Tales of the Marvellous and News of the Strange (Hardcover Classics) (48 page)

Hisham son of ‘Abd al-Malik was amazed by Sa‘id’s story and rewarded him with the greatest generosity. This is the full story, praise be to the One God and His blessings and peace be on the best of His creation, our master, the Prophet Muhammad, his family and his companions. We seek forgiveness from the Almighty God.

In the Name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful, I ask for Your help, Noble Lord

A tale is told that Harun al-Rashid went out as usual one day, accompanied by the vizier Ja‘far the Barmecide, Yahya, al-Fadl son of al-Rabi‘, Khalid, al-Rabi‘ son of Yunus, Ishaq son of Ibrahim of Mosul, Ubada al-Mukhannath and the eunuch Masrur. He went on board his private barge and sailed down to a garden of his named al-Lu’lu’a, three parasangs below the city. There was no place on earth more beautiful, and it contained every single plant named by God. At its centre a dome had been set on four marble columns, with a pool containing a fountain, a silver pump and gold and silver statues through whose mouths water poured and whose eyes were rubies and sapphires. Nothing like it was to be found on earth.

Harun and his companions went up there, and as he took his seat in the dome surrounded by the others, Ishaq sang to them. Masrur the eunuch got up to take a walk in the garden and he heard a little baby crying. ‘What is that?’ he said and he followed the sound until he discovered beneath a tree a baby in swaddling-clothes of embroidered Antioch silk lying on a gold-embroidered mat. By its head was a purse containing a thousand dinars, and a note had been left on its breast. The baby itself was more radiant than the rising sun, and on its forehead was a circlet of pearls, each five carats in weight, gleaming like stars.

Masrur, exclaiming at the child’s beauty, sat down and took him on his lap, saying to himself: ‘Here is the son of the tree, but who do you suppose is his real father?’ Then he noticed the purse and added: ‘And he has enough gold to live on.’ When he saw the note he found written in it: ‘Whoever finds this child should treat him with respect for the sake of Almighty God, as he comes from the greatest of families. His mother
died, and this world is the home of misery. The thousand dinars are for his upbringing, and whoever rears him can expect Paradise as a reward from the Great and Glorious God. He has been put for shelter into this splendid garden.’

Masrur took both the child and the note in his arms and set him down in front of al-Rashid. When al-Rashid saw him he glorified God and exclaimed at his beauty, saying: ‘Praise be to Him Who created this child and formed him!’ He then asked Masrur about the father, and Masrur told him that this was the son of a tree. ‘Can a tree father a child?’ said al-Rashid, at which Masrur told him the story and passed over the money and the note. When the tender-hearted al-Rashid had read it he shed bitter tears and told Ja‘far to take the boy up to the palace and give him to his wife,
Zubaida
, together with the gold, which belonged to him and which would have to be kept safe for him. ‘Get up quickly and don’t delay in taking him to Zubaida lest he start to shriek, and this may affect his heart.’

Ja‘far stood up, and a little eunuch carried the crying child on board the barge. When they reached the palace Ja‘far went to Zubaida’s apartments and asked permission to enter. When her servants told her that he was there with a eunuch she told them to let him in, and he then put the baby down in front of her. She exclaimed at its beauty, and in answer to her question he told her its story and passed over the note and the gold. ‘Mistress,’ he said, ‘I have no need to tell you to take charge of this child, as the caliph took pity on him and told me to be sure to give him to you to look after.’

Zubaida sent at once for two wet nurses to take turns in looking after the child, one by night and the other by day. As for Ja‘far, he went back to the caliph, and they spent three days enjoying the sights of the garden, before al-Rashid returned to his palace.

Nights and days, months and years passed until the child was ten years old and looked like the rising moon. He was sure that he was one of al-Rashid’s own children, and to Zubaida he was as dear as if he were her son. She named him Muhammad the Foundling and had him taught to sing, until his voice and his artistry were unsurpassed. ‘Do this well, my boy,’ she used to say, ‘so that you may be even better than Ishaq al-Mausili on the lute.’ As for al-Rashid, he had forgotten him.

By the time he was fifteen Muhammad had reached maturity and had a face brighter than the sun. He used to ride with Muhammad al-Amin and al-Mu‘tasim, and they would go to play polo on the
maidan
of the
palace, where he would defeat them, as he was stronger, more vigorous and nobler.

Al-Rashid had had a new palace built with a dome and a garden and when the servants had cleaned it out he came and sat in its hall with a number of his courtiers, while Muhammad the Foundling was playing polo with his sons. Muhammad hit the ball so hard that it flew up from the
maidan
, which was at the back of the palace, and rebounded from the roof of the hall to strike the dome before coming back to ground. Al-Rashid exclaimed in alarm, thinking that the hall was collapsing, and he jumped up to run out, but when he wanted to know what had fallen his companions looked and saw the polo ball. Al-Rashid exploded with anger and told Masrur: ‘Go to the
maidan
and see who is there. If this was one of the palace mamluks, cut him down with your sword, while if it was one of my sons, you can do what you like. But hurry.’

Masrur opened the gate to the
maidan
and went out to where they were playing. ‘What is all this polo?’ he demanded. ‘Your ball bounced down from the roof in front of the caliph, and he is very angry indeed. Tell me who hit it.’ ‘What did we tell you, Muhammad?’ the others said to him: ‘The ball struck the roof of the new palace.’ Masrur repeated: ‘Tell me who hit it.’ ‘It was my brother Muhammad,’ said al-Amin, passing on the blame. Masrur said: ‘So you hit the ball in front of the caliph? Blessings on you, you dog!’ Muhammad urged on his horse and said: ‘You cupper, you dog, yes I struck it. Are you threatening me?’ and he raised his mallet and cut open Masrur’s head so that the blood poured down over his clothes. With an exclamation of distress he made for the door, while Muhammad rode away.

Masrur went off to the caliph and stood outside, indulging in the wildest fit of weeping and saying, with mucus dripping from his nose: ‘How can I go in with this wound in my head?’ Al-Rashid asked him what was wrong and why he was weeping like that. ‘Come on and tell me what has happened to you,’ he said, and then, when Masrur entered, he saw the blood on his clothes and asked: ‘Who did this to you?’ ‘Your son struck me,’ said Masrur. ‘Al-Amin?’ asked al-Rashid. ‘No, by God,’ said Masrur. ‘Al-Mu‘tasim, then?’ ‘No, Commander of the Faithful.’ ‘Al-Ma’mun?’ ‘No.’ ‘Damn you,’ said al-Rashid, ‘what other sons do I have?’ ‘That handsome one,’ said Masrur, but when al-Rashid asked Ja‘far who this was, Ja‘far said that he did not understand. ‘Go off and call for him,’ ordered the caliph. ‘By God, I am not going,’ exclaimed Masrur, and at that the caliph told Ja‘far to go and see who it was who
had struck Masrur. ‘Here is my ring,’ he said; ‘take it to him and bring him here.’ Ja‘far objected that it would be better if Masrur went, and the caliph agreed and swore: ‘Masrur, you and you only are going to go. Any
jinni
would die at the sight of you, and are you going to run away from a boy? Off you go and bring him here quickly.’

The boys were still on the
maidan
when Masrur ran up. ‘Are you back, black man?’ said Muhammad, spurring his horse towards him. Masrur called out: ‘This is the ring of our master, the Commander of the Faithful, and he wants you.’ He threw it at him and it fell in front of his horse. Muhammad dismounted, took the ring and kissed it and then rode to the palace door before dismounting again and entering. Masrur had hidden his sword in a closet near the hall and he now told the caliph: ‘He is coming.’ The caliph bent over laughing, but his eyes were fixed on the door.

Muhammad came in, wearing a corselet of silver thread set with gold, a belt of brocade round his waist and on his head a brocaded cap secured by a wrap of white brocade. He shone more brightly than the rising sun, and when al-Rashid saw him he exclaimed: ‘There is no god but God. Praise be to the One Who created and formed you! Who are you?’ Muhammad kissed the ground before him and greeted him as caliph. Al-Rashid replied by calling down God’s blessing and mercy on him, but repeated his question. ‘I am your son, Commander of the Faithful, may God allow Islam and the Muslims to enjoy your long life.’ ‘Who was your mother?’ asked al-Rashid, and Muhammad told him that this was Zubaida. ‘I have never set eyes on you,’ said al-Rashid.

Masrur was saying that when he had talked to him Muhammad had given him no reply, but al-Rashid shouted to him to stay in his closet, and he remained silent. Al-Rashid then told Muhammad to come up to him, which he did before kissing his hand. He was told to sit, and when he had done so al-Rashid said: ‘So Zubaida is your mother?’ ‘Yes, Commander of the Faithful,’ Muhammad told him. ‘I cannot rest until this problem is solved,’ said al-Rashid and at that he got up and, taking Ja‘far with him, he went to Zubaida’s room and sat down with Ja‘far in front of him. He then called to a eunuch to fetch his mistress, and when the eunuch had entered and passed on the message she came out and took her seat behind the curtain. ‘Is this boy your son?’ al-Rashid asked her and when she said ‘yes’ he then asked who the father was. ‘Ja‘far the vizier,’ she said, at which Ja‘far trembled and turned pale. ‘My Lady,’ he exclaimed, ‘one should not joke in a place like this. Don’t do it, for you
have drained me of blood. Now divorce me.’ She laughed, but al-Rashid said: ‘This is no place for laughter.’ ‘Have you forgotten the boy?’ she asked him, and she produced the note, which he took and read. ‘Yes, by God, I remember!’ al-Rashid exclaimed, and he passed the note to Ja‘far, who said: ‘By God, it is the foundling.’ ‘What was wrong with you?’ Zubaida asked Ja‘far, who replied: ‘A man bitten by a snake will die unless he gets medicine from Iraq. By God, it will take a month before I come back to life.’

Al-Rashid then asked Zubaida what she had taught the boy, and she told him: ‘By your life, Commander of the Faithful, I swear that nowhere on earth does he have a match for skill on the lute or for his singing. Up till now he has not known that he is a foundling and he thinks that he is my son by you.’ ‘He can be glad,’ said al-Rashid, ‘for we take him as our son,’ and he ordered him to be given a robe of honour worth a thousand dinars. Muhammad was delighted and asked to be given a lute, which was brought to him. He took it, clasped it to his breast and, after touching the strings, he sang these words with a voice finer than almond paste and sweeter than the water of the Euphrates:

As the girls walk they sway their tender limbs

As the south wind stirs the branches of Jabrin,

Or as Rudaini spears are shaken by men’s hands,

Thanks to the supple shafts that make them bend.

Al-Rashid exclaimed in wonder and delight and said: ‘From this day on you are not to leave me. Do not distress yourself for you are like a son to us, and a son of choice is better than a real one.’ Muhammad kissed the ground, and he now became one of the caliph’s intimates from whom he could not bear to be parted for a single hour and who had to be present whenever he ate. He was dearer to al-Rashid than his own sons and he was given an apartment off the hallway of his own private quarters in the palace so that he could be at hand to come quickly when called.

As it happened, al-Rashid had been given a Rumi virgin as a slave girl whom no one on the face of the earth surpassed in beauty. He had left her in his palace, promising himself that he would save her for later. Whenever Muhammad passed her room she would cling on to him and say: ‘I love you! Come and spend the night with me, for I am yours.’ He would reply by cursing her and saying: ‘Is someone like me to repay the caliph’s kindness by acting viciously in his palace? God forbid that I should do any such thing!’ When she kept on at him and disturbed him
he said: ‘Listen to me! Do not hope for this and stop talking about it. Am I to commit a sin like this in the house of one who has brought me up and showered me with benefits?’ ‘So you are not going to do what I want now?’ she said and he replied: ‘Do you think that I am going to give you any other answer? Listen and understand, for I am not going to bring shame on the man in whose house I have been brought up.’ ‘Worthless fellow,’ she said; ‘so you’re not going to accept what I offer? If I don’t have your head cut off, I am not Miriam.’ ‘Be sensible and don’t make silly boasts,’ he told her and, removing his hand from her, he went to his room.

Miriam went to her own room, feeling diminished, but saying to herself: ‘He doesn’t mean it and he will come and spend the night with me.’ She left him for three days and then called for a black slave who acted as furnace-man for the caliph’s private baths. She took him by the hand and told him to come in. He was astonished and asked her what she wanted. ‘By God,’ she told him, ‘I love you and I want you to spend every night with me.’ ‘Lady,’ he replied, ‘I am afraid of our master.’ ‘He will never know,’ she said and she gave herself to him, and he deflowered her. She then shrieked: ‘What have you done, you dog?’ and he got up in terror and ran out of the palace. She waited for a time until Muhammad came past, wearing a shirt of Antioch silk and a gilded linen headband. He had been drinking with al-Rashid and was drunk. Dawn was about to break, and he was on his way to his room when she came out and took hold of him, pulling him to her bosom and dragging him by force into her room. She then turned over on her back, leaving him lying on her breasts and then crying out for help. Three eunuchs rushed in and, at the sight, they raised a cry. This disturbed al-Rashid, who was still drunk, and he asked what the noise was, telling Masrur to go and find out.

Masrur went towards the source of the noise and saw the eunuchs, who hurried up to him and told what Muhammad had done. Masrur exclaimed and said: ‘This is the end for the young man.’ He went to the caliph and said: ‘Master, all is well, and there is nothing to alarm you.’ ‘Give me the news or I shall have your head cut off,’ said al-Rashid and at that Masrur told him: ‘Master, Muhammad the Foundling went to Miriam the Rumi and raped her.’ ‘What do you mean, raped?’ said al-Rashid, who was a jealous man. He then bowed his head in silent thought before raising it and saying: ‘Masrur, who am I?’ Masrur replied: ‘Master, you are al-Rashid bi-llah, son of al-Mahdi, the son of
al-Hadi, the son of Mansur, the son of Muhammad, the son of ‘Ali, the son of ‘Abbas, the uncle of the Apostle of God, may God bless him and give him peace.’ ‘That is so,’ said al-Rashid; ‘now go at once, take Muhammad, cut off his head and bring it to me. Throw his body into the river. Go at once and be quick.’