The Masnavi, Book Three
Page 32
That Pure Beloved’s scent wafts here again.
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I’ll stop, for the Beloved will speak now—
Be all ear! God knows what’s best anyhow.
If lovers should repent, beware, for they
Will teach drunk on the gallows come what may.
This lover may be going to Bukhara,
But teachings aren’t what he is chasing after—
The Loved One’s beauty is the lover’s teacher,
His face their notebook, lesson, and class lecture.
They’re silent, but their inner repetition
Rises up to His throne and seat in heaven.
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Their lesson is to whirl in ecstasy,
Not to read texts or spout philosophy.
The ‘chain’ of this group is His musky tress,
Their ‘circle case’ concerns His curls no less.
If someone asks about ‘the purse’s case’,*
Then say: ‘God’s treasure’s not found in that place.’
If there’s talk of types of divorce, don’t you
Find fault, as this evokes Bukhara too.
Mention of things has special influences,
As attributes have their own substances.
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You prosper in Bukhara with your virtues,
But being truly humble is what frees you:
Mere knowledge couldn’t burden this Bukharan
Who’d concentrated on the Sun of Vision.
Whoever’s found true vision through seclusion
Shuns knowledge gained through theory and tuition;
If someone’s seen the beauty of the soul,
He won’t be moved by sciences at all;
Vision is knowledge’s superior, so
Most men succumb to this world down below—
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They see this world as theirs and so immediate,
But think the other world is bought on credit.
The lover-bondsman turns towards Bukhara
That lover’s heart throbbed as he wept blood tears,
Heading fast to Bukhara with no fears.
Scorching sands felt to him like silk, so cool,
And the great Oxus seemed a little pool;
Wilderness seemed a rose garden—he’d fall
From laughter like a rose that’s grown too tall.
Candy’s from Samarkand, but his lips found
It in Bukhara, and to it felt bound.
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Bukhara, you who’d boost intelligence,
Removed my faith and knowledge all at once.
I’m crescent-like, for I seek the full moon;
In this world’s waiting line, I want him soon.
Bukhara’s skyline came within his sight
And passion made that black form brilliant white.
He fell flat out unconscious suddenly,
His mind flown to the source of mystery.
Men dabbed his head and face then with rosewater,
Not knowing the rosewater of his lover.
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He’d seen a hidden rose garden; love had
Cut him off from himself like one gone mad.
You’re not fit for such breath, your heart is stone;
Though cane, you have no sugar of your own.
You follow just the brain that you still bear;
Of armies you can’t see* you’re unaware.
The reckless lover enters Bukhara and his friends warn him against showing himself
He entered in Bukhara happily,
Near his beloved and tranquillity,
Like drunken mystics who all gladly race
To heaven, telling the moon: ‘Let’s embrace!’
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All the Bukharans told him, ‘Get away!
Don’t let a soul see you. You cannot stay.
That angry ruler’s looking for you here
To take his vengeance for each passing year.
Don’t walk towards your own blood—don’t rely
On clever words and spells: you’re going to die.
You were the great sadr’s deputy before,
His master engineer—not any more.
After committing treachery, you fled,
So having got free why come back instead?
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You fled grief using so much trickery—
Has fate returned you or stupidity?
Your intellect scorns Mercury, but fate
Makes fools of learned intellects—just wait!
Hares who hunt lions have no luck—where is
Your cunning and unrivalled cleverness?
Destiny’s spells are numerous times as great;
Fate makes the open field a narrow strait.
There are a hundred paths and sanctuaries,
But they are blocked by dragon-fate with ease.’
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The lover answers those who reproach and threaten him
‘I suffer now from dropsy,’ he then said.
‘Water draws me, though I know I’ll be dead.
None suffering dropsy can flee water still,
Though they know from experience it will kill;
My hands and belly swell, but can’t abate
My love for water. It’s a sorry fate.
When asked about my inner state, I’ll say:
“Would that the sea still flowed in me today!”
Belly, get burst by water! Now if I
Die from this, it is a good way to die.
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I envy water I see in the stream.
“I wish I were in its place now,” I dream.
With body swollen, drum-shaped, I compose
Rhythms for love of water as a rose.
If Gabriel sheds my blood, like soil below
Gulp after gulp I’d swallow what would flow.
I drink blood like the earth and embryo;
While I’m in love, this is all that I know.
I boil above the flame like pots of stew
And drink blood all the time as dry sands do.
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I now repent that I tried trickery
To flee what his rage wished to do with me.
Let him spur on his rage at my drunk soul;
He’s Eid; the slaughtered beast is my small role.*
Whether the buffalo should sleep or feed,
We nurture it before we make it bleed.
Moses’ cow’s tail once resuscitated—
Likewise my parts revive the liberated.*
Moses’ cow was sacrificed; God willed
Its small tail to revive one who’d been killed:
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He sprang up from the spot where he lay dead;
“Strike him with part of her!” the Lord had said.*
Slaughter this cow, my friends, if your decision
Is to revive the souls that have true vision.
On death, I left being mineral then grew
And changed from plant to animal form too,
Then died to that, to be a human here—
When did death make me less? What should I fear?
I’ll die to humanness at the next battle,
Then spread my wings and soar above each angel:
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I must transcend the angels’ status too—
All perishes except God’s face* proves true.
Sacrificed, I’ll die to the angel then
And go beyond imaginings of men.
I’ll then be Non-existent, and I’ll hear
“To Him we are returning”* sound so clear.
Death is one thing agreed on by mankind;
Water of life is very hard to find.
Leave this side of the stream just like a lily,
Like dropsy sufferers, seek out death greedily.
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Water they seek means death, yet they won’t rest
Till they can drink it. God knows what is best.
Cold
one who loves material comforts, you
Flee the Beloved scared for your life too.
Even girls think you’re shameful—look above
As spirits celebrate the sword of love.
You’ve seen the stream—empty your jug inside!
How can that water now escape outside?
When the jug’s water enters, it’s effaced;
Once in the stream and merged, it can’t be traced.
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Its essence stays; its attributes have gone—
It won’t be less or ugly from now on.
I’ve hung myself like this on his palm tree,
Because I’d fled—it’s my apology.’
That lover reaches his beloved once he has washed his hands of himself
He touched his head and face then to the floor
Before the sadr, with eyes about to pour.
Expectantly, all people looked ahead—
Would he burn him or hang him there instead?
He’ll show this wretched man who’s desperate
What time shows men who are unfortunate.’
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Like moths, he saw the flames as light, then he
Gave up life by approaching foolishly.
Love’s candle has a very major difference,
It’s radiance in more radiance in more radiance;
The opposite of candles with flames’ heat,
It looks like fire, but is completely sweet.
Description of that mosque that kills lovers and of the death-seeking, reckless lover who became a guest there
Listen, good fellow, to this tale today:
There was a mosque close to the town of Rayy.*
The children of those who had spent one night
In there were orphaned by the dawn’s first light;
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Strangers with few clothes even to put on
Were in their graves like stars when it was dawn.
Pay close attention! Dawn has come—awake!
Cut short your sleep. Don’t make that same mistake.
‘Some evil spirits haunt it!’ people said.
‘They use blunt swords to leave the guests there dead.’
‘It’s talismanic magic,’ some would say,
‘That is the foe that takes their lives away.’
Another said, ‘Put a sign on the door
That clearly warns: “Don’t stay here any more!”
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If you like life, don’t stay a single night
Or death will come, though it’s now out of sight.’
Another said, ‘Lock it at night! If men
Come heedlessly, they’ll be locked outside then.’
A guest comes to that mosque
One night, a guest came there who’d heard about
Its stunning reputation, to find out
The truth by trying an experiment,
For he was very brave and confident.
‘I care so little for my head and belly,
Or one grain being lost from this life’s treasury,
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So tell the body’s form right now: “Begone!”
The husk’s worth little when I will live on.
I was breathed into* from God’s grace. Take heed!
I’m God’s breath, separate from the body’s reed.
I hope to see the pearl escape its shell
And that His breath survives this place as well.
“Sincere one, long for death!”* the Lord has said.
I’ll give my soul sincerely, unafraid.’
The people of the mosque blame that lover guest for wanting to sleep there and warn him of its dangers
They said, ‘Beware, don’t sleep here or remain.
Your own life’s foe will pound you just like grain.
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Stranger, you do not realize that men
Who sleep here die in consequence, so then
It’s not by chance or a coincidence;
It’s known by all who have intelligence,
A cruel death in the middle of the night
Awaits those who should stay here overnight.
A hundred times we’ve seen this, not just once;
It isn’t blind belief through ignorance.
The Prophet said, “Religion’s consultation,”
And that’s the opposite of self-deception.
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“Be true in friendship” is the wisest counsel.
Man’s treacherous and dog-like when deceitful.
We urge you out of love, as we’re not treacherous—
Don’t turn away from reason and from justice!’
The lover’s answer to those who scold him
He said, ‘O counsellors, is it not clear
I’ve had enough already of life here?
I am a vagrant seeking to be hit—
Don’t hope for tramps’ minds to be sound and fit.
I’m not a tramp who seeks out food, but one
Who seeks out his own death without concern,
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Not one who steals your money, but one who
Crosses that bridge more quickly than most do;
Not one who hangs around near stores, for instance,
But one who runs away from his existence.
Death and departure are all that I love:
The caged bird longs to flee and soar above;
Its cage is in the garden, where it sees
Beyond the rosebush and the lovely trees.
A flock of birds come to the cage and sing
Their happy songs of freedom on the wing.
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The caged bird, due to that scene, now no longer
Seeks food, nor has much patience or composure.
Through every gap it sticks its head out now,
And tries to shake the fetter off somehow;
Its heart and soul are in this sense outside—
Imagine when the cage is opened wide!
It’s not the caged bird with depression that’s
Surrounded by a circle of fierce cats:
Can that possess amid the grief and fear
Any desire to leave the cage down here?
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It wants more cages built around its own
To ward off harm from cats, as it feels prone.
The love of Galen* is for the life in this world, for his skill is useful here, and he does not profess any skill that is useful in that other marketplace. He sees himself in the same position over there as ordinary people
The scholar Galen said once, people claim,
Due to desire for this world and his aim:
‘Half of my soul’s intact—I’m satisfied
I see the world through a mule’s fat backside.’
He sees a file of cats around him there;
His bird fears it can’t fly up in the air.
Only this world exists to his perception,
Since he can’t see the hidden Resurrection.
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God’s kindness draws the baby gently out,
But it retreats because it’s filled with doubt:
Though it is being led out by God’s grace,
It stays inside the womb in any case,
Saying: ‘If I fall out of this great city,
I can’t come back and that would be a pity.
Out in that dirty town is there a door
Through which I can gaze at this womb once more?
Is there a path, even one needle-wide,
Through which to see the womb while I’m outside?’
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Of other worlds this baby’s also blind,
Uninitiated, like Galen’s kind.
It doesn’t know the juices found inside
Arrived as aid from that ‘bad’ world outside,
Just like the world’s four elements, no less,
Which gain a hundred aids from Placelessness.
Water is in t
he bird’s cage and some grain,
But they came from the garden and the plain.
The Prophets see the garden at the stage
When they’re released and transferred from the cage.
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Freed from both Galen and the world, they’ll soon
Appear up in the heavens like the moon.
And if those words weren’t Galen’s actually,
My answer’s not for him specifically,
But for the one who did make that remark,
And, far from light-filled hearts, lives in the dark.
Because it heard the cats stay ‘Stop!’ its soul
Has turned into a mouse that seeks a hole.
That’s why his soul perceived, just like a mouse,
This world as a fit place to build a house.
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