The Fairy of Khayalistan, Sections 1–3

The Fairy of Khayalistan

(1)

When Ghafira, the famous fairy of the land of Khayalistan, was found guilty of the crime that "without the leave of Shahryar, who was king of that court, she had been absent from her appointed duty for three full days and three nights," then, although she pleaded her illness and her helplessness again and again, Shahryar's court passed this sentence on her: pluck out her wings and turn her out beyond the borders of Khayalistan; she shall never again take part in this assembly, and for the rest of her life she shall not set foot within the borders of Khayalistan. [TN: Khayalistan, "the Land of Imagination", is the fairyland of the tale; Shahryar means "king".]

This order of Shahryar's was a thunderbolt that fell on Ghafira's heart and burnt all her hopes and longings to ashes. She cast a look full of longing over the whole assembly. The world was dark in her eyes, and strings of tears were running down her cheeks. Weeping, she came forward and, with a hundred humble entreaties, made her petition thus:

"King who rules over the beasts of the forest and the birds of the air! Every child of Khayalistan sings the songs of your reign. The mighty race of the jinn, who used to devour one another, drink water at one landing-place under your rule. In the Garden of Music, where fairies used to be robbed in broad daylight, today they skip and play in the air all alone, and no one dares so much as meet their eyes. At this moment every inch and every corner of the Palace of Rest, every straw of the pavilion, the leaves of the trees, the flowers on the branches, the petals of the flowers, are weeping bitter tears over this parting of mine that will never end, over this night that will have no morning. Let me have leave just for this: to embrace and bid farewell to the palaces in which I was brought up, the trees under which I played as a child, the grass on which I set my feet and on which I rolled."

Ghafira's petition was granted. The robe of Khayalistan that she wore was taken off her. Her wings were plucked out. And screaming and crying, clinging and being clung to, embracing each one in turn, she went out beyond the borders of Khayalistan.

(2)

Now Ghafira was in another world, where there were blasts of the hot wind in summer, thunder and lightning in the rains, and fog and frost in winter. The eyes that had never seen pain even in a dream now saw troubles day and night. The heart that had never known the name of sorrow now suffered one blow after another. The feet that in Khayalistan had walked where the ground was velvet were now pierced through by acacia thorns. On the head that had never felt a drop of water the rain now came down in torrents. And the cheek that the glare of the sun had never touched was now scorched by gusts of hot wind.

Cast out of Shahryar's paradise, which was a copy of the heavenly Garden, Ghafira lived so wretched a life that the pain of her laments shook the hearts even of the animals. The starry sky would be above her head; the moonlight would make her restless. She would run like a madwoman towards Khayalistan, beat her head against that wall of laughter and sit down. She would watch how the birds, parted all day from their young, hurried home at dusk and nestled into their nests with such eagerness. At the same time she would think of her own state: the life of Khayalistan, the bustle of her companions, the splendour of the court, the trees, the leaves of the trees, the rustle of the leaves, the teasing of the breeze, the singing of the nightingales, the scent of the flowers, the dancing of the butterflies. When that scene came back to her, she would be left wringing her heart. In the silent hours of the night, when kings slept unawares in their palaces and the poor in their huts, when even the water of the river stood still and over everything in the order of the world (against all rule) an utter stillness lay, she would rise in remembrance of her homeland and pace beside the wall of Khayalistan, beating against it, breaking her head on it, until the birds that lived in the palm trees brought the message of morning to her ears.

One night, when the full moon was racing across the blue sky and its light had spread a sheet of radiance over walls and doors, forest and plain, Ghafira sat weeping over her fate on the bank of the river that rolled its waves along the border of Khayalistan. The moon of the fourteenth night was rolling in the river's lap, and Ghafira was so lost in this marvel of nature that for a few moments she forgot her cares altogether. Suddenly she raised her face and cast a look of longing on the border of Khayalistan. What does she see but that the rampart has split open in the middle, and a light has appeared such as Ghafira had never seen in this world! Beside herself, she rushed towards it. As the light grew moment by moment, so Ghafira's eagerness quickened step by step. She had hardly reached the border when the rampart closed again just as before, and the light vanished in the twinkling of an eye. She beat her head again and again, screamed and cried as she might, but to no purpose. It was so astonishing a sight that the more Ghafira pondered the question, the more tangled it became. After all, she too had lived in Khayalistan, yet she had never in her whole life seen anything of the kind. She sat down holding her head and fixed her gaze on the place where the rampart had opened. Again and again a pang rose in her heart, and she thought: if only I had got there a few moments earlier and understood this secret! What, after all, is this mystery? Has some other fairy, like me, fallen under this displeasure? But no; if that were so, where would she have gone? Would the earth have swallowed her, or the sky eaten her up?

"Now I understand. Oho, today must be Nauroz! That's why the whole border is ablaze with chandeliers. The wall will open once more, so that the people of this world too may refresh their eyes with the light of Shahryar's paradise. It has been the custom for years that on the night of Nauroz this wall opens twice for a few moments. Perhaps I did not see it the first time. Well, it's my fate; I shall sit here." [TN: Nauroz, the Persian New Year, at the spring equinox.]

At that moment a kind of ecstasy came over Ghafira. The expectation that in a little while the wall would open was making her restless. She would sit, she would rise, and when she grew tired she would sit again; but her gaze never left the rampart.

The night had hardly completed its course when those same sweet-voiced birds whose songs Ghafira's ears knew so well began to sing in welcome of the true dawn, and this ground all Ghafira's hopes into the dust. She heaved a cold sigh and rose in despair. She was about to walk away when suddenly the rampart opened and the whole wilderness blazed with the light of Khayalistan. Ghafira ran like a madwoman. She was just going in when the warden of paradise caught her by the hand. Seeing the face of one of her own kind after so many years, Ghafira fell at his feet and said:

"Will fate never again show me the hour when I may enter Khayalistan? O blessed warden, have pity on my wretched state and give me leave just to look my fill at Khayalistan once."

The warden: "Dear one! Ghafira, dearest of the dear! I feel for you with all my heart, but I dare not show you any favour without the king's leave. If I did, the state you are in today would be mine tomorrow. But there is one way. Bring Shahryar a gift from the world you are now in, something than which nothing better exists on the face of the earth. I promise that I will take your gift to the royal court, and I assure you that if your gift pleases Shahryar you will be given leave to enter Khayalistan. That is all; the time is up, and I cannot say more."

The sentence was not yet fully finished when the wall closed and the light was gone. Now a throng of thoughts crowded upon Ghafira. Morning had come, and the world-illumining sun was climbing up from the mountains in front of her. After much weaving and unweaving and much anguish, Ghafira decided that although the hope of success was hard and faint, who could be a greater fool than one who would not try to do a thing merely because it was difficult? "I will keep up this search to bring the best gift in the world to Shahryar, until death parts me from this longing."

(3)

The decision was final, and after it Ghafira went for a long time raising the dust of the forests and sifting the lanes of the cities. Now her only work was the study of the things of this world. Sleep at night, hunger by day, in short, every kind of ease and rest was gone. She filled her stomach with the fruits of the forest and quenched her thirst at the springs. She would lie down under some tree for an hour or half an hour; sleep would overcome her and her eyes would close; she would wake, and start up and run off, absorbed in her quest. When for nearly eight months she had been wandering like this, one day, as the sun was getting ready to set, she came to a place where hundreds and thousands of people were gathered. On a high mound stood a man who was charged with having made a breach in religion and insulted "our true faith". Since he still held to his views, the community had decided that his head should be struck off. The man was held like a prisoner, with fetters on his hands and feet, and the executioner stood over him with a naked sword. When the moment drew near for the executioner to sever his head from his body, the man asked the chief of the community that his last wish was only this: that the unfortunate community should hear calmly what he had to say, and that after that the sentence that had been passed should be carried out. The request was granted, and he began to speak thus:

"This moment, which is about to come in a little while, when this body of dust will writhe on this mound and grow cold, and this head, in which there was no madness or frenzy but which was full of true love for an unfortunate people, will leave the company of years and part from this body, was bound to come some day according to my belief. But this death will be a death such that, though a thousand lives were sacrificed for it, they might still not win it. O unfortunate and misguided people! Whatever has been mixed into the true religion is nothing but the selfishness of certain individuals. Save religion from artificial garments and the decoration of gold lace and stamped borders, and present it to others as plain and simple as it was revealed. O people who believe against the nature God has made! God's punishment is with you, and those holy souls on whom you are laying slanders will soon be calling down curses on you. Use your reason, and do not bring belief into religion only because your fathers and grandfathers did so. The beauty of that Judge of judges, whose rule never passes away, is calling me lovingly to Himself. Come, come, executioner! Do your work, and gladden the heart of this misguided people."

At this speech the crowd went on roaring with laughter, but a strange state came over Ghafira, and she decided then and there that there could be no better gift in the world than this. The executioner's sword had only to fall on his neck, and the word "people" came from his lips. Ghafira stepped forward, took in her fist the first drop of blood that came from his neck, and came back towards Khayalistan. All the way her heart was in a strange state; she was certain: what better thing could there be in the world than this? This is the first drop of the blood of a man who sacrificed a blessing like life for his people. Ghafira was very fortunate in this, that today she did not have to wait long. As it happened, it was the very day of the Nauroz festival. As soon as she arrived the wall opened, and Ghafira stepped forward and presented the drop of blood.

The warden: "Ghafira, your labour deserves praise. Truly you have suffered many hardships to obtain this rare thing. I do not hesitate to say that it is a good thing of this world; but I cannot say that nothing better than it exists in the world. Go, try again, and come again next year."