The Keys of Destiny

For a thousand nights, Scheherazade beguiled King Shahryar with her stories, winning each night a stay of execution until the next. Some of the stories made him laugh; some of them made him cry. Some were romantic; some were coarse. Some were full of foolishness; some were full of wisdom. She told him the story of the birds and the beasts and the son of Adam and the story of the angel of death and the rich king. And on the thousand and first night, she told him about... 

The Keys of Destiny

* * *

It is said that Muhammad Ibn Thailun, sultan of Egypt, was as wise and good a ruler as his father had been cruel and unjust. Therefore Allah blessed his reign, and the land and the people prospered.

One day, at the beginning of his reign, Muhammad called all the officers of his court before him to question them about their duties and see whether they were paid enough, or too much, for what they did.

The first to come before him were the wazirs, forty old men with long white beards and wise eyes, led by the grand wazir. Then the governors of the various provinces, and the captains of the army and of the police. One by one they knelt before their sultan and kissed the ground, while he rewarded some for their faithful work, and rebuked others for slackness or dishonesty.

Then came the headsman, carrying the sword of justice. But instead of walking in proudly, with the naked blade held high, the man crept in with his head hanging down, and the sword languishing in its sheath. Prostrating himself before the sultan, he said, “Surely the day of justice has dawned for me! For, my lord, in the days of your father, this sword was never in its sheath. There were scarcely enough hours in the day to execute judgment on all the criminals, traitors, and ne’er-do-wells who were sent before me. My life was a happy and busy one. But now, time hangs heavy on my hands. If this land remains so peaceful and contend, I shall surely die of hunger. But Allah grant our master long life!”

Sultan Muhammad answered, “We come from Allah, and return to him! It is true that good for one man mean ill for another. But lift up your heart, headsman, I shall award you a salary equal to the gifts that you used to receive from those poor unfortunates my father used to send you. I hope that your sword may rust away before it is next required.”

At last there was only one wrinkled old man left. The sultan called him over, and asked, “What do you do?”

The old man replied, “O King of time, I have but one duty. I guard a casket that your father entrusted to me. For this I receive ten coins from the treasury every month.”

“That is high pay for such easy work!” said the sultan. “What is in the casket?”

“I have guarded it for forty years,” said the old man, “and I do not know.”

“Then bring it to me,” said the sultan.

The old man went away and came back shortly with a chest of carved gold. “Open it,” ordered the sultan.

Inside the casket was a little bright red earth and a manuscript, inscribed in gold on the purple-stained skin of a gazelle.

The sultan took the manuscript and tried to read it, but, though he knew many of the tongues of man, he could not make it out, nor could any of the wise and learned men of his court. He called on all the famous sages of Egypt, Syria, Persia, and India to read the writing, but none of them could read it. What are sages after all, but foolish old men in large turbans?

But at last a wizened servant tottered forward, saying, “Lord, I served your father for many years, and I can tell you the history of this manuscript. Your father stole it from Sheikh Hasan Abdallah al-Ashar, but then found, as you have found, that nobody could read it. So he tried to force the sheikh to read it for him, and when Sheik Hasan Abdallah refused, he threw him into the deepest dungeon in the palace. Allah alone knows whether he groans there still, or is now dead, for all this happened forty years ago.”

Sultan Muhammad called the captain of the guard, and told him to make a search of all the dungeons to see if the Sheikh was still alive. It was not long before Sheikh Hasan Abdallah was found, chained to a wall in a dank, dark cell.

He was dressed in new robes, given a staff to lean on, and brought before the sultan. When Sultan Muhammad saw the old sheikh, his face lined with the suffering of forty years of unjust captivity, he took the old man’s hand, saying “Forgive me, I beg you, for your cruel punishment. I have only today learned your story. This manuscript, I believe, is yours. And I wish to return it to you.”

The old sheikh fell to his knees, crying, “Allah is wise, who makes the poison and the antidote to flower in the same field. Forty years I have lain in the dark; now, the son of my enemy stretches out his hand to me, beckoning me into the sunlight.”

The Skeikh Hasan Abdallah said, “For this manuscript, I risked my life. It was the only thing I brought with me from Many-Columned Iram, the fabled city of Shaddad bin Ad, where no man may set his feet. Your father tried to force me to read it, and I would not. But for you, who freely return it, I will tell you what is written here.”

Sheikh Hasan Abdallah paused for breath. “This manuscript,” he said, “contains the beginning and end of all wisdom. Its story is the story of my own life. 

“My father was one of the richest merchants in Cairo, and I was his only son. He gave me the best of educations, and married me to a beautiful young girl, with eyes like pools of starlight. My wife and I lived together in delight for ten happy years.

“But no man can escape his destiny. After ten years, my father died. The ships on which his fortune depended were all wrecked in a storm at sea, and the warehouses in which his goods were stored were all destroyed by fire. I was reduced to wretched poverty, and could only live by begging for crusts outside the mosques.

“One day when I was on my way to beg, I met a Bedouin mounted on a red camel. When he saw me, he stopped and asked, ‘Can you direct me to the house of the rich merchant named Hasan Abdallah al-Ashar?’

“I have never felt so ashamed. I answered, ‘I know of no such man.’

“But the Bedouin leaped down from his camel, crying, ‘But are you not yourself the man I seek?’

“I had to admit that I was. The man accompanied me home and, seeing our poverty, gave me ten gold pieces to buy food. He remained with me as my guest for sixteen days, and each day he gave me another ten gold pieces.

“At the end of this time, the Bedouin asked me, ‘Are you willing to serve me?’

“‘I am already your slave,’ I replied.

“‘In that case, sell yourself to me,’ he said. ‘I will pay you fifteen hundred gold pieces, which will keep your family fed for many years, if you will sell yourself as my slave.’

“He must have seen that I suspected the worst, for he continued, ‘Do not be afraid. I shall not take your life, or your freedom. All I require is your companionship on a long journey that I must make.’

“So I agreed to his strange request.

“On the next morning, I accompanied my master to the beast market and bought myself a camel, and provisions for a long journey.

“Soon we were in the desert. We rode on without ceasing through the trackless wastes where none but Allah dwells. My master guided us, by some secret knowledge, through the sea of sand, and each day under the burning sky was as long as a night of evil dreams.

“On the eleventh morning, we came to a plain, where the golden sands of the desert seemed to have turned silver. In the middle of this plain was a high column, on the top of which was the copper statue of a young man. His right hand was extended, and from each of his fingers dangled a heavy key. The first key was of gold, the second of silver, the third of copper, the fourth of iron, and the fifth lead.

“I knew nothing of these keys, but my master knew. They were the Keys of Destiny, and whoever possesses them must bear the fate of each.

“The Bedouin said, ‘Now is your chance to buy back your liberty. All you must do is take your bow and shoot down the keys.’

“I shot with all my skill, and with my first arrow brought down the golden key, which is the Key of Misery. ‘You may keep that for yourself,’ said my master, so I tucked it into my belt.

“With my second shot, I brought down the silver key, which is Key of Suffering. ‘You may keep that, too,’ said my master.

“My next two arrows brought down the keys of iron and of lead, the Key of Glory and the Key of Happiness and Wisdom. These my master pounced on in delight.

“I aimed my bow at the last key, but my master cried, ‘Stop, you foolish man!’ for the copper key is the Key of Death. I was so startled at his cry that I shot myself in the foot with my own arrow, and that was the start of my suffering and my misery.

“For three days we rode on through the desert, and all the time my foot was causing me agony. Then we came into a fertile oasis with fruit trees, and I picked one of the fruits. No sooner had I bitten into it than my jaws were stuck together. For three days I could neither eat nor drink and, when my teeth finally came unstuck, I found that my master had eaten all my food and drunk all my water.

“We stopped that night at the foot of a high mountain. The Bedouin told me, ‘Now is your chance to repay me for my kindness to you and your family. Climb to the top of this mountain, and wait for the sun to rise. At dawn, turn to the east and recite the morning prayer; then you may come down. But do not fall asleep, for the ground up there is poisonous.’

“Despite my pain, hunger, and thirst, I knew that I did owe my master much, so I dragged myself to the top of the hill. But I was so tired when I got there that I could not help falling deep asleep.

“At dawn, I woke in the most terrible pain. My entire body was swollen and aching, and I was feverish; I had been poisoned by that noxious place. But I forced myself to rise and make the morning prayer; my shadow loomed out to the west.

“I started to descend the mountain, but could not keep my feet. I fell, and rolled all the way down, adding bruises and cuts to the rest of my ills. I landed at my master’s feet and all he said was, ‘Ah, there you are! Come and help me dig. At the farthest point where your shadow touched the ground, we shall find a great treasure.’

“We dug, and uncovered a marble tomb, with an inscription that I could not read. Inside the tomb we found human bones and a manuscript, inscribed in gold on the purple-stained skin of a gazelle. You hold it in your hands, O King of time.

“My master, who had much hidden knowledge, could read the manuscript. As he did so, his eyes began to sparkle with an inner fire. ‘Now I know the way!’ he cried. ‘Hasan Abdallah, rejoice! We shall be the first of mortal men to set foot in Many-Columned Iram, the city of Shaddad bin Ad. There we shall find the red powder that makes it possible to turn base metals into precious ones. We shall be rich!’

“‘I do not want to be rich,’ I replied. ‘I just want to feel better.’

“‘Nonsense,’ said the Bedouin. But he did stop long enough to harvest some cacti, whose broad, spiky leaves concealed juicy flesh that satisfied both hunger and thirst.

“As soon as we had refreshed ourselves, we remounted our camels. We rode for three days and three nights, following the directions in the manuscript, until we came to a glittering river, which threw back the rays of the sun like a mirror. It was a river of mercury, and it was spanned only by a slender crystal bridge with no handrail. It was so narrow and steep that only an idiot would have set foot on it. 

“My master stepped confidently onto the bridge, and I had to follow, trusting in the mercy of Allah.

“We came safely to the other side, and walked on for some hours, until we came to the entrance to a black valley, in the murk of which I could see the dark shapes of serpents, and worse.

“I cast myself to the ground in despair. But the Bedouin cried, ‘Be brave! You are not going to die, but will return to Cairo richer than the sultan himself. You must perform just one more task.’

“‘What is that?’ I asked.

“‘You must enter the valley and wait until you see a vast serpent with black horns. Using your skill with the bow, you must slay it, and bring me its brain and heart. Leave the rest to me.’

“When I came back with the head and heart of that dread creature, still trembling with terror and exhaustion, the Bedouin took them from me without a word. He had built a fire with dry grass and dead wood, and now he took a diamond from his pocket and, concentrating the rays of the sun through it, kindled flame.

“Then he produced an iron pot and a small ruby phial. ‘In this phial,’ he said, ‘is the blood of the phoenix.’ He uncorked the phial and poured its contents into the iron pot, together with the heart and brain of the serpent. Then he put the pot on the fire and, opening the manuscript, began to mutter unintelligible words.

“Suddenly he rose to his feet and bared his shoulders. He ordered me to rub his shoulders with the mixture in the pot, and, as I did so, wings began to sprout from his shoulder blades. They grew and grew until, when he flapped them, he began to rise from the ground. Fearing to be left behind, I clutched at his legs, so when he soared into the sky, I was carried up, too.

“I do not know how long we flew, but at length we found ourselves above a mighty plain of powdered gold, in the midst of which rose a wonderful city of palaces and gardens.

“‘At last!’ cried the Bedouin. ‘Many-Columned Iram, city of dreams, into which no man has ever set foot. Come!’ And with that, he swooped down into the city. As soon as we landed, his wings disappeared.

“No words of mine can describe that place. It was built of every precious stone, and at its heart was a garden where the air was scented with musk and the flowers were fed by rivers of wine, of rose essence, and of honey, in a pavilion in that garden was a throne of gold and ruby, and on that throne was the small gold casket that you now hold, O Sultan.

“The Bedouin took the casket and opened it. It was full of red powder. He cried out in exultation, ‘See! Here is the vital ingredient that I have sought for so many years!’

“I said, ‘Master, throw away the dirty stuff, and fill the box with some of the jewels that lie in heaps all over the city.’

“He answered, ‘Fool, this powder is the very soul of riches. A single grain of it can turn any metal into pure gold. With this box, I can rule the world, and turn kings into slaves!’

“I asked him, ‘And can this powder add a single day to your life, or buy back a single day of your past?’

“He replied, ‘Allah alone is great.’

“We left that city, carrying nothing but the casket of powder and the manuscript. The Bedouin forbade me to take any of the jewels that tempted me at every turn, telling me that to filch a single one would bring instant death.

“And so we returned to Cairo. Ill health and ill luck dogged every step of my way, while my master whistled along without a care. And when I found my home again, it was to learn that my beloved wife and children, for whom I had sold myself into slavery, were all dead. For I still carried at my belt, though I did not know it, the Keys of Misery and Suffering.

“So I went to live with the Bedouin in his palace on the banks of the Nile – no longer his slave, but instead his companion. He taught me much of the hidden science, including the skill to read the magical tongue in which the manuscript is written, though he would not let me read the manuscript itself. He taught me, too, all he knew of the science of alchemy, and let me help him use the precious red power to turn base metal into gold.

“For all the Bedouin’s kindness, I did not prosper, but remained racked by misfortunes of all kinds, while he seemed to live a charmed life, like one who, on earth, is already in paradise.

“But death comes to all, and, one day, I found him lying senseless, with the smile on his face of one born under a happy star. I mourned his loss, and when I buried him I shed tears as for a father.

“I was his heir, so it fell to me to sort out his affairs. I opened the gold casket, the source of his wealth, and found that most of its contents has been used up. All that remains is the powder that you see there now.

“I was not concerned with that, but I was eager to read the precious manuscript, which I had never been allowed to see. When I had read it, I understood why. For the manuscript, which tells the wise how to enter Many-Columned Iram, also tells of the Keys of Destiny, and so at last I understood that the Bedouin had needed me not for my skill with a bow, but to keep the Keys of Misery and Suffering, leaving him the Glory, the Happiness, and the Wisdom.

“At once, I snatched the fateful keys form my belt and melted them down into a crucible. Then I searched everywhere for the other two keys, but I could not find them.

“Before I could enjoy any of my new wealth, I was arrested by your father, Sultan Thailun, who had heard that I had the secret of turning base metal into gold. He took the casket of red powder, and the manuscript, and tried to force me to tell him their uses. When I would not, he cast me into prison.”

  * * *

“What an extraordinary tale!” exclaimed Sultan Muhammad. “It seems to me that, even without the Bedouin’s keys, you have found your share of wisdom, and now deserve your share of glory and happiness. Therefore you shall be my grand wazir. Together, we shall use the rest of the red powder to make gold, and with that gold we shall build a mosque in praise of Allah, the all-knowing, the compassionate, who lives and does not die!”

 * * *

Then Scheherazade lapsed into silence. King Shahryar, much moved by her tale, said, “Truly, each man carries his fate around his neck, and cannot escape it.”

Scheherazade said nothing.

King Shahryar said, “Come, tell me a lighter tale.”

And Scheherazade said, “I have told all of my tales. Now you can cut off my head.”

But King Shahryar replied, “We come from Allah, and return to him. Let the headsman’s sword rust in its sheath. For, just as the red powder turned base metal into gold, your stories, Scheherazade, have turned my base desires into love, which is all the wealth any man needs.”