‘Who’s taken that unique pearl from the ocean?’
The Meccans answered, ‘We were not aware
That you had even left a child back there.’
She wept and moaned so much then, mesmerized, 935
That others wept because they sympathized.
Beating her breast she wept so movingly
This made the others weep in sympathy.
Story about the old Bedouin who directed Halima to seek help from the idols.
An old man with a cane approached the screamer
And asked, ‘What’s happened now to you, Halima,
That you have stoked a fire inside your heart
And burned it with laments? How did this start?’
She said, ‘I am Mohammad’s foster-mother,
Trusted to take him back to his grandfather.
I made it to the Kaaba, but once therē 940
I heard strange voices sounding in the air,
And when I heard like this that awesome sound,
I put the boy that moment on the ground,
So I could see whose voice it was, for it
Was very lovely, fine, and delicate.
I neither found a trace of anyone
Nor did the sound pause for one breath. Not one.
And when from my heart’s turmoil I returned
I couldn’t find the boy there. My heart burned!’
The man said, ‘Daughter, don’t you suffer grief. 945
I’ll take you to a queen now for relief—
She can tell you that lost child’s situation:
She’ll tell you how he is and his location.’
Halima said, ‘I’d be your sacrifice,
Well-spoken man who seems to me so nice.
Come, show me to that queen that has this vision
Through which she can tell of the child’s condition.’
He took her to Ozza: ‘This idol’s been
Gifted with knowledge of all that’s unseen.
Each person finds his lost one thanks to her950
Once he has hurried here as worshipper.’
He then prostrated to Ozza in prayer:
‘Goddess of Arabs, sea of kindness, fair
And generous to us, Ozza, like a saviour,
Rescuing us from snares with every favour,
For which all Arabs feel a debt to you,
So they must do what you tell them to do—
Halima has come here in hope of aid
Beneath your willow branch’s soothing shade,
For she has lost a child and feels to blame;955
Mohammad is that lost child’s lovely name.’
All of the idols bowed and made prostration
As soon as they had heard Mohammad’s mention.
They said, ‘What kind of search is this? Begone!
Mohammad has deposed us. He’s the one
By whom we’ve been reduced to rubble and
Have been stripped of all value in this land.
The covetous saw in us fantasies
Before his coming, but they’ll all now cease.
They’ll vanish now his court has reached this land: 960
Water rules out ablution using sand.*
Do not stir trouble, old man—leave today!
Mohammad-envy might burn us away.
For God’s sake, go before it is too late,
So you don’t get burned by the fire of fate.
Why play around now with a dragon’s tail—
Do you not know what all this will entail?
This news makes oceans surge up and mines quake
And all the seven heavens start to shake.’
On hearing this from those stone idols, hē 965
Dropped his cane on the floor immediately.
Then, trembling due to all that had been happening,
The old man’s teeth could be heard loudly chattering.
Just like a naked man in freezing winter
He loudly screamed, ‘Disaster!’ with a shudder.
Halima saw him in that awful way
And she lost self-control too straight away,
Saying: ‘Old man, although I suffer grief,
I am bewildered now beyond belief.
The wind one moment is addressing me,970
And then the next stone forms are schooling me.
The wind speaks now to me with words and language,
Stone forms then start to teach me some new knowledge.
My child was snatched by those from the Unseen
Who live in heaven and whose wings are green.*
Who should I moan about? To whom complain?
I’m now impassioned, dizzy in my brain.
God’s jealousy has closed my lips. I’ll say
This much: My child’s lost—that’s all I’ll convey—
If I say any more and not restrain975
Myself, they’ll tie me with a madman’s chain.’
The old man said, ‘Halima, for this grace
Rejoice and bow in thanks—don’t scratch your face.
He won’t be lost to you, so don’t you fret.
The world will get lost in him once they’ve met.
Each moment countless guards of his are found
In front of him, behind, and all around.
Didn’t you see those idols of renown,
On hearing your child’s name, come tumbling down?
This is a wondrous era and so rare— 980
In my long life I’ve seen none to compare.’
Since stones wept at the news about his mission,
What will it do to sinners—just imagine!
You can’t blame stone that people worshipped it—
No one was ever forced to pray to it.
This helpless idol is so terrified—
Imagine how the guilty will be tried?
Abd al-Mottaleb, Mohammad’s grandfather, learns about Halima losing Mohammad and searches for him around the city, then weeps by the door of the Kaaba, prays to God, and finds him.
Mohammad’s grandfather soon heard about
Halima’s public screams and shouting out,
Which were so loud that people miles away 985
Could hear. Abd al-Mottaleb right away
Perceived what they must mean and he began
To weep and beat his breast. That frantic man
In grief went to the Kaaba’s door to pray:
‘You who know mysteries of both night and day,
I don’t see in myself the qualities
Entitling me to know your mysteries,
Nor any virtue that might give me more
Chance for acceptance at your fortunate door,
Or that my lowered head should qualify 990
For fortune to smile down when I should cry.
But I did see in that unique pearl’s face,
O Generous One, the traces of Your grace.
Though from me, he does not resemble me,
Nor any copper ones—he’s alchemy.
The wonders I have seen in him are vast;
I’ve not seen them in others in the past.
No one could ever properly convey
The wonders which Your grace has sent his way.
Since I have seen them all with certain vision, 995
I know he is a pearl from your deep ocean.
I also hope he will convince you, so
Please tell me how he’s faring, you who know!’
A shout then came out from within the Kaaba:
‘He now will show his face to you, grandfather.
He’s fortunate to have received our favours
And he has angels as protecting saviours.
We make so famous that which is revealed
Of him, but keep his inner being concealed.
Water and clay was gold originally; 1000
As goldsmiths we use it for jewellery:
Sometimes a sheath to hold a sword of iron,
Sometimes a collar for
a special lion,
Sometimes balls fixed on top of thrones instead,
Sometimes the crown that men want on their head.
We love this earth of ours—that’s truly meant—
Since it surrenders and remains content.
Sometimes we manifest a king from it,
Sometimes we make it crazed by him a bit.
A thousand lovers and beloveds all1005
Because of him, while searching, weep and bawl.
This is our work, unnoticed by those who
Have no deep interest in the work we do,
Though we bestow on earth this fine distinction
Just as we give food to those fleeing famine.
Earth has the form of dust to normal sight;
Within it has the attributes of light.
Its form is warring with its inner being,
Which is a jewel; stone’s its low form you’re seeing.
Its form says, “We are this and naught besides.”1010
Its inner being: “Look carefully on all sides.”
Its form denies: “There’s nothing there inside.”
Its inner being: “We’ll show what it’s denied.”
Its form and inner being war on—the two
Of course draw succour from what they both do.
We make forms from this sour-faced earth, and we
Reveal its hidden laughter inwardly:
The earth’s in tears with sorrow shown outside;
A million smiles which none can see still hide.
Revealing secrets is the work we do—1015
We bring all hidden matters in plain view.
The thief stays silent to deny of course,
But law enforcers bring truth out by force.
These earthly forms have stolen all our favour,
So we make them confess—we make them suffer.
Many great children have been born on earth,
Mohammad though is of superior worth.
The earth and sky together grew so joyful:
“Such a great king was born from this fine couple!”
Joy made the sky split open so abruptly;1020
His liberty turned earth white as a lily.
O fine earth, your exterior and interior
Are warring and they’re striking at each other.
Whoever fights himself for His Lord’s pleasure
Such that his soul opposes scent and colour,
Their darkness fighting with his light, soon finds
His soul’s sun never sets like other kinds.
The sky lets people rest their feet on it
If they have striven for our benefit.
Your outward form laments because of darkness;1025
Your inner being’s a garden full of roses.
His aim’s like that of Sufis with sour faces
Who shun those who would douse their light’s last traces;
Mystics are like the hedgehogs which conceal
Their pleasure deep behind sharp spines foes feel:
The orchard’s hidden, thorns as clear as day:
“Enemy thief, stay far away!” they say.
Hedgehog, your spines stop you from being hurt
And Sufi-like your head hides in your shirt,
So rosy-cheeked ones with a thorn’s bad naturē1030
Will not attain a fraction of your pleasure.
Although your boy is like a child he feeds
The whole world by providing for their needs.
Through him we made a world alive and we
Make heavens slaves who serve him dutifully.’
‘Where is he now?’ Abd al-Mottaleb said,
‘You who know, tell me which way I should head!’
Abd al-Mottaleb asks where Mohammad is: ‘Where can I find him?’ An answer comes from inside the Kaaba to tell him where.
A voice reached him from deep inside the Kaaba:
‘The child who is well guided and pure, searcher,
Is in a certain valley near a tree.’1035
The blessed old man set off immediately,
The Qoraysh* leaders riding by his side,
Since his forefather was their source of pride.
They all went back to Adam, and today
They were the champions at the feast and fray.
The lineage was his husk, though it had been
Filtered through the best rulers they had seen;
His kernel was beyond the husk, and there
Was naught in this world like it to compare.
None seek the birth of God’s light as a proof—1040
What need does God’s robe have for warp and woof?
The plainest robe of honour He bestows
Outshines that of the sun with its bright glows.
Remainder of the story about God’s mercy calling Belqis.
Rise, Belqis, see God’s kingdom with true vision!
Gather pearls from the shore of God’s vast ocean.
Your sisters live in heaven’s lofty palace—
Why do you act a queen for just a carcass?
Of all the fine gifts they’ve gained, do you know
What that Great Sultan opted to bestow?
Why bring out drummers to create a scene,1045
Proclaiming: ‘I’m the grimy bath-stove’s queen!’
Parable about Man’s satisfaction with this world and his world-desiring covetousness and heedlessness of the fortune of the spiritual ones, who are his kindred and are crying out: ‘If only my people would know!’ *
A dog saw a blind beggar down an alley
And tore his cloak by biting him so badly.
We’re telling a fine tale we’ve shared before*
To stress the moral point in it once more.
‘Your friends are in the mountains,’ that man said,
‘Right now they’re busy hunting there instead.
They hunt up there wild asses they can find,
So why in alleys do you hurt the blind?’
False shaikh, don’t try evasive lies again.1050
Your briny water tempted some blind men:
‘They’re my disciples and I’m brackish water;
They drink from me then turn blind not long after.’
Make yours sweet from that of the mystic ocean—
Don’t make snares from yours for those who lack vision.
God’s lions hunt wild asses—come and see!
How come you hunt the blind pretentiously?
What’s a wild ass? They block all things from sight
Since they are brave and drunk with God’s pure light.
They left then died in sheer bewilderment1055
After they witnessed this King go and hunt.
He uses them like dead birds He puts there
To lure more of their kind towards the snare.
The dead bird has no choice regarding union:
‘The heart’s between two fingers ’* says tradition.
Those lured by that dead bird look up to see
They are the King’s prey in reality.
But those who turn away from it won’t ever
Approach close to the hand of that Great Hunter.
Each says, ‘Don’t look at me as if I’m dead—1060
See how He has preserved me here instead.
Since I was killed by him, I’m not a carcass.
Just my appearance looks now like I’m lifeless.
My wings produced my movement previously,
Now it’s the Judge who is controlling me.
My body’s lost the motion that was transient;
My motion’s now from Him, so it is permanent.
If one moves crookedly in front of me,
Even a phoenix, I’ll kill mercilessly.
If you’re alive, do not see me as dead.1065
Slave, see me in the Ruler’s hand instead.’
Jesus revived the dead with holy grace—
The palm of his Creator’s hand�
��s my place.
Can I stay dead while held in God’s own hand?
Jesus’s hand is similar—understand!
I’m Jesus, but whomever my pure breath
Gives life to always lives and won’t taste death.
The corpse revived by Jesus did die later—
Give your life to this Jesus, live forever!
The staff in my own Moses-like pure hand, 1070
I’m visible, though he’s not—understand!
I span the sea for the believers’ sake
Bridge-like, but for vile Pharaoh I’m a snake.
Don’t look at just the staff, son, for without
God’s power the staff would not be strong. Don’t doubt!
The flood’s waves were a staff and they consumed
Sorcery’s followers whose pomp was doomed.
If we should now count all the staffs of God
We’d tear up Pharaoh’s followers’ vile fraud,
But leave them there on pastures where they grazē1075
On sweet, but poisonous grass in their sick ways.
If there weren’t Pharaoh and his role as head,
Where would hell find the fuel with which it’s fed?
First fatten it, then kill it as you should,
O butcher, for in hell the dogs lack food.
If in this world there were no enemy,
Then people’s rage would vanish instantly.
That rage is hell. Enmity is its food
To live, without which it’s killed by the good.
If mercy should remain without wrath here,1080
How would a king’s perfection be made clear?
Deniers mock the parables we tell
And explanations of pure men as well.
You also make fun, if that’s your desire—
Corpse, how long now remains till you expire?
Be joyful, lovers, as you beg and pray
At the same door—it opens up today.
The garlic, herbs, and such each have their plot
Inside the well-kept garden, do they not?
Each stays inside its bed with its own typē1085
And then draws moisture so it can grow ripe.
You who are in the saffron bed, be saffron;
Don’t mix with different kinds inside the garden!
Saffron, until you’re fully ripe, drink water—
You’ll then become part of the sweetest halva.
Don’t ever trespass on the turnip bed,
For they will not become like you instead.
You’re in one bed and they are in another.
‘God’s earth is vast ’* is verified by scripture,
Especially that realm the other side—1090
The Masnavi, Book Four Page 10