The owl in ruins dark abides;
But intellect every ascent tells,
And the fool his own folly chides.”
The vazír responded: “What your majesty says is but the sequel of my assertion, because the intellectual qualities of every individual depend upon his horoscope and the propitious or unpropitious positions of the stars, and according to these a man is either lucky or unlucky. Moreover, we frequently see that intelligent and good men do not prosper, while fools and rogues succeed in all their undertakings.”[55] Quoth the king: “This I believe, because sometimes an intelligent man has not that practical turn required in the management of affairs and is thereby unable to overcome difficulties.”[56] To this the vazír rejoined: “What argument can your majesty adduce in favour of the prosperous condition of Hindús, Jews, Christians, and infidels, who are more powerful than the professors of Islám, most of whom are in need of the aid of those nations addicted to error?” To this question the king could give no satisfactory answer, but he nevertheless said: “No matter what arguments you may bring forward, I shall not believe your assertion.” The conversation was still turning on this subject when they entered the city, and the king said: “Let this matter stand over until I can prove that I am right;” to which the vazír replied: “If your majesty can prove the contrary of what I have stated, I am willing that my blood be spilled and lapped by the dogs in the streets.”
Next morning the king secretly called one of his confidential servants, and handing him a bag of gold said: “Go without the knowledge of any one to the river, take the young stranger to whom we spoke yesterday apart, and give him this gold. Bid him leave the company of the fishermen, go to the bath, put on good clothes, and wait the day after to-morrow on horseback in such a place until farther orders.” The attendant set out with the gold, and on coming up to the fishermen he was perplexed, as he could not distinguish which of them was the stranger. At last he called one of the fishermen aside and asked: “Which is the young stranger with whom the vazír conversed yesterday?” Quoth the man: “Why do you want him?” “I have some business with him,” answered the king’s messenger. The fisherman, who was a cunning fellow, suspected that the vazír had sent the stranger something, so he assumed a doleful aspect and said in a melancholy voice: “I am that poor stranger,” on which the servant took out the gold secretly, and giving it to the man, at the same time delivered the king’s message; and the fisherman did not return to his companions, but immediately ran to the city, where he purchased a fleet horse and fled in the direction of Tabríz.
On the appointed day the king took the vazír towards the river, and looked in all directions for Shoayb, whom they could not discover, until, reaching the bank, they saw him with two of the fishermen. The king at once surmised that the absence of the third was to be ascribed to the mistake of his servant; accordingly he said nothing to his vazír, but when he returned to the palace he reprimanded the careless attendant and sent him to prison. Then he took another bag of gold and delivered it to an intelligent servant with the same directions as before. He went to the river, and calling Shoayb privately apart, asked him: “Are you the stranger among the fishermen?” But Shoayb, suspecting that this man might be the precursor of a caravan of fresh misfortunes, answered: “I am one of the fishermen.” Then said the man: “Go and send the young stranger to me.” Shoayb went and told one of the fishermen that a servant of the king wanted to see him, and when he came the man handed him the bag of gold, without asking any questions, delivered the king’s orders, and departed. The fisherman was at first astonished at his good luck, but afterwards said to himself: “Gifts such as this are merely tokens of the munificence of sovereigns. Probably when the king was here and saw our distress the Most High inspired him with pity for us.” So he concealed the bag at a distance from Shoayb and his companion; but the latter, having watched all his movements and observed that a servant of the king had given him something which he was now hiding, resolved to make away with him and possess the treasure. Accordingly, having sent Shoayb to the city on some errand, he took the net and said to his comrade: “Come, let us throw the net, for I have just seen a very large fish.” His unsuspecting partner complied, and when he drew near, the intending murderer pushed him into the river, but his own hand becoming entangled in the net he also fell into the water and both perished.
It happened that the fisherman who intended to flee to Tabríz was not well acquainted with the road, and after travelling all day lay down to sleep. When he awoke he found that his horse had strayed away and went in pursuit of it; but having proceeded some distance he recollected that he had left the bag of gold, which was under his head while he slept, and returned for it, but in his haste he missed the spot, not only for an hour or two but he was utterly unable to discover it after three days’ search, during which period he had nothing to eat or drink. He found his way back to the capital in a state of great exhaustion, and had no alternative but to betake himself again to his old business on the river. When he arrived there he beheld Shoayb alone and asked him where his two comrades had gone. Shoayb told him that they had sent him four days ago to the town on an errand, and when he returned they were absent and had not yet made their appearance.
Meanwhile the king again made an excursion with the vazír, and when they reached the bank of the river they saw Shoayb with another man. Therefore the king concluded that the gold had been again received by the wrong person and he became very angry. On his return to the palace he punished the servant, and said to himself: “I am surely singular among kings, not to possess a man able to execute this business properly.” Then he despatched a third attendant to the river, telling him that he would see there two men, one of whom belonged to the country, the other was a stranger, and to be sure he brought the latter with him. When the servant came up to the two men he asked: “Which of you two is the stranger?” The fisherman, having obtained the second bag of gold on pretence of being the stranger and believing that the king was conferring gifts on such persons and that the servant had brought more money, replied: “I am the stranger who has no share in the comforts of this world. What do you want with me?” Quoth the servant: “The king wishes to see you.” But when the fisherman heard the king mentioned, reflecting that he had received the bag of gold on the previous occasion without having a right to it, he began to tremble; he had no excuse, however, and followed the messenger. When he was brought into the royal presence the king at once saw that he was not the man he had sought to benefit and resolved to punish him. “Are you,” demanded he, “the stranger who lives with the fishermen?” The man replied: “Yes.” Then quoth the king: “As you are the fellow in consequence of whose unpropitious advent the water of the river has become diminished and the fish in it few in number, you are worthy of death.” On seeing his joyous expectations come to such an end the fisherman began to moan and said: “May it please your majesty, I am not that stranger. But as this world is not our permanent abode, and we are all sojourners in it, I said that I am a stranger.” But the king’s wrath was not appeased by the man’s supplications, and he was immediately made to drink of the beverage of death. Thus on account of the misfortunes of Shoayb all the three fishermen lost their lives.
Shoayb, who had remained by the river, now reflected that, as the king’s messengers had several times been there and always asked for the stranger, and as his companions had disappeared, it would not be safe for him to continue longer in that place, especially as it appeared probable that the king bore enmity to strangers; and therefore he betook himself to the city, so that when the king again sent a messenger he could find no one, and his majesty was once more disappointed in his well-meant efforts to assist the poor stranger.
One night the king was walking about the city in disguise,[57] accompanied by some of his courtiers, when he saw a crowd in the bazár assembled round a man whose hands were tied, and addressing him in this strain: “In consequence of the unpropitious sight of your unhallowed person, that misfortune has befallen Khoja Naym. He was so rich that every morning and evening one thousand men partook of the banquet of his liberality, and by your ill luck he was overwhelmed by such a calamity.” When the king looked well at the man he recognised Shoayb as the object of the reproaches and vituperation of the crowd. So he went
