STORY OF THE KING WHO WOULD SEE PARADISE
(A Pathan story told to Major Campbell.)
Once upon a time there was a king who, one day out
hunting, came upon a fakeer in a lonely place in the mountains.
The fakeer was seated on a little old bedstead
reading the Koran, with his patched cloak thrown over
his shoulders.
The king asked him what he was reading; and he
said he was reading about Paradise, and praying that he
might be worthy to enter there. Then they began to
talk, and, by-and-bye, the king asked the fakeer if he
could show him a glimpse of Paradise, for he found
it very difficult to believe in what he could not see.
The fakeer replied that he was asking a very difficult,
and perhaps a very dangerous, thing; but that he
would pray for him, and perhaps he might be able to
do it; only he warned the king both against the dangers
of his unbelief, and against the curiosity which prompted
him to ask this thing. However, the king was not to be
turned from his purpose, and he promised the fakeer
always to provide him with food, if he, in return, would
pray for him. To this the fakeer agreed, and so they
parted.
Time went on, and the king always sent the old
fakeer his food according to his promise; but, whenever
he sent to ask him when he was going to show him
Paradise, the fakeer always replied: ‘Not yet, not
yet!’
After a year or two had passed by, the king heard
one day that the fakeer was very ill—indeed, he was
believed to be dying. Instantly he hurried off himself,
and found that it was really true, and that the fakeer was
even then breathing his last. There and then the king
besought him to remember his promise, and to show him
a glimpse of Paradise. The dying fakeer replied that if
the king would come to his funeral, and, when the grave
was filled in, and everyone else was gone away, he would
come and lay his hand upon the grave, he would keep
his word, and show him a glimpse of Paradise. At the
same time he implored the king not to do this thing, but
to be content to see Paradise when God called him there.
Still the king’s curiosity was so aroused that he would
not give way.
Accordingly, after the fakeer was dead, and had been
buried, he stayed behind when all the rest went away;
and then, when he was quite alone, he stepped forward,
and laid his hand upon the grave! Instantly the ground
opened, and the astonished king, peeping in, saw a flight
of rough steps, and, at the bottom of them, the fakeer
sitting, just as he used to sit, on his rickety bedstead, reading
the Koran!
At first the king was so surprised and frightened that
he could only stare; but the fakeer beckoned to him
to come down, so, mustering up his courage, he boldly
stepped down into the grave.
The fakeer rose, and, making a sign to the king to follow,
walked a few paces along a dark passage. Then
he stopped, turned solemnly to his companion, and, with
a movement of his hand, drew aside as it were a heavy
curtain, and revealed—what? No one knows what
was there shown to the king, nor did he ever tell anyone;
but, when the fakeer at length dropped the curtain, and
the king turned to leave the place, he had had his glimpse
of Paradise! Trembling in every limb, he staggered
back along the passage, and stumbled up the steps out
of the tomb into the fresh air again.
The dawn was breaking. It seemed odd to the king
that he had been so long in the grave. It appeared but
a few minutes ago that he had descended, passed along a
few steps to the place where he had peeped beyond the
veil, and returned again after perhaps five minutes of
that wonderful view! And what was it he had seen?
He racked his brains to remember, but he could not call
to mind a single thing! How curious everything looked
too! Why, his own city, which by now he was entering,
seemed changed and strange to him! The sun was
already up when he turned into the palace gate and
entered the public durbar hall. It was full; and there
upon the throne sat another king! The poor king, all
bewildered, sat down and stared about him. Presently
a chamberlain came across and asked him why he sat
unbidden in the king’s presence. ‘But
I am the king!’
he cried.
‘What king?’ said the chamberlain.
‘The true king of this country,’ said he indignantly.
Then the chamberlain went away, and spoke to the
king who sat on the throne, and the old king heard words
like ‘mad,’ ‘age,’ ‘compassion.’ Then the king on the
throne called him to come forward, and, as he went, he
caught sight of himself reflected in the polished steel shields
of the bodyguard, and started back in horror! He was
old, decrepit, dirty, and ragged! His long white beard
and locks were unkempt, and straggled all over his
chest and shoulders. Only one sign of royalty remained
to him, and that was the signet ring upon his
right hand. He dragged it off with shaking fingers and
held it up to the king.
‘Tell me who I am,’ he cried; ‘there is my signet, who
once sat where you sit—even yesterday!’
The king looked at him compassionately, and examined
the signet with curiosity. Then he commanded, and they
brought out dusty records and archives of the kingdom,
and old coins of previous reigns, and compared them
faithfully. At last the king turned to the old man, and
said: ‘Old man, such a king as this whose signet thou
hast, reigned seven hundred years ago; but he is said to
have disappeared, none know whither; where got you
the ring?’
Then the old man smote his breast, and cried out
with a loud lamentation; for he understood that he, who
was not content to wait patiently to see the Paradise of
the faithful, had been judged already. And he turned
and left the hall without a word, and went into the
jungle, where he lived for twenty-five years a life of
prayer and meditation, until at last the Angel of Death
came to him, and mercifully released him, purged and
purified through his punishment.
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