There was a man called Abul Hussain who was once very rich, but had been so foolish in entertaining all his friends that he lost all his money, and became very poor.

He and his old mother lived together, and sometimes, when he felt lonely, he would walk out and call in two or three men, any passing strangers whom he chanced to meet, and ask them to come in and have a talk and smoke with him. When they left his house, he never expected to see them again.

On one occasion he accosted a man dressed in plain clothes, who, with two others, was taking a stroll, and said: “Friend, come in and have a chat with me.”

The man—who was really the King—with his two followers, went in; and, after they had talked some time and made merry over wine, Abul said: “I should like to exchange places with the King for just one day.”

“Why?” asked the King.

“Because the Priest who prays in the Musjid here, and his four friends, are very wicked men, and I should like to have them killed.”

The King, while talking, took out some powder which had the effect of putting a person to sleep, and secretly dropped it into the wine Abul was drinking. Shortly afterwards Abul fell into a deep sleep.

The King then said to his servants: “Remove this man and take him to my Palace; change his clothes for some of mine, place him in my bed, and, until I give further orders, recognise him as your King, and let him use as much money as he likes.”

The servants did as he told them, took up the sleeping man and put him to bed in the King’s Palace.

Early next morning the servants came to wake Abul, and said: “Will Your Majesty rise this morning?”

Abul rubbed his eyes and looked, and behold, he was in a King’s room and the King’s servant was addressing him! He saw his clothes, and wondered who he was, and what had happened: then he turned to the man and said: “Who am I?”

The man replied: “You are our King.”

“Am I?” returned the puzzled Abul, and, rising, he heard strains of music, and knew that the band was playing, as it always does on the awaking of a King in the morning.

He washed and dressed and went with his Vizier to hold court. While there, he said to his courtiers: “There is a man living in a certain house, and his name is Abul, I want you to take to his mother a bag of a thousand rupees. Also go to the Musjid; catch the old Priest, give him one hundred stripes, put him and his four friends on donkeys, and drive them out of the city.”

All day Abul reigned as King, but when night came, the servants, who had been instructed what to do by the real King, once more put sleeping powder into his wine, and while he slept removed him to his own home, and put him into his own bed again.

When he awoke there in the morning he called to his servants, but no one answered, except his old mother, who came and stood beside him.

“Why do you call your servants?” she asked.

“Because I am a King,” he replied. “Who are you?”

“I am your mother, my son, and think you must be dreaming. If the King hears about this he will be so angry that perhaps he will have you killed. You are only the son of a poor man; and do not vex the King, for he has been very good, and sent us a present of a thousand rupees yesterday.”

Abul, however, would not listen, but kept on insisting that he was King, so at last the King had him locked up in prison, declaring that he must be mad. There he was kept until he ceased to say that he was King, and then he was released.

On his return home, he once more invited some strange men, and, as before, the King was amongst them, and again surreptitiously put the sleeping powder into Abul’s wine, and caused him to be removed and put into his Palace on his bed while he was unconscious.

Next morning on waking Abul felt sure that it must be a dream this time, and he kept rubbing his eyes and asking the servants who he was. The servants replied: “Why, you are our King.”

Abul was more than puzzled, and, pointing to his arms, which still bore the marks of bruises from stripes received in prison, said: “If I am really the King, why have I these bruises? I have been put in prison, and these are the marks where I was beaten.”

But the servant said: “Your Majesty is dreaming; you are a King, and a very great King.”

On this Abul got up, and hearing the strains of music, he was so delighted at his lucky position that he began to dance about the room, while the King, who was peeping from a doorway, stood and laughed so much that he was almost choked. At last, being unable to restrain himself longer, he called out: “O Abul, do you wish to kill me with laughter?”

On this Abul discovered that the King had been playing a practical joke on him, and he said: “O King, you have given me much misery.”

“Have I?” said the King. “Well, as much misery as I have given you, so much pleasure shall you now have;” and he gave him a present of heaps of money and a beautiful wife, sending him away with the assurance that he would never be poor any more.

Very soon Abul ran through all his money, and, hoping to get some more from the King, planned with his wife to pay another visit to the Palace.

Then he went to the King and, crying and wringing his hands, said: “O King, my wife is dead.”

The King, much shocked and grieved, gave him a than1 of cloth and a thousand rupees, and told him to go and bury his wife.

In the meantime his wife had gone to the Queen’s apartments, and there, throwing herself on her face, she wept and said: “O Queen, my husband is dead, and I am most unhappy!”

The Queen, deeply grieved, gave her a thousand rupees and a than of cloth, saying: “Go, bury thy dead.”

Abul and his wife were now most happy, and set to work to make themselves clothes with the new cloth they had received.

Now it happened that day that the King went to see his Queen, and, finding her in tears, enquired the cause of her grief.

“Abul’s wife has just been to say Abul is dead.”

“No,” said the King; “you mean that Abul has just been to say that his wife is dead.”

“No,” replied the Queen, “Abul is dead.”

“Not at all,” returned the King; “Abul’s wife is dead,” and they fell out and quarrelled about it.

Then the King said: “Well, we’ll make a contract: if I am wrong, then I’ll give you a present of a garden.”

And the Queen said: “Very well; and if I am mistaken, I will give you my picture gallery.”

On this the King and Queen together went with a number of followers to the house of Abul.

When Abul and his wife saw them coming they were so frightened that they did not know what to do, and, having no time to run away, they both got under the cloth they were sewing, and lay quite still as though they were dead.

The King and Queen coming up were surprised indeed to find that both were really dead; but the King, remembering his promise to his wife, said: “Now, if we only could find out who died first.”

On this Abul crept out quietly, fell at the King’s feet, and cried: “Your Majesty, I died first.”

At the same time his wife crawled out and prostrated herself at the Queen’s feet, saying: “Your Majesty, I died first.”

All the followers began to laugh, and so did the King, who asked Abul why he had done this thing. Abul then confessed how he had squandered all the money which the King had given, and, not knowing how to get any more, had determined to do what he had done.

The King, pleased at Abul’s cleverness, gave him houses and money, so that he never again suffered any want.