The Literature of Arabia: With Critical and Biographical Sketches by Epiphanius Wilson
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The Literature of Arabia: With Critical and Biographical Sketches by Epiphanius Wilson
Arabic literature
As he spoke the friends and relations of the unhappy pair began to
assemble. The body, decked in rich robes and sparkling with jewels, was
laid upon an open bier, and the procession started, taking its way to a
high mountain at some distance from the city, the wretched husband,
clothed from head to foot in a black mantle, following mournfully.
When the place of interment was reached the corpse was lowered, just as
it was, into a deep pit. Then the husband, bidding farewell to all his
friends, stretched himself upon another bier, upon which were laid seven
little loaves of bread and a pitcher of water, and he also was let
down-down-down to the depths of the horrible cavern, and then a stone
was laid over the opening, and the melancholy company wended its way
back to the city.
You may imagine that I was no unmoved spectator of these proceedings; to
all the others it was a thing to which they had been accustomed from
their youth up; but I was so horrified that I could not help telling the
King how it struck me.
"Sire," I said, "I am more astonished than I can express to you at the
strange custom which exists in your dominions of burying the living with
the dead. In all my travels I have never before met with so cruel and
horrible a law."
"What would you have, Sindbad?" he replied. "It is the law for
everybody. I myself should be buried with the Queen if she were the
first to die."
"But, your Majesty," said I, "dare I ask if this law applies to
foreigners also?"
"Why, yes," replied the king smiling, in what I could but consider a
very heartless manner: "they are no exception to the rule if they have
married in the country."
When I heard this I went home much cast down, and from that time forward
my mind was never easy. If only my wife's little finger ached I fancied
she was going to die, and sure enough before very long she fell really
ill and in a few days breathed her last. My dismay was great, for it
seemed to me that to be buried alive was even a worse fate than to be
devoured by cannibals, nevertheless there was no escape. The body of my
wife, arrayed in her richest robes and decked with all her jewels, was
laid upon the bier. I followed it, and after me came a great procession,
headed by the king and all his nobles, and in this order we reached the
fatal mountain, which was one of a lofty chain bordering the sea.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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