The Masnavi, Book Four
Page 24
A king once had a young son who possessed
Inside and outside virtues deemed the best.
He dreamt that suddenly that son fell dead;
For him pure wine became dark dregs instead.
Due to fire’s heat his water-sack eye drained;
In that intense heat no tears soon remained.
The king became so filled with pain entirely
That soon sighs couldn’t find a point of entry.
His body lifeless and about to break,3090
Yet there was life left when he stirred awake.
He felt such joy on waking up once more
Unlike what he’d experienced before.
He nearly died of joy so unrestrained:
Body and soul are captives that are chained;
This lamp is snuffed out by the breath of grief
But also from joy—it’s beyond belief.
Man lives between these two deaths like a yoke;
This shackled-looking one is such a joke.3095
The king said to himself, ‘By God’s decree,
Joy was the cause of sorrow tragically.
How wondrous that it is death from one angle,
Yet from the other nurturing and revival.’
One circumstance makes it become destruction,
Another turns the same thing to protection.
In this world, bodily joy seems like perfection,
But it’s a failing flaw at Resurrection.
Dream-readers say that laughter means tomorrow
Will bring regret, much weeping, and deep sorrow,
While weeping in a dream means happiness3100
Will come, my cheerful friend, and not distress.
‘This grief has passed,’ the king was pondering,
‘But still my soul fears such an awful thing,
And if my foot gets thorn-pricked suddenly,
Meaning the rose dies, where’s my legacy?’
Death has so many causes—to pre-empt
It now, which should we block as first attempt?
A hundred doors face death’s most poisonous bite;
They creak when opened, which gives such a fright.
Death’s door’s creaks are not heard by slaves of greed;3105
Since their ears can’t perceive, they don’t take heed.
Doors creaking means pain from the body’s view;
From the foe’s view it means their torture too.
Read what’s in books of medicine and learn
From that how all the flames of ailments burn.
Through all those ruptures there’s an entry way;
A scorpion’s pit is never far away.
The king said, ‘My lamp’s weak and wind is blowing;
I’ll light another lamp until that’s glowing,
So if, due to the wind, the first one dies3110
I’ll have one left still. This would be most wise.’
The mystic lights the candle of the heart,
So from the body’s lamp he can depart,
And when eventually the body dies
He holds the spirit’s candle near his eyes.
The king did not perceive this, and instead
He gave the dying candle to one dead.
The king brings a bride for his son out of fear that his bloodline will end.
‘A bride must now be sought,’ the king deduced,
‘So that my offspring will be soon produced.
So if this falcon starts to fade and wither,3115
His child can then become his true successor,
For, if this falcon’s form should disappear,
Inside his son his meaning will stay here.’
Among the Prophet’s sayings is this one:
‘The inside of his father is his son .’
And every loving person for this reason
Will pass on craft and trade skills to their children,
So that the meaning stays in this world when
Their earthly body disappears again.
‘God in His wisdom has bestowed strong yearning3120
To guide small ones who’re capable of learning—
I, too, for the continuance of my line,
See for my son a wife whose traits are fine,
The offspring of those upright and good-natured
And not the child of kings who are bad-natured.’
The upright one’s a king, for he’s been freed,
No longer captive to his lust and greed.
Some have called a mere prisoner ‘the king’—
Naming slaves ‘Kaafoor’* is a similar thing.
The desert is a ‘safe place’, isn’t it?3125
Some people call the leper ‘fortunate’.*
They called the prisoner of base desire
‘Prince’ or ‘most generous ruler who ranks higher’.
They called those prisoners of destiny
‘Most glorious princes in this territory’.
Beasts in the shoeing-line they call high-ranking:
Though they have rank and wealth, their souls are lacking.
The king chose an ascetic for his family;
His women heard of this and took it badly.
The king chooses the daughter of a poor ascetic for his son, and the women of the harem object and feel ashamed of forming relations with the poor.
The prince’s mother tried an intervention:3130
‘Spouses should match, says reason and convention.
You’re being mean and greedy and not clever,
Trying to join our son with a mere beggar.’
‘Calling a great man “beggar” is so wrong—
Through God’s bestowal his heart is rich and strong.
He goes without, content through piety,
Not, like a wretched beggar, lazily.
Living with less through piety is blameless,
It’s not the poverty of men who’re shameless:
If they find gold scraps, they make a prostration,3135
While he shuns treasures through high aspiration.
Noble ones say real beggars are those kings
Whose greed makes them seek all forbidden things.’
‘Where are his palaces for her trousseau?
Does he have coins and jewels that he can throw?’
‘Begone! God’s taken such concerns away
From those who suffer for the higher way.’
The king prevailed, gave the upright man’s daughter
To his own son because of how he saw her:
Her loveliness was rivalled by no one,3140
Her face more radiant than the morning sun.
Her beauty and her manners were so fine
That words can’t do them justice, friends of mine.
If you hunt inner goals you will soon find
Wealth, beauty, rank, and fortune trail behind.
The next world’s a wealth-bearing caravan;
This world trails it like dung and hair, good man:
If you choose hair, the camel’s not with you—
Select the camel, then the hair comes too.
When the king’s wish for this unusual wedding3145
With those good ones was sealed with no rebelling,
An old decrepit witch by destiny
Fell in love with that fine prince suddenly.
He grew bewitched by that decrepit gypsy
And Babylon’s famed witchcraft felt some envy:
That young prince fell in love with that vile crone,
Abandoning his own bride on her own.
A gypsy of the dark arts who was ugly
Had waylaid that young, beautiful prince suddenly.
That ninety-year-old fetid, stinking cunt3150
Left him with lack of wisdom, ignorant.
For a whole year he was infatuated;
He’d kiss the soles of her feet as she waited.
And that crone’s company left him bereft
Till hal
f a soul was all that he had left.
Due to his weakness, others suffered too.
Magic had made him drunk; he had no clue.
The king now felt imprisoned. That prince kept
Laughing at all the tears his father wept.
It was checkmate when he’d smelled victory.3155
Desperate, he’d give all day to charity.
Whatever remedy the king then tried
His son’s love for the hag intensified.
He grew sure it was God’s mysterious way;
The only cure in this case is to pray.
‘Your order shall prevail,’ he prayed, prostrate.
‘Apart from You, God, who else can dictate?
This wretch burns now like aloes—help him, please,
Merciful, Loving One!’ He didn’t ceasē
Until, due to his groaning and petition,3160
There soon appeared on the road a magician.
The answering of the king’s prayer for his son to be delivered from the gypsy witch.
That man was far off, but had heard related
That a crone left a good boy captivated,
That in her sorcery she had no peer,
Without a rival sorcerer who’d come near.
O youth, there is one hand above another
Up to God’s essence in both skill and power,
And all these hands reach God’s hand finally:
The end of all the torrents is the sea.
All clouds above are formed from that, its source3165
As well as where the torrent runs its course.
The king told him, ‘He’s lost control. Help, please!’
He said, ‘I’m one of the best remedies.
No sorcerer is equal to that crone;
Because I’m from the Unseen, I alone,
Like Moses’s hand, at the Lord’s decree,
Can now destroy her horrid sorcery!
This knowledge reached me from beyond this sphere,
Not study of weak sorcery found here.
I came here to undo her witchcraft trick3170
So that the prince of yours will not stay sick.
Go to the graveyard at the dawn’s first light;
Next to the wall you’ll find a tomb that’s white.
Dig open that one in Mecca’s direction,
To see the power of God’s work there in action.’
This story’s very long and you are weary;
I’ll boil it down to what is necessary.*
He opened up those tight knots which delivered
The prince from the ordeal that he had suffered.
The youth came to himself and ran away3175
To the king’s throne despite trials on the way.
He then fell down prostrate before his father;
With sword and his own shroud he made the offer.
The king decreed the town be decorated,
Then all, his bride included, celebrated.
The world revived and seemed so radiant—
In just one day things were so different.
The king held such a lavish wedding there
That dogs were fed rose candy with no care.
The old witch died of grief and to the Maker3180
She gave back her vile face and ugly nature.
The prince then asked himself in sheer amazement:
‘How did she rob my reason, sight, and judgement?’
He saw his bride moon-like in radiant beauty,
Surpassing all the others who were pretty—
He lost his wits and fell for her then fully,
His heart for three days vanished from his body.
He stayed unconscious for this time, throughout;
There was commotion at his passing out.
Through rose water and treatments, little by little3185
He came around and could tell good from evil.
The king spoke to him after one year passed:
‘O son, remember your friend from the past:
That old bedfellow on that bed, so then
You won’t be so disloyally harsh again.’
‘No way, I’ve found the realm of purest rapture
And fled the pit of that realm of bad error.’
It’s like that when believers find the way:
To God’s light from the dark they turn away.
Explaining that the prince is Man, God’s deputy’s son, his father is Adam, God’s deputy to whom the angels prostrated, and that old gypsy is the world who separated father and son through sorcery, and the Prophets and Friends of God are the physician who fixed the situation.
O brother, you should know the prince is you—3190
Into this world you can be born anew.
The gypsy witch is this world which has meant
Men falling captive to its hues and scent.
Since she has flung you in pollution there,
Make ‘Say: “I now take refuge!” ’* now your prayer.
To flee this witchcraft and not feel forlorn,
Seek refuge with The Lord of Every Dawn .*
The Prophet called this world a witch as well,
Since men fall in the pit due to its spell.
That putrid hag’s spells have such powers, beware!3195
They’ve even turned kings into captives there.
She’s of the blowing witches * inside you;
She tightens witchcraft’s knots inside you too.
The sorceress world is wily, and it’s tragic
The masses cannot cope with her black magic.
If men’s brains could untie her knots, why then
Should God have sent the Prophets down to men?
Seek the sweet-breathed knot-loosener who is privy
To ‘God does what He should will ’* and its mystery.
She trapped you in her net like fish so simply:3200
That prince stayed for a year; you’d stay for sixty!
You’ll stay in her net for that long duration,
Not happy, not pursuing good tradition.
A wretched scoundrel, your world’s neither good
Nor rescued from sins. You’ve not understood.
Her breathing’s tightened these knots, so now seek
The breathing of the Maker, who’s unique.
‘I breathed in him My spirit ’* saves you from
This fate and says: ‘Ascend now higher. Come!’
Just God’s breath can consume breath of the sorcerer;3205
The latter’s wrath, while love’s breath is the former.
His mercy’s prior to His wrath,* so you
Should seek what’s prior to be prior too,
So you may reach the wedded souls * one day,
For, smitten prince, this is your route away.
There’s no knot-loosening with that hag in place,
With you still in that flirt’s net and embrace.
Hasn’t Mohammad said, ‘This world and that one
Are like two fellow wives as a comparison?
You cannot simultaneously unite3210
With both: the body’s health means spirit’s plight.
Is parting hard from this realm that is transient?
Think how hard it is from the realm that’s permanent.
To leave the form is hard for you, so ponder
How severance from the Lord is that much harder.
Parting this world’s too hard for you today—
How will you cope when God is far away?
You miss so much the water that is black—
How much you’ll miss clear fountains that you lack.
If you’re without this world’s drink you can’t rest,3215
How then without the ones who drink ,* the blessed.
If you could see His beauty for one instant
You’d fling your soul and being in flames, insistent.
Afterwards you will see this world as carrion,
Once you have seen the glory o
f His union.
You’ll reach your loved one like the prince, then you
Will take the thorn of self from your foot too.
Strive now for selflessness with all your might;
Be faster, for the Lord knows best what’s right.
Do not stay wedded with yourself perpetually.3220
Don’t always fall in dirt just like a donkey.
Short-sightedness makes people stumble here.
Like blind men they can’t see the slopes appear.
On Joseph’s shirt’s scent you should now rely,*
Because its scent gives vision to the eye.
The hidden form and radiance from that forehead
Have made the eyes of Prophets be far-sighted.
That face’s light will save you from the fire.
Don’t be content with borrowed light—aim higher.
The borrowed light makes eyes see what is temporary,3225
And it makes body, mind, and spirit scabby.
It’s really fire, though it’s light in appearance.
Keep your hands off it if you want real radiance.
The eyes and soul that only see what’s transient
Fall everywhere flat on their face each instant.
Far-sighted men may see more than a scholar
Just as in dreams unschooled men may see further.
You sleep with parched lips now beside a river,
Yet run to a mirage to find some water;
You notice a mirage and start to chase—3230
You fall in love with your own sight, disgrace!
While dreaming you boast vainly to a friend:
‘With my heart’s vision all veils I can rend.
Look, I’ve seen water over there. Let’s go!’
But that’s just a mirage and you don’t know.
The further that unreal mirage lures you,
The further from the water you’ll reach too.
Your own resolve veils you from what’s right here:
Water that you can drink extremely near.
Many resolve to make a distant journey3235
From that place where their goal is found already.
The sleeper’s boast and vision are both nonsense;
It’s just a fantasy, so keep your distance.
You’re sleepy, but sleep as you travel there
While on the path to God, not anywhere,
In case a mystic on the path meets you
And frees you from vain dreams as he can do.
Though thoughts in sleep be finer that a hair,
The sleeper won’t discover the way there,