The second lady stepped forward and said:
"O Commander of the Faithful, my story is full of sorrow and betrayal. It is the reason for the scars you see on my body."
She began:
I was once a happy woman, married to a man I loved deeply. He was kind, gentle, and faithful, and I trusted him with all my heart. We lived in peace and never lacked anything. God had blessed us with comfort and love.
One day, however, my husband went on a journey. Before leaving, he warned me:
"Do not open the door of our house to anyone while I am gone, no matter who they claim to be."
I promised him I would not.
Days passed, and I waited patiently for his return. But one afternoon, I heard a knock at the door. A poor old woman stood outside, leaning on a staff. She looked weak and helpless.
She said, "O kind lady, I am hungry, thirsty, and have nowhere to go. Please give me a little bread and a place to rest."
My heart softened. I thought to myself, What harm could an old woman do? So I opened the door and let her inside.
That was my first mistake.
The moment she entered, her form changed. The old woman vanished, and in her place stood a tall and powerful Jinniyah. Her eyes glowed like fire, and her voice shook the room.
"You have broken your husband's command," she said. "Now you will pay for it."
I fell to my knees, begging her to spare me. But she showed no mercy. With a single spell, she transformed me into a dog.
In that cursed shape, I was driven from my own home. I wandered the streets, starving, afraid, and ashamed. People threw stones at me. Children chased me. No one knew that inside that miserable body was a woman who had once lived in comfort and honor.
After a long time, I reached the house of a wise Jinniyah. She saw my suffering and took pity on me. I fell before her and begged for help.
She said, "Tell me your story."
I told her everything. When she heard of my betrayal and my punishment, she said:
"You were wrong to disobey your husband, but your punishment is too cruel."
She waved her hand and restored me to my human form.
I wept with gratitude and kissed her hands.
But she warned me:
"You are free now, but remember—disobedience and foolish trust lead to ruin."
After that, I returned home, but I was never the same. My heart was heavy with shame and regret.
The second lady fell silent, tears in her eyes.
The Caliph listened carefully, deeply moved by her story.
The third lady stepped forward. Her eyes were filled with quiet pain.
"O Commander of the Faithful," she said,"my story is the saddest of all."
I was once a young and happy wife. My husband was brave, kind, and gentle with me. We lived together in peace, and I loved him more than my own life.
One day, he went away on a long journey for trade. Before leaving, he gave me strict orders:
"Never leave the house while I am gone. No matter what happens, stay inside and wait for me."
I promised him I would obey.
For many days I waited patiently. But one afternoon, I heard shouting outside. People were crying for help. I went to the window and saw a crowd. They said a house nearby was on fire and that many people were trapped.
My heart shook. I thought:
"How can I stay inside while people may die?"
So I disobeyed my husband's command and stepped outside to help.
The moment I crossed the threshold, the world around me changed.
A powerful Jinniyah appeared and seized me.
"You have broken your husband's command," she said."Now you shall suffer."
She struck me with her magic, and pain burned through my body. I was beaten and left covered in wounds. When the Jinniyah vanished, I collapsed on the ground, bleeding and helpless.
I barely survived.
When my husband returned and saw me in this condition, he was heartbroken. I told him everything. He was filled with sorrow and rage at the Jinniyah, but there was nothing he could do.
From that day, I carried these scars on my body, reminders of my mistake and my suffering.
The third lady lowered her head.
"Such is my story, O Commander of the Faithful."
The Caliph sat in silence. His heart was heavy from all he had heard.
Three sisters, three terrible fates—betrayal, disobedience, jealousy, and punishment.
That night, in that house, fate had woven together stories more strange than any dream.
The Caliph rose from his seat.
The entire hall fell silent.
He looked at the three sisters — at their tear-stained faces, at the scars of suffering, at the weight of everything they had endured — and then at the three Kalandars, kings who had been shattered by fate.
At last he spoke.
"By God… never in my life have I heard stories heavier than these.Kings brought low. Lovers destroyed. Sisters turned into beasts.All of you have been toys in the hands of destiny."
He turned to the eldest sister, the one who had been betrayed.
"You showed kindness when others would have turned away.You shared your wealth, your home, and your heart.Your sisters repaid you with treachery — yet you still forgave them.That mercy is greater than any treasure."
Then he faced the two guilty sisters.
"You were given safety and love.You answered it with murder and envy.If justice alone ruled this world, you would not be standing here."
Both women collapsed to their knees, crying and begging for forgiveness.
The Caliph raised his hand.
"But this night has been a night of wonders.God Himself has already punished you through fear, shame, and transformation.Let your hearts be broken enough to remember what you did."
Then he turned to the three Kalandars.
"Each of you was born a king.Each of you was crushed by fate.Yet still you walk, breathe, and tell your story.From this day forward, none of you will wander as beggars again."
He ordered Ja'afar:
"Give them clothes, gold, and horses.Let each be given a place in my court.They shall live with honor, not as wanderers."
The Kalandars bowed, overwhelmed.
Then the Caliph spoke again:
"As for these three sisters — their house shall be protected, their wealth returned, and their lives secured. Let no one harm them."
The women wept, not from sorrow, but from relief.
That night, what had begun as a gathering of secrets ended as a gathering of mercy.
And thus, the house that once held pain became a place of peace.