There is a king, there is Khwaja Khizr’s disciple, the saint in green robes. Told in rhythmic verse, it stands as one of the key sources of old Bengali literature.
“It was a tale from a very long time ago.”
In Hindustan, there once reigned a king named Azar Shah. His elephant stables were full of elephants, his horse stables teemed with prancing horses. He cared for his subjects as though they were his own children — yet, alas, the king himself had no child.
“Burdened by the sorrow of being childless, the king spent his days consumed by thought and grief.” “At last, tormented by his own despair, he abandoned his throne and wandered into the forest.”
The king took off all his royal robes. He put on a fakir’s garments, a rosary around his neck. In the forest, the king roamed about like a fakir. There he encountered a saint.
“Suddenly a saint arrived,” “He wore green clothing upon his body,” “And had a hunch upon his back.”
“This saint had once been a bandit — he used to plunder people’s lives and wealth.” “He had committed so many sins in his life that, in his old age, he had surrendered himself completely to the worship of God.” “He began telling the king about his sinful past, lamenting all he had done.”
He told the king further that it was by the command of Khwaja Khizr that he had come to this forest to atone for his sins — that was why he wore green garments. He also revealed to the king his fate: if the king wished to have a child, he must take another wife. And the saint even told him whom to marry — the daughter of King Khoton, whose name was Somun Rokh.
“In beauty the lady Shurut Jamal was like a rose,” “By God’s decree you shall wed her,” “And from her you will have a son, most noble in name.”
Hearing this, the king cast away his worries and returned to his kingdom with the old man.
The next day, after consulting together, the king sent a letter to King Khoton:
“Listen, O King Khoton, heed these written words — Your princess, let her be given to me in marriage.”
The vizier set off to deliver the king’s message to the other monarch. And what a grand display of preparation it was — servants, attendants, and courtiers followed in procession, dazzling all who beheld it.
“Servants, attendants, slaves and aides — Such splendor as made men’s eyes dazzle.”
Whatever was needed for the long journey, fine horses were chosen with care. All treasures and goods were packed and readied. Along with these, there were many precious gifts for the king. With all of this — the soldiers, attendants, and supplies — the vizier and the saint Khojesta set out for King Khoton’s kingdom.
When King Khoton heard the news of King Azar, he was beside himself with joy.
“Oh, what fortune is this? King Azar himself will be my son-in-law!”
He received the vizier with the utmost hospitality. However, he gave no answer to the proposal. Thus, one month passed, then another — two full months went by.
Finally, the vizier, slightly irritated, said:
“Two months have passed since I came here, Show me kindness now and grant me leave to go.”
Then King Khoton consulted his own vizier and began preparing for the wedding.
From head to toe, the bride’s ornaments and attire arrived. New horses were brought to the royal stables as gifts for King Azar, their saddles made of gold. New garments embroidered with gold and sequins were prepared for everyone. In the royal kitchen, new golden utensils gleamed.
“And as for Princess Somun Rokh’s bridal adornments — ah, what splendor!”
First came the fine mat of sita-pati, carefully woven and folded; a silk veil was draped over her head. In her ears, golden hoops and danglers; around her neck, a garland of flowers, shimmering brightly. Her hair was tied in a bun; fragrant jasmine and champa flowers were tucked in, and golden threads glimmered among them.
Thus, Somun Rokh Bibi was married to King Azar. The king took his new queen back to the palace.
“But his elder wife, Jalala Bibi, burned with jealousy at the sight of the new bride.” “She began to scheme day and night — how to sow discord between the king and his new queen.”
Jalala Bibi possessed the bark of a magical tree.
“If that bark were washed and the water given to someone to drink, they would lose their sanity at once.”
When the new bride sat down at a grand banquet, Jalala Bibi secretly mixed that water into her sherbet. After drinking it, Somun Rokh fainted and collapsed to the ground. The maids tried everything they could, but she would not regain consciousness.
After a long time, she finally opened her eyes — but she neither spoke to anyone nor lifted her head. Even when King Azar himself came before her, she would not look at him. Seeing his new queen in such a state broke the king’s heart. Many hakims (physicians) and vaidyas (healers) came, but none could cure her.
Then one day, a poor subject appeared before the royal court, hands folded, and said:
“In the northwest, there is a city named Kandahar. In that city lives a saint — a true fakir.”
The man said that if the king went to that fakir, his queen would surely be healed.
Hearing this, the grand vizier Azam began making preparations. He appointed two men, Hashem and Kashem, to travel to the saint. They set out with two strong horses and enough provisions for the journey. Though they didn’t know the road well, their determination was strong.
As they traveled, they met an old man on a mountain peak. He showed them the way to reach the fakir.
“When you come to two roads ahead,” said the old man, “Take the one on the right — it will lead you there.”
If they followed that path for two days, they would reach the city of Kandahar. Following his directions, Hashem and Kashem finally arrived at the city and met the fakir. The fakir told them about his two disciples — their names were Danadel and Rousan Jamir.
“On the northern mountain, there is a place called Subhosam; Under the trees of that mountain sits Danadel. He has sat there for forty years, Without food, without drink, without sleep.”
And about the other disciple, he said:
“My second disciple’s state is different. Night and day he meditates upon water.”
That disciple sat by the Kulsum Sea in the west, ceaselessly in contemplation.
The fakir told Hashem and Kashem that if they could bring both disciples back, the queen would be cured. He gave them directions and blessed them for their journey. Before they left, he removed two rings from his fingers and gave one to each of them, saying they would protect them from any danger.
He also gave them two pieces of bread and two flasks of water.
“By God’s grace, these would never be exhausted. Each half of the bread would fill their stomachs, yet the bread would never finish. And the water in the flasks was like the water of a well — bottomless, eternal.”
Hashem went southward; Kashem went west. They continued their journeys, breaking off bits of bread when hungry and sipping from the flasks when thirsty.
After crossing many-colored forests and vast plains, Hashem at last found the mountain saint. Meanwhile, Kashem met a giant from the city of Kohkaf on his way. The giant helped him reach the Kulsum Sea — a journey that would take an ordinary man a year, but for the giant, it took only a moment.
Both disciples placed their hands upon the heads of Hashem and Kashem and instantly put them under a spell. The two messengers fell unconscious in different places. The fakir, being all-seeing and all-knowing, realized what had happened. He called one of his own disciples and ordered him to bring Hashem, Kashem, and his two own pupils to King Azar Shah’s royal garden. Then, with a magical gesture, the fakir himself appeared there by enchantment.
The king’s garden was called Ferdousi. There, it seemed, a heavenly fair of saints and fakirs had gathered. The vizier rejoiced — his messengers had fulfilled their mission. He informed the king at once:
“Hashem and Kashem have returned with the holy fakir!”
Without delay, King Azar took his new queen to the garden to meet the saint. At first glance, the fakir said:
“O King, this is nothing serious. Someone has cast a spell upon your queen — that is why she speaks not, nor looks upon anyone.”
Then he instructed his two disciples to place the queen in a separate chamber — only she would stay there, along with the king and the two saints.
As the fakir commanded, the queen was taken into a separate chamber and placed behind a curtain. From the other side of the veil, the fakir’s two disciples began telling her a story.
They told Somun Rokh the tale of a wanderer named Malek. Once, while roaming aimlessly, Malek arrived in a strange and magnificent city. The city had four great gates, palaces made of white stone, and lotus-filled lakes. The air, the gardens, and the beauty of the place filled Malek’s heart with joy.
Long ago, in the city of Damascus, there lived a just and noble king named Hasen Shah. Malek was his son — a prince of such radiant beauty that people compared him to Prophet Yusuf himself.
“It was said that even the maidens of paradise would blush upon seeing him. Wise, skilled in knowledge and arms, and beloved by all — such was Prince Malek, the apple of his parents’ eyes.”
One day, the king fell ill and died. Before his death, he entrusted his son to his own brother and said:
“Brother, promise me — you will marry your daughter to Malek.”
The brother obeyed, and Malek too honored his uncle’s wishes, never acting without his permission.
One day, with his uncle’s consent, Malek went hunting in the forest. He was accompanied by guards and attendants, but soon he strayed away and found himself in a beautiful garden. There, he encountered the Queen of the Fairies — Geti Afroz. Her radiance filled the entire garden with light. Seated upon her throne, she ruled over all the fairies of her realm.
When she heard that a human had entered her garden, she ordered her attendants:
“Bring him before me — at once!”
When Malek stood before the Fairy Queen, their eyes met — and at that instant, the garden seemed to glow a hundredfold brighter. A human prince had fallen in love with the Queen of the Fairies. And her heart, too, was not untouched.
Her most trusted fairy and vizieress was named Ruh Afza. With her and Malek, Queen Afroz arranged a grand mehfil (feast). There were delicacies beyond compare, cups of emerald, and endless delights.
Thus, laughing and playing, the days passed by; the sun rose and set, and time flowed on. But even amid all this joy, Queen Geti Afroz had set one condition: Prince Malek must never touch her.
However, Malek’s heart grew restless. Amid laughter and festivity, he forgot the condition — and, by accident, he touched her.
“At once, the Fairy Queen blazed with anger.” “In her fury, she used her magic to transform Malek into a pigeon.”
In that form, he remained within her palace, gazing down from the roof at the world below. After some days, when the queen grew indifferent to him, the sorrowful pigeon gathered strength and flew away — back toward his own kingdom.
One day, the princess — Malek’s wife — noticed the pigeon. She called her maid and said:
“Maid, I have never seen such a beautiful pigeon before! I must have it.”
When the pigeon was caught, the maids exclaimed:
“The meat of a pigeon is delicious! Come, my lady, let us slaughter it.”
The pigeon was handed to Malek’s uncle, Danesh, to be sacrificed. This uncle had always loved Malek dearly. As he held the pigeon, his heart stirred strangely. He said aloud to all:
“So many of us, and just one pigeon — what use is that? Do any of you remember my nephew Malek? He left so long ago… and never returned. Who knows where he is, poor soul?”
Hearing this, Malek’s wife, filled with grief, released the pigeon into the sky. And thus he flew away, from place to place — unseen, unknown, his own wife unable to recognize him.
But Uncle Danesh did recognize him. He gave the pigeon a magical potion — majun — and restored him to human form once more. Malek did return home — but in his heart, he still carried the memory of Geti Afroz, the time he had spent with the Queen of the Fairies. He could not forget her.
Once again, he set out to find her. But fate cannot be undone — Malek repeated the same mistake. Once more, the Queen’s fury blazed red. This time, she transformed him into a rooster. Flying and flapping his wings, he returned to his home again.
Uncle Danesh was ready this time — potion in hand. He restored his nephew to human form once again. But now he scolded him harshly:
“Again and again I warned you, but you never listened, Did you not know you were risking your very life? Geti Afroz, the fairy queen of Koh-e-Babel — This boy has fallen right into her snare!”
But what good is persuasion when the heart refuses to listen? Malek was already lost in thoughts of his beloved — his Geti Piyari. And Geti’s heart, too, was no less bound by love. Yet, being a fairy, she had to endure the cruel words of her own kin — for loving a mortal man was an unthinkable sin in the realm of the jinn and fairies.
Once more, Malek returned to his beloved. The vizier of the fairy kingdom came and tried his best to reason with Geti Afroz. But her heart had already softened toward Malek. She replied in sorrowful song:
“How shall I part from the one I love so deep? He who gives his heart to me, in him my heart I keep.”
Ignoring all warnings and rebukes from those around them, the love between the fairy and the human continued to bloom. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months.
After a long while, Malek thought of visiting his home. He took with him a fiery, spirited horse — a gift from the Fairy Queen herself. When he reached home, everyone rejoiced. His wife, his uncle, the neighbors, the household — all gathered around him, eager to hear one thing:
“Say that you’ll never leave us again.”
At first, Malek hesitated. Then, with a gentle smile, he gave them the false comfort they wished for.
“Only a few more days,” he thought to himself, “and then I shall go — to her again.”
One day, Uncle Danesh took Malek to the royal court. The Sultan greeted Malek warmly and said with curiosity:
“There is a fairy, they say — her name is Geti Afroz. You are said to be dearly loved by her. Tell me, how might I see this wondrous fairy? By what means could she appear before me?”
Malek smiled and assured the king not to worry. He would make all the arrangements himself. That very night, he took his fairy horse and rode away once again — toward the realm of Geti Afroz, leaving behind his wife, his uncle, and all others.
When he arrived, he conveyed the Sultan’s invitation. But Geti, being clever, went one better — she invited the Sultan to her palace instead. After much back-and-forth of messages, the visit was confirmed.
And then a new worry grew in Geti’s heart. Yes, Malek was a human — but this was a king! So she wrote to her parents, asking them to send her two younger sisters to help her prepare for the royal feast.
Their names were Meher Angéz and Sor Angéz. Though her parents were still upset with her for loving a human, their hearts softened at last — they sent the sisters, adorned in splendor.
In the twin city of Doha, colors and lights arose. Ten thousand fairies and servants prepared the feast. The grand arrangements of Geti Afroz delighted Sultan Farkhonda Shah. Soon after, the Sultan too invited Geti to his own palace in return. At both feasts — hers and his — Malek was ever by her side.
But after the festivities, Malek once again crossed the line — forgetting himself in affection and boldness. This time, Geti’s patience broke.
“In a flare of anger, she transformed Malek into a bull.”
The bull, with a red cloth tied around its neck, was so handsome that Uncle Danesh recognized it immediately.
“How many times did I warn you against such foolishness?” he sighed.
But alas — this time he had no potion, no herb, no majun to help. Malek remained in the fairy court — a bull wandering before his beloved’s palace, his human voice lost, his heart heavy with regret.
“Of that herb’s secret I sing in remembrance, The very herb from which the magic potion is made.”
On a strange mountain named Sarnadip, there grows a miraculous plant. Nowhere else in the world can it be found — only upon that mountain. Hearing this, the vizier and the king immediately decided that two brave young men must be sent there. Only they might succeed in finding the herb that could cure Malek.
No sooner said than done. The two brothers were dispatched on their perilous journey. Sometimes they walked along uneven paths, sometimes across mountain slopes, and sometimes by the blue shores of the sea. After many days of travel, at last, they came upon the long-sought mountain of Sarnadip.
Quickly, one brother took out a knife from his pouch and cut a piece of that wax-like soft herb. The other carefully placed it in a bag. Then they returned straight to Vizier Danesh.
With that precious herb, Malek was cured once more. But just as a moth is fated to throw itself into the flame, so too was Malek destined to return to the burning fire of the fairy realm.
Quarrels and reconciliations followed one another — hurt feelings, broken hearts, tender reunions — the same mistakes repeated, the same punishments endured, and yet, time and again, Malek and Geti Afroz found their way back to each other, bound in love and longing.
“This story has no true end. It feels older than time itself — a tale that renews itself endlessly, like the eternal rhythm of love and loss.”
Listening to the tale of Malek and Geti Afroz from the lips of the storytellers, Somun Rokh Bibi found herself thinking the very same thing.
At this point, Roshon Zamir — the second pir of our story — began telling Somun Rokh Bibi the tale. Seventy people from a city were traveling together in a caravan. Upon reaching a vast plain, a sudden heavy rain began to fall. Panic-stricken, everyone ran this way and that. Amidst the chaos, sixty-nine of them were struck and killed by lightning. Only one survived — and that was Roshon Zamir himself.
Seeing his companions perish, the traveler’s heart broke, and he wept. The heavens seemed to split open with his cries. At that moment, a massive azdaha — a giant serpent — appeared. It coiled its body around the traveler. Poor Roshon thought:
“This must be my fate — to die in the serpent’s belly.”
He remained silent.
But the serpent, thousands of hands long, did not eat him. Instead, it carried him on its back, moving swiftly:
“Its length stretched a thousand hands, From its height shone twenty hands of gold, It lifted me upon its back and swiftly carried me southward.”
The azdaha took Roshon to the foot of a mountain and signaled him to enter a cave. Frightened, Roshon stepped inside — only to find a gigantic scorpion-crab, so enormous that even the azdaha trembled in fear. Roshon realized that this creature was the azdaha’s enemy, and the serpent had brought him here to slay it.
With an arrow in hand, Roshon shot and split the scorpion-crab in two. The azdaha rejoiced a thousandfold, its mortal enemy destroyed at last. Then the azdaha carried Roshon through the cave once again. After much time, they arrived at a wondrous palace.
“I saw a pure dwelling, Bathed in sunlight, shining with brilliance.”
The palace walls were adorned with thousands of jewels — pearls, diamonds, and gemstones — arranged in dazzling rows. The azdaha instructed:
“Take all the wealth you can, traveler.”
But Roshon’s heart harbored no greed. He joined his palms in prayer and spoke to the azdaha:
“I need none of this treasure. The task you gave me is enough. Release me now, and I shall return to my work.”
The azdaha obliged, and Roshon continued on, walking aimlessly until he encountered an old pir.
“Where are you going, Roshon Zamir?”
The pir knew Roshon’s name and past deeds — he was amazed. The pir possessed mystical knowledge and knew of the azdaha, the scorpion-crab’s demise, and all that had occurred. He informed Roshon that in six months, he would have to return to perform the task again. For the scorpion-crab’s mate was still alive and would bring ruin to the azdaha’s household, where two young children awaited. Roshon could choose to return to his caravan for now.
Roshon asked the old pir:
“How far is my caravan?”
The pir told him it would take fifteen days by foot — but the azdaha could deliver him in moments. Before he finished speaking, the serpent appeared to carry him back.
Upon returning, Roshon saw that the caravan remained as grand as before, the sardar waiting for him. The sardar then began telling him yet another incredible story — for Geti Afroz’s Puthi is a tale within a tale.
In the city of Hamdan, lived a kind merchant named Yakuf, well-loved for his cheerful nature. His son, Zarijun, was sixteen years old. Despite his young age, Zarijun possessed immense strength — able to spin an elephant around its trunk, unmatched in archery and swordsmanship. Yet, his reckless nature led him to squander his father’s wealth shortly after his parents’ death. Debts piled up, and hiding his face became necessary.
Being the son of a respected merchant, Zarijun could not perform menial labor without shame. So he journeyed to Rome, seeking work from the king himself. Despite asking for work, Zarijun demanded a wage of one thousand ashrafis, no less.
“A foreign youth requests work here — one condition, he asks for a thousand ashrafis.”
The prince remarked:
“A youth daring to demand such a wage surely has great honor.”
The king’s suspicion rose, fearing his daughter might already have ties to this stranger. Without a word, he decided:
“Very well! This shall be the youth’s companion — my daughter shall go with him.”
By fortune, Zarijun met a noble lady and set off on a journey together. With no real work and a new companion, he wandered across the land, still wielding his bow and arrows. Along the way, he killed two tigers and a massive elephant.
Reaching the city of Khorshedabad, Zarijun presented the tiger claws and elephant tusks to the local king. The king built a small palace for the prince from Rome and appointed Zarijun as his Vizier Azam.
After telling Zarijun’s tale, the story returns to Roshon Zamir: While traveling, he arrived at a strange city where everyone walks on one foot. Roshon Zamir’s two feet were seized, capturing him. The serpent azdaha arrived to save him, carrying him into the dark cave where the scorpion-crab’s mate awaited. The old pir was there as well, coordinating Roshon’s mission to defeat a monstrous enemy with the sword.
During this quest, Roshon encountered a prince imprisoned for fourteen years by the monster — Prince Zaripoš of Damascus. Using a talisman from the old pir, Roshon subdued the monster, killed it, and freed the prince. Finally, Zaripoš breathed fresh air again and returned to his parents.
Meanwhile, Danadel Pir’s story of Geti Afroz and Malek Mohammad continued: Their quarrels and reconciliations eventually led them to fight enemies together.
Listening to these tales, Somun Rokh Bibi was astonished — the repeated mistakes of Malek Mohammad and the repeated punishments of Geti Afroz amazed her. She gasped when she heard how the king had handed his daughter to an unknown youth without hesitation.
“No need for concern, Your Majesty! The lady has completely recovered.”
Finally, within the story and outside of it, all the kings and queens, the emperors and empresses, the pirs — even the azdaha’s two young sons — lived together in happiness and peace. The queen of the fairy realm thrived, and so did the human prince and princess, in joy and harmony.