Chapter LXIV — He reaches Bagdad, meets his first master, and turns his views to commerce
Leaving the mollah bashi's widow, her slaves, and attendants in the hands of the Cûrds, I made the best of my way to my destination; and caring little to hold converse with any one, after what had so recently taken place, I shaped my course in such a manner as not to attract observation.
Many stragglers, flying from the Cûrds, were to be seen on the road; but as they all, more or less, had interest in the fate of the caravan, they did not proceed far, but hovered about the scene of action, in the hopes of reclaiming either their friends or their property. I alone seemed to be totally independent, and by the time I had travelled two or three parasangs from the danger, I had the road to myself. Everything that had befallen me was turned over and over again in my mind, and I came to this conclusion, that powerfully protected as I seemed to be by fate, I might again turn my steps towards the paths of ambition, and hope that my last failure in the pursuits of advancement was to be made up by realizing a speedy and ample fortune.
'Ninety-five tomauns in my girdle, and all the world before me,' said I, 'is no insignificant prospect. And if Nadân be but blown from a mortar, and the chief priest's widow detained and ruined by the Cûrds, I do not see why I may not put my cap on one side as well as the best man in Persia.'
At length the walls and turrets of Bagdad appeared in view, and I entered the city a total stranger, and ignorant of its localities. Caravanserais I knew that I should find at every turn, and indifferent whither I bent my steps, or where I alighted, I let my mule take the road it liked best. Well acquainted with every street, the animal took me to a large caravanserai, where it no doubt had long been accustomed to resort, and there stopping, gave several loud grunts as it entered the porch, in the expectation of meeting its companions of the caravan. Although disappointed, yet I was more fortunate (if fortunate I could call myself), in seeing some of my countrymen in the square, and I soon found out that this was their usual rendezvous.
My person, I flattered myself, could attract no notice, go where I might: but I was sorry to find it otherwise. Upon alighting I was assailed by a thousand questions—the caravan was hourly expected, the merchants were eager for the reception of their goods, and I might possibly give them some intelligence respecting it. I made such answers as were necessary for the occasion; but resolved within myself very soon to quit so inquisitive a society, and bury myself in obscurity. I accordingly left my mule to its fate, reflecting that its owner would very soon arrive and take possession of it, and straightway settled myself in another part of the city.
As a first step towards preserving my incognito, I exchanged my dusty and weather-beaten sheep's-skin cap for a head-dress of the country, namely, a long red cloth bag, which fell down in a flap behind, and fastened to my head with a parti-coloured silk. I also bought a second-hand beniche, or cloak, usually worn by the Turks, which, going over my Persian garments, gave me the general appearance of an Osmanli; and finished my adjustment by a pair of bright crimson leather slippers.
Having done this, it came into my head that much good might accrue if I made myself known to the family of my first master, Osman Aga, for through them I might make acquaintance in the city, and promote my views in trade.
I accordingly sallied forth, and took my road through the principal bazaars and bezestens, in order to make inquiries, and particularly stopped where lambskins were sold, for I well recollected that they were his favourite article of trade. I also recollected many particulars concerning Bagdad, which he used to take pleasure in relating during our journeys, and I fancied that I could almost find my way to his very door without inquiry.
However, my trouble was soon at an end, for in putting my head into the shop of one of the principal Bokhara merchants, and inquiring if any news had reached Bagdad of one Osman Aga, I heard a well-known voice, in answer, say, 'Who wants me? In the name of the Prophet, I am he!'
Guess at my joy and surprise—it was the old man himself. I was almost as much astonished to see him at Bagdad, as I had before been to meet him at Tehran, and his surprise was equal to mine. I related as much of my history as I thought it necessary for him to know, and he told me his in return, which in two words was as follows.
