Now at this very moment the younger brother was thinking of him, and
wondering how he had got on during all the years since they had parted.
‘I will go to the fig-tree,’ he said to himself, ‘to see whether he is
alive or dead.’ So he rode through the forest till he came where the
fig-tree stood, and cut a slit in the bark, and waited. In a moment a
little gurgling noise was heard, and out came a stream of blood, running
fast. ‘Ah, woe is me!’ he cried bitterly. ‘My brother is dead or dying!
Shall I ever reach him in time to save his life?’ Then, leaping on his
horse, he shouted, ‘Now, my steed, fly like the wind!’ and they rode
right through the world, till one day they came to the town where the
young man and his wife lived. Here the princess had been sitting every
day since the morning that her husband had left her, weeping bitter
tears, and listening for his footsteps. And when she saw his brother
ride under the balcony she mistook him for her own husband, for they
were so alike that no man might tell the difference, and her heart
bounded, and, leaning down, she called to him, ‘At last! at last! how
long have I waited for thee!’ When the younger brother heard these words
he said to himself, ‘So it was here that my brother lived, and this
beautiful woman is my sister-in-law,’ but he kept silence, and let her
believe he was indeed her husband. Full of joy, the princess led him to
the old king, who welcomed him as his own son, and ordered a feast to
be made for him. And the princess was beside herself with gladness, but
when she would have put her arms round him and kissed him he held up
his hand to stop her, saying, ‘Touch me not,’ at which she marvelled
greatly.
In this manner several days went by. And one evening, as the young man
leaned from the balcony, he saw a bright light shining on the mountain.
‘What can that be?’ he said to the princess.
‘Oh, come away,’ she cried; ‘has not that light already proved your
bane? Do you wish to fight a second time with that old witch?’
He marked her words, though she knew it not, and they taught him where
his brother was, and what had befallen him. So before sunrise he stole
out early, saddled his horse, and rode off to the mountain. But the way
was further than he thought, and on the road he met a little old man who
asked him whither he was going.
Then the young man told him his story, and added. ‘Somehow or other I
must free my brother, who has fallen into the power of an old witch.’
‘I will tell you what you must do,’ said the old man. ‘The witch’s power
lies in her hair; so when you see her spring on her and seize her by
the hair, and then she cannot harm you. Be very careful never to let her
hair go, bid her lead you to your brother, and force her to bring him
back to life. For she has an ointment that will heal all wounds, and
even wake the dead. And when your brother stands safe and well before
you, then cut off her head, for she is a wicked woman.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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