Ramadan Kareem to all Egyptian Chronicles readers.
Before we continue our tale and discover what the three brothers will face during their year-long quest, it is time for our usual pre-tale chitchat.
Now, a quick piece of trivia: the actor who narrated the role of the Dervish in the episodes was the late Egyptian actor of Palestinian origin, Saad El-Gazawy.
El-Gazawy was a distinguished radio performer known for his powerful and recognizable voice. He began his artistic career in the 1960s and performed numerous radio roles, particularly religious ones.
In cinema, he appeared in films such as Hijrat Al-Rasul (The Prophet’s Migration) and Min Ozamaa Al-Islam (Among the Great Figures of Islam). On television, he took part in the historical series Omar ibn Abdel Aziz.
In the 1970s, he co-presented the daily radio program Qala Al-Faylasouf (“The Philosopher Said”) alongside actress Samira Abdel Aziz.
The program first aired in 1975 and is considered one of the oldest and most culturally significant radio programs in Egypt. Blending poetry, literature, history, philosophy, and religion into a single format, it featured only two performers: Samira Abdel Aziz and Saad El-Gazawy.
El-Gazawy remained with the program until his death in May 2013.
Now, without further delay, I present the third episode of our story—The Tale of Sajur and his sons, or the 197th night of One Thousand and One Nights, as broadcast by the Egyptian State Radio.
Ep. 3 “It is always the Darvish”
And when it was the One Hundred and Ninety-Seventh Night, and the night that followed, King Shahryar took his seat as on the evening before. Shahrazad came at the appointed hour, bowed before him, and continued her tale, joining what had been severed of speech.
Shahrazad: It has reached me, O fortunate king, wise in counsel and just in decree, that when the three princes — Firuz, Nairuz, and Ma‘zuz — found their hearts bound in love for their cousin, and their father could discover no remedy for their contention, King Sajur feared that discord might ripen into calamity, and that brother would rise against brother.
Therefore, he gathered them before the princess and gave to each a purse of gold, commanding that she should belong to him who returned with the most wondrous gift.
The three brothers accepted and set forth across deserts and valleys in search of marvels worthy of her hand. After many days they came to a khan, where they lodged for three nights. Then they mounted their horses and resumed their journey, until they reached a road divided into three paths.
There they halted in perplexity.
“Before us lie three roads,” said one.
“Which shall we take?” said another.
As they debated, there came to them a dervish whose laughter rang strangely in the air.
“Each road,” said he, “holds both its good and its evil.”
“Which shall we choose?” they asked.
“You are three brothers,” replied the dervish. “Your purpose is one — but your paths are not one.”
When they tried to walk together upon a single road, they found themselves returned to the very place from which they had begun.
“The end of it is its beginning,” said the dervish, “and the beginning its end. No single road will bear you three.”
“Why?” they cried.
“Because your intentions differ, and so your roads must differ. Each of you must walk alone. Then each shall reach his desire.”
He pointed to the paths before them.
“This is the Road of Safety.
This is the Road of Regret.
And this is the Road from which there is no Return.”
They trembled — yet none would yield.
The dervish gave to each a small sphere.
“Cast it,” said he. “It will choose your road.”
They cast the spheres.
To one fell the Road of Safety.
To another, the Road of Regret.
To the third, the Road from which there is no Return.
“The path now lies open,” said the dervish. “Go your ways. Though you part, you shall meet again.”
And the brothers agreed to reunite after one year, at the same khan, on the same day — each awaiting the other.
Thus, they embraced and separated, each vanishing upon his appointed road.
A year passed.
In the palace of King Sajur there was no tidings.
The princess Amira grew pale with sorrow.
“If only I knew,” she wept, “whether they live or lie beneath the earth. I am the cause of what has befallen.”
But the king answered her, “Your tongue did not command them, nor did your hand compel them. Do not lay this burden upon your heart.”
Messengers were sent. They returned with nothing.
“It is as though the earth had opened and swallowed them,” said the vizier.
The king’s grief deepened.
One day a dervish came to the palace gates — the same who had appeared in former years.
“I come to bring peace to your heart,” he said. “Your sons live.”
“Where?” cried the king.
“They will come to you flying like birds.”
The princess lifted her face. “And will they arrive safely?”
The dervish answered only, “I have but two days left of my life. I have delivered the message and fulfilled the trust.”
Then he departed.
But the princess had grown grievously ill.
Her sorrow consumed her, and the physicians despaired of her life. King Sajur stood beside her bed, remembering his brother Azdeshir, and tears filled his eyes.
While they stood thus in despair, the palace trembled, and shouts rang through its halls. Servants rushed inward crying:
“My lord—!”
And before her tale was complete, the dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent until another night.
Till next night inshallah
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