The kutwál having finished his story, the vazír remarked: “God is great and powerful. I do not doubt this; but how a man can act so miraculously as you say the ruler of that new city has done, I cannot understand. Do you, however, go and inspect that wonderful palace and bring me an account of all that you see.” So the kutwál at once proceeded to Mulk-i Nighárín,[158] accompanied by a large body of cavaliers. Táj ul-Mulúk, on hearing of his approach, ordered all the ponds to be filled and the fountains to be set playing, and that he should be received in the ruby-room. When the prince graced the throne with his presence the kutwál rose, made his obeisance to him, and spoke as follows: “The news of your residence in this jungle, where you have a palace and a city, has reached the ears of the king, my master, who has sent me to verify the fact. Now permit me to explain to you that if you wish to remain independent, you must quit this place without delay. If not, you must put your neck in the collar of submission and present yourself at the court of the king, for one scabbard cannot hold two swords nor one country be governed by two sovereigns.” “It is true,” replied Táj ul-Mulúk, “that I have constructed buildings in a place inhabited by wild beasts, but I am only occupied here in the service of the Most High, and I do not covet sovereignty, but wish to be regarded as friendly towards your king.” The kutwál, satisfied with this declaration, returned to the vazír and related to him all that he had seen and heard, whereupon the vazír communicated it to Zayn ul-Mulúk. The fairy Bakáwalí, who was still in the king’s service, heard the news with joy: she now beheld the Aurora of hope emerge from the night of despair.
Meanwhile Zayn ul-Mulúk bent his head for some time in the collar of reflection, then expressed his fear that this new city might one day be the ruin of his kingdom. But the vazír represented to him that it was a maxim of the sages, that discretion should be practised towards an enemy who could not be conquered, and therefore he recommended that the king should enter into an allegiance with the stranger. “I consent,” replied the monarch; “and, as no one can arrange this affair so well as yourself, do you go, and kill the serpent without breaking the stick.”[159] The sagacious vazír accordingly went in great state to visit Táj ul-Mulúk, and was accorded a reception suited to his exalted rank. “You have already received a visit of a servant of my master, the king,” said the vazír. “He has spoken so highly of your qualities that the anger which had become kindled in the heart of the padisháh, on hearing of your settlement here, has been extinguished, and he purposes himself paying you a visit. What can be better than a union of two rivers of goodness and generosity?” Táj ul-Mulúk replied: “I accept with great pleasure the message which you bring me on the part of your royal master. I ought to have made the first advance, for the king’s wish which you have conveyed to me is also my own.” It was then arranged that the king should come in a week, and, after the vazír had dined with Táj ul-Mulúk in the most sumptuous manner, he returned and gave his master a faithful account of his interview and the wonders of the new city.