by Nizami
‘Does a Lord desert his servant? How can a servant obey a Lord he never sees? Let me remain in your service, as your slave; do not barter me or sell me! But it would seem that you have done so already. Did you not carve my name on to a block of ice to melt away in the sun? Did you not lead me into the fire to be burned? Did you not do these things to me? Yes, it was you. You were the one who changed my day into night, making my life a misery while all the time lamenting over it. Is that fair? You steal my heart, you entice away my soul, and to what end? In return you give me only words that sting, while I am reduced to ashes by the fire of love.
‘And what of you? What of you, dear heart, who bought me? Do I see the signs of love when I look in your face? Show me where they are! I see none. Is that why you severed all ties with me, so that you might seal your bond with another? Could it be that you seduced me with your words when all the time you were planning to give him what love desires? I hear your sighs, but are they sincere? Tell me, for if they are not sincere, your rule over me is nothing but the rule of a tyrant!
‘Why are you so heartless? After all, do you not share my grief? I only have eyes for you and, as I look for the signs that will foreshadow my fate, I think only of you. My heart craves peace, but where is it to be found? Peace is his who is allowed to gaze upon you, not his whose days pass in misery like mine. He who possesses a jewel like you possesses peace and much more; he who possesses you possesses the world.
‘But I do not possess you. Men dig for treasure, only to find that the earth will not surrender it: has that not been the case since time immemorial? Look at the garden! While the nightingale warbles its odes to the fig-tree, the raven makes off with its figs! The gardener nourishes the pomegranate tree with his heart’s blood, only to see its fruits carried off to be given to some sick fool! Such are the ways of Fate.
‘When, dear heart, will you be freed from this ogre of a husband? You are the moon in all its splendour; when, O moon, will you escape from the jaws of the dragon? When will the bee depart and leave its honey to me? When will the mirror lose its dust and shine clean again? When will the serpent die and allow me to open the casket of gems? When, when, when?
‘But do not think I nurture any hatred towards your husband. Although he is the one who is near you, although he is the moth that flutters constantly around the flame of your being, I bear no grudges: may he enjoy your light, may he be happy with his flame! Yet I cannot deny that I wish …
‘O what can I say? You are my everything: my good, my bad, my sickness and my cure.
‘Forgive me, my sweet! Forgive me if I have cast aspersions on your goodness, your integrity. Forgive me for suspecting you. I know that no one has yet stormed your citadel; I know the shell that guards the pearl is still intact; I know that no one has turned the key and opened the door to your treasure. I know all this and yet …
‘For the love of God, you know what passion does to a soul like mine! Jealousy breeds evil thoughts and suspicions. You know how much I long to be near you, how I envy even the tiniest mosquito that alights on your tender skin. Yet to the mind of a lover possessed, even that mosquito is transformed into a vulture; then the fever overwhelms me and I cannot rest until the image of that vulture is banished from my mind. But how? Ibn Salam, your husband, is a noble man, of that much I am certain. But how does knowing that help me? Of what consequence is his nobility to me? To my mind, he is little better than a common thief who delights in that which he has stolen. There he is, worrying about a rose that is not his to pick, losing sleep over a pearl that is not his to treasure!
‘Dearest heart, in loving you my life ebbs away, my lips wither and my eyes are blinded by tears. You cannot imagine how much of a madman, a “majnun”, I have become. For you, not only have I lost the world — I have lost myself.
‘But the path of true love can be taken only by those who are ready to forget themselves. For love, the faithful must pay with the blood of their hearts, the tranquillity of their souls; otherwise their love is worth nothing. Thus you are leading me by showing the true faith of your love, even if that faith should remain concealed from me for ever.
‘So let my love be the guardian of my secrets. Let the misery that love brings caress my soul! What does it matter that my sickness has no cure? As long as you are well, my suffering is immaterial.’
Chapter 42
Among Majnun’s relatives there was one whose wisdom and integrity had earned him the respect and esteem of all who knew him. Salim Amiri was Majnun’s maternal uncle, and he loved his sister’s child as much as loved his own offspring.
Now Salim wanted more than anything to help his nephew, but even he — who knew the cure for every evil and was usually able to find a way out of any tight corner — failed in the case of Majnun.
All he could do was share his nephew’s suffering from afar, lightening the poor boy’s burden every now and then with presents of clean clothes and fresh food. Eventually, however, he decided that he must visit the tortured youth and reappraise the situation.
Who knows, perhaps there was something more that could be done; perhaps there was still a way to bring the boy back home.
And so Salim mounted his strongest and swiftest camel and set off into the wilderness. The journey took many days.
Under the fierce rays of the sun, he would ride like the wind; when dusk fell, he would make his way to the nearest caravanserai to spend the night in the company of other travellers.
But as he ventured further into the heart of the desert, the caravanserai stops became less frequent, that did not deter him.
His stocks of food and water almost depleted, he rode like the wind until, at last, he discovered his estranged nephew at a place in the desert wastes where no human had ever trod before.
But Majnun was not alone. Salim found his nephew surrounded by wild beasts; it was as though he had herded together all the animals of the desert and plain into one huge army.
As Salim approached the horde, he felt fear creeping up his spine. He stopped and shouted a greeting, too afraid to dismount.
‘Who are you?’ came the reply. ‘Who are you and what do you want here?’
‘My name is Salim, from the tribe of Amir. I, too, am the plaything of Fate, if you must know.
‘Do you not recognise me? I can see that the sun has blackened your face and changed you beyond recognition, but I have not changed so much! Can you not see that I am your uncle?’
Recognising his visitor, Majnun ordered his animals not to attack. Then he helped Salim dismount, greeted him in the customary manner and asked him to be seated.
With great courtesy, he enquired about his friends and relatives and his visitor’s health; Salim was most surprised to find that his nephew had lost none of his politeness. Indeed, for a man living the life of a savage he seemed to Salim to be most reasonable.
Did he deserve the epithet ‘Majnun’, the ‘madman’? Of course his outward appearance betokened savagery, it was true, but should one always judge by appearances?
As he looked his sister’s child up and down, Salim felt shame and grief flood through his heart. How could such a tragedy have happened?
For a tragedy it most certainly was. Here was a young man, a scion of a noble family, the jewel in the crown of the illustrious tribe of Amir, naked as the day he was born, walking like a corpse freshly risen from the grave, surrounded by vicious, snarling beasts! No nobleman — no man — should expose himself like this, not even here in this God-forsaken place where only stars, rocks and desert beasts could see him. Such a situation was intolerable!
Salim could bear it no longer. He searched through his bag and took out a shawl.
‘Forgive me, Nephew!’ he said, averting his eyes, ‘but I beg you to cover yourself with this shawl. It goes against decency that you should walk around naked — at least not while I am here with you.’
‘What use do I have for clothes?’ said Majnun, handing back the shawl. ‘My body is warm enough with them.
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‘My heart is a furnace whose fuel is love: were I to don that shawl the heat from my heart would consume it in seconds.’
Salim insisted again and again until Majnun saw that he had no choice but to comply.
Then Salim took a cloth from his bag, spread it on the ground and covered it with the delicacies he had brought with him: cakes and pastries, sweetmeats and savouries. Who could have resisted such a delicious spread?
But the more Salim insisted, the more stubborn Majnun became, refusing even the smallest mouthful. Instead, Majnun took the food and threw it to the animals, laughing wildly as they lapped up the tasty morsels and begged for more!
When Salim realised that there was nothing he could do to make Majnun see reason, and that even the choicest of delicacies would only be thrown to the beasts, he said, ‘OK, so you will not eat. So be it. But tell me, what is it that sustains you? You are but a human like me, and a human needs food. Tell me, what is your food?’
Majnun replied, ‘Dear Uncle, your name, Salim, means “sound and healthy”, which is an exact description of my heart! I am fit and well, even if my mouth and my stomach have forgotten how to eat. The truth is that I no longer desire food: a few roots and berries are all that I need.
‘But enough of my needs! I am not the only creature here, and as you can see, my animals are only too glad to accept the food you have brought with you. Watching them eat helps to fill me, too!’
Salim pondered his nephew’s words for a while, then smiled. He said, ‘Perhaps you are right. After all, birds are caught in snares because they are greedy for bait; are human beings any different? Our hunger is the snare in which Fate entraps us: the greater the greed, the greater the danger.
‘Only those who are content with little, as you are, can claim to be truly free; only they are masters of their own worlds. That reminds me of a story which you must hear. It concerns a King and a dervish …
‘There was once a dervish, a “fool of God”, who had turned away from the world in order to focus all of his thoughts and desires on the world to come. His home was but a hovel, a miserable pit with crumbling walls, but to him it was grander than a palace.
‘One day, the King happened to be riding by. He saw the hovel and could hardly believe that any human would want to live in such a God-forsaken place. He asked one of his courtiers, “What does this man do here? What does he eat? Where does he sleep? Who is he?”
‘“He is a dervish,” answered the courtier, “a fool of God who requires neither food nor sleep, for he is not as other men.”
‘The King’s curiosity was aroused and so he decided to approach the hermit. At some distance from the hovel, he dismounted from his steed and gestured to one of his courtiers to bring the hermit out to meet him.
‘The courtier went to the door of the hovel, whereupon the hermit emerged, dust-streaked and dishevelled.
‘“You seem,’ said the courtier, “to have severed all bonds with this world. It would appear also that you are content to live all alone in this God-forsaken pit. For Heaven’s sake, why? Where do you find the strength to endure such a hell? And what, pray tell us, do you eat?”
‘The dervish held up some plants he had just gathered from the plain where the gazelles graze. He pointed to them and said, “This is what I eat, and I must say that it is more than enough for my needs.”
‘The courtier, shallow and supercilious as only those who serve Kings can be, sneered contemptuously and said, “How can you bear to live like this? If you were to enter the service of our King you would have better food than a few blades of grass!”
‘“Pardon me?” said the dervish indignantly. “Did I hear you call this grass? I will have you know, good sir, that these are honey blossoms! If only you knew how delicious they were, you would resign your post with the King immediately and rush to my table to share them with me!”
‘The King heard these words, pondered them a little and, being a wise man, realized the truth in them. He rushed forward to the dervish, grasped his filthy hand and began to shower it with kisses.
‘And the King was right to do so, for he had realised the truth. He had realised that only those are free who have no worldly desires.’
Chapter 43
Majnun listened with rapt attention to Salim’s story. When his uncle had finished, Majnun appeared almost joyful. He even laughed as he used to, jumping up and down with restless joy, speaking animatedly and with great fondness about the friends of his youth and the adventures they had shared.
But then his thoughts turned to his mother and his face clouded over. With tears in his voice he said, ‘Why is it that I have not thought of my dear mother for so long? My poor mother, the bird with the broken wings! Tell me, how is she? Is she well or has sorrow brought her to her knees? I am her Moorish slave, my face blackened with shame. Indeed, so great is my shame that I dare not approach her, yet how I wish to see her beautiful face once more!’
Salim decided that he would try to make Majnun’s wish come true; after all, perhaps the mother could persuade her wayward son to return to his home and the protection of his tribe. Although Majnun lived like a wild beast, he was human — and do humans not belong with other humans? ‘Rest assured that I will bring your mother to you,’ said Salim as he left. And he was true to his word, for after a few days he returned, bringing Majnun’s mother with him.
It did not take long for the old woman to recognise her son, but when she did her heart sank. How the young rose had withered, how black the shining mirror of youth had become! As she rushed to him, the wild beasts around him began to snarl and growl, but she was not afraid of wild beasts. What concern were they of hers? Her only thoughts were for her child, her poor unhappy son, and so she fell upon him, sobbing and sighing, caressing his cheeks and his hair with her frail, bony fingers. With the unconditional love that only mothers can give, she drew a veil over the past and the injustices she had suffered at his hands: she was there for him in his hour of need, without question, without demand, bound to him by the ties of tenderness and affection that existed between them.
With a flood of tears she washed his poor face, a face so familiar yet so wasted; from the folds of her gown she took a comb and tamed the wilderness of his tangled hair, as though he were a small child again. Whispering in his ear and caressing his cheeks, she dressed the wounds caused by stones and thorns. Slowly, the wild creature began to resemble once more her beloved Kais, the happy child she had once known, her most treasured jewel, her son. Wiping away her tears, she began to speak:
‘My darling Son, what am I to do with you? Is life for you nothing but one long game of love? Your father has been cut down by the sword of death, a sword which hangs over me, too, yet still you choose to intoxicate yourself with the wine of youthful pleasures! How much longer is this to last? Your poor father died of grief and I am set to follow him to the grave by the same route, believe me. Will you not come to your senses? For the love of God, come home with me and put an end to this tragedy. Take a lesson from the birds and beasts of the wilderness: when night falls, do they not return to their nests, their lairs? Are they not an example for you? For how long do you intend to keep yourself apart from the world of men? For how long will you roam the wilds with neither sleep nor peace?
‘Life is but a tale and a cry; in a few days it is over. Come back now while you can and give yourself some peace, I beg you! Why should a filthy cave be your home? Why should you live among snakes and vultures? Do you imagine that they care more for you than we do? The snake will bite you and then, when you are dead, the vulture will pick at your bones. So leave them and return with me; stop torturing your poor soul. The soul is not a rock that can withstand the full force of the elements; the heart is no rock either, and you are not made of stone. Allow your soul some rest and your heart some peace. Come back with me!’
His mother’s words stung him like a swarm of bees, but Majnun was adamant. Here he was, and here he would stay. He took his mother’s hand i
n his and addressed her gently:
‘My dearest heart, I have become like a pearl that tortures the oyster; this I realise only too well, yet I see no other course open to me. But am I to blame, given that I had no choice in the matter? My situation is desperate, but I have not embraced such a fate willingly. We struggle and strive, but to what end? Each must play out the part written for him. You should know that I have never been free to accept my love or to refuse it: suffering and misery were not for me to choose or reject. Thus, I must beg you not to insist that I return. You say that my soul is a bird that must be freed from its cage. But, Mother, do you not see that the cage itself is my love? How then could I succeed? And if I were to return home with you, I would be giving myself up to another trap, for what you call “home” is to me a prison — a prison in which I would surely die. My love is my home; in any other abode I am a stranger. So leave me, dear heart, and do not insist. I know how unhappy you are because of my suffering. I know that only too well, but it is something that cannot be helped. The only thing I can do is to ask your forgiveness.’
Throwing himself to the ground, Majnun kissed his mother’s feet and begged her to forgive him. There was nothing the old woman could say or do; weeping bitter tears, she bade her child farewell and returned home with her brother, Salim.
Time passed, but separation did not become any easier for the old woman to bear. Gradually, she became a stranger in her own home; to her, it had become the very prison of which her beloved Majnun had spoken. Her desire for life grew weaker until, one night, her soul slipped through the prison bars of earthly existence and flew up and away to join her husband in the other world.
Chapter 44
Once more the royal rider, the sun, galloped into the vast arena where the wheel of heaven turns. His silver-robed rivals, the stars, went pale and beat a hasty retreat to the west. The conqueror’s shining countenance was too much for the crystal goblet of night, which trembled until it smashed, spilling its wine and turning the heavens purple from horizon to horizon. Thus came the dawn and the birth of a new day.