Following the dawn prayer, with clouds of darkness defying the vigorous thrust of light, the vizier Dandan was called to a meeting with the sultan Shahriyar. Dandan’s composure vanished. The heart of a father quaked within him as, putting on his clothes, he mumbled, “Now the outcome will be resolved—your fate, Shahrzad.”
He went by the road that led up to the mountain on an old jade, followed by a troop of guards; preceding them was a man bearing a torch, in weather that radiated dew and a gentle chilliness. Three years he had spent between fear and hope, between death and expectation; three years spent in the telling of stories; and, thanks to those stories, Shahrzad’s life span had been extended. Yet, like everything, the stories had come to an end, had ended yesterday. So what fate was lying in wait for you, O beloved daughter of mine?
He entered the palace that perched on top of the mountain. The chamberlain led him to a rear balcony that overlooked a vast garden. Shahriyar was sitting in the light shed by a single lamp, bare-headed, his hair luxuriantly black, his eyes gleaming in his long face, his large beard spreading across the top of his chest. Dandan kissed the ground before him, feeling, despite their long association, an inner fear for a man whose history had been filled with harshness, cruelty, and the spilling of innocent blood.
The sultan signaled for the sole lamp to be extinguished. Darkness took over and the specters of the trees giving out a fragrant aroma were cast into semi-obscurity.
“Let there be darkness so that I may observe the effusion of the light,” Shahriyar muttered.
Dandan felt a certain optimism.
“May God grant Your Majesty enjoyment of everything that is best in the night and the day.”
Silence. Dandan could discern behind his expression neither contentment nor displeasure, until the sultan quietly said, “It is our wish that Shahrzad remain our wife.”
Dandan jumped to his feet and bent over the sultan’s head, kissing it with a sense of gratitude that brought tears from deep inside him.
“May God support you in your rule forever and ever.”
“Justice,” said the sultan, as though remembering his victims, “possesses disparate methods, among them the sword and among them forgiveness. God has His own wisdom.”
“May God direct your steps to His wisdom, Your Majesty.”
“Her stories are white magic,” he said delightedly. “They open up worlds that invite reflection.”
The vizier was suddenly intoxicated with joy.
“She bore me a son and my troubled spirits were put at peace.”
“May Your Majesty enjoy happiness both here and in the hereafter.”
“Happiness!” muttered the sultan sharply.
Dandan felt anxious for some reason. The crowing of the roosters rang out. As though talking to himself, the sultan said, “Existence itself is the most inscrutable thing in existence.”
But his tone of perplexity vanished when he exclaimed, “Look. Over there!”
Dandan looked toward the horizon and saw it aglow with hallowed joy.