The clever vizier got Maaruf to drink wine. Soon Maaruf was so inebriated, he held up the magic ring and told the king and his vizier all about the ring jinni.
THE TALE OF MAARUF THE COBBLER CONTINUES
“You realize we are waiting, Scheherazade,” said Shah Rayar.
“That’s the point. Waiting a little helps you to enjoy the tales more. After all, anticipation enhances feelings.”
“You’re a genius.”
Scheherazade smiled. If he didn’t believe that and he was just flattering her, that was sweet, really. And if he did believe it, who was she to disabuse him? She began the tale without further ado.
he king and his vizier discussed a plan to entrap Maaruf the following day. But the next morning the king’s servants came racing to him, lamenting. All of Maaruf’s mules and horses and all of his servants had disappeared. Clearly the servants had stolen the animals!
None of them guessed, of course, that the horses were jinn and the mules and servants were the jinni’s sons—all in disguise.
The king felt wretched. How could such a thing happen without anyone noticing? Surely that many beasts and people had to make noise that woke someone. He looked on with trepidation as Maaruf appeared and asked the royal servants why they looked so glum. When Maaruf learned of the disappearance of the animals and servants, he wasn’t fazed. Those jinn and Abu’l-Sa‘adat’s sons had to go back where they came from, of course. He went about his day, happy as ever.
No reaction could have disturbed the king more. Surely the vizier was right; this man had to be a magician. So he invited the vizier and Maaruf to go into the garden with him. The king’s garden was a paradise of streams that ran among fruit trees where birds sang. The vizier entertained them with stories and jokes, at which he was quite skilled. Maaruf enjoyed himself immensely. Then a servant brought them food and wine. The king drank first. The vizier then filled a glass for Maaruf. But Maaruf, who had been but a humble cobbler before, didn’t know what wine was nor how silly it could make one. The vizier recited poem after poem about the virtues of wine, how it can turn grief to joy, how it can make our bodies seem to take flight, how it is liquid gold in restoring the emotions, how even a rock becomes happy when a drop of wine falls on it, how…But it wasn’t necessary to keep going, because Maaruf was begging for the wine by now. No sooner did he finish off a glass than the vizier filled it again. Before long, Maaruf was reeling, witless. That’s when the vizier cozied up to him. “Tell me the truth, Maaruf. You aren’t a rich merchant at all, are you? You’re really a king.” Oh, this vizier was very clever.
“King? Me? Ha!” And Maaruf told all, right down to the jinni of the ring.
“Let me see that ring,” said the vizier.
Maaruf took off the ring and handed it to the vizier, who promptly rubbed it. When the jinni appeared, the vizier pointed at Maaruf and told the jinni to take him away to a desert, with no food or drink, so he could die in painful misery.
Wine as Intoxication
Many Muslim poets have written poems in praise of wine. This may seem surprising, since Islam prohibits alcohol. However, many of these poets may be using wine as a symbol for other things, such as the way we can feel profoundly changed by new experiences, particularly religious experiences. The poems of the medieval Persian poets Hafiz and Rumi are fine examples of this.
The jinni Abu’l-Sa‘adat flew away with Maaruf.
“What will you do to me, jinni?” asked the crying Maaruf.
“Exactly what my new master ordered. And you deserve it. What kind of idiot turns over a powerful ring for another to inspect? Idiot idiot idiot.” The jinni dropped Maaruf in the driest, most isolated desert.
Scheherazade smelled the damp must that dirt gives off as the morning sun hits it. Her oldest son groaned and opened his eyes. She kissed his forehead.
“The vizier is right; that Maaruf is an idiot,” said Shah Rayar. “But he’s a generous, kind idiot,” said Dinarzad.
“Agreed. Still, it’s right that the vizier has won.
He’s seen the truth all along.” 