Our kin as well as strangers keep away
Like Sameri* when not allowed to stay:
If I ask for some beans to fill my cup
2270
They shout, ‘May you die painfully—shut up!
In war and charity is Arab pride,
Among them you’re a blemish that must hide!’
Fighting? We don’t need that to have no life,
Beheaded thus by poverty’s cruel knife!
Charity? We must beg for our food first!
We suck the blood of flies to slake our thirst!
And if a guest should ever come our way,
While he’s asleep I’d take his coat away!’
The deception of needy disciples by false claimants whom they imagine to be venerable authorities who are in union with God, not knowing the difference between fact and fiction, between what grows naturally and what has been grafted
Because of this the wise have understood
2275
‘One must become the guest of someone good’:
You’re the disciple of a person who
Through meanness will steal all your gains from you—
How can he help you when he has no power?
He gives no light—you’ll darken by the hour!
Since he has no light, how can people say
By seeing him they’ll gain a single ray!
Just like a half-blind doctor treating eyes
He pulls wool over them—this man just lies!
‘In poverty and wealth we are this way,
2280
May no guest by us two be led astray!
If you’ve not seen a famine’s face before
Look at us bedouins now at your door!
Each false guide hides our features inwardly:
His heart is dark though he talks cleverly.’
Of God he doesn’t have a single trace
But claims more grace than Adam to your face,
The devil won’t show him a single hair,
‘I’m greater than the saints,’ he’ll still declare,
He’s stolen terms from Sufis for his speech
2285
So men might think he’s qualified to teach,
To Bayazid he even deals out blame,
His inner being makes Yazid* feel shame—
Without a crumb from heaven, he’s alone,
God hasn’t even thrown to him a bone.
He’s said, ‘I’ve spread a feast, come everyone,
For I’m God’s deputy, the caliph’s son;
Hey simple-hearted people everywhere,
Come fill your stomachs here with my hot air!’
Some waited years for promises he made,
2290
Tomorrow never comes, and dreams must fade.
It takes a while until one’s inner soul
Becomes revealed to others as a whole:
Is there some gold beneath the body’s wall
Or just a snake-pit where foul insects crawl?
Once it is known that this man was depraved,
His students will be too old to be saved.
In explanation of how it happens occasionally that a disciple sincerely believes that a false claimant is authentic, and, through this conviction of his, reaches a station that his shaikh has never even dreamt of, such that fire and water cannot harm him though they do harm his shaikh. But this is very rare
Occasionally, we see the opposite:
From falsehood some disciples benefit;
With a sincere aim they may reach their goal
2295
Though a mere body they had thought a soul.
Guessing the qebla* in the dead of night,
God heard their prayers though they did not guess right.
‘This vain impostor lacks a soul within
Just as we both lack food and are so thin—
Why should we hide our want like this big fake,
And merely for our reputation’s sake!’
The bedouin tells his wife to be patient and explains the virtue of poverty and patience
‘Why keep on seeking wealth?’ her husband said,
‘Most of our life has passed—we’ll soon be dead!
The wise don’t think of gain and loss like you
2300
For both are like a flood that passes through—
Whether it’s clean or foul, don’t waste a breath,
Within a moment it will meet its death.
Thousands of animals live wild and free
Without such ups and downs, so joyfully:
The dove gives thanks to God from that tall tree
Although for food there’s still no guarantee,
The nightingale sings praise of God as well:
“We count on you, and you respond so well!”
The falcon finds her bliss on the king’s hand,
2305
Forgetting all the carrion in the sand;
From gnats to elephants the same applies:
They’re all God’s family, whom He supplies.
The grief inside our breasts is worthless nonsense,
Mere fog and dust of our wind-like existence,
Uprooting griefs are scythes which wickedly
Keep whispering, “It’s like this, can’t you see?”
Each suffering is a piece of death no doubt—
If you know how to, cast that portion out!
Since you can’t flee that part of death, heed well:
2310
All of it will be poured on you in hell!
But if this part of death tastes sweet to you
God will make all the rest of it sweet too.
Pains are like messengers from death—don’t shun
Death’s messenger, you weak, distracted one!
Those who live now in pleasure die in pain,
The body’s worshippers no soul will gain:
From pastures sheep are driven to their pen,
The fattest ones are picked for slaughter then.
The night has passed and dawn has come, dear wife,
2315
Will you just talk of gold for all your life?
When you were young you were more satisfied,
Now you seek gold, then you were gold inside,
A fruitful vine once, now you can’t be sold,
Your fruit should ripen, but you’re dry and old,
Your fruit ought to be sweeter now than that,
But you’ve reversed the way rope-makers plait,*
Since you’re my wife we should be similar,
To make our life together easier:
Partners must match, in basics they must share,
2320
Like gloves and shoes, together as a pair;
If one shoe of a pair does not quite fit
The other must be thrown away with it,
Have you seen double-doors of different size,
A wolf and lion mate before your eyes?
Two loads won’t balance on the camel’s back
If one’s much smaller than the other sack.
Contentment is the aim of my brave soul—
Why do you make repulsiveness your goal?’
The man spoke with sincerity this way
2325
To his old wife until the break of day.
The wife advises her husband, ‘Don’t talk any more about your own merit and spiritual station. “Why preach what you don’t practise”, for even though these words are true, still you haven’t reached the station of trust in God, and to speak like this above your own station and affairs is harmful and “more abhorred by God”’*
His wife screamed, ‘Image is what you adore,
I won’t endure your stories any more!
Don’t spout pretentious gibberish to me,
Don’t speak with arrogance presumptuously!
You have such airs as if you’ve earned much fame—
Look at your own state now and feel som
e shame!
Pride’s ugly and for beggars doubly so,
Like wearing wet clothes when it’s bound to snow!
Although you like to show off with hot air
2330
Your home’s a spider’s web—it’s hardly there!
When did you fill your soul with satisfaction?
You’ve only just looked up its definition!
Although the Prophet said “Contentment’s treasure”,
You can’t tell it from pain though it brings pleasure!
Contentment is the spirit’s treasure-chest,
But only grief is found inside your breast!
Don’t call me “wife” or try to cuddle me,
My husband’s justice, not depravity!
How can you walk with lords when you eat mud
2335
And, for your drink, you suck a locust’s blood!
You fight with dogs for bones, you’re so in need,
And mourn just like an empty-bellied reed!
Don’t look at me with eyes full of disdain
Or I’ll tell what you hide inside each vein!
You think you’re more intelligent than me,
You’ve credited me with stupidity;
Don’t jump on me like reckless wolves would do—
Better to lack a brain than be like you!
Because your brain just shackles everyone
2340
It seems more like a snake or scorpion!
May God oppose your lies and cruelty
And stop your meddling brain from touching me!
Both snake and charmer lurk behind your face,
You’re both amazingly—you’re a disgrace!
If you could see you’re ugly like the crow
From pain and grief you’d melt just like the snow!
The charmer chants spells like an enemy,
The snake casts spells back though he cannot see,
If his trap for the snake were not a spell,
2345
How could he be the snake’s prey then as well?
The charmer, counting all the wealth he’d make
Can’t recognize the spell from his own snake;
The snake says, “Charmer, you think you’re so fine—
You see your own spell, but now look at mine!
You tricked me with the name of God for fun
To make me seem possessed to everyone—
I wasn’t trapped by your tricks but God’s name,
You’ve made God’s name a trap, you should feel shame!”
The name of God will make you pay for it,
2350
To His name soul and body I commit,
For it will slit the veins of your sad life
Or throw you into gaol like me, your wife!’
The wife gave lectures to him of this sort
Just like a never-ending bad report.
The man advises his wife, ‘Don’t look upon the poor with contempt, but look at the work of God as perfect. Don’t revile the poor with their poverty through your own vain fancy and opinion’
He said, ‘Are you a wife? You always moan!
Poverty’s pride*, so leave my ears alone!
Wealth is just like a hat that people wear
To warm their heads if they have lost their hair;
But those with lovely, glossy curls prefer
2355
Not to wear hats—without they’re happier.’
The man of God is like the eye, and sight
Is better than to be veiled from God’s light:
The dealer at the time of the inspection
Strips slaves of clothes that might hide imperfection,
But he can’t strip them of their blemishes—
He’ll clothe them so that no one witnesses,
Claiming, ‘This one’s just shy through modesty;
If I undress him, he is bound to flee!’
Up to his neck the dealer’s filled with vice,
2360
To cover this, his money pays the price—
The slaves of lust can’t see his faults within
For lust unites hearts which are filled with sin,
But if a beggar utters words of gold
His wares still won’t be put in shops and sold.
The Sufi’s business is beyond your brain,
Don’t treat their poverty with such disdain
For they transcend mere outward poverty,
Their daily bread comes from God’s majesty.
Since God is just, how can He then mistreat
2365
Lovers whose hearts for Him alone still beat,
Or give some people all that they desire
While ushering the rest straight to the fire?
So may His fire burn those who hold that view
For He created earth and heaven too!
Was poverty’s my pride* then said in vain?
No, there are hidden glories to attain;
‘In anger, you have sworn at me a lot,
“Snake-charmer” you have called me, though I’m not:
The Masnavi, Book One: Bk. 1 (Oxford World's Classics) Page 26