Читать книгу Persian Tales - Volume II - Bakhtiari Tales - Illustrated by Hilda Roberts - D. L. Lorimer - Страница 9

XXXII

THE STORY OF THE TWO GOLDEN BROTHERS

ONCE upon a time there was a man called Malik Ahmad who had seven wives, but he had no children by any of them. “Here I have all this wealth,” said he, “but I have no children, so what is the good of it to me?”

He was thinking thus one day when a derwīsh turned up. Malik Ahmad offered him all sorts of gifts and alms, but the Derwīsh declined to accept them. “I’m not a grabbing, take-things sort of man,” said he. “I’m not a cadger. On the contrary, if any man wants a thing which I am able to bring to pass for him, I do it without reward.” “Good,” said Malik Ahmad, “there is a thing I want very much, and it’s this: I have great wealth and I have married seven wives, but I have no children. I want a son.”

“This wish of yours,” replied the Derwīsh, “is easily satisfied, but there’s a condition attaching to it.”—“And what is the condition?” “It is this, Malik Ahmad,” answered the Derwīsh, “I will give you a drug, but then any children who may come will belong half of them to me and half of them to you.” Malik Ahmad agreed to this condition, for said he to himself: “Supposing children do come, I’ll be able to satisfy this fellow with money or horses or mares.” So they reduced the terms of their agreement to writing, and the Derwīsh put his hand in his pocket and drew out a pomegranate, and gave it to Malik Ahmad, saying: “Give this to your youngest wife to eat.”

The Derwīsh went off, and Malik Ahmad gave the pomegranate to his wife, and they ate it together. After some days she conceived, and after nine months and nine hours she gave birth to a pair of twin boys. The boys grew up till they reached the age of eighteen years. They learned to read and write, and were very strong, and there was nothing in which they were not perfect.

Now among themselves the family all said: “The Derwīsh went away, he’ll never come back.” One day, however, they were sitting at their ease when he suddenly made his appearance. He salāmed, and brought out the written document, and said: “I have come for my share.” “Whatever wealth or property you want is yours,” said Malik Ahmad, “you are welcome.” “I want my share, and nothing but my share,” replied the Derwīsh, and, argue as he might, Malik Ahmad could make no impression on him and had to give in.

Then the elder son said: “I will go with him,” and the younger son said: “I will go.” In the end the elder went, and when he was leaving he took a ring from his finger and gave it to his brother, saying: “Brother, whenever this ring gets loose on your finger and slips off and falls to the ground, you may know that I am in difficulties.” So he left, and they all raised a great lamentation at his departure.

Now the Derwīsh and he went on their way till they arrived near a spring. The boy was going along behind when he saw an old greybeard standing in the road. “Oh young man,” cried the greybeard, “why ever have you started out to travel with this fellow? Are you tired of life?” “He made an agreement with my father,” said the boy, “so what can I do? Show me a way out of it all!” “Pay attention to all I say then,” said the old man. —“On my eyes be it!” “Very well,” continued the greybeard, “you will go to the spring and he will say to you: ‘My child, put your mouth down to the water and drink,’ then when you have stooped down he will cut off your head with his sword. After that he will mount your horse and plunge into the water, and the horse and saddle and he himself will turn into gold. Now, when you arrive at the water’s edge and he has made his polite speech to you, do you say: ‘Oh no! you are my father and I am your child, I will not drink before you.’ Then when he puts his mouth down to the water, smite off his head. If you don’t kill him, he will kill you.”

When he had finished speaking the greybeard vanished, and the lad followed on after the Derwīsh. “My child,” said the Derwīsh, “why have you been so long in coming?” —“I had dismounted, and was tightening my horse’s girths.” They went up to the spring, and the Derwīsh said: “My child, now drink some water.”—“Oh no, I could not show such disrespect before my elder and better. You are my father, drink first.” And, despite all the Derwīsh’s endeavours, he absolutely declined to drink first. “Well,” thought the Derwīsh, “what does this boy know about it! I’ll drink first, then he’ll drink afterwards.”

So he went and put his mouth down to the water. While he was thus stooping the lad struck him on the back of the neck with his sword and his head flew off and fell far away in the desert. Then the boy mounted the horse and struck into the blood-stained water and crossed to the other side, and he and his horse turned all into gold.

He went on till he came to a mountain on which there was a great deal of snow, and there he was caught in a snow-storm. Now near the foot of the mountain there was a big village. The people looked out and saw a horseman caught in the snow, and they saw that he would perish if they were long in reaching him with help. So they raised a relief party, and some sturdy young men went out and succeeded in getting to him. They found that he was speechless, and they took him up on their shoulders and led his horse along, and carried him to the house of the Kadkhudā or Headman of the village. First, they took him to the baths and he recovered his warmth, and then they brought him back, and they saw that he was a marvellously fine young man, every bit of him of gold.

“Good Heavens!” said they, “is this a man or a perī?” and they asked who he was. “I am a stranger,” said he, “and I lost my way.” After he had stayed there some days the Headman said to him: “Young man, I have a very fine daughter. If you ask for her, I will give her to you to wife, and all this wealth and property will also become yours. Do stay here, for I have only this one daughter and no son.” “Very good,” said the youth, and some days later they gave him the maiden, and they two were married.

One day he said: “I am getting very bored. Give me some men with me and let me go out hunting.” “By all means,” said his father-in-law, and he placed some hunters at his disposal, and they mounted and started off for the chase. They sighted a fine striped and dappled gazelle and surrounded it, and they agreed that the one in whose direction it might go should be allowed to follow it up alone. As it chanced, it made in the direction of the golden youth, whose name, by the way, was Malik Mahmad.

It gave a leap, bounded up, and fled away. “No one else must follow it but me!” cried the youth, and he galloped after it till it came to the mouth of a cave. Down it went into the cave, and after it went the youth. His companions waited and waited for him, but he didn’t come back, and they didn’t know where he had gone. “How ever are we to answer for him to the Kadkhudā?” said they. However, there was nothing they could do, so after some days they returned to the village.

When the Kadkhudā found that Malik Mahmad had not come back with them, he made great lamentation and said: “I was well pleased with this stranger, but he hasn’t remained with me.” The people said: “He was no human being. No one knows what he was. It is true he came in the shape and likeness of a man,” and every one had something of his own to say on the subject.

Now listen to a few words about Malik Mahmad. When he entered the cave he heard a sound of stringed instruments and drums and singing. And when he arrived at the place where the sounds were coming from, he found a beautiful lady sitting there with slave-girls standing round her, their hands laid on their breasts. “You are welcome,” said the Lady, “come and sit down,” and he went and sat down beside her.

After the evening meal they started conversing, and the maiden said: “What did you do with the gazelle?” “I’m blessed if I know what became of it,” replied he; “it came into this cave, but I don’t know where it went to then.” “O golden youth,” said the Lady, “I myself am that gazelle. Now I have a custom and it is this, that I wrestle with every one who comes here. If you throw me to the ground, then I shall become your property, and if I throw you, you will become mine, and I will put you in chains and tie up your horse in my stable. I have a lot of prisoners already, and I’ll put you along with the rest.” “Very good,” said he, and they got up and started wrestling. The Lady lifted him up and flung him to the ground, knocking him senseless, and then she threw him into prison.

All of a sudden the ring on his brother’s finger turned loose and slipped off and fell to the ground. “Alack and alas!” cried Sultān Mahmad, “my brother is in trouble,” and he went to his father and mother and told them what had happened, and said: “I am going to find my brother.” Then he mounted his horse and set out after his brother, and they all raised mourning and lamentation after him as he went.

When he came to the place near the spring he saw the greybeard, and the old man said: “O Sultān Mahmad, are you going to look for your brother?” “How does he know where I’m going?” thought Sultān Mahmad. “He must certainly know where my brother is, for it must be he who has told him my name,” but aloud he only said: “Yes.” Then the old man said: “Your brother is a prisoner in such and such a place. He made a wager with a lady, and she flung him to the ground and knocked him senseless, and threw him into prison. Now you will go on and cross the water, and you will turn into gold just as he did. Then when you get to the cave the Lady will wrestle with you, but you must put out your hands and catch her in such and such a way by the arms and fling her to the ground. For if you catch her thus, she will become limp and powerless.”

“I’ll do exactly as you say,” said Sultān Mahmad, and he wished the old man good-bye and proceeded to the spring. He saw the place where the Derwīsh’s blood had run into the water, and he crossed over and turned into gold. Then he followed in his brother’s tracks and came to the snow mountain, and he too was caught in a snow-storm.

Now the people of the village looked out and they saw him and said: “What a stupid fool he is! He got caught once and we rescued him, now why has he gone and got caught again!” However, they raised a rescue party and went out and brought him in.

“My boy,” said the Kadkhudā, “why ever did you go on to the mountain, so that you would get caught in the snow and the storm? But where have you been all these days?” “I just went somewhere,” said Sultān Mahmad, who perceived that they were talking of his twin-brother. Then a beautiful lady came and sat down beside him and they talked together. Now he understood that she was his brother’s wife, and at night when they lay down to sleep he drew his sword from its scabbard and laid it between himself and the woman. “Why do you do that?” said she. “In the early days when I married you, you weren’t like this.” “We have a custom,” he said, “to sleep like this for some days.”

He stayed there a few days, and then he said: “Father, I want to go a-hunting.”—“I’m afraid you may go off like the last time and be a long time in coming back.” “Oh no,” said Sultān Mahmad, “I’ll come back soon.” Some men went with him, and again the same gazelle appeared and they surrounded it. It came towards Sultān Mahmad, then it gave a leap, started aside, and bounded away, while Sultān Mahmad pursued it to the entrance of the cave. He found there was singing going on inside, and, advancing farther into the cave, he saw a beautiful lady, so beautiful that there was no one like her, sitting on a throne.

Then Sultān Mahmad threw her to the ground

He made his salāms, and she said: “Come and sit down.” He went and sat down by her, and she said: “Oh golden youth.” “Yes,” said he. “I have a wager,” she went on, “that whoever can throw me to the ground, I and all I possess will become his. And there is a young man just like yourself who will become yours if you win. And if I throw you I’ll send you after your brother.” “All right,” said Sultān Mahmad, and then they got up and started wrestling. Then Sultān Mahmad put out his hands and seized her by the arms in the way the old man had shown him, and put his leg in front of hers, and threw her to the ground and tied her hands.

“Don’t tie my hands,” said she, “I belong to you now.” —“I won’t agree to untie them till you show me my brother.” “Go and get that bottle, then,” said she, “and hold it to your brother’s nose till he recovers consciousness; and you can do what you like with the other prisoners.” He went and took the bottle and held it to his brother’s nose, and he came to his senses, and they threw their arms round each other’s neck and wept.

Then they got up and came to the Lady and untied her hands. After that they gave themselves up to mirth and jollity, and they told each other their stories. Then morning came, and they set the prisoners free and restored them to consciousness, and they loaded up everything they cared for and went off.

The Lady too they took away with them, and Sultān Mahmad married her, and Malik Mahmad found his wife, the Kadkhudā’s daughter, waiting for him in the village, and they all went off to their own country and settled down there in peace.

The story is ended.