“That’s not important,” he said to him. “Release from suffering has come to you, so give me your hand for me to take you to freedom.”
Not daring to believe, Gamasa al-Bulti nonetheless abandoned himself to Sahloul until he was steeped in a cool spring breeze.
“O mercy of God!” muttered Gamasa. “Who are you, stranger? Who has sent you?”
“To your old secluded spot on the riverbank!” said Sahloul, pushing him forward.
XIX
When the stranger had gone, Gamasa al-Bulti said to himself, “This is not the work of humans. Remember that, O Gamasa. Remember and ponder it.”
He had lived among madmen until he had come to terms with madness. He had realized that it was a closed secret and an exciting revelation. He had hoped to plunge into its depths and face up to its challenges.
Refreshed by the breeze, his heart made its way to Akraman, Rasmiya, and Husniya. He wished he could visit the rooming house and mingle with his beloved. But who was he? They had shaved his head and beard and he had twice been flogged. Today there was no such thing as Gamasa, nor even Abdullah. Today he was without identity, without name, filled with worries and a striving toward piety.
He took himself to the date palm at the tongue of the river. He remembered his dream friend, Abdullah of the Sea. Once again he said, “A being without identity, his goal is beyond the cosmos, but remember and ponder, for release from suffering has not come to you without some reason.”
XX
Dunyazad was conveyed to the palace so that her marriage might be celebrated under the aegis of the sultan in accordance with his sublime wish. Winds of terror swept over the heart of the bride and that of her sister, the lady of the stories. Shahrzad advised her sister to claim that she was ill and she asked the sultan to postpone the marriage until she had recovered. The doctor Abdul Qadir al-Maheeni was called and he undertook her treatment. He was very soon dubious. Being astute and resourceful, and with an experience of men’s souls no less than his experience of their bodies, he thought it likely that the bride had an aversion to the monkey who was to be her husband. He nonetheless cleverly feigned ignorance in accordance with her wish, burying her secret deep down in the sacrosanct well of his profession and affirmed that treatment would take a long time. Karam al-Aseel, however, was annoyed at the decision and was also assailed by doubts, so he pleaded with the sultan to be allowed to make the marriage contract but for the wedding itself to be postponed till the bride was cured. The sultan agreed to this and the chief cadi was brought and the marriage contract made out. Thus Dunyazad became the lawful wife of Karam al-Aseel the millionaire. Some people awaited with impatience the splendor of the festivities, while others expected imminent catastrophe.
XXI
Nur al-Din’s uncertain footsteps led him one evening to the river, where he sat on his own by the tongue of land. In a gentle solitude disturbed only by the breath of spring, ablaze with tongues of yearning, there came to him the sound of someone communing. He felt certain it was the voice of someone at worship. He was drawn to him in his search for ease and solace. He came upon an old man under the date palm and, reluctant to interrupt him, sat down and listened. When he had finished, the man asked him, “Who are you? And what has brought you?”
“I am in torment,” answered Nur al-Din. “And you? Are you from this place?”
“Places are not important to those who have made worship their pleasure. But what is the secret of your torment?”
“I have a strange story.”
He was moved by a strong desire to unburden himself, so he told him his dream in all its details and the madness that followed upon it, then asked, “Do you believe me?”
“Madmen don’t lie,” replied the man.
“Have you an explanation of the secret?”
“There is an angel or devil behind you, but it is a reality.”
“And how shall I be rid of my yearnings?”
He said gently, “We suffer yearnings without number that they may lead us finally to the yearning after which there is no yearning, so love God and He will make everything superfluous for you.”
After a silence Nur al-Din said, “I am a believer and am sincere in my worship, but I am still a lover of God’s creatures.”
“Then don’t stop searching.”
“I am tired out and sleepless.”
“The lover does not tire.”
“It seems to me that you are a person of experience.”
“I knew a man who was deprived not only of those he loved but of existence itself.”
“By death?”
“No, in life.”
“Have you doubts about my state of mind?”
“It’s veritable madness.”
“And sanity too.”
After a hesitation Nur al-Din said, “You are difficult to comprehend and grow more so.”
With a smile the old man inquired, “Then what do you say about your dream?”
XXII
Nur al-Din returned to the city, plunging through seas of darkness. The worshiper had not quenched his burning thirst—or had only partly done so. He had urged him to search but had not promised him that he would be successful and had not warned him against despair. He had then made clear that he was one of those afflicted by God. Nur al-Din had not been made for asceticism in the world, but was made for loving God in the world. On this understanding he had parted from Sheikh Abdullah al-Balkhi that day. In that instant he could not but be certain that his beloved existed somewhere and that she was imprinted with the mark of his love. It was of that that the gentle night breezes spoke to him, in the same way as the twinkling of the stars dipping down between the domes and minarets spoke to him. In his solitude he called out in a loud voice, “Lighten my torment, O You Who are gentle with Your servants.”
“Who complains at this hour of the night?” asked a deep voice.
He was conscious of the shape of two men blocking his path.
“Are you from the police?” he asked.
“We are strangers, merchants who are amusing ourselves in the long night by walking about in your ancient quarter.”
“Welcome to you both.”
“What is your complaint, young man?”
“People are there to help others,” said his companion, “and complaints do not go unanswered among men of honor.”
Moved by his noble sentiment, Nur al-Din said, “I invite you to my lowly house, which is nearby.”
They were soon seated in an elegant room where he provided them with the doughnuts known as zalabiya and glasses of karkadeh made of the petals of the hibiscus flower. They ranged around the question of his complaint, while he asked them where they were from, to which they answered that they came from Samarkand. Again they hinted about his complaining, to which he replied, “He who is at a loss divulges his secret to a stranger.”
“And he may well find in him something that was unexpected,” said the man with the deep voice.
“So let the skies bring down unexpected rain upon us,” said Nur al-Din with a sigh, and he started to recount to them the story of his extraordinary dream until his voice disappeared into an all-pervading silence and he was staring at them shyly. Then the man with the deep voice said, “We have become acquainted through our hearts, as is proper with high-minded people, but the time has come for us to know one another’s names. I am Ezz al-Din al-Samarkandi, and this is my partner Kheir al-Din al-Unsi.”
“Nur al-Din, seller of perfumes,” said Nur al-Din.
“A trade as handsome as your face.”
“God forbid! I am not handsome—God places His beauty only where He wants to place His approval.” Then he asked, “Have you believed me?”
“Yes, young man,” said Ezz al-Din. “I am much traveled and have heard stories of our forebears as would not occur to human hearts. Thus I do not doubt the truth of your dream.”
Hopes revived in Nur al-Din’s heart. “Can I attain my goal of finding my beloved?”
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“I do not doubt it.”
“But how and when?” he asked with a moan.
“By patience and perseverance attainment will be achieved.”
Kheir al-Din al-Unsi asked him, “Are you in need of money?”
“I ask nothing of God except that I achieve my goal.”
“Be of good cheer at God’s release which is close at hand,” said Ezz al-Din.
XXIII
Shahrzad had never seen the sultan so excited. They were on the balcony that overlooks the garden. He had finished his morning prayers and was having his breakfast of milk and an apple. Soon he would put on his official attire and go to the Council of Judgment, but at the moment he looked like a child who has made a new discovery.
“Last night,” he said, “in my wandering I lit upon a story that was like one of yours, Shahrzad.”
Despite her hidden sorrow, she said smiling, “The fact that stories repeat themselves is an indication of their truth, Your Majesty.”
“Yes, yes—the secrets of existence are splendid and more delicious than wine.”
“May God grant Your Majesty enjoyment of existence and its secrets.”
After deliberation he said, “The truth is that I am ever on the move and my heart is never still—the brightness of day and the darkness of night contend for me.”
“Ever thus is living man,” she said gaily, concealing her listlessness of spirit.
“Don’t be in a hurry. My turn has come to tell you a strange story.” And he presented to her the dream of Nur al-Din the perfume-seller. He noticed the expression on her face and said in astonishment, “What an impression it has made on you, Shahrzad!”
“I woke this morning unwell,” she said, as though excusing herself.
“The effect of humidity; it will soon wear off. The doctor will see you. As for me, I would like to charge the town criers to go round with the story so as to bring together the lovers.”
“It is best for us to proceed slowly lest two innocent people be exposed to evil tongues,” she said fervently.
He thought for a while, then asked, “Am I not capable of protecting them?”
Shahrzad told herself that this man used to occupy himself only with cutting people’s heads off, and that the devil in him still had influence that was not to be underrated, though it no longer had total possession of him.
XXIV
Shahrzad said to her mother, who was staying at the palace on the pretext of looking after Dunyazad in her illness, “An unprecedented event demands of us even more wisdom.”
“My heart,” said the mother with a sigh, “is in no state to face any further events.”
“Mother, the man of the dream has become a reality!”
The woman’s mouth opened wide in astonishment. “Don’t talk to me of dreams,” she muttered.
“He is none other than Nur al-Din the perfume-seller.” And she recounted to her in detail the sultan’s adventure, at which the mother, in bewilderment, said, “It is not possible for someone like him to slip into the sultan’s palace at night.”
“If your doubts are correct, mother, it would have been easy for her to elope with him.”
“But what would that have achieved? Your sister is a legal wife of Karam al-Aseel and the catastrophe draws nearer hour by hour.”
“And the town criers will give out the story, and it is not unlikely that the truth about it will come out.”
“Danger takes us unawares,” groaned the mother.
“It’s the awful truth.”
“Shall we wait like the man who’s been thrown down on the execution mat?”
“I’m frightened,” said Shahrzad, distraught, “for Dunyazad and for myself too. There is no trusting the blood-shedder. The worst affliction a man can suffer is to be under the delusion he is a god.”
“It’s like death—it’s inevitable.”
“Sometimes it seems to me that he is changing.”
“Your father says that too.”
“But what goes on inside him? In my view he is still a mysterious riddle that cannot be trusted.”
“The story may please him when it is far away, but when it beats at his door and concerns him, that’s something else. His delusions may revert.”
“And he goes back to being the devil he was, or something more ghastly.”
“And what have you done wrong?”
“I think we should share our worries with Dunyazad.”
“I am very apprehensive about that.”
“Why should we flee from the truth when it is encircling us?”
The housekeeper Murgan sought permission to enter. “My mistress Dunyazad,” she said fearfully, “has disappeared and has left this message.”
Shahrzad read the following words: “I seek Your Majesty’s pardon, but I am incapable of disobeying your order to marry Karam al-Aseel and yet it is not possible for me to marry him. I have therefore chosen to do away with myself, and God is the Forgiving, the Merciful.”
The mother gave a sob and fainted.
XXV
The town criers began broadcasting the extraordinary dream and inviting the two lovers to meet under the protection of the sultan. It was then that the sultan received the news of Dunyazad’s suicide, with sadness and displeasure. He issued an order that her body should be found wherever it was. Karam al-Aseel was so upset that he remained in seclusion far from those who were gloating or making fun of him, and left his house only in the middle of the night. As for Yusuf al-Tahir, the governor of the quarter, he had received the news with a mixture of deep sorrow and joy: joy at the fact that Dunyazad was released from the grip of the monkey-man and deep sorrow at the death of the young girl he had wanted for himself and for whose sake he had seriously thought of arranging a plot to assassinate Karam al-Aseel.
XXVI
The madman was meditating in the darkness of night under the date palm when his attention was drawn to a specter approaching in the light of the stars. He heard a female voice greeting him and saying, “In the name of God I ask you to direct me to a ship that will take me away from the city.”
“Are you fleeing from some deed that angers God?” he asked her gently.
“I have never angered God in my life,” she said gently.
Her voice reminded him of Akraman and Husniya, and the tenderness of the earth was blended with the cravings of the sky in his heart.
“You must wait,” he told her amiably, “until daybreak, when God will in His mercy take charge of you.”
“Can I wait here?”
He gave a smile which she did not see and said, “The open air has been created for fugitives! Where are you going?”
“I want to get far away from the city.”
“But you are alone and perhaps beautiful.”
When she kept silent, he said, “Perhaps God will help you through me, if you so wish.”
“I want nothing except for you to make it possible for me to travel.”
“Can you swear by God that you are not leaving behind some harm you have done to a human being?”
Reassured, she said in a shaking voice, “It is I who am unjustly wronged. I left my home to kill myself, then was afraid that God would meet me in anger.”
“Why, daughter?”
When she burst into sobs, he called out to the heavens, “You are most knowing as to where to place Your mercy.”
“I am innocent and wronged.”
“I do not wish to intrude upon your heart’s secret.”
“You are one of God’s good servants and to you I’ll divulge my secret,” she said, having decided to abandon herself. And she began to recount her story.
“Are you the person in the dream?” he interrupted her.
“How did you know that?” she exclaimed.
“I knew it from your partner at this same place, and after that I heard it from the town criers.”
“I don’t follow you—do you know my partner in the dream?”
“The tow
n criers are repeating his name everywhere—it is Nur al-Din the perfume-seller.”
“The town criers?” she said as though addressing herself. “Behind them is the sultan! How strange! Nur al-Din…Nur al-Din…But I am married—or rather dead.”
When she had completed her story, the man said, “Go to your husband!”
“Death is easier,” she exclaimed insistently.
“Go to your husband Nur al-Din!”
“But I am a lawful wife to Karam al-Aseel!”
“Go to Nur al-Din and let the dawn come up.”
XXVII
“What do I see?” said Sakhrabout furiously. “Things are proceeding toward a happy solution.”
Concealing her feelings of bitterness, Zarmabaha said, “Wait, the way is still strewn with thorns.”
They spotted Sahloul under the tree hurrying along in the darkness.
“An unforeseen assignment, angel?” Sakhrabout asked himself.
“Let’s hope it’s for us rather than against us,” said Zarmabaha.
Sahloul went on his way without paying them any heed.
XXVIII
Early in the morning Nur al-Din left his house to open his shop. By his shop he found a young veiled girl, who seemed to be waiting. She wore a dress of Damascene silk that bespoke lofty origins. She looked at him with interest, then gave a deep sigh. Amazed at her, he felt his heart throb, revealing obscure emotions. She soon unveiled her radiant face, while staring at him with submissive ardor. An age passed as, outside all existence, they were immersed in a dream that breathed passionate magic. Spring breezes blew and filled them with the fragrance of the sky’s blue. Their happiness made them forget the memories of torment and confusion. Peace came down to earth and in a movement as spontaneous as the singing of birds they clasped hands.