The Wind-demon

There was once upon a time an old Padishah who had three sons and three

daughters. One day the old man fell ill, and though they called all the

leeches together to help him, his disease would not take a turn for the

better. “I already belong to Death,” he thought, and calling to him his

sons and daughters, he thus addressed them: “If I die, he among you

shall be Padishah who watches three nights at my tomb. As for my

daughters, I give them to him who first comes to woo them.” And with

that he died, and was buried as became a Padishah.

Now as the realm could have a Padishah in no other way, the eldest son

went to his father’s tomb and sat there for half the night, said his

prayers upon his carpet, and awaited the dawn. But all at once a

horrible din arose in the midst of the darkness, and so frightened was

he that he snatched up his slippers and never stopped till he got home.

The next night the middling son also went out to the tomb, and he also

sat there for half the night, but no sooner did he hear the great din

than he too caught up his slippers and hurried off homewards. So it now

came to the turn of the third and youngest son.

The third son took his sword, stuck it in his girdle, and went off to

the tomb. Sure enough, when he had sat there till midnight, he heard the

horrible din, and so horrible was it that the very earth trembled. The

youth pulled himself together, went straight towards the spot from

whence the noise came loudest, and behold! right in front of him stood a

huge dragon. Drawing his sword, the youth fell upon the dragon so

furiously that at last the monster had scarcely strength enough left to

say: “If thou art a man, put thy heel upon me and strike me with thy

sword but once more!”

“Not I,” cried the King’s son, “my mother only bore me into the world

once,” whereupon the dragon yielded up its filthy soul. The King’s son

would have cut off the beast’s ears and nose, but he could not see very

well in the dark, and began groping about for them, when all at once he

saw afar off a little shining light. He went straight towards it, and

there in the midst of the brightness he saw an old man. Two globes were

in his hand, one black and the other white; the black globe he was

turning round and round, and from the white globe proceeded the light.

“What art thou doing, old father?” asked the King’s son.

“Alas! my son,” replied the old man, “my business is my bane, I hold

fast the nights and let go the days.”--“Alas! my father,” replied the

King’s son, “my task is even greater than thine.” With that he tied

together the old man’s arms, so that he might not let go the days, and

went on still further to seek the light. He went on and on till he came

to the foot of a castle wall, and forty men were taking counsel together

beneath it.

“What’s the matter?” inquired the King’s son.--“We should like to go

into the castle to steal the treasure,” said the forty men, “but we

don’t know how.”

“I would very soon help you if you only gave me a little light,” said

the King’s son. This the robbers readily promised to do, and after that

he took a packet of nails, knocked them into the castle wall, row after

row, right up to the top, clambered up himself, and then shouted down to

them: “Now you come up one by one, just as I have done.”

So the robbers caught hold of the nails and began to clamber up, one

after another, the whole forty of them. But the youth was not idle. He

drew his sword, and the moment each one of them reached the top, he

chopped off his head and pitched his body into the courtyard, and so he

did to the whole forty. Then he leaped down into the courtyard himself,

and there right before him was a beautiful palace; and no sooner had he

opened the door than a serpent glided past him, and crawled up a column

close by the staircase. The youth drew his sword to strike the serpent;

he struck and cut the serpent in two, but his sword remained in the

stone wall, and he forgot to draw it out again. Then he mounted the

staircase and went into a room, and there lay a lovely damsel asleep. So

he went out again, closed the door very softly behind him, and ascended

to the second flight, and went into a room there, and before him lay a

still lovelier damsel on a bed. This door he also closed, and went up to

the third and topmost flight, and opened a door there also, and lo! the

whole room was piled up with nothing but steel, and such a splendid

damsel lay asleep there that if the King’s son had had a thousand

hearts, he would have loved her with them all. This door he also closed,

remounted the castle wall, re-descended on the other side by means of

the nails, which he took out as he descended, and so reached the ground

again. Then he went straight up to the old man whose arms he had tied

together. “Oh, my son!” cried he from afar, “thou hast remained a long

time away. Everybody’s side will be aching from so much lying down.”

Then the youth untied his arms, the old man let the white globes of day

move round again, and the youth went up to the dragon, cut off its ears

and nose, and put them in his knapsack. Then he went back to the palace,

and when he drew nigh to it he found that they had made his eldest

brother Padishah. However, he let it be and said nothing.

Not very long afterwards a lion came to the palace, and went straight up

to the Padishah. “What dost thou want?” asked the Padishah. “I want thy

eldest sister to wife,” replied the lion. “I give not my sister to a

brute beast,” said the Padishah, and forthwith they began chasing the

lion away; but now the King’s son appeared and said: “Such was not our

father’s will, but he said we were to give her to whomsoever asked for

her.” With that they brought the damsel and gave her to the lion, and he

took her and was gone.

The next day came a tiger, and demanded the middling daughter from the

Padishah. The two elder brethren would by no means give her up, but

again the youngest brother insisted that they should do so, as it was

their father’s wish. So they sent for the damsel and gave her to the

tiger.

On the third day a bird alighted in the palace, and said that he must

have the youngest of the Sultan’s daughters. The Padishah and the

second brother were again unwilling to agree to it, but the youngest

brother stood them out that the bird ought to be allowed to fly back

with his sister. Now this bird was the Padishah of the Peris, the

emerald Anka. But now let us see what happened in that castle of which

we have before spoken.

In this castle there dwelt just about this time a Padishah and his three

daughters. Rising one morning and going out, he saw a man walking in the

palace. He went out into the courtyard, and saw a serpent cut in two on

the staircase, and a sword sticking in the stone column, and going on

still further, and searching in all directions, he perceived the bodies

of the forty robbers in his castle moat. “Not an enemy, but only the

hand of a friend could have done this,” thought he; “and he has saved me

from the robbers and the serpent. The sword is my good friend’s, but

where is the sword’s master?” And he took counsel with his Vizier.

“Oh, we’ll soon get to the bottom of that,” said the Vizier. “Let us

make a great bath, and invite every one to come and bathe in it for

nothing. We will watch carefully each single man, and whosoever has a

sheath without a sword will be the man who has saved us.” And the

Padishah did so. He made ready a big bath, and the whole realm came and

bathed in it.

Next day the Vizier said to him: “Every one has been here to bathe save

only the King’s three sons, they still remain behind.” Then the Padishah

sent word to the King’s three sons to come and bathe, and looking

closely at their garments, he perceived that the youngest of the three

wore a sheath without a sword.

Then the Padishah called the King’s son to him and said: “Great is the

good thou hast done to me, ask me what thou wilt for it!”--“I ask nought

from thee,” replied the King’s son, “but thy youngest daughter.”

“Alas! my son, ask me anything but that,” sighed the Padishah. “Ask my

crown, my kingdom, and I’ll give them to thee, but my daughter I cannot

give thee.”

“If thou givest me thy daughter I will take her,” replied the King’s

son, “but nought else will I take from thy hand.”

“My son,” groaned the Padishah, “I will give thee my eldest daughter,

I’ll give thee my second daughter, nay, I’ll give thee the pair of them

if thou wilt. But my youngest daughter has a deadly enemy, the

Wind-Demon. Because I would not give her to him, I must needs fence her

room about with walls of steel, lest any of the devil race draw near to

her. For the Wind-Demon is such a terrible monster that eye cannot see

nor dart overtake him; like the tempest he flies, and his coming is like

the coming of a whirlwind.”

But whatever the Padishah might say to turn him from seeking after the

damsel fell on deaf ears. He begged and pleaded so hard for the damsel

that the Padishah was wearied by his much speaking, and promised him the

damsel, nay they held the bridal banquet. The two elder brothers

received the two elder damsels, and returned to their kingdom, but the

youngest brother remained behind to guard his wife against the

Wind-Demon.

Time came and went, and the King’s son avoided the light of day for the

sake of his lovely Sultana. One day, however, the King’s son said to his

wife: “Behold now, my Sultana, all this time I have never moved from thy

side, methinks I will go a-hunting, though it only be for a little hour

or so.”

“Alas! my King,” replied his wife, “if thou dost depart from me, I know

that thou wilt never see me more.” But as he begged her for leave again

and again, and promised to be back again immediately, his wife

consented. Then he took his weapons and went forth into the forest.

Now the Wind-Demon had been awaiting this chance all along. He feared

the famous prince, and durst not snatch his wife from his arms; but as

soon as ever the King’s son had put his foot out of doors, the

Wind-Demon came in and vanished with the wife of the King’s son.

Not very long afterwards the King’s son came back, and could find his

wife nowhere. He went to the Padishah to seek her, and came back again,

for it was certain that the Demon must have taken her, no other living

soul could have got near her. Bitterly did he weep, fiercely did he dash

himself against the floor, but then he quickly rose up again, took

horse, and galloped away into the wide world, determined to find either

death or his consort.

He went on for days, he went on for weeks, in his trouble and anguish he

gave himself no rest. All at once a palace sprang up before him, but it

seemed to him like a mirage, which baffles the eye that looks upon it.

It was the palace of his eldest sister. The damsel was just then looking

out of the window, and lo! she caught sight of a man wandering there

where never a bird had flown and never a caravan had travelled. Then she

recognized him as her brother, and so great was their mutual joy that

they could not come to words for hugging and kissing.

Towards evening the damsel said to the King’s son: “The lion will be

here shortly, and although he is very good to me, he is only a brute

beast for all that, and may do thee a mischief.” And she took her

brother and hid him.

In the evening the lion came home sure enough, and when they had sat

down together and begun to talk, the girl asked him what he would do if

any of her brothers should chance to come there. “If the eldest were to

come,” said the lion, “I would strike him dead with one blow, if the

second came I would slay him also, but if the youngest came, I would let

him go to sleep on my paws if he liked.”

“Then he has come,” said his wife.

“Where is he--where is he? Bring him out, let me see him!” cried the

lion; and when the King’s son appeared, the lion did not know what to do

with himself for joy. Then they began to talk, and the lion asked him

why he had come there, and whither he was going. The youth told him what

had happened, and said he was going to seek the Wind-Demon.

“I know but the rumour of him,” said the lion; “but take my word for it,

thou hadst better have nothing to do with him, for there is none that

can cope with the Wind-Demon.” But the King’s son would not listen to

reason, remained there that night, and next morning mounted his horse

again. The lion accompanied him to show him the right way, and then they

parted, one going to the right and the other to the left.

Again he went on and on, till he saw another palace, and this was the

palace of his middling sister. The damsel saw from the window that a

man was on the road, and no sooner did she recognize him than she rushed

out to meet him, and led him into the palace. Full of joy, they

conversed together till the evening, and then the damsel said to the

youth: “In a short time my tiger-husband will be here, I’ll hide thee

from him, lest a mischief befall thee,” and she took her brother and hid

him.

In the evening the tiger came home, and while they talked together his

wife asked him what he would do if any of her brothers should chance to

look in upon them.

“If the elder were to come,” said the tiger, “I would strike them dead,

but if the youngest came, I would go down on my knees before him.”

Whereupon the damsel called to her youngest brother, the King’s son, to

come forth. The tiger was overjoyed to see him, welcomed him as a

brother, and asked him whence he came and whither he was going. Then the

King’s son told the tiger of all his trouble, and asked him whether he

knew the Wind-Demon. “Only by hearsay,” replied the tiger; and then he

tried to persuade the King’s son not to go, for the danger was great.

But the red dawn had no sooner appeared than the King’s son was ready to

set out again. The tiger showed him the way, and the one went back and

the other went forward.

He pursued his way, and it was endlessly long, but time passes quickly

in a fairy tale, and at last a dark object stood out against him. “What

can it be?” thought he, but when he drew nearer he saw that it was a

palace. It was the abode of his youngest sister. The damsel was just

then looking out of the window. “Alas! my brother!” cried she, and very

nearly fell out of the window for pure joy. Then she led him into the

house. The youth rejoiced that he had found all his sisters so well, but

the lack of his wife was still a weight upon his heart.

Now when evening was drawing nigh the girl said to her brother: “My

bird-husband will be here anon; conceal thyself from him, for if he see

thee he will tear thy heart out,” and with that she took her brother and

hid him.

And now there was a great clapping of wings, and the Anka had scarce

rested a while when his wife asked him what he would do if any of her

brothers came to see them.

“As to the two elder,” said the bird, “I would take them in my mouth,

fly up to the sky with them, and cast them down from thence; but if the

youngest were to come, I would let him sit down on my wings and go to

sleep there if he liked.” Then the girl called forth her youngest

brother.

“Alas! my dear little child,” cried the bird, “how didst thou find thy

way hither? Wert thou not afraid of the long journey?”

The youth told what had happened to him, and asked the Anka whether he

could help him to get to the Wind-Demon.

“It is no easy matter,” said the bird; “but even if thou couldst get to

him, I would counsel thee to let it alone and stay rather among us.”

“Not I,” replied the resolute youth; “I will either release my wife or

perish there!” Then the Anka saw that he could not turn him from his

purpose, and began to explain to him all about the palace of the

Wind-Demon. “He is now asleep,” said the Anka, “and thou mayest be able

to carry off thy wife; but if he should awake and see thee, he will

without doubt grind thee to atoms. Guard against him thou cannot, for

eye cannot see and fire cannot harm him, so look well to thyself!”

So next day the youth set out on his journey, and when he had gone on

and on for a long, long time, he saw before him a vast palace that had

neither door nor chimney, nor length nor breadth. It was the palace of

the Wind-Demon. His wife chanced just then to be sitting at the window,

and when she saw her husband she leaped clean out of the window to him.

The King’s son caught his wife in his arms, and there were no bounds to

their joy and their tears, till at last the girl bethought her of the

terrible demon.

“This is now the third day that he has slept,” cried she; “let us hasten

away before the fourth day is spent also.” So they mounted, whipped up

their horses, and were already well on their way when the Wind-Demon

awoke on the fourth day. Then he went to the girl’s door and bade her

open, that he might at least see her face for a brief moment. He waited,

but he got no answer. Then, auguring some evil, he beat in the door, and

lo! the place where the damsel should have lain was cold.

“So-ho, Prince Mehmed!” cried he, “thou hast come here, eh, and stolen

away my Sultana? Well, wait a while! go thy way, whip up thy fleet

steed! for I’ll catch thee up in the long run.” And with that he sat

down at his ease, drank his coffee, smoked his chibook, and then rose up

and went after them.

Meanwhile the King’s son was galloping off with the girl with all his

might, when all at once the girl felt the demon’s breath, and cried out

in her terror: “Alas, my King, the Wind-Demon is here!” Like a whirlwind

the invisible monster was upon them, caught up the youth, tore off his

arms and legs, and smashed his skull and all his bones till there was

not a bit of him left.

The damsel began to weep bitterly. “Even if thou hast killed him,”

sobbed she, “let me at least gather together his bones and pile them up

somewhere, for if thou suffer it, I would fain bury him.”--“I care not

what thou dost with his bones!” cried the Demon.

So the damsel took the bones of the King’s son, piled them up together,

kissed the horse between the eyes, placed the bones on his saddle, and

whispered in his ear: “Take these bones, my good steed, take them to the

proper place.” Then the Demon took the girl and led her back to the

palace, for the power of her beauty was so great that it always kept the

Demon close to her. Into her presence, indeed, she never suffered the

monster to come. At the door of her chamber he had to stop, but he was

allowed to show himself to her now and then.

Meanwhile the good steed galloped away with the youth’s bones till he

stopped at the door of the palace of the youngest sister, and then he

neighed and neighed till the damsel heard him. She rushed out to the

horse, and when she perceived the knapsack, and in the knapsack the

bones of her brother, she began to weep bitterly, and dashed herself

against the ground as if she would have dashed herself to pieces. She

could hardly wait for her lord the Anka to come home. At last there was

a sound of mighty wings, and the Padishah of the Birds, the emerald

Anka, came home, and when he saw the scattered bones of the King’s son

in the basket, he called together all the birds of the air and asked

them, saying: “Which of you goes to the Garden of Paradise?”

“An old owl is the only one that goes there,” said the birds, “and he

has now grown so old that he has no more strength left for such a

journey.”

Then the Anka sent a bird to bring the owl on his back. The bird flew

away, and in a very short time was back again, with the aged owl on his

back.

“Well, my father,” said the Bird-Padishah, “hast thou ever been in the

Garden of Paradise?”

“Yes, my little son,” croaked the aged owl, “a long, long time ago,

twelve years or more, and I haven’t been there since.”

“Well, if thou hast been there,” said the Anka, “go again now, and bring

me from thence a little glass of water.” The old owl kept on saying that

it was a long, long way for him to go, and that he would never be able

to hold out the whole way. The Anka would not listen to him, but perched

him upon a bird’s back, and the twain flew into the Garden of Paradise,

drew a glass of water, and returned to the Anka’s palace.

Then the Anka took the youth’s bones and began to put them together. The

arms, the legs, the head, the thighs, everything he put in its proper

place; and when he had sprinkled it all with the water, the youth fell

a-gaping, as if he had been asleep and was just coming to himself again.

The youth looked all about him, and asked the Anka where he was, and how

he came there.

“Didn’t I say that the Wind-Demon would twist thee round his little

finger?” replied the Anka. “He ground all thy bones and sinews to dust,

and we have only just now picked them all out of the basket. But now

thou hadst better leave the matter alone, for if thou gettest once more

into the clutches of this demon, I know that we shall never be able to

put thee together again.”

But the youth was not content to do this, but said he would go seek his

consort a second time.

“Well, if thou art bent on going at any price,” counselled the Anka, “go

first to thy wife and ask her if she knows the Demon’s talisman. If only

thou canst get hold of that, even the Wind-Demon will be in thy power.”

So again the King’s son took horse, again he went right up to the

Demon’s palace, and as the Demon was dreaming dreams just then, the

youth was able to find and converse with his wife. After they had

rejoiced with a great joy at the sight of each other, the youth told the

lady to discover the secret of the Demon’s talisman, and win it by

wheedling words and soft caresses if she could get at it no other way.

Meanwhile the youth hid himself in the neighbouring mountain, and there

awaited the good news.

When the Wind-Demon awoke from his forty days’ sleep he again presented

himself at the damsel’s door. “Depart from before my eyes,” cried the

girl. “Here hast thou been doing nothing but sleep these forty days, so

that life has been a loathsome thing to me all the while.”

The Demon rejoiced that he was allowed to be in the room along with the

damsel, and in his happiness asked her what he should give her to help

her to while away the time.

“What canst thou give me,” said the girl, “seeing that thou thyself art

but wind? Now if at least thou hadst a talisman, that, at any rate,

would be something to while away the time with.”

“Alas! my Sultana,” replied the Demon, “my talisman is far away, in the

uttermost ends of the earth, and one cannot fetch it hither in a little

instant. If only we had some such brave man as thy Mehmed was, he

perhaps might be able to go for it.”

The damsel was now more curious than ever about the talisman, and she

coaxed and coaxed till at last she persuaded the Demon to tell her about

the talisman, but not till she had granted his request that he might sit

down quite close to her. The damsel could not refuse him that happiness,

so he sat down beside her, and breathed into her ear the secret of the

talisman.

“On the surface of the seventh layer of sea,” began the Demon, “there is

an island, on that island an ox is grazing, in the belly of that ox

there is a golden cage, and in that cage there is a white dove. That

little dove is my talisman.”

“But how can one get to that island?” inquired the Sultana.

“I’ll tell thee,” said the Demon. “Opposite to the palace of the emerald

Anka is a huge mountain, and on the top of that mountain is a spring.

Every morning forty sea-horses come to drink at that spring. If any one

can be found to catch one of these horses by the leg (but only while he

is drinking the water), bridle him, saddle him, and then leap on his

back, he will be able to go wherever he likes. The sea-horse will say to

him: ‘What dost thou command, my sweet master?’ and will carry him

whithersoever he bids him.”

“What good will the talisman be to me if I cannot get near it?” said the

girl. With that she drove the Demon from the room, and when the time of

his slumber arrived, she hastened with the news to her lord. Then the

King’s son made great haste, leaped on his horse, hastened to the palace

of his youngest sister, and told the matter to the Anka.

Early next morning the Anka arose, called five birds, and said to them:

“Lead the King’s son to the spring on the mountain beyond, and wait

there till the sea-horses come up. Forty steeds will appear by the

running water, and when they begin to drink, seize one of them, bridle

and saddle it, and put the King’s son on its back.”

So the birds took the King’s son, carried him up to the mountain close

by the spring, and as soon as the horses came up, they did to one of

them what the Anka had said. The King’s son sat on the horse’s back

forthwith, and the first thing the good steed said was: “What dost thou

command, my sweet master?”

“There is an island on the surface of the seventh ocean,” cried the

King’s son, “there should I like to be!” And the King’s son had flown

away before you could shut your eyes; and before you could open them

again, there he was on the shore of that island.

He dismounted from his horse, took off the bridle, stuck it in his

pocket, and went off to seek the ox. As he was walking up and down the

shore a Jew met him, and asked him what had brought him there.

“I have suffered shipwreck,” replied the youth. “My ship and everything

I possess have perished, and only with difficulty did I swim ashore.”

“As for me,” said the Jew, “I am in the service of the Wind-Demon. Thou

must know that there is an ox on this island, and I must watch it night

and day. Wouldst thou like to enter the service? Thou wilt have nothing

else to do all day but watch this beast.”

The King’s son took advantage of the opportunity, and could scarce await

the moment when he was to see the ox. At watering-time the Jew brought

it along, and no sooner did he find himself alone with the beast than he

cut open its belly, took out the golden cage, and hastened with it to

the sea-shore. Then he drew the bridle from his pocket, and when he had

struck the sea with it, the steed immediately appeared and cried: “What

dost thou command, sweet master?”--“I desire to be taken to the palace

of the Wind-Demon,” cried the youth.

Shut your eyes, open your eyes--and there they were before the palace.

Then he took his wife, made her sit down beside him, and when the steed

said: “What dost thou command, sweet master?” he bade it fly straight to

the emerald Anka.

Away with them flew the steed. It flew right up to the very clouds, and

as they were approaching the Anka’s palace the Demon awoke from his

sleep. He saw that his wife had again disappeared, and immediately set

off in pursuit. Already the Sultana felt the breath of the Demon, and he

had all but overtaken them when the steed hastily bade them twist the

neck of the white dove in the cage. They had barely time to do so, when

the Wind died away and the Demon was destroyed.

With great joy they arrived at the Anka’s palace, let the horse go his

way, and rested themselves awhile. On the next day they went to their

second brother, and on the third day to their third brother, and it was

only then that the King’s son discovered that his lion brother-in-law

was the King of the Lions, and his tiger brother-in-law the King of the

Tigers. At last they reached their home which was the domain of the

damsel’s. Here they made a great banquet, and rejoiced their hearts for

forty days and forty nights, after which they arose and went to the

prince’s own empire. There he showed them the tongue of the dragon and

its nose, and as he had thus fulfilled the wishes of his father, they

chose him to be their Padishah; and their lives were full of joy till

the day of their death, and their end was a happy one.