(Persian miniature, c. 1524)

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In Baghdad, in the days of Scheherazade,

When many a lamp of brass and many a ring

Some genie, true or treacherous, did hide,

There lived Mahmoud the Puissant, marv’lous king:

The sultan with whom every sovereign vied

This great globe o’er, in justness before God,

In wealth, renown, and arms t’inspire awe.

 

Lo! Though a traveler might travel on

The swiftest camel, one that never tires,

From new moon ’til its waning, yet he’d not

Come close to crossing sultan’s realm entire.

From turquoise gulfs, to peaks, to sand dunes hot

Mahmoud held sway; and in his land there dawned

A sun of knowledge – sage, vizier, imam

 

Saw by its beams: Of creatures, plants, and stars,

Of numbers’ secrets, God’s word, maps and charts,

Geometry and building, men waxed great

In wisdom; and no less in healing arts

Excelled this kingdom: Plagues, oh fast abate

Before the herbal virtues! Flues, catarrhs

Subside! And every gruesome wound and scar

 

And ailment of heart – be mastered, you,

By doctors’ practice: potions, powders, balms!

So dreamed it was that each disease might choke

In physic’s strangling grip – yet, ’neath the palms

O’er polo field, a sickness strange soon broke:

Yea, sultan’s sons, all six of them, caught flues

Which kept them ever playing! Oh grim ague

 

What seized their minds, to keep them riding horse

And striking ball, through night and into morn,

Beyond exhaustion! Demon of disease,

How wicked art thou! – leaving muscles torn

While tendons snapped, and poor lungs huffed and wheezed.

So manic rode those brothers, none could force

Their crazèd selves to halt – and none the source

 

Of this, the polo-sickness, could discern!

Yet as the stricken youths approached their deaths,

A sage, unknown to Baghdad, did appear

In Mahmoud’s court. “Oh give me chance to test

A clever cure!” spake he to king. “Don’t fear

But that thy frenzied sons prompt shall return

To loving palace – hale, whole, and cured.”

 

“Thou hast my leave – work quickly!” cried the king.

“And if thou sav’st my sons, much wealth is yours –

And honor, love, and trust, ’til flies my soul

From body.” So the sage went home, and poured

Crushed herbs and powders potent in a bowl,

Then stirred this magic mixture, and did bring

His cure to brothers six amidst their swings

 

Of mallets at the ball, up-clouding dust

While prickèd they their horses – men and steeds

All aching, drooling, prisoned in their game.

Now sage, that clever druggist, strewed like seeds,

Where horses most did run, his mixture’s grains,

To let that powder rise in plumes and puffs

As hooves stamped earth, and sprays of dirt dashed up.

 

To brothers’ sweaty skin now closely clung

That floating medicine – and by degrees

Through skin it crept… and veins, and brain, and mind.

Those youths went limp, and slowly horses eased

Down to a trot – then to the earth declined

Those animals, exhausted. Parchèd tongues

Lolled from the brothers’ mouths, their panting lungs

 

Gulped air; and all twelve creatures in a heap

Recovered on the field. The sage brought wine,

And fanned the near-dead players. Now Mahmoud

Unto his children, overjoyed, did ride

With all his court. “Oh life and cheer renewed!”

Cried he. “And for this miracle I weep

These tears – which shall grow gardens, cool and sweet,

 

“In memory of thee, sage, and thy work:

For in this place, a park shall bear thy name…

What is thy name, good friend?” “It is Duban,”

Quoth kindly soul. “But King, ’tis not for fame

I did this thing – for aught wight on God’s lands

I’d surely save from death, or ills, or hurt,

As long as fate lets me my strength exert.”

 

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The constant character of laboring ant –

Or peacock vain – or friendly dog – shy mole

Who digs deep nooks, and sleeps in dark dens, squeezed –

Or gumptious rooster – shrewd fox – gentle foal:

Would that we knew man’s nature plain as these!

For certainly e’er shift our shalls and shan’ts;

And from his gracious pledge so oft recants

 

The man who once was succored by a friend,

But now forgets that help… Duban did soar

In Mahmoud’s favor, perched high at the peak

Of courtly crowd, though others clawed and tore

To drag him down, and cast him from his seat –

But Mahmoud’s gratitude e’er did commend

The sage to royal favor: king did lend

 

That wise man houses, horses, camels, gold,

Sapphire and emeralds, orchards fat with fruits;

While in the new-grown park, gazebos rose,

Where oft were students taught by sage astute

’Bout medicine, and languages, and those

Dreams of philosophy, conceived of old,

Which counsel humbleness ’fore God, and told

 

Of patience which Time hath, well past all men…

Yet skulking Envy bided too his hours,

For of the sultan’s wazirs, one did lust

Far more than all the rest for that fair bower

Of gardens, graith, and fame in which’d been thrust

The favored man… Yea, wretched was the end

This counselor malicious did intend

 

For honest Duban! In the sultan’s ear

Each night the wazir whispered words of woe

Which warned of gory schemes and murd’rous work

The sage would wreak right soon! O’er face was blown

A magic dust which sultan’s dreams did irk

To panic for his life, and feel such fear

As strikes the man who’s seen his funeral bier

 

Clairvoyantly – and knows there’s scant delay!

For ten nights plied the evil soul his wiles

On sovereign’s brain; and deep in gloom was thrown

Mahmoud the Puissant – gulled, misled, beguiled

By sights he thought by Allah had been shown

To warn unwary he! At last gained sway

Those cruel illusions; and the king conveyed

 

This order: “Bring Duban before my throne!”

So to the incense-wreathed, dark room of state

Came unsuspecting man, his heart yet meek

With innocent gratitude – but when his fate

Was told him, all the color left his cheek,

And stammered he: “What ill will have I shown

Your gracious lordship?” “Why, none – by thine own

 

“Deeds hast thou perfect been,” admitted lord.

“But from all-knowing mind of Allah’s sprung

This scene into my sleep: that thou shouldst slip

Some pinch of pois’nous substance in my blood

By secret means – and then my kingdom grip

In thine aspiring clutches! Ten dreams warn

Not falsely, in a row, of what thou’st sworn

 

Within thy heart to act! Now wretch, prepare

To feel the sword-stroke at thy neck.” But sage

Threw out his hands and spake: “Oh King, if you

Do take my life, then Allah in his rage

Shall take thine also – but if not, ’tis true

That God the Merciful thy life shall spare

Until great age.” But only higher flared

 

The sultan’s anger: “Speak no more to me –

I’ll trust God o’er thy word!” And at king’s wave,

A turbaned guard with scimitar drew near

Poor trembling Duban. “Oh King – if my grave

Thou deem’st I’ll enter soon, at least give ear

To last request I make,” said he. “Reprieve

Of but one night I ask – then may you cleave

 

“At morn my head from body… At my home

I must arrange my worldly affairs

Before on Allah’s gardens I set eyes.”

And king considered – spake: “Thou mayst thy cares

In this, thy life below, go finalize.

My guards, escort him hence – and all night roam

The roads around his house, so that ye know

 

“He’s not escaped.” Then graciously did bow

Sage to the sultan. Purple night fell fast;

And once the starry sparkling ribbon had

Concealed again, once more did Duban pass

Into the palace. Nowise looked he sad, 

But cheery – and, tucked under his arm now

Was seen a hefty tome. “What bringest thou 

 

“Beneath thy arm,” asked sultan, “on the day

Thy next life meetest?” “King, it is a gift

For thee,” spake Duban. “After I am dead,

Open the book, and leaf through pages stiff

Until thou seest some writing – and once read

Out loud, those words shall ope mine eyes, and may

Give speech unto my tongue, though I’ll be slain,

 

“My head lopped from my neck… And so, from hence,

Whatever question thou shalt posit me

Mine head shall answer, though my life be gone.

So might my wisdom thrive, though soul be free

From mortal strife and harm.” Then with a long

Deep sigh, the sage gave book to sultan. “Rest

I shall now gain forever.” At his breast

 

Duban clasped tight his hands. His neck he stretched –

And off was struck his noggin by the blade!

The blood once mopped, the sultan gave command:

“On pillow place the head – close by me lay

That trove of knowledge.” Mahmoud took in hand

The magic book – a finger did he wet

Each time a page he turned. At last, king met

 

With writing ’midst the pages white – and read:

“I contact, from the land of death, the mind

Of Duban!” And then straight the sage’s eyes

Blinked open. “Tell me, sage,” the king inquired,

“Dost grasp thou now all wisdom well disguised

From living souls?” “I do,” dead Duban said,

“And any question thou mightst ask this head

 

“With perfect truth shall answered be.” So king

Began to speak, but stopped – for short of breath

He felt all of a sudden, and his skin

Was now quite clammy. “Oh soul – from thy death,”

Resumed he, “tell me: why do I begin

To feel light-headed, fainting – and why sting

My mouth and lips?” “It is the early twinge

 

“Of creeping death!” quoth head. “For every page

Of tome steeped I in horrid venom, which

Did reach thy tongue, when finger thou didst wet!”

And in a trice, the stricken king did twitch,

And heave, and gasp – and die! “Now hast thou met

With justice from the Judge on High – my rage

For vengeance gratifying!” shrieked the sage.

 

And swift in magic fire, sage’s head

And body vanished, sparkling, sans a trace!

So all the court, aghast, looked on their lord

Dropp’d from his throne – then lowerèd his face

With grief each noble; and down to the floor

Collapsed the wailing widows – for the dead,

Grim world had ta’en the soul of him they’d wed.

 

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Oh comets that do guard the spinning stars

And chase each cursèd demon from the doors

Of Allah’s blissful rooms – and angels, you

Who keep celestial ladders ’gainst the scores

Of sinners who the high realms wish to view:

Let heaven be Duban’s – and king’s – and ours!

And oh! – keep trapped cruel wazir by hell’s bars!

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