Legend

Bayran Sulu’s Golden Comb was warm from the hand and adorned with a bird with outspread wings. It glided through hair without a single tug, as though it knew the way by itself.

Late in the evening, when the palace feast was over, Bayran called over a maidservant who was clearing goblets from the tables. From dawn the girl combed, washed and dressed others. Her own braid she pinned up any old way, on the run.

“I’ve no time for myself,” she said. “Girls like me are here to look after others.”

“And who looks after you?” asked Bayran.

The girl did not answer. Bayran unpinned her braid.

“Sit down.”

The maid sat stiffly, ready to spring up at any moment. The comb travelled from her brow to the very ends, slowly, strand by strand. After a while her shoulders dropped. No one had ever touched her without hurrying.

“Wealth doesn’t begin with gold,” said Bayran. “It begins with whether you can treat yourself as tenderly as you treat others.”

Next morning the maid braided her hair slowly, before dawn, though no one saw. And one tooth of Bayran’s Golden Comb stayed bent from her thick hair.