The Masnavi, Book Three

by Jalal al-Din Rumi

  Like snow, wealth and the body melt to naught;

  God is their buyer, for The Lord has bought.*

  The snow seems better than the price for you,

  Because, uncertain, you doubt what is true.

  And your conjecture is so strange that it

  Does not seek certainty’s fine realm one bit.

  4120

  O son, conjecture thirsts for certainty,

  And, bird-like, flaps its wings incessantly.

  On gaining knowledge, wings then turn to feet;

  Certainty’s scent makes knowledge then complete.

  On this inspired path, knowledge is inferior

  To certainty, though it excels conjecture.

  I tell you knowledge seeks out certainty

  And that seeks vision gained immediately.

  Seek this—‘Alhaykom’s’ chapter’s where to go,

  After ‘Kalla’ and after ‘If you know.’*

  4125

  Knowledge takes you to vision; you can see

  Hell for yourself once you have certainty.

  Vision is born of that without delay.

  A thought comes from a fancy the same way.

  In ‘alhaykom’ it’s said transparently—

  Knowledge of it to vision of certainty.*

  But knowledge and conjecture fail the same;

  My head does not turn to react to blame.

  Once I ate halva from him, the first bite

  Made my eyes see him and become so bright.

  4130

  I tread with boldness, since I’m going home,

  Unlike blind men who tremble as they roam.

  The thing God said to raise smiles from the rose

  He told my heart, which now continually grows,

  And that touch that made cypresses stand straight,

  And that which wild rose and narcissus ate,

  And that which sweetened each cane’s heart and soul,

  And that which made a Turk so beautiful,

  And that which made the eyebrows like love’s magnet,

  And cheeks to blush just like a pomegranate,

  4135

  And gave the tongue spells that must be divine,

  And Ja’far’s pure gold* to the lowly mine.

  The day the armoury’s doors were opened, glances

  Which tease came from the archers: from their stances

  They aimed at me, driving me thus insane—

  They made me love both thanks and sugar-cane.

  I am in love with that one to whom all

  Belong. His coral’s guards are mind and soul.

  I don’t boast normally, but when I do

  Like water I quench fires without ado.

  4140

  How should I steal from treasuries that He

  Protects? His aid makes me act brazenly:

  Whoever’s back the sun warms acts the same—

  He’ll be hard-nosed and not feel fear or shame.

  His face is like the face of the bright sun:

  Veils are for it to rend, and foes to burn.

  Each Prophet sent was hard-nosed similarly,

  Defeating armies single-handedly;

  And never turning round with grief or fear,

  He took the whole world on while present here.

  4145

  The rock is hard-nosed and its eyes are bold;

  Among brickbats it won’t let fear take hold—

  Brickbats were made hard by a mere brickmaker;

  The rock though was made hard by the Creator.

  Even if sheep are numerous in the pastures,

  How can the butcher ever fear their numbers?

  ‘Each is a shepherd’: with the Prophet being

  A shepherd, men are flocks he’s overseeing.*

  The shepherd isn’t scared when they’re rebellious—

  He shields them from both heat and cold regardless.

  4150

  If he yells at them, this is actually done

  Out of the love he has for everyone.

  New Fortune whispers constantly: ‘I will

  Give you much suffering, but don’t you grieve still!

  I’ll send you so much sorrow that you’ll cry,

  To shield you from the evil people’s eye—

  I’ll make you bitter with these sorrows, to

  Compel the evil eye to move from you.

  Aren’t you a hunter seeking me, a minion

  Flung down prostrate in front of my opinion.

  4155

  You dream up schemes to reach me, but you are

  Helpless when kept apart so very far.

  Your pain looks for a way to reach me—I

  Could hear last night from you each aching sigh.

  Without requiring you to wait, tomorrow

  I could give access and show tracks to follow

  To flee time’s dangerous whirlpool finally

  And reach the treasure of My unity.’

  When you arrive the sweet taste you will gain

  Is in proportion to the journey’s pain—

  4160

  You’ll reach your final home and destination

  Only once you’ve borne trials of separation.

  Comparison of the believer’s fleeing and impatience during affliction with the agitation and resistance of chick-peas and other such vegetables in the boiling-pot, and their rushing up to jump out

  Look at the chick-pea in the pot and how

  It leaps when heated by the stove right now.

  While being boiled it rises constantly

  Up to the top. Listen to the chick-pea:

  ‘Why are you boiling me now, after you

  Have paid for me? Why treat me as you do?’

  The cook then hits it with her spoon to say:

  ‘Boil properly! Don’t try to jump away!

  4165

  I’m not doing this because I’m harming you,

  But so you’ll taste good and be wholesome too.

  As food, you’ll blend in with the soul, and so

  I’m not doing this to make you suffer woe.

  You drank in watered fields while fresh and green—

  That drinking was for this fire.’ This must mean

  His mercy’s prior to His wrath*—that’s best

  For it means mercy is what sets your test.

  His mercy comes before His wrath*—this way

  Being’s capital can be acquired today:

  4170

  Through food our skin and flesh can grow then serve

  As objects to be melted by His love.

  If all this boiling causes harm at all

  Such that you give up all your capital,

  Grace will come to excuse it straight away:

  ‘You’ve washed and stepped from that stream,’ it will say.

  The cook says, ‘Chick-pea, you fed in the spring—

  Pain is your guest now; treat it well. Its king

  Might witness it come back with praise for you

  When it goes home and shares its point of view.’

  4175

  Then, the Bestower might be much more generous

  And come Himself, making all bounties envious.

  I’m Abraham; you’re my son—lay your head.

  ‘I see I’ll sacrifice you’* we’ve all read.

  Lay it before wrath with calm heart, because

  I want to cut your throat as Ishmael’s was.*

  I’ll chop your head off, but it’s an exception,

  Immune to death and to decapitation.

  Your aim’s been to submit yourself for ever—

  Muslim, you always have to seek surrender.

  4180

  Chick-pea, keep boiling painfully with persistence

  Until you have no self nor self-existence.

  Though you laugh gaily now inside earth’s garden,

  You’re really flowers of the soul and vision.

  If you should leave this place for one pe
rfected,

  You’ll be a morsel and then resurrected.

  Become food, nourishment, and thought—don’t struggle!

  Then milk, be now a lion of the jungle.*

  You grew out of His attributes initially—

  Return to them now eagerly and nimbly.

  4185

  You came down from the clouds, the sun, and sky,

  Became His attributes, went back on high.

  As rain and heat you came down, and you should

  Return with attributes deemed very good.

  Once with the sun, the clouds, and stars, your lot

  Was to become soul, action, words, and thought.

  Animal being comes from plant’s death: recite

  ‘Kill me my trusty friends!’* It now sounds right.

  After checkmate comes victory: you have heard

  ‘There’s life in my death’*—vouch then for each word!

  4190

  Action, sincerity, and speech became

  The angels’ food, and went up to its aim.

  That morsel turned to food for Man, and he

  Rose from inanimateness magically.

  I’ll give a more extensive explanation

  Of this point in a subsequent location.

  From heaven continually a caravan

  Arrives, trades, then returns all to a plan.

  Proceed too by your own choice, happily,

  Not like a thief with loathing, bitterly.

  4195

  If I say bitter words to you, this is

  Only to clean you of all bitterness.

  Frozen grapes by cold water can be thawed;

  They won’t stay frozen once cold water’s poured—

  When your heart fills with blood through anguishes

  You’ll be released this way from bitterness.

  A comparison exemplifying the way a believer becomes patient once he understands whether tribulation is for better or for worse

  A dog that’s not for hunting has no collar,

  Just as uncooked food lacks a hint of flavour.

  ‘Dear cook, since it’s this way,’ the chick-pea said,

  ‘I’ll happily boil, if you give me your aid,

  4200

  For when I boil you are the engineer—

  Hit me now sweetly with your ladle, dear!

  I’m elephant-like—beat me, brand me too!

  I’ll then not dream of India thanks to you,

  But just submit to boiling, to discover

  A way to the embrace of my true lover.’

  Once they’re too self-sufficient, men rebel;

  A dreaming elephant does this as well—

  When such an elephant should dream of India,

  It will turn nasty and not hear its keeper.

  4205

  How the lady cook apologized to the chick-pea, and the wisdom in her boiling the chick-pea

  The lady cook told it, ‘For what it’s worth,

  I was before, like you, a piece of earth.

  Once I drank ardent struggle down, I grew

  Acceptable and most deserving too.’

  In time’s world, I boiled till I grew so hot,

  And then boiled more inside the body’s pot.

  These boilings helped me make the senses richer;

  I turned to spirit, then I was your teacher.

  Though when inanimate, I’d say, ‘Now hurry

  To knowledge and the soul’s traits and don’t worry.’

  4210

  I’ve been endowed with soul, so now let me

  Get boiled, to pass from animality.

  Appeal to God that you won’t stumble, friend,

  On these fine points, and that you’ll reach the end.

  By the Qur’an many were led astray;

  That rope made some fall in the well. I say:

  Stubborn man, you can’t claim the rope’s to blame.

  You lack the zeal to rise up to your aim.’

  The remainder of that story about the visitor to that guest-killing mosque and his resolve and sincerity

  The mosque’s ambitious guest who knew no fear

  Declared, ‘Tonight I will sleep over here.

  4215

  O mosque, if I find Kerbala in you

  You’ll be the Kaaba that fulfils me too.

  Tonight permit me, chosen house, to play

  With rope just as Hallaj did on that day.

  And, though you counsel now in Gabriel’s ways,

  Abraham won’t seek help from any blaze.*

  Gabriel, begone, for once I’m lit I’m better

  Than any aloes wood or burning amber!

  Gabriel, though you protect and help me now,

  Treating me like a brother, anyhow,

  4220

  Brother, I’m racing to the flames with savour,

  For I am not a soul who’s known to waver.’

  Through fodder that base animal soul grew;

  It was a fire and burns like firewood too.

  It would have borne fruit if it didn’t burn,

  Thriving and causing gain for men in turn.

  This fire’s a scorching wind—it is one ray

  And not its essence burning in this way.

  Fire’s essence is beyond this world we men know;

  On earth there’s just the ray and its own shadow.

  4225

  When the ray flickers it won’t last the course

  And hurriedly returns back to its source.

  Your solid form is stable, but your shadow

  Will vary, short this evening, long tomorrow.

  One can’t find permanence in just one ray—

  Reflections go back to their source one day.

  Sedition wants to speak, so press lips tight.

  Finish now! God alone knows what is right.

  Mention of the conception of evil thoughts by those who lack understanding

  Before this story can reach its conclusion

  An envious man’s stench has made an intrusion,

  4230

  And, though this doesn’t bother me one bit,

  Men’s simple minds may be tripped up by it.

  Ghazni’s Hakim explained the point so well

  By aiding veiled men with a parable:

  ‘If those who’ve lost their way, with their own eyes

  See naught in the Qur’an, that’s no surprise.

  Since only heat is sensed by a blind eye

  From rays of the bright sun up in the sky.’

  An idiot, like a nasty, foul-mouthed crone,

  Peeped out of the ass stable’s door to moan:

  4235

  He said, ‘The Masnavi is poor; it’s shallow:

  Only the Prophet’s life and how to follow,

  Naught on research in lofty mysteries

  To which God’s Friends’ steeds race—there’s none of these,

  Nor stations from the first renunciation

  Step by step to Him through annihilation,

  No definition of the stages where

  Mystics gain wings to fly with through the air.’

  When God’s Qur’an came down, each infidel

  Dismissed and criticized that text as well,

  4240

  Saying, ‘Legends and old wives’ tales abound

  In here, not what is lofty and profound.

  Children can understand it and are moved;

  It tells just what’s approved or disapproved,

  The Prophet Joseph and his curly hair,

  Zulaikha’s love for him and her despair*—

  It is so obvious all read it with ease;

  Nothing beyond one’s mind: no mysteries.’

  ‘If this seems simple now to you,’ God said,

  ‘Produce one simple chapter—go ahead!

  4245

  Tell the Jinn and the most skilled in mankind:

  “Produce one verse of this ‘too simple’ kind!”’

  Explanation of the saying
of the Prophet: ‘The Qur’an has an outer and an inner dimension, and its inner dimension has seven inner layers’

  There is an outer form to the Qur’an,

  Its inner is more powerful though, good man,

  And inside that there’s even a third layer—

  All intellects would lose themselves in there.

  The fourth layer inside none have seen at all

  But God, Who’s peerless and incomparable,

  So don’t look at its outer form that way—

  The Devil saw in Adam naught but clay.*

  4250

  The outer form is just like Adam’s person,

  That’s visible although his spirit’s hidden:

  During your life your uncle may stay near

  But still, to you, his inner state’s not clear.