The Shaving of Shagpat | Page 4

HAWK GOORELKA OF OOLB THE LILY OF THE
ENCHANTED SEA STORY OF NOORNA BIN NOORKA, THE
GENIE KARAZ, AND THE PRINCESS OF OOLB THE WILES OF
RABESQURAT THE PALACE OF AKLIS THE SONS OF AKLIS
THE SWORD OF AKLIS KOOROOKH THE VEILED FIGURE THE
BOSOM OF NOORNA THE REVIVAL THE PLOT THE DISH OF
POMEGRANATE GRAIN THE BURNING OF THE IDENTICAL
THE FLASHES OF THE BLADE CONCLUSION

THE SHAVING OF SHAGPAT
BOOK I.

THE THWACKINGS THE STORY OF BHANAVAR THE
BEAUTIFUL
THE THWACKINGS
It was ordained that Shibli Bagarag, nephew to the renowned Baba
Mustapha, chief barber to the Court of Persia, should shave Shagpat,
the son of Shimpoor, the son of Shoolpi, the son of Shullum; and they
had been clothiers for generations, even to the time of Shagpat, the
illustrious.
Now, the story of Shibli Bagarag, and of the ball he followed, and of
the subterranean kingdom he came to, and of the enchanted palace he
entered, and of the sleeping king he shaved, and of the two princesses
he released, and of the Afrite held in subjection by the arts of one and
bottled by her, is it not known as 'twere written on the finger-nails of
men and traced in their corner-robes? As the poet says:
Ripe with oft telling and old is the tale, But 'tis of the sort that can
never grow stale.
Now, things were in that condition with Shibli Bagarag, that on a
certain day he was hungry and abject, and the city of Shagpat the
clothier was before him; so he made toward it, deliberating as to how
he should procure a meal, for he had not a dirhem in his girdle, and the
remembrance of great dishes and savoury ingredients were to him as
the illusion of rivers sheening on the sands to travellers gasping with
thirst.
And he considered his case, crying, 'Surely this comes of wandering,
and 'tis the curse of the inquiring spirit! for in Shiraz, where my craft is
in favour, I should be sitting now with my uncle, Baba Mustapha, the
loquacious one, cross-legged, partaking of seasoned sweet dishes,
dipping my fingers in them, rejoicing my soul with scandal of the
Court!'
Now, he came to a knoll of sand under a palm, from which the yellow
domes and mosques of the city of Shagpat, and its black cypresses, and

marble palace fronts, and shining pillars, and lofty carven arches that
spanned half-circles of the hot grey sky, were plainly visible. Then
gazed he awhile despondingly on the city of Shagpat, and groaned in
contemplation of his evil plight, as is said by the poet:
The curse of sorrow is comparison! As the sun casteth shade, night
showeth star, We, measuring what we were by what we are, Behold the
depth to which we are undone.
Wherefore he counselleth:
Look neither too much up, nor down at all, But, forward stepping,
strive no more to fall.
And the advice is excellent; but, as is again said:
The preacher preacheth, and the hearer heareth, But comfort first each
function requireth.
And 'wisdom to a hungry stomach is thin pottage,' saith the shrewd
reader of men. Little comfort was there with Shibli Bagarag, as he
looked on the city of Shagpat the clothier! He cried aloud that his evil
chance had got the better of him, and rolled his body in the sand,
beating his breast, and conjuring up images of the profusion of dainties
and the abundance of provision in Shiraz, exclaiming, 'Well-a-way and
woe's me! this it is to be selected for the diversion of him that plotteth
against man.' Truly is it written:
On different heads misfortunes come: One bears them firm, another
faints, While this one hangs them like a drum Whereon to batter loud
complaints.
And of the three kinds, they who bang the drum outnumber the silent
ones as do the billows of the sea the ships that swim, or the grains of
sand the trees that grow; a noisy multitude.
Now, he was in the pits of despondency, even as one that yieldeth
without further struggle to the waves of tempest at midnight, when he

was ware of one standing over him,--a woman, old, wrinkled, a very
crone, with but room for the drawing of a thread between her nose and
her chin; she was, as is cited of them who betray the doings of Time,
Wrinkled at the rind, and overripe at the core,
and every part of her nodded and shook like a tree sapped by the waters,
and her joints were sharp as the hind-legs of a grasshopper; she was
indeed one close-wrecked upon the rocks of Time.
Now, when the old woman had scanned Shibli Bagarag, she called to
him, 'O thou! what is it with thee, that