Prince Ahmed and the Fairy Pari Banu

Long ago, the Sultan of the Indies had three sons—Prince Houssain, Prince Ali, and Prince Ahmed—and a lovely niece named Princess Nouronnihar. All three brothers admired their cousin and hoped to marry her, but the Sultan did not want them to quarrel. He made a fair test.

“Travel the world,” he said, “and bring me the most extraordinary thing you can find. Whoever brings the rarest wonder shall wed Princess Nouronnihar.”

The princes bowed and set off, each by a different road. Prince Houssain journeyed to a great, busy city where markets stretched like seas of color. There he found a small, patterned carpet. It looked plain, but the merchant whispered, “Sit upon it and wish. It will carry you through the air wherever you desire.” Houssain paid dearly and guarded the flying carpet with care.

Prince Ali traveled across deserts and green valleys until he reached a shop filled with bright, curious objects. From the back shelf, the merchant drew an ivory tube. “This spyglass shows you whatever you wish to see,” the man said. “Think of a person or a place, and it will be before your eyes.” Ali bought the magic tube at once.

Prince Ahmed walked far to the north and came to a quiet bazaar. There a gray-bearded seller held up a simple-looking apple. “This is no common fruit,” the man murmured. “Let a sick person smell it, and they will be healed.” Ahmed, thinking of how precious such a gift could be, purchased the healing apple.

By chance, the brothers met at a caravanserai on their way home and agreed to share what they had found. “I will show mine first,” Prince Ali said. He lifted the tube and imagined Princess Nouronnihar. Instantly, the picture appeared: the princess lay on her bed, pale and still, surrounded by weeping servants.

“My sister!” cried Houssain, for they loved her dearly as family. “We must hurry!” The princes sat upon the flying carpet and wished to be at the palace. In a heartbeat the carpet carried them through the skies and laid them softly by Nouronnihar’s side. Prince Ahmed held the apple near her face, and as she breathed in its sweet scent, color returned to her cheeks. She opened her eyes and smiled. Everyone rejoiced.

When the princes returned to the Sultan, they told him everything. The Sultan stroked his beard. “Each of you used your wonder,” he said. “Without the tube, you would not have known. Without the carpet, you would not have come. Without the apple, she would not have been healed. How can I choose among you?”

He set a new trial. “You shall each shoot an arrow in the plain. He whose arrow flies the farthest shall marry Nouronnihar.” The princes shot. Prince Houssain’s arrow was found at the edge of the field. Prince Ali’s flew still farther. Prince Ahmed’s arrow could not be found at all.

“As we cannot find Prince Ahmed’s arrow, it cannot be measured,” the judges said. So Princess Nouronnihar married Prince Ali, and Prince Houssain, gentle and wise, chose a quiet life as a dervish. Prince Ahmed, saddened but not angry, went searching for his arrow. He wandered beyond the plain, across a low hill, and into a hidden valley bright with flowers no gardener had sown.

In the center stood a shining palace of crystal and gold. As Prince Ahmed drew near, the door opened, and a lady as radiant as dawn stepped out. “Welcome, Prince Ahmed,” she said. “I am Pari Banu. Do not fear. It was I who caught your arrow and brought you here.”

Her words were kind and her smile warm. Pari Banu told him she had long watched his courage and goodness, and wished to share her life with him. Prince Ahmed, amazed and joyful, agreed. Their wedding was celebrated that very day with music like birdsong and feasts that tasted of spring.

Pari Banu’s magic made marvels seem simple. At Ahmed’s request she built a palace near the capital, glittering with jewels, yet gentle and welcoming. Prince Ahmed visited his father often and brought gifts from Pari Banu’s halls. The Sultan admired the young couple’s happiness, and his heart was pleased—but a little green with envy.

A whispering vizier fanned that envy. “Your son has wonders greater than yours,” he said. “Ask him for a thing no man can bring. Let us see if he truly deserves such fortune.”

So the Sultan said to Ahmed, “My son, I have heard of a tent so small it fits in the hand, yet when it is opened it grows wide enough to shelter an army. Bring me this tent.” Ahmed was troubled, but he told Pari Banu the request. She smiled and placed a tiny silken bundle upon his palm. “Give this to your father,” she said. “It will do as he asks.”

The Sultan set the little tent on the ground. With a tug, it spread like a sunrise. It grew until it covered the entire courtyard and all his soldiers besides. With a touch from Ahmed, it folded itself again and became as small as a walnut. The Sultan was astonished, but the whispering vizier only bowed and breathed more jealous words into his ear.

“Ask to see Pari Banu herself,” urged the vizier. “If she does not come, she cannot be as loyal as she seems.” The Sultan sent a message. “Daughter, come to my palace and show me your respect.”

Pari Banu answered gently, “Great Sultan, I honor you. But I am shy before crowds and do not show myself to strangers. Instead, bring only your closest attendants and visit us in three days’ time. We will feast and be friends.”

The vizier feared that, once the Sultan met Pari Banu kindly, his own power would fade. He hired a wicked enchanter who disguised himself as a holy man and waited beside the road. When Prince Ahmed passed by, the false holy man sighed, “O prince, a monster prowls near the mountain, frightening the poor. Will you help me capture him?”

Prince Ahmed could not ignore a call for help. He followed the man to a rocky cave, where a chain waited. In a flash the enchanter locked the chain about Ahmed’s wrist and spoke a spell to keep him there. “Now,” he hissed, “the Sultan may take the fairy while you are trapped!”

But Pari Banu felt the danger in her heart. She sent swift helpers who broke the chain and carried Ahmed home. The enchanter was seized and sent far away where he could trouble no one.

Before Ahmed returned, the Sultan, urged on by the vizier, went early to Pari Banu’s palace with guards, hoping to surprise her. He stepped over the threshold—and stopped. His feet would not move. His arms would not lift. All the guards were frozen like statues. Pari Banu came forth, calm as moonlight. “Great Sultan,” she said, “I would have honored you as a father. Why do you come to seize what is not yours?”

Just then Ahmed arrived. He knelt before Pari Banu. “My wife, he is my father. Please, forgive him.” Pari Banu touched her hand to the air, and at once the spell melted like frost in sunshine. The Sultan staggered and bowed his head.

“My son,” he said, shamefaced, “and my daughter Pari Banu, I have been unwise. I allowed envy to guide me. Forgive me.” He sent away the wicked vizier and embraced Ahmed.

After that day there was peace. Prince Ali lived happily with Princess Nouronnihar. Prince Houssain prayed and helped the poor. The Sultan named Prince Ahmed his heir, and often visited Ahmed and Pari Banu to share quiet meals and gentle laughter. And the tiny tent, neatly folded, waited in its velvet box—just in case a whole army ever needed a little shade.