I believe it was about the time of the evening prayer. Someone was at the door. He explaihat the Sultan had announced a petition. As you and, my dear Sultan; indeed, who could draw a more beautiful horse than I?
It gave me pause, however, when I learhat the picture was to be made without color in the blak style. Why no colors? Because I happen to be the best in the sele and application of them? Who would judge which illustration was best? I tried to get more information out of the broad-shouldered, pink-lipped, pretty boy who』d e from the palace, and was able to ihat Head Illuminator Master Osman was behind this test. Master Osman, without a doubt, knows my talent and likes me the best of all the masters.
So, as I gazed at the empty page, the stance, look and demeanor of a horse that would please both the Sultan and Master Osman came to life before my eyes. The horse ought to be lively, but serious, like the horses Master Osman made ten years ago, and it should be rearing, in the way that alleased Our Sultan, so that both of them would cur on the horse』s beauty. How many gold pieces are they , I wonder? How would Mir Musavvir make this picture? How would Bihzad?
Suddenly, the beast entered my thoughts with such speed, that by the time I uood what it was, my damnable hand grabbed the brush and began to draw a miraculous horse beyond anyone』s ception, starting from the raised left f. After quickly joining the leg to the body, I made two arcs swiftly, pleasurably and fidently—had you seen them, you would』ve said this artist is no illustrator, but a calligrapher. I was gazing at my hand with awe, while it moved as if it beloo ahese spectacular arcs became the horse』s ample stomach, solid chest and swanlike neck. The illustration might』ve been sidered plete. Oh, the talent of which I am possessed! Meanwhile, I looked to see that my hand had traced out the nose and open mouth of the strong and joyful horse and laid dowelligent forehead and ears. , once again, look Mother, how beautiful, I merrily drew another arc as if scripting a letter, and I was moved to the verge of laughter. I swooped down in a perfect ar
the ney rearing horse to its saddle. My hand occupied itself with the saddle as I proudly regarded my horse, now ing into being, with a robust, rounded body not unlike my own: Everyone will be stunned by this horse. I thought about the sweet ents Our Sultan would make when I won the prize; He』d preseh a purse of gold s; and I had the urge to laugh again as I imagined how I』d t them at home. Just then, my hand, which I gazed at out of the er of my eye, finished with the saddle and took my brush to the inkwell and back before I began the horse』s rump with a chuckle as though I』d told a joke. I briskly outlihe tail. How gentle and curvaceous I made the rear end, lovingly wishing to cup it in my hands like the get of a boy I was about to violate. As I smiled, my clever hand finished with the hind legs, and my brush stopped: This was the fi rearing horse the world had ever known. I was overe with joy, happily thinking about how much they would like my horse, how they would declare me the most talented of miniaturists and even how they would annou ohat I was to bee Head Illuminator; but then I sidered what else those idiots would say: 「How quickly and joyfully he』s drawn this!」 For this reason alone, I was worried they wouldn』t take my wonderful illustration seriously. Therefore, I meticulously rehe mane, nostrils,