AMEEN AND THE GHOUL - Book 15 in the Baba Indaba Children's Stories

Ameen And The Ghoul


A Tale from Ancient Persia



Baba Indaba Children’s Stories



Published by

Abela Publishing, London



Ameen And The Ghoul



Typographical arrangement of this edition

©Abela Publishing 2015



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Abela Publishing,

London, United Kingdom




ISSN 2397-9607

Book 15




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Baba Indaba (pronounced Baaba Indaaba) lived in Africa a long-long time ago. Indeed, this story was first told by Baba Indaba to the British settlers over 250 years ago in a place on the South East Coast of Africa called Zululand, which is now in a country now called South Africa.


In turn the British settlers wrote these stories down and they were brought back to England on sailing ships. From England they were in turn spread to all corners of the old British Empire, and then to the world.


In olden times the Zulu’s did not have computers, or iPhones, or paper, or even pens and pencils. So, someone was assigned to be the Wenxoxi Indaba (Wensosi Indaaba) – the Storyteller. It was his, or her, job to memorise all the tribe’s history, stories and folklore, which had been passed down from generation to generation for thousands of years. So, from the time he was a young boy, Baba Indaba had been apprenticed to the tribe’s Wenxoxi Indaba to learn the stories. Every day the Wenxoxi Indaba would narrate the stories and Baba Indaba would have to recite the story back to the Wenxoxi Indaba, word for word. In this manner he learned the stories of the Zulu nation.


In time the Wenxoxi Indaba grew old and when he could no longer see or hear, Baba Indaba became the next in a long line of Wenxoxi Indabas. So fond were the children of him that they continued to call him Baba Indaba – the Father of Stories.


When the British arrived in South Africa, he made it his job to also learn their stories. He did this by going to work at the docks at the Point in Port Natal at a place the Zulu people call Ethekwene (Eh-tek-weh-nee). Here he spoke to many sailors and ships captains. Captains of ships that sailed to the far reaches of the British Empire – Canada, Australia, India, Mauritius, the Caribbean and beyond. He became so well known that ship’s crew would bring him a story every time they visited Port Natal. If they couldn’t, they would arrange to have someone bring it to him. This way his library of stories grew and grew until he was known far and wide as the keeper of stories – a true Wenxoxi Indaba of the world.


Baba Indaba believes the tale he is about to tell in this little book, and all the others he has learned, are the common property of Umntwana (Children) of every nation in the world – and so they are and have been ever since men and women began telling stories, thousands and thousands of years ago.


Where in the World – Look it Up!

This story was told to Baba Indaba by a sailor who hailed from Gorgan. The story takes place in Isfahan, not too far away from the town of Gorgan.

For many years Arabic and Persian sailors had travelled down the Gulf of Arabia and traded with towns and cities on the East Coast of Africa, frequently calling as far south as Delagoa Bay, now called Maputo.

Can you find the towns of Isfahan and Gorgan on a map? What country are they in?








(A Persian Folk Tale)

A Story, a story,

Let it come, Let it go.

A story, a story,

From long, long ago!


Umntwana Izwa! Children Listen! There is a dreadful place in Persia called the “Valley of the Angel of Death.” That terrific minister of God’s wrath, according to tradition, has resting-places upon the earth and this is his favourite abode. He is surrounded by ghouls…..”


“But Baba,” asked Sandile, “What is a ghoul?”


“Ah I am glad you have asked. In Zulu we would call them isipokwe. The Abelungu (Europeans) call them ghosts. But these ghouls in the “Valley of the Angel of Death” are the most horrid beings who, when any form of life is lost in the valley, feast upon the carcasses.

“Ngiyabonga (In-gee-ya-bonga – Thank you) Baba.”

Baba nodded, and gesticulating, continued with the story.

The natural shape of these monsters is terrible; but they can assume those of animals, such as cows or camels, or whatever they choose, often appearing to men as their relations or friends, and then they do not only transform their shapes, but their voices also are altered. The frightful screams and yells which are often heard amid these dreaded ravines are changed for the softest and most melodious notes. Unwary travellers, deluded by the appearance of friends, or captivated by the forms and charmed by the music of these demons, are allured from their path, and after feasting for a few hours on every luxury, are consigned to destruction.

The number of these ghouls has greatly decreased since the birth of the Prophet, and they have no power to hurt those who pronounce his name in sincerity of faith.

“Baba, who is the Prophet?” asked Themba?

“Ah!. The Prophet is the Prophet Mohammed. He is the man who founded the religion of Islam,” said Baba Indaba. “The people who follow Islam are called Moslems. Even now there are Moslems in Port Natal. The British have brought them here to grow sugar cane. Now that is an aside. On with the story…..”

The creatures of the Valley of the Angel of Death are the very lowest of the supernatural world and, besides being timid, are extremely stupid, and consequently often imposed upon by artful men.

The natives of Isfahan, that is in far-away Persia, though not brave, are the most crafty and acute people upon earth, and often supply the want of courage by their address. An inhabitant of that city was once compelled to travel alone at night through that dreadful valley. He was a man of ready wit, and fond of adventures, and, though no lion, had great confidence in his cunning and abilities, which had brought him through a hundred scrapes and perils that would have embarrassed or destroyed a far more simpler man of valour.

This man, whose name was Ameen Beg, had heard many stories of the ghouls of the “Valley of the Angel of Death,” and thought it likely he might meet one. He prepared accordingly, by putting an egg and a lump of salt in his pocket. He had not gone far amidst the rocks, when he heard a voice crying, “Holloa, Ameen Beg Isfahânee! you are going the wrong road, you will lose yourself; come this way. I am your friend Kerreem Beg; I know your father, old Kerbela Beg, and the street on which you were born.” Ameen knew well the power the ghouls had of assuming the shape of any person they choose; and he also knew their skill as genealogists, and their knowledge of towns as well as families; he had therefore little doubt this was one of those creatures luring him to destruction. He, however, determined to encounter him, and trust to his art for his escape.

“Stop, my friend, till I come near you,” was his reply. When Ameen came close to the ghoul, he said, “You are not my friend Kerreem; you are a lying demon, but you are just the being I desired to meet. I have tried my strength against all the men and all the beasts which exist in the natural world, and I can find nothing that is a match for me. I came therefore to this valley in the hope of encountering a ghoul, that I might prove my prowess upon him.”

The ghoul was astonished at being addressed in this manner, looked keenly at him, and said, “Son of Adam, you do not appear so strong.” “Appearances are deceptive,” replied Ameen, “but I will give you a proof of my strength. There,” said he, picking up a stone from a rivulet, “this contains a fluid; try if you can so squeeze it that it will flow out.” The ghoul took the stone, but, after a short attempt, returned it, saying, “The thing is impossible.” “Quite easy,” said the Isfahânee, taking the stone and placing it in the hand in which he had before put the egg. “Look there!” And the astonished ghoul, while he heard what he took for the breaking of the stone, saw the liquid run from between Ameen’s fingers, and this apparently without any effort.

Ameen, aided by the darkness, placed the stone upon the ground while he picked up another of a darker hue. “This,” said he, “I can see contains salt, as you will find if you can crumble it between your fingers; “but the ghoul, looking at it, confessed he had neither knowledge to discover its qualities nor strength to break it. “Give it me,” said his Ameen impatiently; and, having put it into the same hand with the piece of salt, he instantly gave the latter all crushed to the ghoul, who, seeing it reduced to powder, tasted it, and remained in stupid astonishment at the skill and strength of this wonderful man. Alarmed lest Ameen’s strength should be exerted against himself, he saw no safety in resorting to the shape of a beast, for Ameen had warned him that if he commenced any such unfair dealing, he would instantly slay him; for ghouls, though long-lived, are not immortal.

Under such circumstances he thought his best plan was to conciliate the friendship of his new companion till he found an opportunity of destroying him.

“Most wonderful man,” he said, “will you honour my abode with your presence? it is quite near at hand there you will find every refreshment; and after a comfortable night’s rest you can resume your journey.”

“I have no objection, friend ghoul, to accept your offer; but, mark me, I am, in the first place, very passionate, and must not be provoked by any expressions which are in the least disrespectful; and, in the second, I am full of discernment, and can see through your designs as clearly as I saw into that hard stone in which I discovered salt. So take care you entertain none that are wicked, or you shall suffer.”

The ghoul declared that the ear of his guest should be pained by no expression to which it did not befit his dignity to listen; and he swore by the head of his liege lord, the Angel of Death, that he would faithfully respect the rights of hospitality and friendship.

Satisfied, Ameen followed the ghoul through a number of crooked paths, around rugged cliffs, and through deep ravines, until they came to a large cave, which was dimly lit. “Here,” said the ghoul, “I dwell, and here my friend will find all he can want for refreshment and repose.” So saying, he led him to various reception rooms and apartments, in which were hoarded every species of grain, and all kinds of merchandise, plundered from travellers who had been deluded to this den, and of whose fate Ameen was too well informed by the bones over which he now and then stumbled, and by the putrid smell produced by some half-consumed carcasses. “This will be sufficient for your supper, I hope,” said the ghoul, taking up a large bag of rice; “a man of your prowess must have a tolerable appetite.” “True,” said Ameen, “but I ate a sheep and as much rice as you have there before I proceeded on my journey. I am, consequently, not hungry, but will take a little lest I offend your hospitality.” “I must boil it for you,” said the demon; “you do not eat grain and meat raw, as we do. Here is a kettle,” said he, taking up one lying amongst the plundered property. “I will go and get wood for a fire, while you fetch water with that,” pointing to a bag made of the hides of six oxen.

Ameen waited till he saw his host leave the cave for the wood, and then with great difficulty he dragged the enormous bag to the bank of a dark stream, which issued from the rocks at the other end of the cavern, and, after being visible for a few yards it disappeared underground.

“How shall I,” thought Ameen, “prevent my weakness being discovered? This bag I could hardly manage when empty; when full, it would require twenty strong men to carry it; what shall I do? I shall certainly be eaten up by this cannibal ghoul, who is now only kept in order by the impression of my great strength.” After some minutes’ reflection the Isfahânee thought of a scheme, and began digging a small channel from the stream towards the place where his supper was preparing.

“What are you doing?” asked the ghoul, as he advanced towards him; “I sent you for water to boil a little rice, and you have been an hour about it. Cannot you fill the bag and bring it away?” “Certainly I can,” said Ameen; “if I were content, after all your kindness, to show my gratitude merely by feats of brute strength, I could lift your stream if you had a bag large enough to hold it. But here,” said he, pointing to the channel he had begun,” here is the commencement of a work in which the mind of a man is employed to lessen the labour of his body. This canal, small as it may appear, will carry a stream to the other end of the cave, in which I will construct a dam that you can open and shut at pleasure, and thereby save yourself infinite trouble in fetching water. But pray let me alone till it is finished,” and he began to dig. “Nonsense!” said the ghoul, seizing the bag and filling it; “I will carry the water myself, and I advise you to leave off your canal, as you call it, and follow me, that you may eat your supper and go to sleep; you may finish this fine work, if you like it, tomorrow morning.”

Ameen congratulated himself on this escape, and was not slow in taking the advice of his host. After having eaten heartily of the supper that was prepared, he went to repose on a bed made of the richest coverlets and pillows, which were taken from one of the store-rooms of plundered goods. The ghoul, whose bed was also in the cave, had no sooner laid down than he fell into a sound sleep. The anxiety of Ameen’s mind prevented him from following his example; he rose gently, and having stuffed a long pillow into the middle of his bed, to make it appear as if he was still there, he retired to a concealed place in the cavern to watch the proceedings of the ghoul. The latter awoke a short time before daylight, and rising, went, without making any noise, towards Ameen’s bed, where, not observing the least stir, he was satisfied that his guest was in a deep sleep; so he took up one of his walking-sticks, which was in size like the trunk of a tree, and struck a terrible blow at what he supposed was Ameen’s head. He smiled not to hear a groan, thinking he had deprived him of life; but to make sure of his work, he repeated the blow seven times. He then returned to rest, but had hardly settled himself to sleep, when Ameen, who had crept into the bed, raised his head above the clothes and exclaimed, “Friend ghoul, what insect could it be that has disturbed me by its tapping? I counted the flap of its little wings seven times on the coverlet. These vermin are very annoying, for, though they cannot hurt a man, they disturb his rest!”

The ghoul’s dismay on hearing Ameen speak at all was immense, but that was increased to absolute fright when he heard him describe seven blows, any one of which would have felled an elephant, as seven flaps of an insect’s wing. Was there no safety, he thought, near so wonderful a man, and he soon afterwards arose and fled from the cave, leaving the Isfahânee its sole master.

When Ameen found his host had departed, he was at no loss to conjecture the cause, and immediately surveyed the treasures with which he was surrounded, and began to contrive a means for removing them to his home.

After examining the contents of the cave, and arming himself with a matchlock, which had belonged to some victim of the ghoul, he proceeded to survey the road. He had, however, only gone a short distance when he saw the ghoul returning with a large club in his hand, and accompanied by a fox. Ameen’s knowledge of the cunning animal instantly led him to suspect that he had undeceived his enemy, but his presence of mind did not forsake him. “Take that,” said he to the fox, aiming a ball at him from his matchlock, and shooting him through the head,—“Take that for your not performing my orders. That brute,” said he, “promised to bring me seven ghouls, so that I might chain them, and carry them to Isfahan, and here he has only brought you, who are already my slave.” So saying, he advanced towards the ghoul; but the latter had already taken to flight, and by the aid of his club bounded so rapidly over rocks and precipices that he was soon out of sight.

Ameen having well marked the path from the cavern to the road, went to the nearest town and hired camels and mules to remove the property he had acquired. After making restitution to all who remained alive to prove which parts of the Ghoul’s plunder was their goods, he became a man of wealth, all of which proves that wit and cunning always overcome brute strength and courage.


Umntwana, here ends my story.




good words are food,

bad words are poison.



Salagahle umntwana!

(Salla-gah-shle Um-in-twaan-ah

Stay well my children!)



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AMEEN AND THE GHOUL - Book 15 in the Baba Indaba Children's Stories

In book 15 of the Baba Indaba children's Stories, Baba Indaba narrates the story of AMEEN AND THE GHOUL. Ameen is tired of his life of poverty and seemingly endless toil. With little or no reward. He knows of the Valley of the Angel of Death where few fear to tread, filled with Ghouls, Jinns, other evil spirits and …….treasure! With nothing to lose, Ameen sets off to pit his wits against the Ghouls and Jinns. Will Ameen be successful or will he pay the ultimate price for his foolishness? It is believed that folklore and tales are believed to have originated in India and made their way overland along the Silk and Spice routes and through Central Asia before arriving in Europe. As such, this tale is more than likely closer to the original version than you are ever likely to read. This book also has a "Where in the World - Look it Up" section, where young readers are challenged to look up a place on a map somewhere in the world. The place, town or city is relevant to the story, on map. HINT - use Google maps. Baba Indaba is a fictitious Zulu storyteller who narrates children's stories from around the world. Baba Indaba translates as "Father of Stories".

  • Author: Abela Publishing
  • Published: 2016-04-11 18:05:11
  • Words: 3124
AMEEN AND THE GHOUL - Book 15 in the Baba Indaba Children's Stories AMEEN AND THE GHOUL - Book 15 in the Baba Indaba Children's Stories