouth like a cavern, his teeth like pillars of stone, his hands like pitchforks, and his legs like masts. His head was among the clouds, and his feet were in the depths beneath the earth. When Hasan saw the ifrit, he bowed and kissed the ground before him. The ifrit said, “Hasan, do not fear me. I am chief of the spirits inhabiting this land, the first of the islands of Waq. I am a Muslim and believe in the one God. I heard of you and knew of your coming. When I learned your circumstances, I longed to leave this land of sorcerers for some other country, uninhabited and far from both humankind and jinn, where I might live alone and worship God until my appointed end. I wished to accompany you and guide you out of these islands. I appear only by night, so have no fear of me: I am a Muslim, as you are.” Hasan rejoiced greatly at the ifrit’s words and felt certain of escape. He turned to him and said, “May God reward you. Come with us, with God’s blessing.” The ifrit went ahead, and they followed, talking and making merry, their fears allayed and their hearts lightened. Hasan began telling his wife all that had happened to him and all he had endured, and they traveled on throughout the night. And morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and twenty-seventh night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that they traveled all night until morning, their horses bearing them like flashes of lightning. At daybreak each reached into a saddlebag, took out some food and ate, then drew out water and drank. They pressed onward, with the ifrit leading them away from the road onto an untrodden route along the seashore. For a whole month they crossed valleys and deserts. On the thirty-first day, a cloud of dust rose before them, filling the horizon and darkening the daylight. Hasan turned pale at the sight, and they heard a terrifying clamor. The old woman turned to him and said, “My son, the armies of the islands of Waq have overtaken us. They will seize us this very hour.” “What shall I do, mother?” Hasan asked. “Strike the ground with the rod,” she replied. He did so, and the seven kings appeared, saluted him, kissed the ground before him, and said, “Do not fear or grieve.” Hasan rejoiced at their words and said, “Well done, lords of the jinn and ifrits! This is your hour.” They told him, “Take your wife, your two sons, and your companions up the mountain, and leave us to deal with them. We know that you are in the right and they are in the wrong, and God will grant us victory over them.” Hasan, his wife, his two sons, and the old woman dismounted, sent the horses away, and climbed onto a spur of the mountain. And morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and twenty-eighth night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that Hasan, his wife, his two sons, and the old woman climbed onto a spur of the mountain after sending away the horses. Then Queen Nur al-Huda advanced with her armies drawn up in right and left wings. The captains moved among them, arranging them company by company. The two armies met, the hosts collided, fires blazed, the brave pressed forward, and cowards fled. The jinn spat flames and sparks from their mouths until dense night descended. Then the two hosts parted and withdrew from one another. They dismounted, settled upon the ground, and kindled fires. The seven kings came up to Hasan and kissed the ground before him. He welcomed them, thanked them, prayed for their victory, and asked how they had fared against Queen Nur al-Huda’s army. They answered, “They will not hold out against us for more than three days. Today we prevailed over them, taking some two thousand prisoners and killing more than can be numbered. Be at ease and take heart.” Then they took their leave and returned to their army to guard him. They kept the fires burning until morning rose in shining light. The horsemen mounted their purebred steeds, struck with keen-edged swords, and thrust with brown-shafted spears. They fought on horseback, crashing together like waves of the sea, while the flames of battle raged between them. They continued their combat and charges until the armies of Waq were routed, their power broken and their spirits crushed. Their feet faltered, and wherever they fled, defeat awaited them. They turned their backs and took to flight. Most were killed, and Queen Nur al-Huda was captured with the chief nobles of her kingdom and her closest attendants.

When morning came, the seven kings appeared before Hasan and set up for him a throne of marble encrusted with pearls and jewels. He seated himself upon it, and beside him they placed another throne for his wife, Lady Manar al-Sana, made of ivory overlaid with gleaming gold. Beside hers they set a third throne for the old woman Shawahi, Mistress of Wiles. Then they brought the prisoners before Hasan, among them Queen Nur al-Huda, her hands bound and her feet in fetters. When the old woman saw her, she said, “Wicked tyrant! You deserve nothing less than to have two bitches starved and bound beside you to horses’ tails, then driven to the sea until your skin is torn away. After that, pieces of your flesh should be cut off and fed to you! How could you treat your sister so, you shameless woman? She married lawfully, according to the ordinance of God and His Messenger. There is no monasticism in Islam, and marriage is among the practices of the messengers, peace be upon them. Women were created for men.” Then Hasan ordered all the prisoners put to death, and the old woman cried, “Kill them! Do not leave a single one alive!” When Queen Manar al-Sana saw her sister captive and in chains, she wept for her and said, “Sister, who is this man who has taken us prisoner in our own land and overcome us?” Her sister replied, “It is an astonishing thing. This man called Hasan has mastered us. God has given him power over us and our whole kingdom, and he has overcome us and the kings of the jinn.” Her sister said, “God granted him victory over you, and enabled him to defeat and capture you, only through this cap and rod.” Then Nur al-Huda understood and knew by what means he had rescued her sister. She pleaded with her until her heart softened toward her. Manar al-Sana said to her husband Hasan, “What do you intend to do with my sister? Here she is in your power, and she has done you no harm for which you should punish her.” He answered, “Her torture of you is harm enough.” She said, “She had her excuse for every injury she did me. But you have already burned my father’s heart by taking me away. What will become of him if he loses my sister too?” Hasan replied, “The choice is yours. Do whatever you wish.” Queen Manar al-Sana then ordered all the prisoners released, and they were freed for her sister’s sake, along with her sister herself. She went to her and embraced her, and they both began to weep. They remained thus for a full hour. Then Queen Nur al-Huda said to her, “Sister, do not hold against me what I did to you.” Lady Manar al-Sana replied, “Sister, it was all ordained for me.” The two sisters sat together on the throne and talked. Afterward Manar al-Sana brought about a complete reconciliation between the old woman and her sister, and both were content. Hasan then dismissed the armies that served the rod, thanking them for helping him triumph over his enemies.

Then Lady Manar al-Sana told her sister everything that had happened between herself and her husband Hasan, and all that he had suffered and endured for her sake. She said, “Sister, a man whose deeds are such as these, and whose strength is so great—a man whom Almighty God has endowed with such valor that he entered our country, seized and captured you, defeated your army, and overcame your father, the Great King who rules the kings of the jinn—such a man must never be slighted.” Her sister replied, “By God, sister, you have spoken truly of the marvelous trials this man has endured. Was all this for your sake, sister?” And morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and twenty-ninth night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that when Lady Manar al-Sana told her sister of Hasan’s qualities, she said, “By God, such a man must not be lost, above all for his nobility of spirit. Was all this for your sake?” “Yes,” she answered. They spent the night talking until morning. When the sun rose, they prepared to depart and bade one another farewell. Manar al-Sana took leave of the old woman, having reconciled her with her sister Nur al-Huda. Then Hasan struck the ground with the rod. His servants appeared, saluted him, and said, “Praise be to God, who has set your heart at rest! Command us as you wish, and we shall do it more swiftly than the blink of an eye.” He thanked them for their words and said, “May God reward you.” Then he told them, “Saddle two of your finest horses for us.” They obeyed at once and brought him two saddled steeds. Hasan mounted one and seated his elder son before him; his wife mounted the other and seated her younger son before her. Queen Nur al-Huda and the old woman also mounted, and all set out for their own countries. Hasan and his wife took the road to the right, while Queen Nur al-Huda and the old woman went to the left. Hasan traveled on with his wife and two sons for a whole month. At the end of that month, they came in sight of a city surrounded by fruit trees and streams. When they reached the trees, they dismounted to rest and sat talking together. Suddenly a large company of horsemen approached. Hasan rose to meet them, and among them was King Hassun, lord of the Land of Camphor and the Citadel of Birds. Hasan went forward, kissed the king’s hands, and saluted him. When the king saw him, he dismounted, greeted him, and congratulated him on his safe return, rejoicing greatly. They sat together on carpets beneath the trees, and the king said, “Hasan, tell me what befell you, from beginning to end.” Hasan told him everything. King Hassun marveled and said, “My son, no one has ever reached the islands of Waq and returned from them except you. Your story is extraordinary. But praise be to God for your safe return!”

Then the king rose and mounted, and bade Hasan mount and ride with him. Hasan obeyed, and they journeyed on until they reached the city and entered the royal palace. King Hassun dismounted, while Hasan, his wife, and his two sons took up their lodging in the guesthouse. They stayed with him for three days, feasting, drinking, and making merry. Then Hasan asked King Hassun’s leave to depart for his own country, and the king granted it. Hasan mounted with his wife and two sons, and the king rode out with them. They traveled together for ten days; then, when the king wished to turn back, he bade Hasan farewell. Hasan continued with his wife and sons, and they journeyed for a whole month. At the end of that month they came in sight of a great cavern whose floor was of yellow brass. Hasan said to his wife, “Look at this cavern. Do you recognize it?” “Yes,” she replied. He said, “In it lives an old man called Abu al-Ruwaysh, to whom I owe a great debt, for it was through him that I came to know King Hassun.” He began telling his wife about Abu al-Ruwaysh, when suddenly the old man himself came out of the cavern. At the sight of him, Hasan dismounted from his horse and kissed his hands. Sheikh Abu al-Ruwaysh greeted him and congratulated him on his safe return. Delighted to see him, he led him into the cavern and sat down with him. Hasan began recounting all that had happened to him in the Islands of Waq, and the sheikh was utterly amazed. “Hasan,” he said, “how did you rescue your wife and your two sons?” Hasan told him the story of the rod and the cap. When Sheikh Abu al-Ruwaysh heard it, he marveled and said, “Hasan, my son, but for that rod and cap, you would never have rescued your wife and children.” “Indeed, my lord,” Hasan replied. While they were talking, someone knocked at the cavern door. Sheikh Abu al-Ruwaysh went out and opened it, and there was Sheikh Abd al-Quddus, mounted on his elephant. Abu al-Ruwaysh went forward to greet and embrace him, rejoicing greatly at his arrival and congratulating him on his safe return. Then he said to Hasan, “Tell Sheikh Abd al-Quddus everything that has happened to you, Hasan.” Hasan began relating his adventures to the sheikh from beginning to end, until he came to the story of the rod. But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she ceased her permitted tale.

When it was the eight hundred and thirtieth night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that as they sat talking in the cavern, Hasan began recounting to Sheikh Abd al-Quddus and Sheikh Abu al-Ruwaysh everything that had happened to him, from beginning to end. When he came to the story of the rod and the cap, Sheikh Abd al-Quddus said to him, “My son, you have now rescued your wife and your two sons, and have no further need of those things. As for us, it was through us that you reached the Islands of Waq, and I did you this kindness for the sake of my brother’s daughters. I ask you, then, of your grace and generosity, to give me the rod and give Sheikh Abu al-Ruwaysh the cap.” When Hasan heard Sheikh Abd al-Quddus’s words, he lowered his head, ashamed to say, “I will not give them to you.” Then he said to himself, “These two sheikhs have shown me great kindness, and it was through them that I reached the Islands of Waq. But for them, I should never have reached those places, nor rescued my wife and children, nor come by this rod and cap.” He raised his head and said, “Yes, I will give them to you. But, my lords, I fear that the Supreme King, my wife’s father, may march against me with his armies in our own country. They will attack me, and I shall have no means of repelling them except the rod and cap.” Sheikh Abd al-Quddus replied, “My son, have no fear. We shall remain here as your watchmen and defenders, and whoever comes against you from your wife’s father, we shall turn him back. Fear nothing whatsoever. Be at ease, let your eyes rejoice and your heart be glad: no harm shall come to you.” On hearing the sheikh’s words, Hasan was too abashed to refuse, and gave the cap to Sheikh Abu al-Ruwaysh. Then he said to Sheikh Abd al-Quddus, “Come with me to my country, and I will give you the rod.” The two sheikhs rejoiced exceedingly and prepared for Hasan such wealth and treasures as beggar description. He stayed with them for three days, then asked leave to depart, and Sheikh Abd al-Quddus made ready to accompany him. Hasan mounted a beast and seated his wife on another. Then Sheikh Abd al-Quddus whistled, and a huge elephant came trotting out of the wilderness. The sheikh took hold of it and mounted, and set out with Hasan, his wife, and his two sons, while Sheikh Abu al-Ruwaysh went back into the cavern. Hasan and his family journeyed on with Sheikh Abd al-Quddus, traversing the land far and wide, while the sheikh guided them along easy roads and through the nearest passes, until they drew near to familiar country. Hasan rejoiced to be approaching his mother’s home and to have his wife and sons restored to him. When, after all those terrible ordeals, he reached that country, he praised God Most High and thanked Him for His grace and bounty, reciting these verses:

Perhaps God will soon bring us together, that we may find shelter in each other’s arms. I shall tell you the strangest things that befell me, and all the pain of parting I endured. I shall heal my eyes by gazing upon you, for my heart is filled with longing. I have hidden a tale of you within my heart, to tell you when we meet. I shall reproach you for what you have done—a reproach that ends, while love endures. When Hasan had finished his verses, he looked up, and there before them appeared the green dome, the fountain basin, and the green palace, while far away they could see the Mountain of Clouds. Sheikh Abd al-Quddus said, “Good tidings, Hasan! Tonight you shall be the guest of my brother’s daughters.” Hasan and his wife were overjoyed. They dismounted beside the dome, rested, and ate and drank. Then they mounted again and rode on toward the palace. When they came in sight of it, Sheikh Abd al-Quddus’s nieces came out to meet them and greeted them and their uncle. He returned their greetings and said, “My brother’s daughters, I have fulfilled your brother Hasan’s wish and helped him rescue his wife and two sons.” The maidens came forward and embraced Hasan, rejoicing in him and congratulating him on his safe return and his reunion with his wife and children. It was a day of festival for them. Then Hasan’s youngest sister came forward and embraced him, weeping bitterly, and Hasan wept with her over their long separation. She told him of the pain of parting, her inward anguish, and all she had suffered in his absence, and recited these two couplets:

Since you went away, my eyes have looked on no one without your image rising before them. Nor have I closed them without seeing you in dreams, as though you dwelt between my eyelid and my eye. When she had finished her verses, she rejoiced exceedingly. Hasan said to her, “My sister, in this affair it is you alone, above all the other sisters, whom I have to thank. May God Most High help and protect you.” Then he told her everything that had happened on his journey, from beginning to end: all he had suffered, what had passed between him and his wife’s sister, and how he had rescued his wife and sons. He told her of the wonders he had seen and the dreadful perils he had faced, and how his wife’s sister had even intended to slaughter him, his wife, and their two children, and how none but God Most High had saved them from her. Then he told her the story of the rod and cap, and how Sheikh Abu al-Ruwaysh and Sheikh Abd al-Quddus had asked him for them, and that it was only for her sake that he had agreed to give them up. She thanked him for this and prayed that he might live long. “By God,” he said, “I shall never forget all the kindness you have shown me, from first to last.” But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she ceased her permitted tale.

When it was the eight hundred and thirty-first night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that when Hasan was reunited with the maidens, he told his sister all that he had suffered, saying, “I shall never forget what you have done for me, from first to last.” His sister turned to his wife, Manar al-Sana, embraced her, and clasped her two sons to her breast. Then she said, “Daughter of the Supreme King, had you no mercy in your heart, that you should part him from his children and burn his heart with longing for them? Did you mean to bring about his death by such a deed?” She laughed and answered, “Such was the decree of God, glorified and exalted be He. Whoever deceives others, God deceives him.” Then food and drink were brought, and they all ate and drank and made merry. Hasan stayed with them for ten days, feasting and drinking in joy and delight. At the end of the ten days he made ready to leave, and his sister rose and prepared for him such wealth and precious gifts as beggar description. Then she clasped him to her breast and embraced him in farewell. Hasan gestured toward her and recited these verses:

Far indeed is solace from lovers, and bitter indeed is parting from the beloved. Estrangement and distance are nothing but torment, and one slain by love is a martyr. How long the night seems to a lover who has left his beloved and finds himself alone! Tears stream down his cheeks as he cries, “O tears, have you still more to give?” Then Hasan gave the rod to Sheikh Abd al-Quddus, who rejoiced exceedingly and thanked him. Having received it, the sheikh mounted and returned to his own dwelling. Hasan, his wife, and his children then mounted to leave the maidens’ palace. The maidens came out with them to bid them farewell, then turned back. Hasan set his course for his own country and traveled through the barren wilderness for two months and ten days, until he reached Baghdad, the Abode of Peace. He came to his house by the secret door that opened toward the desert and wilderness, and knocked. During his long absence, his mother had abandoned sleep and given herself over to grief, weeping, and lamentation until she fell ill. She could neither eat nor find pleasure in sleep, but wept night and day, never ceasing to speak of her son, and had despaired of his returning to her. As he stood at the door, he heard her weeping and reciting these verses:

For God’s sake, my lords, heal your sick one, whose body is wasted and whose heart is broken. If in your kindness you grant him reunion, the lover will be steeped in the blessings of his beloved. There is yet hope of your return, for God has power to bring the scattered together: His decree is kindness. When she had finished her verses, she heard her son Hasan calling at the door, “Mother, the days have at last granted us reunion!” She recognized his voice and came to the door, scarcely knowing whether to believe her ears. When she opened it, she saw her son standing there with his wife and two children. She cried out for joy and fell senseless to the ground. Hasan tended her gently until she revived, and she embraced him and wept. Then she called his servants and slaves and bade them bring all his possessions into the house. They carried in the baggage, and his wife and two sons entered. His mother rose to greet his wife, embraced her, and kissed her head and feet, saying, “Daughter of the Supreme King, if I have wronged you, I now ask forgiveness of God Almighty.” Then she turned to her son and said, “My son, what kept you away so long?” In answer, he told her all that had happened to him, from beginning to end. On hearing his account, she gave a great cry and fell senseless to the ground at the thought of all her son had endured. He tended her gently until she recovered, and she said, “My son, by God, you were wrong to part with the rod and cap! Had you kept them safe, you could have ruled the earth in all its length and breadth. But praise be to God, my son, for your safe return, and that of your wife and children.” They passed the happiest and sweetest of nights. When morning came, Hasan changed his clothes and put on a suit of the finest cloth. Then he went out to the market and began buying slaves and serving girls, fabrics, precious jewels, robes, and furnishings, and costly vessels such as are found only in the possession of kings. He also bought houses, orchards, estates, and other property. Then he settled down with his two sons, his wife, and his mother to a life of feasting, drinking, and delight. They continued in the greatest ease and happiness until there came to them the Destroyer of Delights and the Sunderer of Companies. Glory be to Him whose are sovereignty and dominion, the Ever-Living, the Eternal, who never dies.