The Ameen said to the king:"The sword you gifted me was thrown into this lake, and I shall try to retrieve it so I may continue my journey in search of my two friends."
The king said: "And how could you possibly retrieve Al-Battar, when the lake is so deep?"
"I know that," replied the Ameen, "but I will think of a way to bring it out, for I could never neglect a gift you bestowed upon me. It is now my weapon and my means of defense."
The king expressed his desire to remain by the Ameen's side until the sword was recovered, but the Ameen insisted that he return. He thanked the king greatly for his help, and after a long conversation managed to convince him to go back to his kingdom, along with his daughter Princess Tati and the rest of his retinue. Before the king departed with his procession, he said to the Ameen:
"I will leave this locust with you. If you are ever in need of something you wish me to do for you, send me a message with it, and we shall help you at once."
The Ameen thanked the king, who departed, leaving him only with the bird that carried messages, the Tutan, and the sword used to behead the treacherous minister.
The Ameen went down to sit on the shore of the lake, pondering what to do. He held tightly to the reins of the Tutan, unwilling to let go, his eyes fixed on the waters without turning away. It crossed his mind to learn swimming and diving so he could retrieve Al-Battar himself, but he feared losing the Tutan as before if he left it. So he remained deep in thought, weary with the burden of his concern.
Then came the Oqraab, the one who had cast his sword into the lake, circling in the sky above his head. It descended before him and, speaking in eloquent Arabic, asked the Ameen:
"Why do I see you so absorbed in thought?"
The Ameen answered: "Because of your collusion with a treacherous minister and your casting of my sword Al-Battar into this lake at his request, leaving me stripped of it."
"I knew nothing of what was in his mind or his intentions," the Oqraab replied. "I only obeyed his command, for he was a minister, and we are bound to obey them."
"Obedience is only due when the order is not evil, treachery, or betrayal," said the Ameen.
"And how was I to know it was evil, when it is not in our nature to discern the intention behind a deed from the deed itself?"
"You are excused for that," said the Ameen, "and perhaps God will guide you to amend the wrong in which you played a part, and to atone for the sin in which you were a partner."
"I came only with this intention," said the Oqraab, "and I wish to help you recover your sword Al-Battar, now resting at the bottom of this lake."
"And how can you help me," the Ameen asked, "when your domain is the sky where you fly as you please, and you have no power to swim or dive?"
"I shall not retrieve it myself," replied the Oqraab, "but I shall bring you one who can help you. Yet I set a condition: if I bring you such aid, you must forgive me, absolve me, and bear no grudge, resentment, or anger against me that you might complain of to God. For I wish to meet Him clean, pure, and innocent, with no evil deed or word staining my record."
"I have forgiven you already," said the Ameen, "even if you never bring me anyone to help recover Al-Battar."
"Then wait but a moment..."
The Oqraab flew off until it vanished far into the sky, toward the other side of the lake, where dwelt its friend, the Sea Lion. It asked him to help the Ameen recover his sword lying at the lake's bottom. Soon after, the Ameen saw the Sea Lion approaching him swiftly through the water, while the Oqraab flew above, guiding him to where the Ameen was. When he arrived, the Sea Lion greeted him, and the Ameen returned the greeting, then said:
"What is your need?"
"My sword Al-Battar lies at the bottom of the lake. I would be most grateful if you could bring it to me, for I cannot swim or dive."
"I will fetch it for you," the Sea Lion replied, "in return for a small request."
"And what is it?"
"I tend to some of the sea creatures and treat their ailments. I am in need of some honey, a great remedy for healing my patients. But I cannot leave the water to seek it in the highlands you see before us. If you bring me the honey I need, from where the bees dwell in abundance, you will find your sword before you."
The Ameen agreed, and mounted the Tutan toward the mountain. But before he departed, the Oqraab said to him:
"In these heights the bees are many, and they do not allow anyone to take the honey their workers strive so hard to store in their waxen cells. Yet it is not impossible to obtain, if we gain the permission of the bee queens..."
"And how could I obtain permission, when I do not understand the language of the bees and have had no dealings with them before?"
"Wait here, and I will go seek permission for you."
So the Oqraab flew until it came to one of the bee queens, named Maysa. Before drawing too near her hive, it called from afar:
"O Maysa, you whom the flowers boast of offering nectar to, and whose honey the sick seek for healing—I come to you with a need, trusting in your great generosity.So often your bounty has filled the land, unmatched by any other.Never have you denied a supplicant your honey, nor withheld from your kin the favor you could bestow..."
When Maysa heard such sweet words, she was greatly pleased by the Oqraab's arrival and said:
"Welcome, Oqraab, my friend. All that I have is yours—ask what you wish, for by God's grace it shall be granted. My doors are open wide, by His favor. What brings you here? Is it longing after long absence, or do you remember us only in time of need?"
"The longing for you is ever with me," said the Oqraab, "but I confess, I come today as a seeker of good, and the matter lies in your hands."
"What is your request?"
"The Ameen sent me to you—a friend from the children of Adam, sweet in nature, gentle of speech, refined in feeling, and upright in character."
"And what does he seek from me?"
"He is in need of some of your bounty, your honey, to fulfill a pact he has bound himself to."
"You have endeared your friend to me with your words," said Maysa, "and I shall do all in my power to gather nectar from the flowers and blossoms until we have what he requires. Return to us in a few days with your friend, the Ameen, to receive what you seek."
Days passed, and the Oqraab returned with the Ameen to visit Maysa, Queen of the Bees. When they entered her hive, the Oqraab greeted her with his usual words sweet as nectar, and she replied with words of warmth and welcome.
The Oqraab said: "Here is my friend, the Ameen, come to receive the honey you promised."
Maysa said to the Oqraab:"I see your friend is fair of face, exuding the fragrance of noble character—discernible only to bees, endowed with a keen sense of smell. But something has happened since your last visit, something we have never before witnessed, nor encountered in all our lives. It hides behind it a mystery we cannot grasp, a riddle beyond our understanding!"
The Oqraab asked: "And what is it?"
Maysa replied:"I ordered the worker bees to roam among the flowers, blossoms, and plants to gather nectar, so we might turn it into honey for your guest, the Ameen, this visitor from among the children of Adam. They went out into the orchards, fields, and gardens that surround us, singing as they always do while collecting nectar, chanting:
'For our guest the Ameen, child of man, give us your nectar, O flowers of the garden!'
But as soon as this song spread throughout the place, filling the world with its new melody, all the blossoms and flowers closed themselves tightly, after being open as usual, and denied the workers their nectar. Not a single flower or blossom remained that did not fold upon itself..."
"In vain did the workers try to charm the flowers with their songs, to make them open and yield as before, but they stayed closed. All the workers returned to me with the same report.
So I went out myself, to roam through the fields and gardens, and how great was my astonishment when I found this refusal universal among all flowers and blossoms—even after hearing my own melodies! I am Maysa, Queen of the Bees, and flowers and blossoms always bloomed more brightly when I filled the air with my sweet songs, gracing the world with the loveliest tunes. Yet even the iris, my dear friend, joined in this refusal.
I cannot understand it. Perhaps your human friend has an explanation. Tell him what has happened and ask his counsel."
The Oqraab explained the matter to the Ameen, who was greatly astonished at the flowers' behavior. He asked that Maysa accompany him so he might see it for himself, hoping he could find some explanation.
Together, the Oqraab, the Ameen, and Maysa went to the fields and gardens. And no sooner had they arrived than the flowers and blossoms began to tremble on their stems, drawing themselves away from the Ameen as far as they could. The Ameen was deeply perplexed at this strange conduct, and he asked his friend the Oqraab to have Maysa question the flowers and blossoms about the reason for their recoil and avoidance of man.
But they all kept silent, giving no reply to Maysa, Queen of the Bees. The jasmine turned its face away and showed her its back without answering. The roses too lapsed into long silence, despite her questions and entreaties...
Likewise, the violet, the narcissus, the jasmine, and the chrysanthemum all bent their faces toward the ground, as though they had not heard what was said to them. Even the sweet basil, usually overflowing with joy and delight, turned its stems away from Misa and spoke not a word...
All this filled Al-Amin with wonder and sorrow. Never before had he seen flowers withdraw, feigning grief and pain. In his heart, he longed to know the cause, that he might remove it, so the blossoms would once again bring joy to the world, spreading happiness, delight, and peace of soul as they once did.
Misa, the Queen of the Bees, stood before the iris, her dearest friend, and said:
"O dearest companion, confusion has overpowered me, and helplessness has burdened me until I am worn and weary. I see the flowers and meadows, all angry, though they once welcomed my coming and rejoiced at my songs. I know no cause for this unless some misfortune has befallen them. I am Misa—never before have they hidden their hearts from me. Why now do they turn cold, when they once longed for me, with affection and eager welcome? I beg you, dearest friend, reveal to me what lies hidden within them, and speak openly of the sorrow that weighs upon your companions. For I am resolved to spend all my strength to remove your griefs—for you all are my beloved ones."
The iris replied:
"Do you not see the one who accompanies you?"
"Yes," said Misa, "it is Al-Amin, a man of noble manners, a gentle guest."
"His very presence," said the iris, "is the cause of all you see."
"How so? He has never visited you before, nor has he done anything that could place you in such a state."
"He is a man, and mankind has wronged our elder sister, the Crown of Flowers, with a grievous insult. No longer do they repay kindness with kindness, nor gratitude with thankfulness. They persist in their offense without ceasing. Better you hear her story yourself, for she will reveal to you the depth of the wrong, still upon her. Visit her, and seek the truth of her complaint. But if you question her, do so in God's name, else she will retreat into silence, and you will gain nothing from her."
At once, Misa set forth with Al-Amin and the crow, to meet the Crown of Flowers. When they arrived, she turned her face away, her stem bending to withdraw from the visitors.
Misa greeted her, and she replied only, "Were it not that greeting is an obligation, I would not have returned it, for with you is one who still wounds us, stirring our hearts with pain, renewing grief we try to bury in patience borrowed from the comfort of friends."
Misa said: "Strange indeed, O Crown of Flowers! I have brought only the most faithful of friends, the truest of companions. Whom do you mean?"
"Spare me words," she answered. "I seek no justice from you, nor fairness for my complaint. I pour out my sorrow to God alone, my Creator, the only Judge and the Most Just."
Misa pressed on: "Do you hide from me your complaint, O Crown of Flowers? Do you keep from me the sorrow that burdens your heart, when my very soul finds no rest except in the light of your face, your radiant countenance, your broad smile? Tell me, do you conceal in your breast hidden griefs and burning sorrows?"
The Crown of Flowers fell silent, her petals glistening with hot tears. Her leaves trembled with the shiver of weeping, and she struggled to stifle her sobs, her breaths broken and confined.
Misa said: "Calm yourself, beloved one! Why all this grief and pain? I adjure you by God—speak to me, hide nothing. If I can mend what has been done, I shall. If not, then I will weep with you until hope itself abandons me."
The Crown of Flowers replied:
"You have adjured me by God Almighty—there is no escape for me now. I cannot withhold my secret. You know well my state. How long have we lived together, Misa?"
"Since ancient times, through long ages," said Misa.
"And your fathers and grandfathers—how long did they know mine?"
"From time immemorial, reaching deep into the past."
"How was my companionship with you, and that of my fathers with yours, O Misa?"
"Perfect companionship," she said, "overflowing with kindness and love, crowned with sincerity, clothed in purity, adorned with neighborly grace. A bond not frail but woven tight, like warp and weft in a single fabric, like a melody you compose and I echo, filling the world with its sweet harmony. Never have you withheld yourself from me before—never as you do today. My astonishment is great."
"To whom do I sing, Misa? To whom do I bow? Whom do I worship?"
"You glorify God alone, morning and evening, with a tongue created for His praise, even as I glorify Him. This is the love that unites us."
"And you prostrate to God alone, worship none but Him. This is what endeared you to me, and bound my heart to yours. How I love those who glorify their Lord and bow to none but Him!"
"Have you ever seen me neglectful in the remembrance of God?"
"Never! On the contrary, my love for you has only grown from your diligence in His praise."
"And how do you view polytheism, O Misa?"
"It is a grievous wrong, a lasting darkness, blindness upon its bearer. There is no sin greater. It is ugliness entire, injustice complete. May God protect us."
"Do you remember what I once told you about polytheism?"
"Yes, and how could I forget? After your words, my heart fled farther from polytheism and the polytheists, and closer in hope to God, the One."
"Repeat to me what I told you, Misa."
"You said: 'Glory be to God, far above what they ascribe to Him. God created the heavens and adorned them for all to behold. He set in them the stars, spreading their light to guide the lost, a sign of His greatness. Did anyone share with God in creating the heavens?' Never—glory be to Him, exalted above what they claim.
And you described His creation of earth, sea, mountain, beast, plant, and flower, recounting with eloquence the beauty of His design and the abundance of His gifts. Your words deepened my faith, opened my eyes and ears to His power. Through you, I saw beauty everywhere, and my heart overflowed with faith and joy."
"One, One! No partner has He, He neither begets nor is begotten, nor is there any like unto Him."
"And what," she asked, "of those who accuse you of disbelief and idolatry?"
"Disbelief and idolatry—God forbid! Let us not disturb the purity of soul with such talk. Even the mention of it darkens my spirit. Spare me such words."
"But did you not adjure me by God to speak plainly?"
"Yes."
"Then this is my complaint against your companion."
"Against the crow?"
"No."
"Against Al-Amin?"
"Yes. Against man—who has accused me of disbelief and idolatry."
"Ah!" Misa exclaimed. "Could man do such a thing?"
"He is beside you—ask him."
"What did he say of you?"
"He called me 'sun-worshipper,' the vilest name a creature could be given. He mocked my devotion, striking me with an insult so harsh, so cruel, it cut deep into my soul. Tell me, Misa, do I worship the sun?"
"Enough, enough, beloved one! What is this I hear? Is it true, O Crown of Flowers?"
"I do not slander him—he stands beside you. Ask him."
Misa turned to Al-Amin, speaking through the crow, though her eyes betrayed the sorrow and weight she felt for the Crown of Flowers.
"Is it true what she says of you, Al-Amin?"
"What does she say?" he asked.
"She says you accused her of disbelief and idolatry."
"God forbid! I? I never accused her, nor have I ever met her before this very moment! How can she say this of me when she knows nothing of me?"
"She is before you," Misa said, "torn with sorrow, wounded anew by your visit, for she believes you condemned her."
"An accusation without proof," Al-Amin replied, "without witness or evidence—such a claim cannot stand. Speak to her yourself, for perhaps you may soothe her wounds, calm her grief."
"Had I known her tongue," he said, "I would have chosen the sweetest words to ease her heart. But I do not."
"She knows your tongue," said Misa.
"Then why does she not speak with me?"
"Her anger and grief overflow. Only that keeps her from speaking."
"Then is her defense true, Misa—or false? I have never seen a rightful claim conceal itself so—unless its claimant is unsure, or despairing of justice."
"She hopes only for God's justice on the Day of Judgment," said Misa, "and has abandoned hope in man's."
"Then the Crown of Flowers is unjust?" Al-Amin asked.
At these words, the Crown of Flowers flushed with anger. She turned to Al-Amin and, in fluent speech, addressed him with sharpness:
"Am I the unjust one? Now I have no doubt of your injustice."
"What have I done to you," he said, "that you never cease repeating your old accusation?"
"You take the innocent for the sins of the guilty, and that is the very height of injustice. God does not hold a man accountable except for what his own hands have wrought: if good, then good, and if evil, then evil.
Are you not of mankind—the one who cast upon my forefathers and ancestors the charge of disbelief? And our generations have inherited that accusation throughout the passing years. You still persist in this calumny, refusing to cease from your offense; and on top of this, you accuse me of injustice instead of correcting the wrong that has clung to you through all the ages!
What measure is this by which you weigh? What judgment is this that you utter? What mind is this by which you are guided? And what light is this by which you claim to find your way?
Oh, how unjust is Man! Did you not hear my beloved friend Maysa when she told you that I had despaired of my complaint to any but God, and that in silence lies wisdom?"
"Yes, in silence lies wisdom—save when it comes to truth alone. For a word of truth raises its speaker, increasing him in honor and station. But to remain silent about truth, to withhold its proclamation, is a vice."
"I did not fall silent by choice, but silence was forced upon me by weakness of means and the loss of hope in any return of kindness."
"Taj al-Zuhur, you are mistaken in the matter. And if your claim is true, then anger has driven you to cry out against a false injustice rather than against the wrong you would repel from yourself and your kind.
What injustice is this that you claim I have committed? Have you not yet perceived, after all this, the very complaint that the flowers and blossoms have shared with you? Do you not have eyes to see what state of grief, sorrow, and misery I am in? Has your heart not stirred at my feelings, which still pour forth with anguish and lament—wounds reopened by your arrival, recalling to me the wounds of insult and the accusation of disbelief and idolatry?"
Taj al-Zuhur said: "Had my senses not been inflamed by what you are in, I would not have been so eager to speak and declare the truth."
"Then why not speak the truth, instead of persisting in what you are upon?"
"No evil deed have my hands wrought, whether near or far. Yet since your arrival you have not ceased declaring me unjust. And I exhaust myself fending off an accusation laid upon me by your tongue—an accusation I see no proof to uphold.
And the charge of disbelief and idolatry hurled at me by man—does this not stir within you any concern? Does it not awaken in you a zeal for truth? And are you not yourself a human, sharing with men in what they do?"
"Yes, I am a human, O Taj al-Zuhur. But I am held accountable only for my own deeds. As for the deeds of others, they are entrusted to God. Yet so your heart may be at peace with my words—will you accept God as Judge between you and me?"
"God—yes, I believe in God alone. What a just Judge! To think you would say such words to me… And you—do you believe in God?"
"God—do I believe in Him? Take your ease, O Taj al-Zuhur! Whom else do you think I would believe in, if not in God alone? I worship none but Him, and I bow to none save Him."
"Strange… Do you mean what you say? How sweet the words I hear from you! I am astonished to learn this of you. Then why does Man wrong me by fastening disbelief and idolatry upon me?"
"What disbelief and idolatry has befallen Taj al-Zuhur at the hands of mankind?"
"Have you not yet heard, even until this moment, the name they cast upon me, the title by which they describe me?"
"No! No one has ever told me that through all the days!"
"They called me 'Sun-Worshipper'—a title that reeks of unbelief and overflows with idolatry."
When the Faithful One heard her words, his soul shrank within him. He covered his face with his hands, recoiling from the epithet whose vileness he found unbearable. He remained thus for a while before raising his face, crying out:
"Taj al-Zuhur! Know that among mankind are believers and disbelievers. The believers—those who call to the worship of God alone—are not the ones who fasten such a loathsome title upon you. No! None utters words so vile or commits deeds so base but the disbelievers and the rebellious. Such people do not harm us by what they do in this world, for them awaits a grievous torment in the Hereafter.
That is why I was astonished when you thought me unjust to you, while I share not in what the disbelievers do. For I—praise be to God—am a believer. I worship God, I associate none with Him. I see in you nothing but goodness entire, and faith that deepens my affection for you and my pride in knowing you. Believers call you, O Taj al-Zuhur, only by the sweetest of names and the fairest of titles."
"And by what name do believers such as you call me, O Faithful One?"
"They call you 'Qanitah.'"
"Qanitah? And what does this epithet mean?"
"It means: she who devotes her prayers in supplication to God alone, throughout her time and her life."
She looked at him and said:
"God! What a beautiful name! What a sweet title!"
Her features brightened, her face shone, and joy overflowed from her, as she repeated: "God… How happy I am this day! Now I witness a new birth! I feel a flood of gladness fill all my life. God has sent me the healing balm. I no longer comprehend the meanings of grief or sorrow. They have departed never to return!"
Her stem bent toward the Faithful One, radiant with brilliance, and she offered him thanks in the most tender of words and the softest of tones.
Then she lifted her face to the heavens, praising God who had granted her a new birth through the visit of the noble guest. She swayed with delight, calling upon the flowers and blossoms to share in her joy, to fill the world with their fragrance borne on the winds, spreading gladness everywhere in celebration of her new life. Soon a wave of happiness and bliss swept through the flowers and blossoms, who opened more fully, their stems swaying with the gentle breeze perfumed by their scent, filling every place with sweetness.
Then Qanitah said: "Come, my dear Maysa, take of the nectar as much as you wish. For we are all rejoicing with your guest, the Faithful One."
After bidding farewell to Qanitah, they departed. The voices of flowers, blossoms, and sweet herbs mingled together, calling out loudly to Maysa, inviting her and her workers to gather the nectar that filled their stores. Maysa was elated with happiness. She commanded her workers to circle the fields and orchards. Off they flew at once, flooding the meadows with their sweet songs. They returned laden with what they had gathered. And in but a short while, the yield they had collected on that day—as though it were the finest of feasts—was enough to meet all the needs of their guest, the Faithful One.
Maysa then said to the Faithful One—while the 'Urqab translated between them:
"Here is the honey you sought. It fulfills your promise and satisfies your agreement. And how happy I would be if you told me for whom you strove to bring this honey!"
"It is for a new friend, the Sea-Lion."
"May our honey be of benefit to him!"
"He asked it to heal his sick."
"Blessed indeed is the task you undertake."
"O Maysa, my friend promised me a noble service in return for my effort in bringing him this honey."
Maysa was eager to continue her conversation with her guest, the Faithful One, and asked:
"And what is this service?"
"I had a sword I cherished. It fell into the lake and sank to its depths. The Sea-Lion promised to retrieve it for me in return for the honey I brought him."
"Do you have a sword other than the one you carry?"
"Yes—it is al-Battar."
"May your Battar be wielded only in the cause of good."
"So long as my hand grips it, it shall be guided toward the straight path and the righteous cause."
No sooner had he finished speaking than one of the workers came to Maysa, greeted her, and said:
"My lady queen, I bring you grave news."
"What is it?"
"Your friend!"
"Who?"
"Sarna."
"What of her?"
"Her enemies have attacked her. Even now they slaughter her people, destroy their homes, and burn their possessions. They are in dreadful anguish and great calamity."
"Is what you say true?"
"I bring you only truth. If you are able to aid her, hasten! Perhaps your help in their present plight may avail them."
"Who has attacked them?"
"King Dabora."
"Woe to Dabora, and what he does to the weak!"
Maysa sought leave and departed, leaving the Faithful One, who continued on his way to the lake. There he found the Sea-Lion awaiting him, greeting him with warmth. In but moments, the Sea-Lion had dived beneath the waters and returned, rising to the surface with al-Battar clenched in his jaws. He advanced toward the Faithful One with joy, handing him the sword with delight, pleased with the Faithful One's gift, gladdened that medicine had arrived for his sick. How noble of heart was the Sea-Lion, relieving the pains of his ailing ones, tending them with profound tenderness and tireless patience! The Faithful One loved him greatly for his fine character and gentle spirit. He bid him farewell, his heart still attached to him, and went on his way until he reached a fork in the road.
There he asked the treacherous vizier which path to take. The vizier counseled him to go north. But at the fork, the Faithful One turned instead to the right. Before setting forth he said: "In the name of God, I place my trust in God." Then he journeyed for days until he was halted by al-Raqraq, the lord of birds, who said to him:
"The Faithful One walks gently, and beneath him is the Tutan!"
"Amazement! How do you know me?"
Al-Raqraq went on: "And your Battar still sheathed, while the weak cry for help."
"Who?"
"Go, and the events of the road shall inform you."
The Faithful One's wonder grew, and he said: "But you—who are you? And how do you know me?" But al-Raqraq had already left him, flying until he vanished from sight.
Here we leave the Faithful One to continue on his path, and turn instead to follow 'Amir and the Queen of the Rudam.
'Amir returned with the warriors who had gone forth to face Kuder near the forest of al-Shafun. With them they drove their captives of the Bushal. But they let Kuder return alone upon his steed, bound upon it with his back turned forward and his face turned back. Thus was Kuder forced to cover a long distance in that degrading state, until he reached his brother, king of the Bushal, and told him what had befallen him and his band—bearing also the stern threat that 'Amir had sent him."