The Masnavi, Book Three Read online

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  ‘But I have no such mouth, God!’ Moses said.

  ‘Pray then with someone else’s mouth instead.

  When have you sinned with mouths of other men?

  To call “O God!” use mouths of others then!

  Do it in such a way that their mouths pray

  For you each night and every single day!

  Using a mouth which is completely sinless—

  Another man’s mouth—start to beg forgiveness!

  Or strive to make your own mouth pure instead

  And make your spirit sharp, one step ahead.’

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  Remembering God is pure: when purity

  Arrives defilement is obliged to flee.

  Things flee their opposites, and so the night

  Disappears when the sun emits its light:

  When His pure name is what a mouth should say

  Impurity and worry cannot stay.

  Explanation of how the supplicant’s mentioning of God’s name is the same as God’s saying, ‘Here I am!’

  ‘Allah! Allah!’ a Muslim would repeat

  Until, through prayer, his pious lips grew sweet.

  Satan said, ‘That’s too much! You’ve yet to hear

  To your “Allah!” the answer “I am here!”

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  From His throne no responses will come down,

  So why still chant “Allah!” with that deep frown?’

  That Muslim’s heart broke and he hung his head low,

  But then he dreamed he saw Khezr in a meadow.

  Khezr asked him, ‘Why don’t you chant any more?

  Do you regret the prayers you sent before?’

  He said, ‘“Here I am!”* won’t come as reply;

  God has rejected me, so this is why.’

  ‘Your “Allah!” is God’s “Here I am!” call too,

  Your need and pain God’s messenger to you:

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  God says, “Your struggles were our moves to meet,

  Approaching you and setting free your feet.

  The noose of Our Grace formed your fear and love;

  To your ‘Allah!’ ‘Here I am!’ rings above.”’

  The souls of stupid men are far from prayer

  Because to pray ‘O Lord!’ is not their share.

  Their mouths and hearts are closed up with a seal,

  So they can’t moan to God of pain they feel:

  God gave to Pharaoh riches, and then he

  Boasted about his might and majesty;

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  In his whole life that monster felt no pain,

  So that to God that wretch could not complain—

  God gave to Pharaoh all of this world’s wealth,

  But didn’t grant grief, sorrow, and ill health.

  Pain is much better than the wealth men hoard

  For it leads you to pray hard to your Lord.

  To pray without pain means you are depressed;

  To pray in pain means that with love you’re blest.

  Such love’s expressed by holding your voice in,

  Remembering your actual origin,

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  Which makes your voice pure when you finally pray:

  ‘O God, to Whom we turn, send help our way!’

  Even a dog’s whine can have some attraction,

  For everyone through love finds some distraction:

  The dog of Sleepers in the Cave spurned carrion,

  Then feasted as the lofty kings’ companion;

  Till Resurrection it drinks at that place,

  Without a bowl, water of mystic grace.*

  Many look like that dog but have no name—

  They down that drink in secret all the same.

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  Submit your life for one cup’s sake, my son.

  Strive and be patient till the battle’s won.

  Patience is not a difficult demand:

  Patience, the key to joy, makes hearts expand.

  Patience and prudence you’ll need to ascend;

  For prudence, patience is a needed friend.

  Some plants are poisonous—think before you bite.

  Prudence gave all the Prophets power and light.

  Just worthless straw will jump with every breeze—

  How can the wind make mountains feel unease?

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  From every side a monster calls you near:

  ‘Brother, if you desire the path, come here!

  I’ll show the way and travel by your side,

  For on the secret path I am the guide.’

  He’s not a guide and doesn’t know the way—

  Joseph, don’t head towards the wolf today!*

  Prudence will save you from a cheap seduction

  By worldly traps which lead to your destruction.

  This world is neither beautiful nor sweet,

  But in your ear, like spells, it will repeat:

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  ‘Come as my guest—you’re worthy of a throne.

  My home’s yours; you’re just like one of my own.’

  Prudence would say, ‘My stomach feels unwell,’

  Or ‘This world’s graveyard pains me more than hell,’

  Or ‘I’ve a headache which won’t go away,’

  Or ‘I’m invited somewhere else today,’

  Because the world gives only sweets that sting;

  Many sores and discomfort they will bring.

  If it gives gold coins to a fish, first look

  And you will see it’s all bait on a hook.

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  What is bestowed by tricksters who deceive?

  Rotten walnuts are all that you’ll receive;

  Their rattling sound will lead your brain astray

  And they think intellects are easy prey.

  Your purse and kit-bag are all you require;

  If you’re Ramin, Vis is your sole desire.*

  Your true Vis and beloved is your essence,

  While outward things are banes which form a nuisance.

  Prudence means, on receiving invitations,

  You don’t think ‘They love me’ and buy flirtations.

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  They are like hunters’ whistles used as bait—

  The hunter blows, then, camouflaged, he’ll wait.

  He’ll even show a dead bird to pretend

  It is the mournful calling of a friend.

  Foolish birds think it is one of their kin

  And gather round—he will soon flay their skin.

  The bird with prudence is the sole exception—

  It isn’t fooled by flattery and deception.

  Imprudence leads to much repentance, friend.

  The following will help you comprehend.

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  How the villager tracked the townsman and invited him with much pleading and flattery

  A townsman from among the urban gentry

  Had got to know a bumpkin from the country,

  And every time that country bumpkin could

  Visit he would stay in his neighbourhood:

  He would stay two or three months as a guest

  At work and at his home, where he would rest,

  And anything that he found necessary

  The townsman would provide without a fee.

  The bumpkin asked the townsman, ‘Why not make

  A trip to my home village for a break?

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  By God, bring all your children—we have room.

  In springtime you can watch the flowers bloom;

  In summer ripened fruit is such a sight,

  And I’ll be at your service day and night.

  Bring your whole family and your retinue.

  Stay in our village for a month or two.

  In summer, all admire the countryside

  With farms and tulip fields on every side.’

  The townsman promised, ‘On the next occasion,’

  But many years passed since that invitatio
n.

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  Each year the bumpkin would repeat, ‘Remember

  Your promise! When will you come? It’s December!’

  The townsman made the same excuse each year:

  ‘A guest is visiting; I must stay here.

  Next year, if I can I will find a way

  To take time off work for a holiday.’

  The villager said, ‘All my family

  Await yours, my good man, so eagerly.’

  Just like a stork that bumpkin would appear

  And settle on that townsman’s land each year.

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  That gentleman would generously spend

  His wealth to welcome him as a true friend;

  The last time, for three months that man prepared

  So many feasts with no expenses spared.

  The bumpkin asked the nobleman from shame:

  ‘How many promises? Is this a game?’

  ‘I’m keen to come,’ the townsman then replied,

  ‘But all depends on what God should decide.

  A man is like a sailing-boat: each day

  He waits for God to send some wind his way.’

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  The villager would plead repeatedly:

  ‘Come with your children. View the scenery!’

  He took his hand three times, to make him swear,

  Saying: ‘Give me your word that you’ll come there.’

  After years of repeated invitations

  And promises with more procrastinations,

  The townsman’s children said: ‘Dad, take a break!

  Even the moon and clouds have trips to make.

  That poor man feels indebted still to you—

  You went to so much trouble and he knew.

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  He wants to try to pay you back as best

  He can, by hosting you there as his guest.

  In secret, many times he let us know

  By saying, “Children, try to make him go!”’

  The townsman said, ‘Sebawayh, this is true,

  But those you’re kind to could be harming you!’*

  Love is the seed which sprouts in the last instance;

  It might have rotted while kept at a distance.

  Companionship is a sharp sword one wields—

  Like winter, it will devastate all fields;

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  Companionship is like the spring’s arrival—

  It brings immeasurable growth and revival.

  Prudence is fearing bad fate: when you see it

  You’ll have at least enough time then to flee it.

  The Prophet said, ‘Prudence means being suspicious’;

  Each step could hide a new snare that is dangerous.

  The plain looks clear and level, but beware!

  Don’t recklessly step on a deadly snare.

  ‘Where is the snare?’ ask scoffing billy-goats—

  They’ll fall into the snare up to their throats!

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  You who demanded ‘Where?’, turn here your face—

  You saw the pasture, not the lurking-place.

  Unless it is a cunning hunter’s snare,

  Would you expect to find a sheep’s tail there?

  You who walk fearlessly above the ground,

  Look at the bones and skulls now strewn around.

  The next time that you pass the graveyard’s gate

  Ask the bones to recount to you their fate,

  In order to observe and benefit

  From knowing how blind drunks fell in the pit

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  Of their delusion. Look on carefully

  Or hold on to your cane if you can’t see!

  Lacking prudence and guidance as your cane,

  Take as your guide an eye, or else remain

  Without that cane or eye and forced to hide

  Instead of standing there without a guide.

  Walk forward like the blind do, bit by bit,

  To dodge the dog and to avoid the pit.

  Trembling, each puts his foot down with great care,

  Fearful lest he should fall into a snare.

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  You fled from smoke to fire, and for the sake

  Of scraps of food you’re now food for the snake!

  Story of the People of Sheba* and how God’s bounty to them made them disobedient, and how misfortune visited them owing to their disobedience and infidelity, and an explanation of the virtue of gratitude and fidelity

  You’ve not heard Sheba’s story, or instead

  You have perceived just sounds from what was said.

  The mountain can’t perceive the echo’s sounds,

  Let alone reach the meaning it expounds;

  It makes a clamour but lacks brain and ears—

  When you fall silent its sound disappears.

  God gave the People of Sheba rest and ease,

  Palaces, orchards, and great luxuries;

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  Those wicked ones then showed ungratefulness

  And proved much worse than dogs in faithfulness.

  If at your door a dog receives food, then

  It strives to please when passing by again;

  It will stand by your door and serve as guard,

  Even if circumstances make that hard—

  It will stay by your door due to that food,

  Deem choosing others sheer ingratitude.

  And if a stray dog enters in a town,

  The local dogs give it a dressing down,

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  Saying, ‘Go back home! One must never part!

  To pay back kindness you must pledge your heart.’

  They’ll bite it saying, ‘Go, immediately.

  Don’t leave unpaid their generosity.’

  You drank life-giving water at the door

  Of mystics, till your eyes could see once more.

  And you’ve gained gratitude and selflessness

  With ecstasies from their door’s huge largesse,

  Yet, due to greed, you have since shunned their door

  And wander bear-like now around each store—

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  You hope to find mere gravy-soaked fresh bread,

  But all the donors’ pots hold fat instead.

  ‘Fat’ means a soul which grows and is enlightened;

  Thereby the plight of desperate men is lightened.

  How the afflicted would gather every morning at the door of Jesus’ cell in the hope of being healed through his prayer

  Jesus’ cell’s the Sufi’s table-spread:

  Don’t shun that doorway, heed well what I’ve said!

  From all around each morning people came,

  Those dressed in rags, the blind ones and the lame,

  To Jesus’ cell’s doorway in petition,

  So, through his breath, he’d free them from affliction.

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  Once he had finished his own litany

  That godly man would come outside and see

  Weak and afflicted people all around,

  Hoping his doorway is where cures are found.

  ‘Afflicted people, all your needs,’ he’d say,

  ‘The Lord has granted mercifully today,

  So walk without a struggle, properly,

  To His forgiving generosity.’

  Like camels once their knees have been untied

  All suddenly stood up from far and wide

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  After his prayer, and they’d run self-assured

  Back to their homes now they felt they’d been cured.

  You’ve found your own afflictions similarly

  And from the mystics gained the remedy:

  Often your limp would disappear again,

  Your soul would also be relieved from pain.

  Tie up your legs and feet, forgetful one,

  Lest you become lost just as they have done—

  Forgetfulness and lack of gratitude

  Made you forget that you’ve
gained special food.

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  The way is blocked now to keep you apart,

  Since you’ve made weary every mystic’s heart.

  Find them and beg forgiveness desperately

  Just as a heavy cloud weeps bitterly,

  So that their roses bloom in your direction

  And ripened fruits burst forth for your selection.

  Rush there now! Don’t act worse than dogs, you knave,

  You fellow slave of that dog in the cave!*

  Since even dogs at times advise another,

  ‘Attach your heart to your first home, my brother.

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  Cling to the door where you first ate a bone

  And pay the debt for kindness that was shown.’