Amr resolved to leave the place where he had long resided, having spent that time studying the paths and passages that might lead him to an exit. Whenever he needed to travel along the river or cross it, he relied on Hisham the crocodile, who had rendered him invaluable services. When Amr began preparing for his departure, Hisham sensed his intent, yet he could neither accompany him, nor delay him, nor reveal his true nature. A deep sorrow overwhelmed him at the nearness of parting from his companion.
When Amr was ready to set out, he stood beside the crocodile, bidding him farewell and gently patting his head, while Hisham groaned with grief, unable to give voice to his feelings.
Amr moved away from the river, waving his hand to Hisham, who followed him for a while, burdened by the pain of separation. At last, Hisham halted, raised his head, and let out a mournful cry to bid his friend farewell. Amr was deeply moved by the crocodile's grief and his way of parting, yet he pressed on, seeking escape and deliverance.
Amr had now gained good experience, and with the many trials he had endured and survived unharmed, he acquired a measure of courage. Deep within, he felt that nothing would befall him except what was destined for him, and this conviction only strengthened his growing bravery as events unfolded.
He made his way toward a high hill, and upon reaching its summit, he saw on the other side a narrow valley beginning at the base. He descended and entered the valley, walking through its winding paths, turning now right, now left.
He walked with vigor and determination, and this energy sustained him for many hours. At length he sat down to rest and eat some food he had brought with him. As he ate, his eyes fell upon three pieces of a colored rock before him, gleaming like turquoise stones. He reached for them, drew them together, and turned them about in his hands. On one face of the stone, after joining them, he discerned an inscription in ancient script. With difficulty and careful study, he was able to read the word: "Al-Rodam."
He began repeating it: "Al-Rodam… Al-Rodam… what is this Rodam? Who or what might Rodam be?" And no sooner had he uttered it four times than a donkey appeared in the distance, bearing a saddle richly adorned with colored threads and crafted with great skill.
Amr gazed at the donkey as it approached until it stopped before him, kneeling on its hind legs and stretching forth its forelegs, placing the saddle directly before him, inviting him to mount. At first he hesitated, circling the donkey and admiring it, saying to himself: "This donkey is worthy of being ridden. If one does not ride such a donkey, then which donkey is worth riding at all?"
At last, he ended his hesitation with a leap, landing upon the donkey's back. The animal straightened at once and sped swiftly through the valley, while Amr burst into laughter at the jolting ride. After some time, the donkey reached a vast entrance to an underground vault, where it halted. At the entrance stood a massive mule, thrice the donkey's size, broad-backed and powerful, with a splendid saddle richly embroidered with golden threads in exquisite designs.
The moment Amr beheld the mule, he forgot the donkey, struck by the immense difference between them. A strong desire seized him to abandon the donkey and mount the mule. Drawing near while still astride the donkey, he shifted onto the mule's back without touching the ground. Once settled upon the saddle, the mule bolted forward, carrying him deep into the vault. Soon he heard a continuous ringing, like that of a striking clock, a sound that delighted his ears. The ringing then mingled with chants, rising faintly from afar, melodious and sweet, dreamlike in their effect.
The mule turned right, and Amr suddenly found himself before a great assembly of strange creatures—those same beings he had glimpsed once before through the hole in the first vault where he and his companions, Hisham and Amr, had been confined—creatures with tails, who greeted one another by biting their fingers.
His feelings were a blend of joy and caution: joy from their delicate voices, caution from his ignorance of their customs. His astonishment grew when one of them stepped forth, addressing the mule in eloquent speech:
"The Queen of Rodam welcomes your arrival. You are most welcome, honored guest."
Amr dismounted, aided by his greeter. Once he stood upright, the entire assembly fell silent. His eyes roamed among them, and his heart grew calm upon hearing their words of welcome.
His guide gestured toward the place where the queen awaited. Before admitting him into her presence, they brought him a splendid robe, brilliantly colored and finely made, and clothed him in it until he looked magnificent in his new attire. They also placed soft leather sandals upon his feet.
Entering, he found the queen seated with her attendants, all dressed in radiant garments. She smiled at him as he approached, bade him welcome, and invited him to sit. He sat near her, marveling at their customs of hospitality.
Behind him came a long procession of servants, each carrying a cup of milk—a tradition whenever a guest arrived. The milk was placed upon a silver tray encrusted with precious stones, and they presented their cups to the queen, who glanced at each and motioned them away one by one. At last, she stopped the youngest, who bore the smallest vessel. She took it, mixed the milk with a fragrance brought by a servant behind her, tasted it, and, satisfied with its flavor, handed it with her own hands to Amr, bidding him to drink.
He took the vessel with both hands, raised it to his lips, and upon savoring its sweetness, drank it all at once. Then he looked at the queen in silence, saying nothing.
The queen spoke:
"Noble guest, what is the reward of kindness?"
Amr replied:
"Kindness itself."
She asked:
"And if not?"
He answered:
"We are commanded to do good, to repel evil with good, and every vessel pours forth what it contains."
She said:
"Then I appoint you judge."
He asked:
"Judge of what?"
She replied:
"There is a dispute between me and the King of Bushal. To me it seems trivial, yet he insists upon making it a bitter quarrel."
Amr asked:
"And what if he insists upon enmity?"
She answered:
"He threatens me with war."
"War? Has your conflict reached such extremity?"
"Yes, though the matter is simple, I can neither dissuade him nor turn him from his resolve."
"And what is the cause of this dispute between you?"
The queen held the necklace that adorned her neck and pointed to it, saying:
"This necklace you see is the symbol of my kingdom. I inherited it from my forefathers, and as you can see, it is of rare emerald set with diamonds and rubies. No one can fashion another like it, nor find gems of such worth and precious stones such as these.
The King of Bushal sent me a message demanding this necklace, that his wife, the Queen of Bushal, might wear it around her neck. But I could not part with what I had inherited. Instead, I sent him other rare and priceless gifts that can be found nowhere but here. Yet he rejected them, and threatened me with war.
Yesterday, he sent me another message, urging me to hasten in delivering the necklace. My confusion only grew, and when I consulted my people, I found among them no counsel that might avert this calamity.
So we agreed that the first visitor to us should be our mediator—and that visitor is you."
Amr straightened in his seat upon hearing the queen's words and learning that he was to act as mediator. He considered excusing himself from the task, for he found no clear judgment forming in his mind. His eyes betrayed his hesitation and perplexity, and he began to say:
"But I…"
Before he could finish, the queen interrupted:
"Did you not say that the reward of kindness is kindness?"
Amr fell silent at the weight of her argument, bound by his own words. He thought for a while as the queen looked at him with pleading eyes. At last, his heart softened toward her plight, and he said:
"I accept. But who is this King of Bushal, and who are his people?"
She answered:"They are a harsh, cruel folk—arrogant and overbearing. Their land lies a hundred parasangs from here, along a rugged and desolate path. Yet they are able to cross it, greedy for the bounty we possess. Their king is a gluttonous man, insatiable and ever greedy. Always we have sent him costly gifts to ward off his evil, but emboldened by his strength and disdainful of our weakness, he demands still more. When at last he learned of this necklace—the emblem of my kingdom, which I inherited from my ancestors and wear upon my neck—he sent for it, desiring it for his wife."
"You would have me go to him?" asked Amr.
"Yes," she replied, "and attempt to dissuade him from his resolve, turning him away from me and from my people."
"And if he refuses all but his demand?"
"You mean, to seize my necklace—the symbol of my kingdom?"
"Either that, or war, in which harvests are destroyed and lives are lost, until the necklace itself becomes the least of what is taken."
"No… no… that must not be. You must devise some stratagem to turn him away from me and from my people."
"O queen," said Amr, "before I confront the King of Bushal, I wish to know what you yourself will do if he refuses, and insists upon taking the necklace, or else upon war."
The queen hesitated long before replying, seized with great anxiety at what might happen should the King of Bushal succeed in seizing his desire by the might he boasted. She imagined him storming her land, seizing her dwellings, razing her buildings, slaying her people, and forcing her to yield to his will. Powerless against him, she could not restrain her tears, which welled up in her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. She broke into sobs, overwhelmed by her weakness, her helplessness to repel the calamity, and the anguish of being oppressed by a tyrant's hand.
Soon her attendants joined her in weeping, and the council chamber was transformed in an instant into a scene of grief that would pierce any heart.
Amr sat among them, bewildered, shaken by the depth of their sorrow. He remained silent, overcome by the sight of their lamentation. At last, the queen raised her tearful eyes toward him, pleading silently for aid. Then Amr said to her:
"O queen, weeping does not drive back aggressors, nor does lamentation restrain tyrants."
"I know this," she replied, "but I weep only for the weakness of my people, for my own helplessness, and for the power of the oppressor, the King of Bushal."
"O queen," Amr said, "the King of Bushal is weak in what he claims, for he demands what is not his. But you are strong in what you feel is your rightful possession. Your tears flow only because of your fierce attachment to that right."
The queen straightened in her seat when she heard these words and looked into Amr's eyes, who belittled the King of Bushal. Then she asked:
"But what value has my right when I stand defenseless, stripped of any power to repel him or shield my people?"
"Weakness in the heart of one who holds the right," Amr answered, "is a vile feeling that clings to the soul and weighs heavier upon its bearer than upon his foe. Know this: one who holds the right, armed with nothing but a staff, is stronger than the oppressor with a sword."
"How so?" she asked.
"In proportion to your faith that the necklace is yours, so shall your resistance be. Have you not seen how a mother protects her children and defends them when danger threatens?"
"I understand this," she said, "and I wish to drive away this tyrant with cunning."
"And perhaps war, and the show of might, is the greatest cunning of all!"
She pointed with her finger toward her chest, then gestured toward the land of Bushal, her hands intertwining as a symbol of collision and strife. Yet she could not utter what weighed on her mind, her gaze distant and uncertain.
Amr nodded in assent and said, "Yes—it is war and battle."
"Between me and Bushal?" she asked.
"Yes. And who is Bushal, when he is weak in his very claim?"
"You do not know them, nor the might they wield."
"I have no need to know them. I know only the right that is ours—and that suffices."
"But war brings great losses," she said.
"And abandoning one's right brings greater ruin and heavier loss," he replied.
"Then what am I to do? Neither I nor my people have any knowledge of war."
"Command your people to bring forth every weapon they possess, gather every stratagem at their disposal, and hasten to build a mighty wall around your land—one that shall stand between you and the Boshāl, thwarting their designs against you and your people. Upon the heights of these walls, place every instrument of death you can muster. Then gather your harvest and store it within the city, so that you will have no need to venture out should the Boshāl advance. After that, send them a message—make plain in it your resolute refusal of their demands and your unyielding strength should they dare to wage war…"
When the queen heard these words, her resolve grew firm. She summoned her ministers and charged them to prepare exactly as ʿĀmir had counseled, assigning to each minister a portion of the task. At once, great activity and zeal swept through the Rūdām, spurred on by the knowledge of their weakness and their need for more weapons and provisions. They toiled night and day without pause, and each time they completed a portion of the work and beheld its fruits, their determination deepened and their courage grew.
The queen herself moved among her people, accompanied by ʿĀmir, urging them to redouble their efforts and seeking his counsel in every detail of what was being prepared.
After forty days, the face of the land had been utterly transformed. A great wall had been raised, with vast gates opening onto a passageway flanked by high stone walls. Its floor was formed of tightly packed wooden beams, laid above a wide moat brimming with water. At the passage's end stood another gate, heavier still than the first, and within the entrance countless traps and devices had been prepared.
The Rūdām had arranged this entry exactly according to ʿĀmir's guidance. Upon the battlements they had piled stones, spears, and arrows in great number.
When the preparations were complete, the queen addressed her ministers with gracious words, thanking them for their great zeal. She explained the method of watchfulness they should adopt should the Boshāl come seeking battle.
Then she turned to ʿĀmir, thanking him for his immense help and imploring him not to leave them, but to remain at their side until the matter with the king of the Boshāl was settled. She said:"Noble guest, we have now completed our preparations. Should you go to the king of the Boshāl, you will speak to him with greater confidence, dissuading him from his intent."
But before she finished, one of the Rūdām came hurrying, breathless from exhaustion. Bowing at the queen's right, he said:"I have received word that a band of the Boshāl, led by Kūdr, the king's brother, armed for war, are on their way to us."
The queen was struck with alarm. She showered him with questions about their number and their arms. He answered:"They are between twenty and thirty. They now rest in the forest of al-Shāfūn, three leagues away. Their weapons are complete: spears, shields, arrows, swords, daggers, and the qilaṭ by which they hurl balls of fire."
The queen turned to ʿĀmir:"The Boshāl have come with malice in their hearts. I think our people should enter the fortress, and we close the gates upon them, that they may not harm us."
But ʿĀmir said:"Your Majesty, their number is small. Had they come in such fewness, yet armed in full, it can only be to deliver a message of threat and warning.It is not wise to let them approach the city, lest they see what we have prepared against them. Better that we march forth to meet them in great strength, far from the city, hear what they have to say, and return them with our answer from there."
The queen marveled at ʿĀmir's counsel, approved it, and at once ordered three hundred of her warriors to march under his command to meet Kūdr and his men, charging her people to obey him.
Meanwhile, Kūdr had camped with his men at the edge of the Shāfūn forest, resting from travel and taking their meal. They sat gathered about him, listening to the tales and jests he had prepared for his meeting with the queen of the Rūdām. To his companions he said:
"The Rūdām are a peaceful, feeble folk. They love not war nor know it. Their queen has hesitated to hand over the necklace my great brother, king of the Boshāl, demanded. He ordered me to seize it by force from her neck should she delay.We shall find no difficulty in taking much else besides—for they fear our might.
I picture myself entering the land of the Rūdām, you arrayed behind me with swords and spears drawn, while they line the right and the left, kneeling upon the ground in excessive greeting and submission. It would delight me greatly to treat them with harshness and cruelty from the outset, that their awe and fear of us might be magnified.
Ah, a splendid thought has struck me! Do you know what I shall do if I sense the queen's hesitation in yielding the necklace?"
The warriors answered:"No, we do not know."
Kūdr said:"I shall whip her upon her feet before her people—or better still, I shall set her astride a donkey backwards, smear her with mud, and have the beast parade her through her own kingdom. Thus they will learn how swiftly to obey our demands without hesitation!"
At this, the Boshāl warriors burst into laughter at the image of the queen, borne backward on a donkey through her city.
Then Kūdr said:"No, better yet! I shall strip her naked, hang her by her feet in the city square, and leave her swinging to and fro, just like her wavering will."
One of the Boshāl said:"My lord Kūdr, I do not think the queen will hesitate once she sees us in such fearsome array…"
Another said:"Even if she yields the necklace, I would still like to see her hanging as you described. She should have sent it at once when she first learned of our great king's desire for it."
All agreed with this opinion. Kūdr then shouted for them to prepare to march on. But as they turned to mount their horses, ʿĀmir had already arrived in great silence, surrounding them from every side and cutting them off from their mounts and much of their gear. The three hundred Rūdām leveled their spears at Kūdr and his men, who were stunned by the sudden ambush. They froze in terror, mouths agape, unable to move.
ʿĀmir advanced upon a mighty gray steed and called out to them:"Who is your leader?"
Kūdr, astonished at the sight of ʿĀmir upon the gray horse—taking him for a new king who had transformed the Rūdām into warriors—replied:"I am their leader. I am Kūdr, brother of the king of the Boshāl."
"What brings you and your men so near our land without leave?"
Kūdr was taken aback by this tone, so unlike anything he had ever heard from the realms surrounding the Boshāl. At first he faltered, but then regained himself and said:"Leave? From whom? We are the Boshāl. We have never been accustomed to seek permission from any to roam the earth where we will. We came to meet the queen of the Rūdām, to take from her the necklace for our king."
ʿĀmir said:"To take the necklace is an act of aggression, and we shall answer it as such. Hear me, Kūdr: you face one of two choices."
Kūdr grew uneasy at these words and asked:"What are they?"
"Either I command the Rūdām to pierce your bodies at once with these spears leveled at your chests, and you die here immediately.
Or you return to your brother, the king of the Boshāl, in the manner we see fit."
Kūdr said:"And my men return with me?"
"No. We shall keep them here as hostages until your return from delivering the message."
Kūdr answered:"I accept to return."
At once ʿĀmir ordered the Rūdām to strip the Boshāl of their arms and garments. They were bound with ropes, their hands tied behind them, cords fastened around their necks, all gathered into a single lead. He commanded others to seize Kūdr, bind him as well, and place him upon his horse in reversed position. Then ʿĀmir said:
"Kūdr, tell your brother the king: as long as he schemes against the Rūdām, he shall find nothing but what will embitter him."
Then he loosed the horse, sending Kūdr back to the Boshāl in this humiliating fashion.
The bound Boshāl looked upon their leader and remembered what he had said of the queen of the Rūdām. What had now befallen him filled them with grief and shame. One of them muttered:"We have fallen into the very evil we had plotted."
Here we leave ʿĀmir returning with the Rūdām to meet the queen, bringing with him the Boshāl captives, and turn instead to Hishām the Crocodile. Stricken by grief after bidding farewell to ʿĀmir, and despairing of keeping him by his side until he might return to human form once more, he abstained from food. For a long time he lingered by the waterside, a prisoner of sorrow and anguish.
Around him gathered the frogs, seeking to console him and lighten the pains of separation that held him fast, while he remained unable to depart from the river.
The frogs grieved deeply at their failure to soothe their friend, the Servant of the River, or to bring him any joy. They withdrew to consult together, saying:
"Since parting from his human friend, he has touched neither food nor drink. I fear for his health, that he may perish if he remains thus."
Another said: "The bond between them had reached its height, and the separation has changed our Servant of the River. He no longer speaks with us, nor delights in our company, nor joins our games as before."
A third said: "Such is sorrow when it seizes the heart. Our companion is of delicate feeling and tender spirit, faithful in friendship. What matters now is that we find a way to restore him to joy and cheer…"
As they were thus gathered, troubled for their friend's sake, the little frog arrived and asked:
"Why this sad assembly, and the grief so plain upon your faces?"
They answered:"Since parting from his companion, the Servant of the River has not left his solitude. His brightness is gone, his smile has vanished, and a resident grief has settled upon him. We were deliberating how to restore him to the state we once knew, for we cannot bear to leave him as he is. We have known him only for praiseworthy qualities, noble character, and kindly deeds."
The little frog said: "I shall take this task upon myself."
They asked: "What will you do?"
He replied: "You shall see by my deed. Follow me."
Then the little frog went to the Servant of the River, the others following. When he reached him, he said:
"O Servant of the River, lighten your burden and ease your grief. Rise with me, for I bring you tidings that will lift the weight from your heart."
Then he leapt upon Hishām's back, just as he had once before when he led him to his friend ʿĀmir. At the sight of the little frog, Hishām rejoiced, and when he heard his words, he knew he had brought important news. At once strength returned to his limbs, a smile of hope appeared upon his face, and he moved swiftly while the little frog guided his way. The crocodile passed through watercourses and channels until they came to a great lake. There he dived to its depths and entered a fissure among the rocks, as the little frog directed, until he stood before the Chief of the Crocodiles—the one who had sentenced him to remain in his present form for four years.
When the chief beheld him, he greeted him, and Hishām stood silent. The Chief of the Crocodiles said:
"We have watched your conduct throughout your time as Servant of the River and found you upright and of great spirit in companionship. Therefore, we lessen your term of captivity, and you shall return to human form as before. Thus we begin a new bond between us and you, preserving friendship even after your return to humanity. Surely you have learned, in your time among us, that the river is home to many nations who love goodness. We hope you will return our friendship once you are restored, for this new bond holds much good."
Hishām replied: "Though I long to be human once more, my heart has grown attached to those who live in the river. I pray this bond may remain as kindly as I have known it. I am deeply grateful for your goodwill, your noble judgment, and your easing of my sentence. Yet shortening the term is not a matter of years remaining—it rests upon another condition."
"And what is it?"
"A service you must render us—something we ourselves cannot perform. You were once a man, and we know that mankind possesses a great mind and resourceful skill."
"I will spare no effort to serve you and aid you. Tell me what task you would have me do."
"Do you see the raw diamonds scattered across the riverbed?"
"Yes, and they are many indeed."
"We wish you to fashion from them a great crown for me to wear, rejoicing in the first friendship between us and humankind. When I place the crown upon my head, you shall return to human form."
"This is a simple task—it only requires some time."
"Take all the time you need. But at the moment I set the crown upon my head, you shall be restored as a man."
"I will begin at once upon the crown you desire."
"On one condition."
"And what is that?"
"That every diamond be polished."
Hishām stood in thought at this condition, knowing its great difficulty. At first the task had seemed easy—raw greenish diamonds with a faint blue hue lay scattered in abundance across the river's floor. He imagined simply gathering them and arranging them into a crown in their natural state, to present to the Chief, and the matter would end there.
But to polish diamonds was another matter entirely: a craft most arduous, requiring rare knowledge that only a few in all humankind possessed, and they never disclosed its secrets. How could he obtain one of these skilled artisans? How could he even communicate with him while still in this form? His return to humanity, enabling him to speak and act, depended upon the completion of the work. The task appeared overwhelmingly difficult, if not impossible.
Yet he turned to the Chief of the Crocodiles and said: "I shall try with all my strength."
Then he returned, his hope darkened by the enormity of the challenge, and withdrew to ponder, seeking some device or stratagem to accomplish the crown. But no solution came, and his grief grew heavier. At last the world darkened before his eyes, and he fell asleep to escape the toil of thought.
When he awoke, he beheld the little frog before him, wearing a broad smile. The frog hastened to say:
"Rejoice!"
"What good news do you bring?"
"I bring you deliverance."
"My little friend, goodness ever follows in your steps. Your companionship is a blessing, sweet in manner and noble in fortune. Indeed, men are honored by their deeds, not their forms or years. I am certain that you come bearing good and favor. Your presence brings me hope, your company comforts my soul, and now you proclaim deliverance after patience. What gift do you bring me now?"
"I have found one who can aid you with great skill and cunning, and long experience, in polishing the diamonds you require."
"Who is he?"
"A monkey who dwells in the great sycamore tree beside the river, near the land of Dandān. Come, let us go to him."
Hishām hastened as was his wont, bearing the little frog upon his back, until they reached the monkey, who sat atop the tall tree. Hishām greeted him, and the monkey returned his greeting with abundant warmth, saying as the frog guided them to him:
"O Servant of the River, I have long heard of your good repute. I have wished to know you sooner, for I delight in the company of the virtuous. I have lost much by not meeting you earlier and forging our bond, but I hope the days to come may make amends for what has passed. It pleases me greatly to render you any service, great or small."
Hishām answered: "Your meeting brings me joy, lightens my burdens, and eases my sorrows."
The monkey asked: "Are you sorrowful?"
"How could I not be, when you know my tale? I became captive for trespassing upon the crocodiles' eggs. I took them only from dire need, yet I understood it as aggression only after suffering their harsh penalty."
The monkey said: "I grieved much when I heard your story. May your deliverance be near…"