A Band of Fairies

It is now the year 650 of the Hijra, but for a century and a half before this the road has been full of fear and danger for travellers, and above all for pilgrims: that rough, rising and falling dirt road which begins at the southern shore of the Caspian Sea, passes through the city of Amul, crosses Mazandaran (the ancient land of the demons in the Shahnama) and the district of Rudbar, cuts through the Talaqan mountains from north to south, and comes out at the city of Qazvin. For a long time now this has been the state of that road: great caravans are plundered in broad daylight, and the snow and the cold preserve the bodies of the innocent for years on end as a memorial to oppression, murder and pillage.

These are the first days of winter. Last year's snow had not wholly melted before a new layer began to settle. Yet the cold has not reached such a pitch that every trace of spring and every delight of the flower season has vanished; a few flowers of the last season remain, and here and there their lovers and admirers, the Badakhshani nightingales, can still be seen singing their thousand tales and melodies. These mountains are not bare and sun-scorched like the dry, grassless hills of Arabia. On every side shady trees and thick undergrowth have made fine retreats and solitary bowers for lovers of nature and true admirers of creation. And wherever there are no groves of trees, Nature has spread a green, velvet carpet of grass beneath the blue canopy of the sky. If anyone should wish to sit on it and enjoy the wine of Shiraz, then here, in place of the stream of Ruknabad, there is the canal of Wiranjan, which, perhaps not even a full century and a half ago, was cut from the Safid Rud, led round and round through various valleys deep inside the mountains, and made to fall into the Caspian near the city of Khurramabad.

These very delights and these enchanting scenes of nature have given rise to all sorts of notions about these mountains. Some say that paradise lies in these very valleys; others believe that, although the ancient race of demons was destroyed by the strength of Kayumars and of Rustam son of Nariman, many fairies remain to this day in lonely places as a memorial of them. Some travellers have even seen great, bewitching troops of fairies burst suddenly out of the valleys. It is also said that anyone who stumbles unawares into such a troop of fairies dies on the spot.

But crueller than the fairies and the ancient demons are the heretics and the Batinis who are settled and spread throughout this whole region; any Muslim of other principles and beliefs who falls into their hands can by no means escape with his life. Their outrages are especially notorious in the months of Jumada al-Awwal, Jumada al-Thani and Rajab. The reason is that when the Muslims of Turkistan, Kirghizia and Astrakhan go on pilgrimage, they cross the Caspian by ship, travel to the land of Iraq, and from there set out for the holy soil of the Hijaz. Although the outrages of this region have become notorious everywhere and many people have abandoned this route, some heedless Muslims, in the fervour of their simple faith, still come this way; and for the pilgrims of Amul and its surroundings in particular there is no other road at all.

This road we have mentioned stretches a very long way, but we are concerned only with that stretch where it runs along the bank of the Wiranjan canal. At this point the plains of Rudbar come to an end and the hard, tangled ups and downs of the mountains begin. A little further on, the road goes off in another direction, while the canal winds around the foothills of the Alborz and disappears into difficult, twisting valleys.

There are perhaps only a few hours left before evening; the sun has come down close to the snowy peaks opposite. What little warmth its feeble rays had produced has gone, and the cold gusts of wind that come sliding down from the high snowfields are enough to make a man shiver.

At this spot and at this hour, two travellers are coming slowly from the north, wrapped from head to foot in clothing so that they look like two great bundles. Both are riding small, worn-out donkeys. Their slow pace and their whole appearance suggest some poor village mullahs or fakirs who, apart from both the style of the rich and the style of the soldier, have set out on a religious journey for some pious purpose and with an air of sanctity. But no: when they come closer it becomes clear that they are neither mullahs nor holy men but two young people of good family, and, wonder of wonders, one of them is a man and the other a woman. Their dress and manner may not show it, but their faces declare that they are the light of the eyes of some honourable family, and they cannot but belong to some well-known and noble household, for under the thick, long, broad blankets they have wrapped around themselves from head to foot, both are wearing the dress of the gentry of Amul.

The man, in the first bloom of youth, is a handsome young fellow. Over a woollen kaftan he wears a large sheepskin cloak. On his head is an old-fashioned tall Turkish cap, made in the shape of a cone from strips of bamboo and covered with black goatskin. Over the cap is a large turban, several of whose folds come down from his head and are wrapped around his ears and neck as well. On his feet are leather socks, and he wears woollen trousers. Round his waist is fastened a leather belt in which a dagger is stuck and from which a sword hangs. The young man also has a bow and a quiver of arrows, but these indispensable weapons of that ancient age are tied to the saddle of his donkey. And this is the one weapon with which this brave youth hunts and so obtains a bare subsistence for himself and his lovely companion. In short, on one donkey rides this young man, and on the other a fairy-faced girl of eighteen or nineteen. Her coarse, heavy clothes and clumsy sheepskin hide much of a beauty that could beguile an ascetic, but can the playful graces of a heart-stealing, moon-faced beauty ever be hidden! As much of her face as is uncovered gives off rays of loveliness, and its very first glimpse convinces the onlooker that he will never see so beautiful and delicate a creature again. Our moon-browed beauty, the bane of her age, wears loose yellow silk trousers, wide from top to bottom and gathered at the ankles in graceful pleats. Her shirt is of red brocade, and on her head is a veil of flowered blue satin. But all these clothes are hidden inside a warm, puffy sheepskin. What shows plainly that she is a woman are the hundreds of little braids that come out from under her veil and spread across her whole back from one shoulder to the other, and that keep coming loose with the ups and downs of the road and the quick trot of the donkey.

It is hard to paint a picture of this lovely girl's beauty, but perhaps a few details may give longing hearts and eager eyes a rough outline of that beauty which could beguile an ascetic. A round face, radiant as the sun, such as is common among mountain peoples; high, finely drawn cheeks with a glow of red; large, honey-coloured eyes; long, pointed lashes; a high but somewhat broad nose; delicate, curving lips; a fine, slightly wide mouth; a small, pointed chin as if cast in a mould; modest, usually lowered glances, yet lively and restless eyes and brows; and beyond all this wealth of beauty, an uncommon proportion in every limb, enough to leave any man restless and undone.

These two young travellers go on in silence, looking at the scenery all around and fearing inwardly because of the dangers of the place. At the thought that the day is ending, their delicate faces, which have not yet gained the firmness of experience, are beginning to look troubled, but even so the lock of silence does not open. Suddenly, overcome by some sudden feeling, the lovely girl heaved a sigh and asked in a soft, enchanting voice, "What day is it today?"

The young man (quietly working something out to himself): Thursday!

The girl (wistfully): Then it is a full eight days today since we left home. (After a moment's pause.) God knows what people must be saying and what opinions they must be forming.

The young man: They must be saying that the longing for the pilgrimage made us leave our homeland.

The girl (sighing again): They must be blaming me for running off with a man who is no kin of mine.

The young man: Zamurrud! (That is the girl's name.) I am no longer a stranger to you. In two or four days we shall reach Qazvin, and as soon as we arrive we shall be married.

Zamurrud (with another sigh): God knows whether we shall even be fated to get that far.

The young man: Why?

Zamurrud: The dangers of the road are well known; it must be a lucky traveller indeed who gets away from the fairies. And even if he escapes them, why would the heretics let him go? (Heretics, "Malahida", was the common name for the Qarmatians and especially for the Batinis.)

A strange change has now come over Zamurrud. This place has reminded her of something in particular, and because of it she keeps turning this way and that to look at the scenery all around, and sighs again and again. The young man paid no attention to this and said in an ordinary tone: "As for the heretics, I am easy in my mind, because I have obtained a letter from their well-known agent in Amul, Mulla Hibatullah. That letter will serve us as a proven amulet, and as soon as we show it we shall be saved from the cruel hand of any Qarmatian."

Talking in this way, the two young travellers reached the place where the road begins to climb up the mountain, while the canal leaves it and turns to the right to plunge into hard-to-pass valleys and thick, thorny undergrowth. The young man had just urged his donkey forward when Zamurrud reined in, stopped, and said: "No, Husain!" (That is the young man's name.) "Not that way."

Husain (looking at Zamurrud in surprise): Then which way?

Zamurrud: The way this canal has gone.

Husain: But there is no road that way.

Zamurrud: There is. Just come along.

Husain: Are you going to Qazvin after all, or somewhere else?

Zamurrud: No, Qazvin is not my goal. What I have to see is where this canal goes.

Husain: That way lies the haunt of the fairies.

Zamurrud: Let it.

Husain: I hear that no one has ever come back alive from there.

Zamurrud: That is what I want too.

Husain looked at Zamurrud's face in surprise and astonishment and said in a grave voice: "And what has become of our intention to make the pilgrimage?"

Zamurrud: It still stands. But first let me go and recite the Fatiha at the grave of my brother Musa, and then we shall set out for holy Mecca.

Husain: Your brother's grave? But who knows where it is?

Zamurrud: I know. I know the way, and I know the place too.

Husain (in surprise): You! What do you know about it?

Zamurrud: I know very well!

Husain: Have you ever been there?

Zamurrud: No, but I have got the whole description from Yaqub, who brought the news after my brother died. The first sign is this very one: where the canal parts from the road, one must leave the road and go along the bank of the canal. I will tell you the later signs as we go on.

Husain: What would Yaqub know? Who can say who was killed where, and how, in these high and tangled mountains?

Zamurrud: You do not know. Brother Musa and Yaqub were together. When they reached this spot they went some distance along the bank of the canal, and then a troop of fairies came down from the Alborz mountain. My brother was killed by them, but Yaqub fainted and fell. The next day, when he came to, he found my brother's body lying there. He buried him, made a grave, carved his name on a rock right beside the grave, and came back.

Husain: It sounds like a tall tale to me. Why on earth would the fairies leave Yaqub alive and kill your brother?

Zamurrud: The reason was that my brother had seized one fairy by the hand, while Yaqub was a coward; the moment he saw the fairy-folk he fainted and fell.

Husain: Then we certainly ought not to go to such a place.

Zamurrud: No, Husain, I will most certainly go.

Husain: Suppose we get there and the fairies come down before us too, what then?

Zamurrud: I am not afraid of that. If you are frightened, do not come.

Husain: You go alone and I stay behind! I, who am ready at every moment to give my life for love of you!

Zamurrud: Husain, listen! I would not have come with you otherwise. I grant that you are honourable, and I have loved you ever since the days when we studied together at school; but do not imagine that you have talked a respectable girl into running away from home. I came of my own desire, only in the hope of standing at my brother's grave and shedding a few tears. When that purpose is fulfilled, I will set out for the pilgrimage.

Husain: Zamurrud! Have pity on your youth and your tender years, and give up this plan.

Zamurrud: No, that cannot be. It is for this very wish that I have borne disgrace.

Husain (in a voice of despair): O Lord! If life must be lost, let me be killed first; I could not bear to see her suffering with these eyes.

Zamurrud (smiling): Do not be afraid. The pull between us will draw each of us to the other. If we are killed, we shall both be killed together.

With this, Zamurrud turned her donkey towards the Wiranjan canal. She could hardly have gone two steps when Husain stopped her again and said, "Zamurrud, wait a little. If we must go, let us go tomorrow. Evening is coming on now; by the time we get there it will be night."

Zamurrud: No, let us go now. There is no hope of finding any village anyway; and if we must stop in the wilderness, here and there are both the same.

Husain could find no way to refuse. He set off, and, hesitating in his heart, plunged with Zamurrud into a dark and gloomy valley of the Alborz. Now they both go slowly on, and the awe of that desolate place has so settled on their hearts that they are completely silent. The further they go, the denser the forest becomes, and the cold grows moment by moment. The silence has sharpened the sound of the flowing canal, which has added a note of terror to the wildness of the scene. Now the way is so difficult that they had to get down from their donkeys. One behind the other, holding their donkeys' bridles, they go on, avoiding the rocks and pushing through the bushes. At last, after a long silence, Husain said, overawed: "Surely demons and fairies live in just such desolate places. Never mind men, there is not even a trace of an animal here."

Zamurrud: Yes! And I hear that in many places in this canal fairies are often seen bathing, playing together with their hair let loose, and splashing water at one another.

Husain (with a start): What! What was that whistling sound, as though something went whizzing past my ears?

Zamurrud: It is well known that, even if the fairies' flying thrones cannot be seen, the sound of their whizzing past can always be heard.

Husain: That may be, but I think it was some animal.

Zamurrud: If it were an animal, wouldn't we have seen it!

Husain: Although the sun has not yet set, you can see that here it is darker than at dusk. In such twilight, owls or big bats sometimes fly past with just such a rushing sound.

Zamurrud: But in truth these too are fairy-folk, who come out at night in the shape of various animals.

Husain: Perhaps! (With these words he looked at the scene around him with frightened, cowardly eyes, and said in a voice full of anxiety:) Evening is almost here, and there is no sign of your brother's grave anywhere.

Zamurrud: But I will not rest until I reach my brother's grave.

As she said this, a very dark gorge came into view. The canal ran through it, but on both sides were such smooth, sheer rocks that it was very hard for anyone to pass. As soon as she saw this gorge, Zamurrud cried out in a voice of eager excitement: "Yes, look, this is the second sign. The way goes through here."

Husain: But I do not see how we are to get through this way.

Zamurrud: However it is done, I will most certainly go!

Husain: And these donkeys?

Zamurrud: Leave them here. You can fetch them when we come back.

Husain looked at Zamurrud in wonder at this firmness and single-mindedness. Then he tied the donkeys to trees, and the two of them set off, clinging to the rocks and clutching the tops and bends of the stones with their hands. They had made this toilsome journey for perhaps forty-five minutes when the gorge came to an end, and as soon as they came out of it they both saw that the Wiranjan canal, having passed through the gorge, suddenly began to flow through a most delightful meadow. It was a place of wonderful charm. Nature herself had laid out a garden. Beds of fresh, bright-coloured flowers stretched far into the distance. Many songbirds could be seen here too, going everywhere and offering themselves up to the beauty of the garden's loveliest blooms. Evening was falling, and these ardent lovers of the rose were bidding their beloveds farewell. As soon as she saw this scene, Zamurrud said joyfully: "Now we have reached our goal. It was in this very valley that brother Musa was killed, and his grave must be somewhere here."

With that, Zamurrud ran about in every direction like a slender, nimble doe, then stopped beside a large rock and cried out: "Ah! This is my brother's grave."

Hearing her cry, Husain ran over too and saw that the name Musa was carved on a rock, and close beside it a few stones had been levelled to make the shape of a grave.

They both stood there and recited the Fatiha, but grief and sorrow so overwhelmed Zamurrud's heart that before the Fatiha was finished she fell down, clung to the grave and began to weep bitterly. Husain tried hard to comfort her; he brought water from the canal and washed her face, and in the darkness of the night he sat with his houri-like beloved in his lap and tried to soothe her.

Zamurrud (between sobs): Husain, I have no hope of living. It feels as though I shall die right here. My hands and feet are tingling, there is a dull ache in my breast, and my heart is sinking. But before I die I have one last wish to ask of you. When I die, bury my body too under these same stones beneath which lie brother Musa's bones.

Husain (with great firmness, swallowing his tears): If that wish is ever to be fulfilled, it will be fulfilled by someone else's hands. I cannot live after you. And whoever fulfils that wish will bury my bones under these same stones along with yours.

Zamurrud (coaxingly): No, Husain, do not do that. You do not yet know what it is that has drawn me here. I cannot say it is love for my brother, nor can I say there was some magic in Yaqub's account; but the very day after he told me the sad story of brother Musa, I dreamed that my brother was standing in this valley. In the dream he beckoned me to him with his hand and urged me to come to his grave and recite the Fatiha. My late brother called me in such a moving way that the look on his face then is still before my eyes now. From this you can understand that I have come here at my brother's call.

Husain (unable to hold back his tears, and with boundless feeling): Well, he only called you in a dream, but you yourself have brought me with you.

Zamurrud: Yes, I brought you with me, and for this very reason: that in this world no one is dearer to me than you. It was, and still is, my wish to give up my life at your side and before your eyes; and that afterwards you should go home, and wipe away whatever disgrace has fallen on us in the eyes of our relatives and the other gentlefolk of the city, and along with the news of my death tell everyone why and where I died, and how chaste I remained until the moment of death. (Putting her arms round his neck.) Husain! My wish is that you should live and wash the stain of ill repute from my name.

Husain (with a heart-rending cry): God forbid that I should be the one to carry the news of your death!

Suddenly a light appeared on the sloping side of a hill. Zamurrud's eyes fell on it first, and she said with a start: "What is that light?" Husain too looked at the light in amazement and said: "God knows what it is. And look, it is coming this way. Who could be coming here in the darkness of this night?"

The two lovers were watching the light in alarm, growing more bewildered moment by moment, when it came right up close. There were fifteen or twenty great torches, and beneath them a large troop of beautiful, fairy-faced women. At the sight of them both Zamurrud and Husain let out a scream; in voices of terror the word "Fairies!" broke from both their lips, and they both fainted and fell senseless.