Long ago, in a time forgotten by most, there lived a mighty king who ruled vast lands across India and China. He commanded armies, guards, servants, and countless subjects, and his power was unquestioned. When his life came to an end, he left behind two sons.
The elder was named Shahryar, a man in the full strength of his prime.The younger was called Shah Zaman, still young but brave and skilled.
Both were courageous knights, though the elder was the finer horseman. When their father died, Shahryar took the throne and ruled with justice and wisdom. His people loved him, for he governed fairly and brought peace to his kingdom. He appointed his younger brother Shah Zaman as King of Samarkand, sending him to rule the distant lands there.
For twenty years, the brothers ruled their separate kingdoms in harmony. Law and order prevailed, and their people lived in comfort and prosperity.
But when twenty years had passed, King Shahryar felt a deep longing to see his brother again. He summoned his Wazir and spoke of his desire to visit Shah Zaman. The Wazir, however, advised against such a journey and suggested instead that Shahryar send a letter and lavish gifts, inviting his brother to visit him.
The King agreed.
At once, he ordered magnificent presents to be prepared: fine horses with golden, jewel-studded saddles; white slaves; beautiful handmaids; costly fabrics; and treasures worthy of a great king. He wrote a letter filled with affection and longing, urging his brother to come and see him without delay.
The Wazir was entrusted with the gifts and the letter and commanded to travel swiftly. He made preparations for three days, and at dawn on the fourth, he departed, crossing deserts, plains, and distant lands without rest. Wherever he entered a territory loyal to Shahryar, he was honored with gifts and hospitality before continuing his journey.
When the Wazir approached Samarkand, he sent a messenger ahead to announce his arrival. King Shah Zaman welcomed the news with joy and sent his nobles to escort the Wazir to the city. The Wazir was received with great honor and brought directly to the palace, where he delivered the letter.
Shah Zaman read it carefully and, after understanding its meaning, declared that he would obey his brother's wish. After observing the rites of hospitality, he prepared to depart with many fine gifts of his own and appointed a trusted minister to govern in his absence.
That night, however, Shah Zaman remembered that he had forgotten something important in the palace. He returned quietly and entered his private chambers.
There, he found his wife lying on his bed, locked in the arms of a black cook, filthy with grease and grime.
The sight shattered him.
Without hesitation, he drew his sword and struck them both dead, leaving their bodies behind. He returned to his camp without telling anyone what he had seen and ordered the journey to begin at once.
As he traveled, his heart was consumed by grief and rage. His thoughts returned again and again to his wife's betrayal. His strength faded, his face grew pale, and his body weakened until he seemed close to death. His attendants shortened the journey and did all they could to ease his suffering.
At last, Shah Zaman arrived near his brother's capital. Shahryar came out with his nobles to welcome him, rejoicing greatly at their reunion. Yet he immediately noticed the change in his brother's appearance. Shah Zaman looked ill and worn.
When asked about his condition, Shah Zaman blamed the hardships of travel and kept silent about the truth.
Shahryar accepted his answer and lodged him in a palace overlooking a beautiful garden. But as days passed, Shah Zaman did not recover. Doctors were summoned and treated him for a full month, yet their medicines failed. His wound was not of the body, but of the soul.
One day, King Shahryar decided to go out hunting, hoping that fresh air and diversion might ease his brother's sorrow.
"Come with me," he said. "Perhaps it will lighten your heart."
But Shah Zaman refused. He begged his brother to let him remain behind, saying that his illness had drained all desire for pleasure or sport. Shahryar agreed and departed with his retinue at dawn.
Left alone, Shah Zaman wandered through the palace until he reached a lattice window that overlooked the royal pleasure garden. There he sat, lost in thought, his heart heavy with memories of betrayal.
As he gazed downward, a hidden door in the palace wall slowly opened.
From it emerged twenty slave girls, surrounding the Queen—Shahryar's wife—whose beauty was unmatched. She moved with graceful steps, like a gazelle crossing open ground. The women passed beneath the window and entered the garden, stopping beside a large fountain set in the center.
Then something shocking occurred.
The women removed their garments. Ten of them were women, concubines of the King. The other ten were white slaves disguised as women. They paired off without shame and indulged themselves freely.
The Queen stood alone.
Then she called out loudly, "Come to me, my lord Saeed!"
At once, a huge black slave leapt down from a tree nearby. His appearance was hideous and repulsive. Without hesitation, he embraced the Queen, and she returned his affection eagerly. They lay together as openly as the others.
Shah Zaman watched in disbelief, frozen with horror.
For hours, the garden was filled with their shameless acts. When the day began to fade, the slaves rose, washed themselves in the fountain, dressed once more, and returned through the hidden door. The black slave climbed back into the tree, and the garden fell silent.
Shah Zaman felt something shift within him.
Compared to this, his own tragedy seemed lighter. His brother was a greater king than he, yet this treachery took place openly within his palace. From that moment, his despair lifted. He ate heartily that evening for the first time in many days and slept peacefully through the night.
When King Shahryar returned from the hunt days later, he noticed the change immediately. Shah Zaman looked healthy again, his appetite restored, his face full of color.
Shahryar was astonished and pressed his brother to explain both his illness and his sudden recovery.
At last, Shah Zaman confessed the truth of his wife's betrayal and admitted that seeing his brother's misfortune had restored his own spirit. Yet Shahryar refused to believe such a thing could be true—until he saw it with his own eyes.
That very night, the brothers secretly returned to the palace and hid themselves at the lattice window.
And there, once again, they witnessed the Queen and her companions repeat the same acts without shame.
Shahryar's heart burned with fury.
He declared that life itself was corrupt and swore that kingship meant nothing if such treachery existed. Together, the brothers resolved to abandon their kingdoms and wander the world until they found someone who had suffered a greater betrayal than they had.
They left the palace in secret and traveled until they reached a meadow by the sea, where they rested beneath a tall tree beside a spring of fresh water.
Then, suddenly, the sea roared.
From its depths rose a towering black figure, growing larger with every step toward the shore.
Terrified, the brothers climbed into the tree to watch.
It was a monstrous Jinni, enormous in size, carrying upon his head a great crystal chest…
The brothers clung to the branches of the tree, barely daring to breathe.
The Jinni reached the meadow and sat down beneath the tree where they hid. He placed the crystal chest on the ground, opened it, and drew forth a smaller casket secured with seven strong steel locks. From his side he took seven keys and unlocked them one by one.
When the lid was lifted, a young woman stepped out.
She was radiant—bright as the full moon, slender, graceful, and breathtaking to behold. The Jinni seated her beside him beneath the tree and gazed at her lovingly.
"O dearest of my heart," he said, "I stole you away on your wedding night so that none might touch you but me. Now I will sleep awhile."
He laid his head upon her lap and fell into a thunderous sleep, his legs stretching all the way back into the sea.
When the woman lifted her eyes, she saw the two kings watching from the treetop.
Calmly, she moved the Jinni's head from her lap and placed it upon the ground. Then she beckoned silently to the brothers, signaling for them to come down.
They trembled in terror and begged her to let them remain where they were. But she threatened to wake the Jinni if they refused.
Left with no choice, the brothers descended.
She commanded them to do as she wished, and though they pleaded, fear overcame them. When it was done, she laughed and praised them. From her pocket she drew out a string of rings—five hundred and seventy of them.
"These," she said, "belong to men who have all been with me, despite this foolish Jinni's efforts to guard me."
She demanded the brothers' rings as well, adding them to the collection.
Then she revealed how the Jinni had imprisoned her beneath the sea, believing that no one could ever reach her. Yet she had proven that destiny could not be chained.
Afterward, she returned to the sleeping Jinni and placed his head once more upon her lap, dismissing the brothers.
Shaken and amazed, the kings fled from that place, overwhelmed by what they had witnessed. Compared to this, their own sufferings felt small.
They returned to their camp, and King Shahryar rode back to his city. There, his fury knew no bounds.
He ordered his wife to be executed and commanded the slaughter of all the concubines and slaves who had betrayed him. From that day on, he swore an oath: each night he would marry a virgin, and each morning she would be put to death, believing no woman could be faithful.
Thus began the reign of terror that plunged the kingdom into grief.
Mothers wept. Fathers fled with their daughters. Before long, there were no maidens left in the city.
At last, the King commanded his Wazir to bring him another bride. But the Wazir could find none and returned home in despair.
He had two daughters: Scheherazade and Dunyazade.
Scheherazade was wise, learned, and well read. She knew the histories of kings, the tales of ancient peoples, and the stories of those who came before.
Seeing her father's distress, she asked him the cause. When he told her everything, she made a bold request.
She wished to be given to the King.
Her father was furious and begged her to abandon the idea, but she remained firm. She believed she could save the women of the kingdom, even if it cost her life.
And so, against all reason and fear, Scheherazade prepared to face the King.