The Beauty Girl
Once upon a time, there lived a king. This king was sad because he had no heir.One day, a dervish approached the royal palace and said:
"Long live the king! If I make it so that you have two sons, will you give me one of them?"
"I will," replied the king.
"Then here’s what you must do," said the dervish. "Take this apple and share it with the queen. When your two sons are born, do not give them any names until I return."
Having said this, the dervish disappeared, leaving the apple in the king’s hand. The king shared it with the queen, and indeed, two boys were born. They waited and waited for the dervish, but he never came.
The king’s viziers gathered and said:
"The children must be baptized. How can they have no human names?"
They called the people together and began to deliberate on what to name the princes. Some suggested "Khachatur," others "Sarkis," but they couldn’t agree on anything.
Suddenly, the dervish appeared unexpectedly and demanded:
"Name one boy Nazar and the other Kazar," and then he vanished again.
The princes grew up, studied, and reached the age of fourteen. The king and queen loved them equally and had almost forgotten that one of them belonged to the dervish. One day, as the king was strolling with his heirs in his luxurious garden, the dervish appeared before him, as if rising from the ground.
"Long live the king," he said. "Kazar is yours, but Nazar is mine. Do you remember our agreement?"
"What can I do?" sighed the king. "Otherwise, I would have had no sons at all."
He explained everything to his son Nazar, kissed him farewell, and let him go with the dervish.
The dervish led Nazar to a towering mountain. He stopped at a massive rock and said:
"Now, my son, I will climb to the very top of the mountain and chant incantations for three days and three nights. On the fourth day, the rock will shift, and you will see a door. Open it and enter boldly. Inside the cave, you will see three huge piles of coins: one of gold, one of silver, and one of bronze. Do not touch a single coin, but take only the old candlestick lying on the pile of gold. Be sure to obey me and touch nothing else, or else the rock I stand on will topple and crush me."
The dervish climbed the rock and began chanting in an incomprehensible language. On the fourth day, the rock shifted with a loud rumble. The dervish nodded to Prince Nazar, who pushed open the door beneath the rock and entered. He saw the old candlestick lying on the pile of gold, then reached for the gold coins but pulled his hand back, remembering the dervish’s words. He was about to leave the cave when something seemed to push him, and he grabbed a handful of coins and stuffed them into his pocket. As soon as he did this, the rock toppled and crushed the unfortunate dervish. Terrified, Nazar rushed out of the cave and ran for a long time, not knowing where he was going. He only heard a rumble behind him—the rock had returned to its place. He reached a spot in the mountains where a shepherd was tending his sheep.
"Give me something to eat, shepherd," he asked. "I haven’t eaten for three days."
The shepherd fed him and showed him the way through the mountains to the nearest city, Spagan. Nazar gave the shepherd a gold coin, but the kind shepherd didn’t want to take it. Nazar headed to the city.
In the city, he found a caravanserai, called the owner, and said:
"Bring me a bed, give me dinner, and bring a candle—I have my own candlestick. Here are six gold coins for everything."
The owner fulfilled his request exactly. Nazar ate, drank, and thought: "I should light the candle; it’s already dark." He took out the old candlestick he had brought from the cave at the dervish’s request, inserted the candle the owner had brought, and lit it. After a while, he noticed that the candle was tilting to the side, and wax was dripping onto the table. "The table must be uneven," thought Nazar, and he decided to move the candlestick. When he lifted it, he found several gold coins underneath.
Nazar was surprised and thought:
"I didn’t hide them there. How did they get under my candlestick?"
He moved the candlestick again, and again, several gold coins appeared underneath. Finally, Nazar realized that he had been given a magical candlestick. He asked the owner to order three large chests for him in the city, and until they arrived, he kept moving the candlestick around until all three chests were filled. Then he extinguished the candle, and the coins stopped appearing.
Nazar lived in the city of Spagan for exactly three months. When he was ready to leave—having decided to see the world—the owner of the caravanserai said to him:
"You’re going out to wander the world, but you haven’t even seen the most important thing in our city!"
"What is that?" asked Nazar, surprised.
"How could you not know!" said the owner. "In our city lives the Girl of Beauty."
"How can I see her?" asked Nazar.
"It’s not easy," said the owner. "The Girl of Beauty shows her hand to those who give her a hundred gold coins, and her face to those who give her a thousand. She has already ruined many this way. But you, Nazar, seem to be a wealthy man. Go, pay, and see her—you won’t regret it."
The next day, Nazar went to the house of the Girl of Beauty and saw her standing on the balcony, wrapped in a white veil.
"Girl of Beauty," he said, "show me your face for just a moment. I want to see you before I leave this place forever."
"Give me a thousand gold coins, and then you’ll see," replied the Girl of Beauty.
"I will," said Nazar.
The Girl of Beauty took the gold and lifted her veil. She was so beautiful that Nazar immediately fainted. He was brought back to his senses and escorted to the caravanserai. Prince Nazar lost all peace and sleep. The next morning, he returned to the balcony of the Girl of Beauty, and the morning after that, he did so again.
"Listen," she says, "I’ve ruined more than one rich man, but I see you’re determined to end up penniless."
"I don’t care about the money," says Nazar. "I’ve fallen in love with you and want to marry you."
"But I don’t want to get married," says the Girl of Beauty. "Do you think I need money? Not at all. I simply give it away to the poor. And I don’t want to marry because many people are unhappy in married life, while I live alone—I’m calm and happy."
"Even so," says Nazar, "I’ll keep coming to you and paying you in gold just to look at you. Maybe, in the end, you’ll agree to be my wife."
The Girl of Beauty sees that she won’t be able to shake Nazar off with financial demands and says to him:
"Well, if that’s the case, go where I send you, and when you return, I’ll marry you."
But she thinks to herself: "Just wait, I’ll send you to someone with such a task that they’ll kill you on the spot."
"Here’s what you’ll do," she tells him. "Go to the city of Izmir. Find Abraham-aga there and ask him why his horse doesn’t eat oats or barley but instead eats flint. When you return and tell me, then we’ll get engaged."
Nazar sets off on his journey, reaches the city of Izmir, finds Abraham-aga’s house, and asks the servants:
"Is Abraham-aga at home?"
"No," they say, "he’s gone to Istanbul."
"When did he leave?"
"Yesterday."
"And when will he return?"
"Today."
"How can that be? It’s a month’s journey there!"
"Never mind," they say, "his horse will bring him back in a single day." Suddenly, they see dust rising over the mountain. The servants say:
"Look, our aga is back."
Abraham-aga rides into the courtyard, puts his horse in the stable, and the servants come, pour out flint, and the horse begins to eat.
Abraham-aga sees that his guest is waiting and invites him into the house, seating him at the table. They sit, the host eats, but Prince Nazar doesn’t touch anything.
"Why aren’t you eating? Help yourself," says the host.
"Very well," replies Nazar, "but promise me that after dinner, you’ll grant my request. Only then can I eat bread in your home."
"Alright," says Abraham-aga, "let’s eat."
But he thinks to himself: "What could he possibly ask of me? Probably wants to ride my horse somewhere." After dinner, he says to Nazar:
"What is your request?"
"Here it is," says Nazar. "Tell me why your horse eats flint instead of oats and barley."
"Oh!" groans Abraham-aga. "If I had known you’d ask this, I’d have killed you rather than relive my sorrow. But since I gave you my word, I have no choice—listen."
"I had a wife. And I loved her more than anything in the world. I spared nothing for her. Once, I was away on a trip. I missed my beloved wife in that foreign city and, without finishing my business, returned home earlier than planned. I stepped onto the porch and suddenly heard my wife talking to someone inside. I peeked through the window and saw her at home with some unfamiliar man, speaking tenderly and serving him dinner.
And I heard her guest ask:
‘If I eat everything, what will you feed your foolish husband?’
And she, laughing, replied:
‘I’ll pour flint into his plate—let him eat that.’
My blood boiled with rage. I rushed into the house and killed that scoundrel who had deceived me with my beloved wife. But instead of begging for my forgiveness, she swung at me with an antique smoking pipe that I had thought was just a decoration in our home. She struck me with it and said:
‘May you become a homeless little dog, Abraham-aga.’
And she turned me into a dog! I ran through the streets in the form of a dog. Everyone chased me, threw stones at me, and kicked me.
I darted into the yard of a priest and hid in a corner. In the evening, the priest went to lock the gates and told his daughter to bring him a light. He saw me.
‘Bring me a stick!’ he shouted. He dragged me out and began to beat me.
His daughter said to him:
‘Don’t hurt the little dog, Father—its eyes look like Abraham-aga’s.’
‘How dare you,’ the priest screamed, ‘compare a respected man to a stray dog!’"
But his daughter managed to persuade him: she was a wise girl and knew many things. She sneaked into my house, stole the pipe, and with the help of a spell, she restored my human form. Then she gave me the pipe again and said that with its help, I could take revenge on my wife and turn her into any animal I desired. I took the pipe and returned home. I was suffering greatly, but I was also very angry. I turned my wife into a horse and now feed her flint—the very thing she, the unfaithful one, had planned to feed me. And now, the more flint she eats, the faster she carries me. But I no longer feel happy.
Prince Nazar thanked him for his honesty and returned to the Girl of Beauty. He told her everything he had heard, and she replied:
"Well, tell me: what happiness did Abraham-aga find in married life that makes you want to marry me? What if we end up just as unhappy? No, I won’t marry you."
Prince Nazar began to persuade and coax her. But she said to him:
"Alright, I’ll send you to one more place. Go to the city of Khaysara. There lives Majrum Khodja. When this man climbs the minaret to give the call to prayer, he says at the top: 'Thank God, they’ve arrived!' But when he descends, he sighs heavily and clutches his head. If you find out the reason, I’ll marry you."
And to herself, she thought: "Khodja will kill him as soon as he starts asking questions."
Nazar left. He arrived at Majrum-aga’s house, asked to be let in, and was received as a guest. In the evening, Nazar saw Majrum Khodja heading to the minaret. He climbed up and said:
"Thank God, they’ve arrived!"
But after he finished the prayer, as he descended, he sighed heavily and clutched his head.
In the evening, Majrum-aga ordered the table to be set to properly feed his guest. They sat down to dinner, but Prince Nazar ate and drank nothing.
"Why aren’t you eating?" asked the host. "Please, eat."
Nazar said:
"I have a request for you. If you promise to fulfill it, I’ll be able to eat bread in your house. If not, I’ll get up and leave right now."
"Alright," said Khodja, "I’ll fulfill your request." But to himself, he thought: "What could he possibly ask of me? He’s probably in love with a girl and wants a talisman."
After dinner, the host said:
"Well, tell me: what is your request?"
Nazar said:
"Please tell me, why do you say 'Thank God, they’ve arrived!' when you climb the minaret, but sigh heavily and clutch your head when you descend?"
Majrum Khodja turned pale and said:
"If you had told me your request right away, I wouldn’t have invited you to my table but would have killed you so you wouldn’t reopen my wounds. But I promised, and I’ll keep my word. Listen."
"Once, I had a beautiful voice, and whenever I climbed the minaret to give the call to prayer, people would come to listen to me, even traveling from different cities. One day, as I was giving the call, three white doves descended from the sky, took me by the arms, and carried me on their wings from the minaret to the king of the peri. The king said to me:
'Majrum Khodja, your voice is so sweet that my youngest daughter has fallen in love with you and cannot live without you. She wants to marry you. Will you take her as your wife?'
I said:
'Call her, I want to see her.'
A girl of extraordinary beauty entered.
'I will gladly marry her,' I replied to the king.
'I have three daughters,' said the king. 'They brought you here in the form of white doves. But know this: the peri never sigh heavily—it kills them, for they are too delicate, unlike humans. Become my son-in-law and live here. But if you teach my daughter to sigh heavily, she will die from it.'
We married and lived happily for four years. We had two children—a boy and a girl. But one day, I remembered my homeland, and a heavy sigh escaped me. The king of the peri was immediately informed that the 'human-born' had sighed. He summoned me and said:
'Did I not warn you?'
'Long live the king. Forgive me, it was not intentional. I remembered my homeland, and my soul was filled with sorrow.'
'Very well,' said the king. 'I’ll forgive you this time. And so you won’t feel homesick, I’ll let you return to your homeland for a month. But you must not tell anyone where you’ve been or what happened to you. Otherwise, you’ll remain there, and my daughter will stay here, and both of you will suffer greatly in separation.'
Once again, the king’s three daughters turned into three white doves and carried me to the top of the minaret. It was time for the morning call to prayer. I began to give the call, and everyone dropped what they were doing, closed their shops, and came, saying:
'Majrum Khodja, you’ve finally returned.'
Everyone asked me where I had been for so long. I gave them all some answer, but I didn’t tell the truth. The month was almost over when my teacher came to me. His donkey was loaded with sacred books.
'My son,' he said, 'I conjure you by all that is holy in these books. May my concern for you blind you if you remain silent. Tell me where you’ve been for four years, for my soul knows no peace.'
I was more afraid for my old teacher than for myself, and I confessed everything to him. When exactly a month had passed and I climbed the minaret, as I thought, for the last time, I saw my wife and children waiting for me there. I exclaimed:
'Thank God, they’ve arrived!'
But my wife looked at me sadly and said:
'What have you done, human born of the earth! You’ve revealed our secret, and now we are doomed to eternal separation.'"
And she turned into a dove: and, transforming the children into little birds, she flew away, and I descended to the ground with groans and sighs, clutching my head over what I had done. Now you know everything.
Nazar thanked him and galloped back to where the Beauty Girl lived. He told her everything, and she said to him: "What happiness did marriage bring to Majrum Hodja? None at all! So why do you want to marry me?"
"You promised me," said Nazar. "I fulfilled your demands, marry me."
The Beauty Girl said:
"No, let's make it three times. I will give you one more task. This time, go to the city of Kars. Find the man there who is the best at making sabers in the entire city. This man first takes an order for a saber, makes an excellent saber, but when the customer comes to collect it, he takes it back and, in their presence, breaks his creation over his knee. Find out why he does this."
Prince Nazar went to the city of Kars. He asked around for the best saber maker and headed to his shop. He entered the shop just as the master handed a saber to a customer, then asked for it back. He looked at it carefully and suddenly—crack!—broke it over his knee.
"Listen," said the customer, "why did you do that? It was an excellent saber!"
The master replied:
"Here, take your money back, I return it to you, you won't be at a loss. As for my work being wasted—don't feel sorry for it!"
When the customer left, the owner noticed Nazar. He asked him who he was and where he was from, then invited him to dine together. They sat at the table, but Nazar didn't eat anything.
"Why aren't you eating, dear guest?" said the host. "Help yourself!"
Nazar said:
"If you promise to fulfill one request of mine, then I will eat your bread."
The host thought: "Probably, he wants a good saber." And he said:
"Alright, I promise."
They ate. The master asked Nazar:
"Well, tell me, what is your request?"
"Tell me," asked Nazar, "why do you break all the finished sabers over your knee?"
"Ah," said the master, "if I had known why you came, I would have broken that saber not over my knee but over you. But since I gave you my word, I have no choice but to answer. Listen."
"I was the son of a poor shepherd. When the time came, my father married me off and separated me from the family. My wife and I had nothing to live on, so I decided to go to another city to earn money. Before I left, I told my wife: 'Be honest, don't let anyone into the house.' I said this to her and left for the city of Istanbul. There, I apprenticed with a saber maker for five years, became an excellent craftsman, and enlisted in the royal service. After twenty years, I returned to Kars, having earned a fortune.
When I arrived in the city, few remembered me. Where my hut once stood, there was now a fine house. I peeked inside and suddenly saw my wife sitting there with a young man, having dinner.
'Ah,' I thought. 'So, she deceived me and married a rich man. That's where she got such a luxurious house.'
At night, when the lights in the house went out, I sneaked in and killed her and the young man. I was blinded by jealousy. In the morning, I heard people talking in the city. I approached a group and asked what they were so upset about.
'Well,' they said, 'there was a shepherd's son in our city. He left to earn money and disappeared. His wife gave birth to a son without him. The son grew up, became wealthy, built a house, and lived happily with his mother. And last night, some bandit, some godless man, killed them.'
That's why now, when I look at a finished saber, I think: what if this one kills his wife and son too? And I break it. Now you've heard everything."
Nazar bid farewell to the master, mounted his horse, and returned to the city where the Beauty Girl lived. He told her the story of the saber maker.
"Do you still want to get married?" she asked him.
"How could I not?" said Nazar. "I can't live without you."
"Well," said the Beauty Girl, "it seems you truly love me. And I have come to love you too. Very well, I agree."
They gathered their things and went to the castle of Nazar's father, the king. They reached the shepherd who had fed Nazar before and said:
"Here is a handful of gold. Run to the king and deliver the good news."
The shepherd said:
"Back then, I didn't want to take your gold, but now I see you are in wealth and comfort. Thank you," and he ran to the king.
The king gave him two handfuls of gold for the joyful news, ordered carriages to be prepared, took three hundred horsemen with him, and went to meet Nazar. The wedding lasted forty days and forty nights. Prince Nazar and the Beauty Girl were married. They found their happiness, and may you find yours.
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