A thousand years ago, a great storyteller named Scheherazade told her husband one story, every night, for a thousand and one nights in a row. Many of those stories are still famous today, like the tale of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. That’s a good story, but it has no bums. 🙁
Today’s story is also one of Scheherazade’s, and it features a very loud bum.
There was in ancient time a wealthy merchant called Abu Hasan. He was famous for throwing lavish parties for his friends. And every time he did, they urged him to marry:
“A wife is a blessing,”
“One with a wife is happy 365 days a year,”
“When you get older a wife will be your comfort, and you hers,” they said.
At first, Abu Hasan didn’t listen: he liked his big parties and fancy clothes, and thought he would have to give those up if he got married. After many months his friends convinced him to go see the wasit al-zawaj—a woman who served the town as matchmaker. She introduced Abu Hasan to Jamila, a woman who was a good match. When he met her, Abu Hasan said she was as beautiful as the moon rising over the Arabian Sea, which is surely very beautiful indeed. When Jamila agreed to marry him, Abu Hasan promised to throw her the biggest party he had ever thrown.
No expense was spared: their house was decorated inside and out. The easternmost room was turned into a bridal chamber for Jamila. Silver tableware was ordered and new silk cushions were made for the many hundreds of party guests to sit on. Everyone was invited: family members, scholars and merchants, friends and enemies. The kitchen went to work preparing a giant feast: there were rices of five colours, goats stuffed with walnuts and almonds and pistachios, a whole roasted camel, and many sherbets for dessert. Everyone ate and drank and made merry. The men and women partied separately: Abu Hasan told tall tales with the men, and Jamila sang and displayed her seven new dresses (and one more!) to the women, who could not take their eyes off her.
Late that night, Jamila retired to her bridal chamber. When it was time for Abu Hasan to join her, he stood up off his lush cushion. But Abu Hasan had eaten too much meat and drunk too much wine, and as he rose he let fly a fart, great and terrible. At this place and time farts were considered extremely rude, so the men thought it would be better not to let on that they had heard the fart and pretended to continue with their storytelling. But they later compared it to thunder. Abu Hasan knew they were being polite, and a fiery embarrassment burned inside him as he left the party. He was so embarrassed that he could not even go to Jamila. Since everyone in town was in attendance, he thought his name would forever be attached to the super-loud fart, and he went straight to the city port and got on a boat to India, weeping quietly to himself all the way.
The voyage across the sea took him a week and a day. Abu Hasan landed in Calicut—the city of spices. He worked there for the king, but he dared tell no one his real name, nor his history. After ten long, lonely years, his homesickness got the better of him, and he sailed back towards Arabia.
When his ship docked under cover of night, Abu Hasan’s embarrassment returned, so he disguised himself in women’s clothing. He prayed that his story would not be remembered, and for seven days and seven nights he walked unnoticed through the outskirts of his hometown thinking: ‘maybe everything will be ok.’ On the seventh night, Abu Hasan passed under a house’s window in which a mother and daughter were talking:
“O my mother, tell me the day when I was born; one of my friends wants to wish me a happy birthday.” And the mother answered:
“O my daughter, it is easy for me to remember that date, for you were born on the very night of the great and terrible fart of Abu Hasan.”
Usually farts go like this:
You hear a funny sound,
And then you look around.
‘Oh, no,’ you think
‘Not another mighty stink!’
But then as quickly as it came, it’s gone.
And your nose is left alone.
Most farts don’t hang around for ten years. But Abu Hasan’s did!