CHAPTER- 1

One night in the city of Baghdad, the Khalifeh Harun-er-Rashid went out with Ja’far, his chief advisor, and Mesrur, his executioner. All three disguised as merchants, because the Khalifeh liked to secretly wander the city from time to time, to learn how his people were living.

Taking their way at random, they had not gone far before they noticed a brilliantly lit house, from which came sounds of music and laughter. “O advisor,” the Khalifeh said to Ja’far, “it is in my mind to enter this house to see what entertainment we might find. So, come up with some excuse that will let us inside.” So Ja’far knocked on the door, and a beautiful lady, tall and graceful as a windflower, opened it.

“O my lady,” said Ja’far courteously, “we are merchants from Tiberias, and we are unfamiliar with this city, so we have lost our way. I can see that you are kind as well as beautiful, so I dare to ask if you would give us safe shelter in your house.”

The lady regarded the three lost merchants with an approving glance, even though she didn’t know their true status; a person of high rank is hard to hide from a woman’s eyes. “Wait a little,” she said, “I will speak with my sisters.” With that, she retired to the house. Soon she returned and invited them in. They followed her into a lavishly furnished apartment, where they found two other ladies as beautiful as the first. With them was a porter—an amusing fellow, as full of jokes and antics and clearly he was a bit drunk—who had been entertaining them with joke and song and dance. The ladies smiled at the three merchants and welcomed them graciously, setting food and wine before them, asking them to join in their celebration.

For a while, the porter, who, like the three merchants, had come uninvited but was welcomed because of his versatility and quick wit in entertaining, kept everyone happy.  The Khalifeh said to Ja’far, “Truly, advisor, I would like to have this fellow’s head and all it contains.” Then, turning to his Executioner, he added, “No, I don’t want just his head. I want the whole man. He shall be my jester.”

“Yes, my lord,” answered Ja’far, “I hear, and obey.” Meanwhile, the porter continued to amuse them, but eventually he became so intoxicated that his efforts to entertain were unsuccessful, and the laughter began to fade. “It seems to me,” said the Khalifeh, “that these three ladies are no ordinary persons; perhaps they have a history. Ask them to entertain us with their various stories.” Accordingly, the Vizier approached the eldest and put the question to her. But she did not like it, and, with a clouded brow, led him to the door, and pointed to an inscription on the frame: “Do not ask what does not concern you, or you may hear something you don’t like.” Ja’far returned and informed the Khalifeh of this, which only increased his curiosity. While he was planning a way with Ja’far to get them to share their history, there came a knock at the door. One of the sisters went to open the door, and soon returned, saying, “There are three Dervishes outside, each of them clean-shaven, and each lacking an eye.”

“Ask them if they were born blind with one eye,” said one of the sisters, “and if they are brothers.” So the lady went and asked them these questions, and then soon returned with the answer: “They were not born blind, but each lost his eye through an adventure. They are not brothers either, having met for the first time in this city, where they have lost their way. They are wandering Mendicants or Calenders.”

At this, her sister turned to Ja’far. “You wanted to hear our stories, my lord, but it seems that these Dervishes may have stories more interesting to hear. Shall we let them in?” The Khalifeh added his approval to that of Ja’far on this point, and the three Calenders were invited in. They were strange-looking men. Though their features and expressions were different, they were all alike in the manner of their dress and general appearance. Each had lost one eye, and each had long black moustaches, twisted like silk, and drooping over a clean-shaven chin. Being of the order of mendicants, they bowed humbly and stood silent. “Tell us,” said the eldest of the sisters, “how it is that you three, being no relation to one another, and each lacking one eye, have come together.” “In that,” said one of the Calenders, “there is no more reason for wonder than that you three women, all unrelated one to another before birth, and all equally beautiful, should find yourselves sisters of one household.”

At this, the Khalifeh whispered to Ja’far, “This man’s speech and address are not those of a mendicant. If I am not mistaken, he has been in the Royal Courts.”

“Yet, my lady,” the First Calender continued, “perhaps it was destiny that we three, coming from three widely separate kingdoms, should meet in this city— the Abode of Peace, since our conditions seem to be similar. Each of us has not only lost an eye, but a throne—for know that we are kings, and the sons of kings—has been guided here by the same stars, to kneel at the feet of the Khalifeh Harun-er-Rashid and seek his help in restoring our royal state.”

Hearing this, the Khalifeh stroked his beard and thought to himself, “If they knew, they would kneel and beg here and now. But they do not.” Then, a clever scheme forming in his mind, he arose and bowed low to the three ladies.

“O my lady,” he said, “whose beauty is unmatched, except by that of your sisters, I ask your permission. It seems there is an entertainment in this matter. Here we have three royal Calenders, humbly seeking the Khalifeh—may peace be upon him! Now, it will be a good time for them to rehearse their parts for our amusement, so that when they finally appear before the Khalifeh, they will be well prepared. Grant me then the privilege, O fair ladies, to play the part of the Khalifeh, for I am not unskilled in the art of such play. Indeed, I have appeared before the Khalifeh himself—(”In a mirror,“ Ja’far agreed silently),—and he was greatly pleased with my performance and my appearance.”

“Truly,” said one of the sisters, in approval, “you are a kingly man, and you will play the part well. What do you say, sisters?” she added, turning to the other two. They agreed, laughing and clapping their hands, for they liked the idea of real suppliants rehearsing before a stage Khalifeh.

“Good!” cried one. “And these Calenders will approach you as if you truly were in the Khalifeh.”

“And,” rejoined Er-Rashid, “as if these two were truly my Grand Advisor, Ja’far, and Mesrur, my Executioner.”

Loudly, the two laughed at the Khalifeh’s cheerful idea and prepared themselves for their roles. Ja’far assumed his old look of terrible solemnity, while Mesrur, drawing his great sword, with a grin, struck a pose that many had last seen in fearful memory.

The Calenders relaxed to the play; the ladies sprang to life with excitement; even the porter was rolled off from the couch to give place to the Khalifeh, who seated himself there in royal state.

“On pain of death, O Calenders,” said the Khalifeh—and all except Ja’far and Mesrur marvelled at his royal dignity—“I command you to tell me, one by one, the stories of your lives, for I wish to know how each of you came to lose both a throne and an eye.”

At this, the Royal Calenders, joining in the playful act with proper spirit, advanced and kissed the ground.

“Rise!” said the Khalifeh, imitating himself to perfection, “and see to it that your stories please not only me, but Mesrur, my Executioner; for his sword has a cutting edge, and I observe that you have your heads with you.” Singling out one of the three, he commanded the other two to stand aside. Then the first Royal Calender spoke as follows:—