I would rather be deprived of
the sight and possession of the speaking-bird, singing-tree, and
yellow-water, than run the risk of never seeing you more."
"Sister," replied Bahman, smiling at the sudden fears of the princess,
"my resolution is fixed, and you must allow me to execute it. However,
as events are uncertain, and I may fail in this undertaking, all I can
do is to leave you this knife. It has a peculiar property. If when you
pull it out of the sheath it is clean as it is now, it will be a sign
that I am alive; but if you find it stained with blood, then you may
believe me to be dead."
The princess could prevail nothing more with Bahman. He bade adieu to
her and Prince Perviz for the last time, and rode away. When he got
into the road, he never turned to the right hand nor to the left, but
went directly forward toward India. The twentieth day he perceived on
the roadside a very singular old man, who sat under a tree some small
distance from a thatched house, which was his retreat from the
weather.
His eyebrows were as white as snow, as was also his beard, which was
so long as to cover his mouth, while it reached down to his feet. The
nails of his hands and feet were grown to an immense length; a flat
broad umbrella covered his head. He wore no clothes, but only a mat
thrown round his body.
This old man was a dervish, for many years retired from the world, and
devoted to contemplation, so that at last he became what we have
described.
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