And one of the giants came running swiftly. He examined the way Al-Ameen had been bound and, finding it correct, climbed to a high place and cried out with a mighty voice:
"The prey has been tied in the proper manner!"
He then ordered that the two riders be replaced with others. Again the three signals were given—but the radiant steeds would not stir.
All the giants took turns urging them, yet the horses remained unmoving, unshaken by whip or spur.
At last, when all efforts had failed, the multitude began murmuring among themselves. This was a marvel they had never seen before, a mystery none could fathom—for never had the shining steeds refused to obey. Many whispered to one another, wondering what secret lay hidden in this strange affair.
Word of it reached the king of that people, known as the Dousheem. Astonished, he summoned an old woman and said to her:
"Go to the strange boy bound between the horses, and tell me the truth of this matter."
The crone went to the great square, and at once the crowd made way for her, for she was held in reverence and awe.
She came to Al-Ameen and saw that he had fainted from pain. She stretched out her hands, opened his eyes with her thumbs, and gazed into them for a long while. Then she returned to the king, entered his court, and said:
"O king, the radiant steeds will never slay a boy whose heart is filled with light."
Immediately the king commanded that the boy be loosed. They unbound him, brought him before the throne, and set him down at the king's feet. Still half-conscious, he lay before the Dousheem king, surrounded by his vast retinue of guards, ministers, courtiers, and mighty men. The old woman sat humbly upon the ground at the king's side.
When Al-Ameen awoke, he found himself in their presence. He raised his head and said:
"Peace be upon you, O king."
The monarch marveled at this strange salutation, unlike any he had ever heard, and turned to the crone:
"Is it he who grants me peace and safety in my own realm? Or are we the ones who bestow peace upon him?"
The woman answered:
"O king, this is the greeting of the People of Light. It is their prayer, exchanged by young and old alike, when they meet and when they part. The boy has offered you the finest gift of his heart, clothed in the sweetest word they know."
The king rejoiced at her explanation.
"If the boy has given me so great a gift," said he, "I shall reward him with treasures greater still. But how shall I return his greeting?"
The crone replied: "The answer of the People of Light, O king, is: Peace be upon the one who offers it."
The monarch turned to Al-Ameen and said:
"Peace be upon you."
Al-Ameen smiled a gentle smile, for his heart was comforted.
Yet the king was not content. He bade his servants prepare food and drink. Within an hour, a splendid feast was set before them, and he invited all present to share with the boy-guest.
Then the old woman bent close and whispered in the king's ear. He pondered her words, studied the boy intently, and at last rose from his seat. He commanded that no man depart. After a while he returned, seated himself again upon the throne, and spoke:
"The crone has counseled me to give my daughter, the young Princess Tati, in marriage to our guest, that she may bear sons whose hearts are filled with light. I have consented."
He then ordered one of his ministers to take the boy and prepare him for this lofty destiny, for he would be wed to the princess after he had proved himself.
Al-Ameen was mounted upon a horse behind the minister, and together they rode a long journey until they reached the Arena of Lions. There the minister said:
"You must take this dagger, descend into the pit, slay one of the lions, and bring me its heart. The heart of a lion will be your aid in overcoming many perils."
He placed the blade in the boy's hand and led him to the edge of the pit. Within were ten great lions, pacing restlessly, their yellow eyes gleaming with hunger. Their roars rolled like thunder, shaking the very earth, and their growls struck terror into every soul that heard them.
Al-Ameen crept toward the brink, step by trembling step, the dagger clenched in his hand. He gazed down at the ravenous beasts, their fangs glistening, their massive bodies prowling to and fro. He had no skill with weapons, no strength against such creatures. He knew with dreadful certainty that if he entered the pit, he would be torn to pieces.
Darkness clouded his sight. The world seemed black before him. The dagger weighed heavy in his hand, useless against the monstrous lions. A moment passed, thick with despair, and he swayed, nearly tumbling into the pit.
The minister, watching from behind, beheld this fearful scene…
The minister was horrified by what he saw and recoiled in terror, unable to bear the sight of Amin among the lions. Stricken with dread, he mounted his steed and rode back to inform the king of this dreadful end. His heart was heavy with sorrow, his face shadowed with grief.
When he entered upon the king, he was alone, with no trace of the boy. He drew near, but stood silent, his head bowed, his eyes brimming with tears.
The king, seeing him thus, was seized with alarm and asked anxiously:"What has happened? Where is the boy?"—meaning Amin.
But the minister stood speechless, his tears streaming down his cheeks. The king rushed toward him, seized him with both hands, and shook him violently, crying:"Answer me! Where is the boy? Where is the boy?"
The king's court was stunned at his outburst of wrath. Princess Tati herself came forth; when she saw the minister return alone, his face heavy with sorrow, she understood at once that something terrible had befallen her young betrothed. She burst into bitter tears, until her mother drew her aside, striving to soothe her anguish.
At last the king commanded the minister to sit before him and recount the matter. So the minister spoke:
"As we journeyed that I might teach the boy the arts of horsemanship and the ways of courage and war, we passed by the great lions' arena. The boy gazed upon it with lofty pride and said to me: In my land, we face lions such as these and slay them with ease. Do your people do the same? When I told him we could not, he demanded a dagger, saying: Watch me. I shall descend into their midst, slay one, and bring its heart as a gift to the king, that he may know we are a people of valor.
Believing in the marvel I had already witnessed—the two steeds that refused to tear him apart—I gave him the dagger and stood watching. He descended into the pit of lions… but—"
Here the minister broke into sobs, wailing aloud, feigning grief and lamentation.
The king bowed his head, and forthwith ordered mourning to be proclaimed throughout the land. The Dushim came from every corner to share in their sovereign's sorrow over the loss of the wondrous boy, the betrothed of Princess Tati.
The little princess fell gravely ill from grief; no physician could cure her or restore the sweet smile to her lips, nor the light of joy to her face.
When the old woman learned of what had happened, and of the princess's illness, she begged the king's leave to visit her. He consented, and she drew near the child, whispering long in her ear. Then the princess commanded all who were present to withdraw, and they left her alone with the aged woman.
"Repeat your words," the princess said. "I wish to hear them again, now that we are alone. Speak."
And the old woman began…
Here we leave the old woman to her secret counsel with Princess Tati, and follow Hisham on his journey.
He stepped into the second tunnel, and the door closed behind him. Scarcely had it shut when his foot slipped, and he fell upon a sloping, slimy ground, sliding with great speed as though down a slope of ice.
Strangely, he felt as if the very air were pulling him downward with irresistible force. He stretched out his hands in every direction, seeking to grasp something to halt his fall, but found nothing. He cried aloud, and his voice thundered in dreadful echoes along the tunnel. The descent grew steeper, his speed ever greater, until at last he felt himself falling into empty air, certain he was doomed.
He struck the water with a crash. Hisham did not know how to swim; darkness enfolded the place, and he flailed wildly, sinking and rising with futile movements. Exhaustion soon overcame him, and he sank deeper, his chest filling with water, swallowing it against his will.
Down he sank to the rocky, jagged floor, entangled in thick water plants. Once more he was sure of death.
In that instant his memory surged—his whole life, from his earliest days until this moment, flashing before him like a swift pageant of deeds before the end.
Resigned to his fate, he let himself drift downward. But when his body struck the rock, a mighty roar resounded, the waters groaned with thunder, and in a moment the flood drained away into the bowels of the earth.
Where the waters had been, a strange forest was revealed. Stems, leaves, and branches gleamed with radiant light, so that it seemed a vast garden of luminous trees and blossoms blazing with glory.
Astonished, Hisham gazed in wonder. He spat out the water from his lungs, and stood dumbfounded before the sight. The forest was dense and marvelous.
He climbed a nearby rise, and the vision grew yet more enchanting. Seeking a way out, he looked right and left, but found only the continuation of the vast tunnel that housed this glowing forest. So he pressed onward, skirting the trees to avoid their tangled boughs.
He noticed that some bore round fruits, gourd-like in shape—light of weight, hard of shell, unfit for eating. Passing on, he came beside a pool, which widened little by little until it became a river flowing deeper into the cavern.
Hisham stood perplexed, not knowing what to do. Then an idea came to him: to fashion a raft of branches and fruits, and let the current bear him onward.
Great was his fortune; with glowing branches, the hollow gourds, and fibrous vines he bound together a shining raft, and fashioned an oar from a sturdy bough.
He set it upon the river and climbed aboard, rejoicing in his craft of light—like a vessel of dreams bearing him upon the stream of eternity. Yet his heart trembled with fear of the unknown.
Down the current he drifted… until he spied a heap of large eggs upon a narrow bank. He landed, cracked one open, and drank it greedily, for hunger gnawed at him. The taste was not pleasant, but dire need made it sweet. He ate until he was full, and carried the rest aboard his raft.
The current grew swifter. Suddenly he heard a roar, and saw behind him a beast like a crocodile, bellowing like a wounded elephant. At its cry, many more of its kind appeared, swimming toward him with terrible speed. The current bore him faster still.
Hisham's heart quailed—before him a great waterfall thundered, behind him the beasts drew near. His raft was whirled toward the brink. One beast lunged, seizing the raft's edge in its jaws. Others followed, snatching the eggs.
Then Hisham understood: they pursued him not for himself, but for the eggs he had taken. When their treasure was recovered, they released the raft.
But ere it could plunge over the falls, one enraged beast struck Hisham with its tail and spat a strange fluid upon him. He fell into the river—and at once felt himself transformed. His vision sharpened, his body swelled; his mouth gaped wide with rows of fangs, a great tail lashed behind him, and he had short, powerful limbs. He had become one of them.
He swam swiftly, escaping the cataract, but the beasts surrounded him and bore him back to where he had feasted on their eggs. There they formed a circle about him, like a court convened, to judge him for the crime of devouring four of their brood…
The chief of the creatures proclaimed that Hisham would be transformed into one of their kind, to serve in the river for four years in payment for the four eggs he had consumed. After that time, the potion's effect would fade of its own accord, and he would return once more to his human form.
Resigned, he turned toward the waters, plunged beneath, and began his service as a slave of the river.
His duty was to cleanse the riverbed of stones and pebbles, to fill the hollows with soft sand brought from distant places, and to fashion from that sand cushions upon which the beasts might rest in slumber.
Through this laborious task he gained vast knowledge of the river's many inlets, most of them like branching tunnels deep underground. He came to know the fishes and their habits, for they were his food; he learned the plants and weeds of the riverbed, the creatures that dwelt within, even the water-borne insects.
He formed a close bond with the frogs, for he never harmed them. It became well known among them that the Servant of the River was a friend to frogs. He carried them upon his back across long stretches of water, which delighted them and brought him some measure of comfort. Each day they came to him, bringing tidings of the river—what befell along its length and breadth, upon its banks and among its tributaries. Thus his knowledge grew, and he commanded them also to seek out the paths that might connect this hidden stream with the world of men. The frogs, eager to serve their faithful ally, carried him such news as they could.
One day a small frog brought him strange tidings. The little creature leapt upon Hisham's head, guiding him as he swam at full speed. Together they coursed through channels and rivulets, ascending toward the river's sources. They entered a narrow tunnel, and at last emerged into a vast cavern through which a mighty river flowed.
The frog pointed to the opposite shore, and when Hisham turned his gaze, he beheld a marvel beyond belief…
Here we leave Hisham, the Servant of the River, with the little frog, and return to follow Amir upon his path.
The tunnel closed upon him, and he turned toward the sealed door, pounding upon it and crying:"Great Fox! Do not leave me here—let me go with my companions! Do not abandon me alone!"
But no answer came. He faced the darkness, where a faint light glimmered in the distance. Groping his way, he stepped into a mire of mud. Each step was a struggle, and soon he fell; every time he tried to rise, he sank again. At last he crawled upon hands and knees, but the swamp held him fast.
As he strove in vain to advance, a troop of young crabs appeared—though "young," they were of great size. They rushed at him; one seized his clothes and dragged him along, another grasped his leg and pulled him in a different direction. Soon Amir found himself in their midst, tossed and tugged about like a plaything in the mire. He could not resist them, nor free himself. Suddenly, for no cause he knew, the crabs abandoned him and fled.
By good fortune, their sport had drawn him close to the edge of the bog. With weary effort he crawled at last to solid ground, sat down, and rested, his face and garments smeared with mud. Then he pressed on cautiously toward the faint light.
There he saw a cavern, and from it came the glow. Drawing near, he beheld an old man and woman seated by a low fire, over which hung a small pot. They greeted him without astonishment, as though they had long expected him.
Amir entered the cave and sat beside them. The old man rose, fetched a pail of water, and handed it to Amir that he might wash. The woman regarded him with pity.
He withdrew behind a rock to cleanse himself, washing the mire from his clothes and body. Then the old man offered him a garment of cloth to wrap about his waist. Amir thanked him, donned it, and left his soiled garments to dry.
Silent, he sat again by the fire. The old man gave him a bowl of food from the pot, and Amir ate ravenously, for hunger consumed him, though he knew not what it was he ate. Modesty restrained him from asking.
When he had finished, the old man said kindly:"Rest now, my son, upon this bed."
Amir lay down, and sleep overcame him, for his weariness was great.
When he awoke the next day, he found the old man and his wife as they had been, seated by the fire, the pot upon it, unchanged. Again they gave him food, and again he ate in silence, while they spoke no word. Days passed thus, each like the last.
At length the old man said:"My son, you may go forth and wander the land around us as you will. Return if you are in need."
So Amir went out, clad only in the cloth about his waist, his chest bare. He roamed the land in silence, seeking some way of escape. Each time he returned, he found all unchanged: the old couple, the fire, the pot.
At first he noticed nothing amiss, but after days had passed, he began to feel a strangeness. Then the old man spoke once more:"My son, I counsel you to leave us swiftly. As you see, we cannot depart this cave, for we are captives by command of the Monkey King, ruler of this realm. Since we entered, we have been unable to go forth. We are not like you. I fear that if the Monkey King learns of your presence, he will anoint you with his grease and imprison you as he has done to us.
So hasten, my son, and flee this land. Go quickly, and may peace be upon you."
Amir thanked him, prayed for his well-being, and departed in haste. In his wanderings, he had marked a path that seemed likely to be an exit. Now he ran along it swiftly, until he came forth at last from that strange land.
And as Amer ran, the Monkey King sat by the roadside, watching him draw near. Amer, unaware, pressed forward, while the Monkey King crouched, ready to seize him.
Suddenly, a great bird appeared above, swooping down upon Amer with terrifying speed. He scarcely had time to breathe before he found himself caught between two dangers—the Monkey King lunging from the ground, and the monstrous bird descending from the sky.
In an instant, the bird's talons closed around him like iron. With one fierce stroke of its wings, it carried him aloft, leaving the Monkey King raging helplessly behind. Furious, the king gave chase, hoping the prey might slip from the bird's grip. But the bird's claws were too strong, and it flew onward, determined to feast upon its prize.
High upon a mountain peak lay its nest, and there the creature set Amer down between its claws, preparing to strike with its hooked beak. Desperation surged through Amer; with all his might, he thrust a finger into the creature's eye, bursting it. The bird shrieked in agony, its cry echoing across the cliffs, and released Amer, fleeing into the sky with a storm of beating wings.
Amer tumbled free, scrambling down the mountain's side, seeking the shelter of the rocks lest the bird return. But it did not. He ran on, moving swiftly among the crags, until at last he heard a mighty roar—the sound of rushing water.
Before him lay a vast river, carving its way between the stones. He followed its course, hoping it might guide him to an escape. For days he walked its banks, resting at intervals, eating what wild plants he found.
In time he reached a place where the river overflowed its banks, teeming with fish. It seemed a safe refuge. Here, tall, spreading trees grew in abundance. Amer chose a cluster of them, and among their crowns he built himself a small dwelling, high above the ground.
Here he found a measure of peace. There was water in plenty, fish for food, and a simple shelter where he might rest. For many days he lived thus.
One day, while fishing by the river, Amer's eyes widened in terror: a strange beast swam toward him, its shape like that of a crocodile. But this creature was none other than his friend Hisham, brought here by the little frog.
Hisham rejoiced to see Amer again, but Amer recoiled in fear, fleeing from him. Each time Hisham tried to call, to make himself known, only rows of terrible teeth appeared, and Amer drew back all the more.
He climbed to the top of a great rock, staring down at the crocodile. Hisham swam close, hoping to reveal the truth, but Amer, seized with terror, hurled stones at his head. Blow after blow struck him, until Hisham, in despair, turned away, tears mingling with the water as he sank below the surface. A final heavy stone struck his head before he vanished, and in his sorrow he wished only for death.
Deep at the river's bottom he fell into a heavy sleep. When he awoke, his grief was lighter, though the ache remained. He rose again to the surface and from afar gazed at Amer, whom he loved dearly, yet could not approach.
Then came to him an idea. If he could not speak his heart, he would show it through deeds. Every night, when Amer climbed into his tree-house to sleep, Hisham would emerge from the water, carrying a gourd filled with the finest fish, and lay it quietly beneath the tree. Then he would slip away, unseen.
Each morning Amer awoke to find the offering, and though he marveled at the gift, he could not discover its giver. At last, he resolved to watch. One night he hid behind a great tree, and with his own eyes saw the crocodile emerge, carrying the fish with gentle care.
The sight filled him with wonder. The next night he waited again, crouched by the spot. When Hisham came and laid down his gift, he lifted his gaze to Amer with silent pleading, his eyes yearning to be understood.
Slowly, Amer stretched out his hand, placed it upon the beast's head, and stroked it. Hisham raised his head higher, drinking in the touch like sunlight after storm. For Amer, too, the gesture broke the loneliness of his long solitude—he had found a friend.
Joy surged in Hisham's heart. He leapt into the river, swimming in wide arcs, showing off his strength and graceful leaps to delight Amer. Then he returned, pressing close once more, eager for the tender hand upon his brow.
Thus grew a bond of deep friendship between them. Each day Amer rode upon Hisham's back, exploring the river's secret paths. At night Hisham kept guard while Amer slept. And so their companionship endured for many months, filled with strange journeys and wondrous discoveries, bound by loyalty and trust.
And now let us leave Amer, who was spending his happiest days with his dearest friend Hisham, and turn our gaze once more to Al-Ameen.
When last we saw him, he had opened his eyes to find himself cast into the lions' pit. Behind him, at a safe distance, stood the vizier, unwilling to draw near until he had witnessed the outcome of his own treachery.
As Al-Ameen fell, the edge of his cloak caught on a jagged branch jutting from the stump of a shrub beneath him, leaving him suspended in mid-air. The dagger slipped from his grasp and plunged straight into the gaping mouth of the largest lion, lodging deep within its throat.
The beast roared in fury, thrashing its head violently to expel the strange object, but the blade sank deeper, severing its veins. The air shook with its terrible cries as it leapt wildly about, blood pouring from its jaws. The other lions, terrified by the fate of their mighty leader, fled the pit, leaving the great lion alone in its agony.
At last, its strength ebbed away; it collapsed upon the ground and lay still, lifeless. All this while, Al-Ameen swung precariously, his cloak tearing thread by thread, until it gave way and he fell. Fortune spared him, for the earth beneath was soft. He rose quietly, wary of the lions' return, but they had vanished.
He approached the slain beast, confirmed its death, and wedged a branch in its mouth to keep it open. Reaching cautiously into the throat, he drew out the dagger with great effort. For a long moment he stood in awe of what had transpired, then turned toward the pit's wall, seeking escape.
But a thought struck him. He hastened back to the lion, and with grim determination cut open its chest. After much toil, he drew forth its heart, joy swelling within him. For the vizier himself had once told him that the heart of a lion would be the key to overcoming many future trials—and now it was his.
Exhilarated, his strength renewed, he scaled the rough walls of the pit, using every foothold and jagged stone, until he reached the top. But the vizier was nowhere to be found. Al-Ameen called out, searching in vain, then resolved to return to the court of King al-Dousheem after some days.
And so it was: while the king sat in his hall, his daughter Princess Tati at his side, surrounded by courtiers and guests—among them the vizier—suddenly Al-Ameen entered.
The king leapt to his feet, as did all present, scarcely believing his eyes. Al-Ameen advanced until he stood before the throne and spoke:
"Peace be upon you."
The king returned his greeting warmly, still astonished:"And upon you peace. Welcome, welcome indeed—you are an honored guest."
Then Al-Ameen presented the king with the lion's heart.
"What is this?" asked the king.
"The heart of the great lion," Al-Ameen replied.
The king examined it, and at once he knew it for what it was, for he was well-versed in the marks of lions' hearts. He cried aloud:
"Al-Ameen has brought us the lion's heart!"
The vizier rushed forward, peering closely, and could not deny what his eyes beheld.
The hall erupted in commotion, while Princess Tati gazed upon Al-Ameen with a deep yearning, her admiration for his courage growing boundless.
And the vizier, masking his envy, clasped Al-Ameen's hands before the king, feigning joy and delight.