THE SON OF THE SOAP SELLER | PERSIAN FAIRY TALES | All classic tales from around the world

The Son of the Soap Seller





THERE once dwelt a poor but worthy man named Abdullah in Meshed, the
Holy City, the place of pilgrimage, whose beautiful mosque with the
golden dome is the glory of the kingdom of Persia. He barely managed to
get a living by the sale of soap.

All day long, from sunrise to sunset, he tramped the city, crying out:
"O brothers, buy my pure soap. There is none better in the city, as
every one knows. Even the little babes would say so if they could but
speak."

Still, if you looked closely at it, you would never guess it to be
soap; it was black and coarse, and more like wood than anything else.
If any unlucky pilgrim used it on his face or hands, it would make his
skin burn like fire. But this did not often happen, for the people in
Persia do not use much soap on themselves, or their clothes, and sand
does very well for cleaning cooking pots and pans. So it was that there
were many days when poor Abdullah did not sell enough to buy sufficient
bread for himself and his little boy Ahmed.

At such times, the father would creep sadly into his wretched mud-built
hovel, and bury his face in his hands, so that he might not see his son
trying to keep back the tears caused by hunger. The little fellow,
however, now ten years of age, would comfort his father by saying:

"Inshallah"--if God wills--"to-morrow you will sell more soap than you
have done for weeks past." And the father, looking into the bright,
open face of his boy, would take courage, and pray that this might be
so.

But the days went on and things became blacker and blacker, when one
day an adventure befell little Ahmed. He was on his way to school, and
as the sun was very hot, he sought the shelter of the big plane-trees
that lined the banks of the stream flowing down the center of the
principal street.

Women were filling their water jugs, or washing clothes; a string of
camels were drinking; several donkeys were rolling playfully over and
over in the water, and some dyers were wringing out newly-dyed
garments, causing waves of many colors to flow past.

Just as Ahmed had stopped to look, a dervish, leading a fine lion by a
chain, and some runners with curious hats and coats rushed past,
shouting:

"Make way for the King! Turn your faces to the wall!" And there was the
great King, seated on a beautiful Arabian horse, surrounded by
soldiers. Then there passed a palanquin borne on the backs of four
mules.

The party stopped just opposite to Ahmed, and from the palanquin there
alighted a lady closely veiled, evidently wishing to inspect some
beautiful Meshed silver work. Before she could reach the shop, a great
tumult arose among the people. The lion had broken his chain and was
madly leaping here and there, tearing and rending and dashing people to
the ground. Women fainted, men fled, little children stood still and
cried pitifully, some jumped into the stream; the frightened horses
dashed madly through the crowd. All was terror and confusion.

Then with a roar the lion sprang upon the princess, and bore her to the
ground; but ere he could tear her to pieces, Ahmed had sprang forward,
seized a piece of iron, one end of which was red hot, from the shop of
a blacksmith, and thrust it furiously into the face of the lion. With a
cry of pain and rage the lion left the princess and bounded off to the
bazaars, where he did great damage.

As soon as the princess had recovered from her fright, she beckoned to
Ahmed to come near, and removing her veil, told him he was a brave
little fellow, and ordered one of her servants to give him a purse of
gold. Ahmed had never seen anyone so beautiful, and was so lost in
wonder, that before he could find words of thanks, the party had passed
on.

But when the money was spent, Ahmed and his father began to be in want
again. A Jewish pedlar having told him how much better trade was in the
capital, they determined to set forth to that city, though the way was
long and full of danger. "Better to die in the desert, than in the
heart of a great city," said Ahmed.

So they set forth on their journey, sometimes climbing up winding paths
among the mountains, at other times traversing the desert, footsore,
and weary almost to death, often hungry and thirsty, tormented by the
thought that they would fall into the hands of the man-stealing robbers
who haunted this great pilgrim road.

On account of the intense heat and the cruel robbers, they traveled by
night. In every shadow cast by the moon upon the ground, they thought
they saw a robber on his big horse. During the day they slept at
wayside inns, and in return for little services rendered by Ahmed to
the muleteers, they would give him a handful of rice or bread, or a few
dried fruits which kept them from starvation.

So it went on until one night, when searching for the bridge that
crosses the Salt River, the sky became suddenly overcast, the rain fell
in torrents, and soon the river was in flood. There was nothing to be
done but to sit down and wait until the moon should rise. The fierce
wind buffeted them, the rain drenched them; they had lost their way,
and were at the mercy of wild beasts.

Once, when the wind dropped for a little, out of the darkness came a
groan. "Keep still as death, my son," said the father to Ahmed, "for it
is the Old Man of the Desert."

Now Ahmed had never before heard of the Old Man of the Desert, and
therefore knew no fear, so despite his father's warning, he got up and
went in the direction from whence came the groans. As he reached the
spot, the moon came out from behind a bank of clouds, and Ahmed saw a
poor dervish lying on the sand. He had a leopard skin thrown over his
shoulders; by his side lay a big stick studded with sharp nails, and a
basin made of the outer skin of a pumpkin in which he collected alms.

"For the sake of the Prophet," he moaned when he saw Ahmed, "give me a
drink of water." And Ahmed, filling his pitcher from the river gave him
to drink, though the water was somewhat salty.

The water revived the dervish, and he said: "I am Ali, the dervish, and
am known throughout Persia. Two months ago I left Mazandaran to go to
Meshed. But yesterday the fever seized me. This is the third attack,
and, as you know, it is always fatal.

"Stay with me, my son, in this dark hour when I shall pass through the
valley of the shadow of death. And when my soul shall have crossed the
Bridge of Death, take this little leather bag hanging round my neck,
and therein you shall find a tiny cup, cut from a crystal, which if
used rightly, shall lift thee to great power and wealth.

"Each morning when you rise, place a drop of pure water in the cup, and
look intently therein, and should any danger threaten you or those near
and dear to you, it will be made manifest. And if--" but here his
strength failed him, his head fell back, and he passed away. Ahmed
found the bag and the beautifully cut crystal, just as the dervish had
said, and returning to his father, told him all that had happened.

Ahmed did as the dervish had directed him for several mornings, but
seeing nothing in the crystal, he dropped the practice. There came a
day, however, when they were overtaken by a dreadful dust storm. From
across the wide stretch of sand, the wind raged, the sky and sun were
blotted out, the air was laden with dust, and the small pebbles and
stones carried in the wind cut them until they cried with pain. Shelter
there was none.

In fear and pain they ran here and there, and when after several hours
of misery, the storm had passed, they could not see each other. They
were lost in the cruel desert, with no food, and worse still, no water.
Sobbing in despair, Ahmed straggled on. He went like one in a dream.
Time after time he fell tripping over rocks and bushes, but he pressed
onward. Then came a time when he could go no further, and he lay down
to die.

For a long time he slept, and then he was awakened by being shaken.
Looking up, he saw an old man smiling and saying: "Why, it's little
Ahmed, the son of Abdullah, the Soap Seller. Don't you know me, Ahmed?
I am your uncle. Don't cry because you have lost your way. Come, take
my hand and we will soon find your father."

Now Ahmed wondered why he had never seen or even heard his father speak
of this particular uncle, but he took the old man's hand, and together
they set forth. Mile after mile they went, but no trace of his father
could be found. Then he sat down crying, and said: "I am so tired, I
can go no further." And the old man replied: "Sleep, my son, while I
keep watch."

But just as Ahmed was closing his eyes, the old man turned, and Ahmed
saw that he had thin legs like those of a sheep. "The Ghool! the
Ghool!" he shrieked, and fainted. Then this wicked ogre of the desert
began to open Ahmed's coat in order to suck his blood.

But another cry answered that of the boy, and then appeared on the
scene a beautiful young woman, carrying in her harid a necklace of gold
and silver beads. Casting but one glance at the beads, the old man flew
swifter than the wild sheep of the mountains, for the sight of metal
rendered him powerless to do harm.

Of course, it was the princess whose life Ahmed had saved in Meshed.
The King, her father, happened to be returning from a pilgrimage, and
to give a fright to her servants, she had scampered off the track, and
thus had found Ahmed. At her request, Ahmed became one of the King's
followers, and together with his father, whom they found the next day,
they journeyed to the capital.

Some three days' march from the capital, in the mountains near Kazveen,
there lived the Old Man of the Mountains, or as he is generally known,
the King of the Assassins, with his followers. So great was his power
that he had but to say the word and any of his men would throw
themselves from the topmost crags to the valleys beneath and be dashed
to pieces, or at his bidding, they would travel forth to the most
distant parts of the world in order to kill any persons, however great
they might be.

When he heard that the King of Persia was collecting an army to destroy
both him and his tribe, he became very angry, and said to one of his
followers: "Go, rid me of the King of Persia;" and the mart-took bread
and water and a sharp dagger, and went.

Now after his narrow escape from the Old Man of the Desert, Ahmed took
pains every morning to place a drop of water in the crystal cup and
look therein. Nothing appeared until one morning he saw in the bead of
water a vision of the King asleep, and standing by him a robber with an
uplifted dagger, about to strike. Hurrying to the King's presence, he
warned him of the danger, but the King only laughed, for he trusted his
guards.

Nevertheless, Ahmed determined to keep watch. Darkness came, and the
guards slept. The palace was silent. The hours slipped by, and Ahmed,
weary with much waiting was about to retire, when he perceived a dark
shadow creeping into that part of the palace where the King slept.

The figure noiselessly made its way to the very threshold of the King's
room, when Ahmed sprang upon it, at the same time giving the alarm. The
whole palace was aroused and the murdered secured.

When the messenger did not return, the Old Man of the Mountains sent a
second, and then a third, and finally the most daring and skilful of
all his followers; but thanks to Ahmed's crystal cup, all attempts upon
the life of the King failed.

Then the King sent for Ahmed, and said: "Ask for anything in reason,
and it shall be given thee." And though he was trembling in every limb,
Ahmed replied: "Neither wealth nor power does thy slave desire, save
the hand of thy daughter."

"If she loves you, it shall be so," replied the King, and she did love
him; they were married, and Ahmed became the King's Prime Minister.