The First Voyage of Sindbad the Sailor: A Tale of Survival, Fate, and Fortune

The First Voyage of Sindbad the Sailor – An English Retelling

BY: Khan

My name is Muhammad Ahmed Asif, but the world knows me as Sindbad the Sailor. I earned this name not by birth, but by destiny—shaped by storms, oceans, and voyages that tested both my courage and my fate.

My story begins when I was 22 years old. My father, a noble and God-fearing merchant of our city, passed away. He left behind a great fortune—warehouses full of goods, caravans of trade, and wealth enough to live in comfort for years. But youth is often blind, and I was no exception. Surrounded by luxury, I drifted into a life of ease, music, feasts, and late mornings. Slowly, flatterers and freeloaders gathered around me, praising me endlessly while feeding off my generosity.

Gold leaves quietly; friends even more quickly.
As my fortune shrank, those “friends” faded like shadows at sunset.

One day, when I found myself staring at the near-empty storerooms of my once-wealthy home, a realization struck me with painful clarity: no treasure survives idleness. Even the wealth of Qarun would vanish if one only consumed it. That day, I resolved to rebuild my life.

I gathered the little I had left, sold unnecessary belongings, and joined a group of merchants preparing to sail from our port to the city of Basra. Our ship cut through the waters of the Gulf, journeying past the islands of the East. At every port, we sold goods, bought new ones, and traveled further with hope.

The skies were clear, the winds were kind, and the voyage seemed blessed—until one strange day.

As our ship surged forward, a small island suddenly appeared in our path. The captain frowned, pulled out his map, and muttered, “This shouldn’t be here. There is no island marked in this place… unless it is a magical one.”

We all laughed at his worry.
The island was small, covered in soft yellow grass, peaceful and inviting. At the captain’s command, the sailors lowered the boat, and nearly twenty passengers, including me, stepped onto the “island” to stretch our legs.

Some men brought logs from the ship to prepare a fire for roasting meat. We were in high spirits—joking, cooking, enjoying this unexpected stop—when the ground beneath us began to tremble. At first lightly… then fiercely.

Before we could understand, the entire “island” shifted.
A thunderous jolt followed.

From the ship, the captain screamed, “Run back! It’s not an island—it’s a fish! A monstrous fish! It will plunge any moment!”

Panic erupted. Men leapt into the sea; the strong swimmers reached the ship. Others disappeared beneath the waves. As for me—I was still on the creature’s massive back when it suddenly dived. Water roared around me. In desperation, I grabbed a floating log meant for our fire and held tight as the fish descended, creating a violent whirlpool that tossed me like a leaf in a storm.

Night fell. Rain poured. I drifted alone—half-conscious, terrified, clinging only to that log and to hope.

When dawn finally broke, a coastline shimmered in the distance. The waves pushed me gently toward it. Exhausted, shivering, and nearly senseless, I collapsed on the wet sand.

Hours later, when the morning sun warmed my body, I stood up and feared, for a moment, that this land too might be a giant creature. But the ground was firm. I explored cautiously, chewed a few wild herbs to ease my hunger, and continued inland.

There, in a grassy field, I saw tall African men tending royal horses. They shouted when they spotted me and ran toward me. Their language was unknown to me, but eventually an elderly man stepped forward and addressed me in Arabic. I told them my story, and they treated me with kindness, giving me food and bringing me to their king.

The king, a generous and wise ruler, welcomed me warmly.
“You are my guest,” he said. “Stay as long as you wish.”

Yet despite his hospitality, my heart remained heavy. I had lost everything—my ship, my crew, my wealth, my home.

The island had a vast seaport, always crowded with ships from every corner of the world. I often walked there to watch the traders and breathe the scent of the sea, hoping fate might yet turn in my favor.

And one day, it did.

A large ship anchored, and as the sailors unloaded goods, my eyes froze on a stack of bundles—bundles marked clearly with my name: SINDABAD.

I rushed forward. The captain was the same man with whom I had started my ill-fated journey. When I introduced myself, he shook his head sadly. “Sindbad drowned before our eyes,” he insisted. “We mourned you.”

I gave him proofs—details only I could know. Slowly, astonishment filled his face. At last he embraced me and handed me my goods, untouched.

Joy overwhelmed me. I returned to the king with the news, and he celebrated my good fortune. After a few more days, I took his permission to leave. He gave me rich gifts, and I set sail once again.

From port to port, I traded my goods, purchased new ones, and continued my journey until, at long last, I reached my homeland.

My people welcomed me with open arms. The goods I brought—sandalwood, cinnamon, camphor, silver and gold ornaments, and precious gems—sold for a great profit. I earned nearly one hundred thousand gold coins.

With that wealth, I built a grand house, bought a beautiful garden, and returned to a life of comfort—but now with wisdom.
The sea had taken much from me, but it had also returned me to myself.

Thus ended the first voyage of Sindbad the Sailor.