As always, we got together at the tavern for another Alif Laila story.
And as we sat with cups and glasses of whatever we were drinking, the storyteller began:
Scheherzade said to the king: “Your majesty, tonight I will tell you the story of the merchant who knew animal-talk, which enabled him to communicate with animals.”
Brajesh, the new member of the group interrupted the storyteller, saying, “Remember, tonight we were supposed to bring stories written by our children and read them here.”
“Yes, you are right,” said the storyteller, “so who will read the first story?”
The man known among them as 'the scribe' came forward and said: “I have a story I want to read.”
“Only if it is by a child,” said Foroud, the Iranian.
“It must, it must,” someone shouted, “our scribe never writes anything.”
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That’s true. This man was known as 'the scribe' because he always carried a notebook and a pen with him but no one ever saw him writing anything.
“My eight-year old son Ryan wrote this story,” said the scribe.
The scribe took some pages out of his pocket and started reading:
“We lived in a normal city with plenty of people, old and young. The city had rivers and gardens too. Wide roads, busy bazaars and restaurants that served delicious foods. There were playgrounds and schools too,” read the scribe. “But one day it changed into a zombie-city.”
“Why a zombie-city, why a zombie-city,” people shouted.
“Let’s see what Ryan writes,” said the scribe while turning pages. “Yes, here. Ryan says the city turned into a zombie-zone because those who lived here turned into blood-suckers.”
“Now how does he know? He is only a child. Which city is he talking about? Not my city, right?” the group shouted.
“It is still evening. Let’s call Ryan and find out why he changed it into a zombie-city,” Hameed, the halal butcher, suggested.
The scribe called his son and turned the speaker on. “Why did you change this place that you wrote about into a zombie-city?” he asked.
“I did not. People did,” said Ryan.
“How? Why? How do you know?” the group shouted.
“I saw it on TV,” said Ryan. “They are always killing each other, with guns, bombs and even planes.”
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“This is not a story. This is politics,” said Hameed. “We want a story.”
Now the group split into two, those who wanted to hear Ryan’s story and those who wanted Alif Laila.
Those in the Alif Laila group asked the storyteller to resume the story of the merchant who could understand animal-talk.
“I am not surprised that his man could communicate with animals,” said the king. “Men are wise. They know how to communicate, even with animals.”
“Yes, you are right, your majesty. Men can communicate but can they feel too?” asked Duneyazad.
“Feelings make you weak,” said the king. “We do not need to feel. We can order and force others to obey.”
“That you can, your majesty,” said Scheherzade and continued the story.
This merchant had many animals, including a donkey and a bull that lived outside the merchant’s home.
One day, he heard his donkey telling the bull: “Tomorrow when the farmer comes to take you, pretend you are sick and you will get a day-off.” The bull did as told and was duly rewarded.
The merchant, who overheard the conversation, made his farmer take the donkey instead of the bull and force him to plough the field.
The donkey regretted telling the bull how to get a day-off. So the next day, he wanted the bull to go to work but he again pretended sick. On the third day, the donkey told the bull, “Go to work tomorrow because if you do not, the merchant will sell you to a butcher.”
“How do you know that?” the bull asked.
“I heard the merchant telling his servants that if the bull does not go to work tomorrow, take him to the butcher,” the donkey said.
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The bull had immensely enjoyed these rare day-offs. He did not want to go to work but the butcher’s fear changed his mind. So the next day, the bull got up very early, even before the farmer, came out of his barn and started waiting for someone to take him to the field.
As the merchant saw the bull going to the field, he burst out laughing.
“Why do you laugh?” asked his wife.
“I laugh because I know what happened between the donkey and the bull,” said the merchant.
“How do you know that?” asked the wife.
“I know animal-talk, so I know what happened between the bull and the donkey. That’s why I am laughing,” said the merchant.
“Then tell us as well,” said the wife, “you must.”
The merchant could not. He was not allowed to. When he learned the animal-talk, he was told that he could not share with others what he learned from the animals. The moment he broke this vow, he will die.
But the wife insisted that he must share the story of the donkey and the bull with her.
“Now this merchant understood the animals but could not understand his wife,” said Duneyazad as Scheherzade narrated the story.
“What’s their to understand? Women always cause trouble,” said the king.
In the other group, the scribe was reading the story of the zombie-city...
(To be continued)