The Masnavi, Book Three Read online

  Water moves from above below; from there

  It will evaporate back to the air.

  Grain went down into earth originally,

  Then, as corn ears, it sprang up suddenly.

  Into the earth sink seeds from all the fruits

  Then raise their heads up from their buried roots,

  As from the heavens bounties all descend,

  To serve as fruit for pure souls, my good friend;

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  When, with humility, they come down, then

  They’ll form a part of living, fearless men:

  Such things turn into human qualities

  And gaily soar beyond the Pleiades.

  ‘We came down from the living world,’ they say,

  ‘And from this low state we’ve returned today.’

  All atoms, moving or just stationary,

  Say, ‘We’re returning to Him’* constantly;

  The zekr* and praise by atoms, which are hidden,

  Send constantly a clamour up to heaven.

  465

  The time a spell-like song was sung by fate

  A bumpkin trapped a townsman in checkmate.

  Despite his firm resolve, once he was mated

  That journey led him to where grief was fated.

  He had relied on his own firm resolve,

  Something a tiny flood could still dissolve.

  When fate looks out from heaven, you will find

  Intelligent men can turn deaf and blind,

  Fish will get flung about then by the sea,

  And flying birds get snared so easily;

  470

  Genies will go back in their bottles then,

  And Harut back to Babylon again;*

  Only if you embrace fate can you flee

  From fate and being slain by destiny.

  Embrace your fate itself to find release;

  Your clever tricks won’t win you inner peace.

  Story of the People of Zarwan* and how they schemed to pick the fruit in the orchards without being troubled by paupers

  You’ve read about the Zarwan nation—now

  Why keep on seeking out schemes anyhow?

  Scorpion-like men would scheme plots to deprive

  Paupers from food they needed to survive.

  475

  These men conspired their wicked plots all night,

  Putting their heads together out of sight—

  They whispered secretly while sitting near

  To try to make sure that God wouldn’t hear.

  Can clay conspire against the potter’s art?

  Can one’s own acts be hidden from the heart?

  ‘Does not Your Maker know your wish?’ God said,*

  ‘Whether your prayer’s sincere or false instead?’

  How should those sneaking out one morning keep

  Hiding from One who knows where they will sleep?

  480

  He has already charted and can view

  The stations where he’ll mount and dismount too.

  Unblock your ears of heedlessness and heed

  The separation felt by hearts that bleed!

  When you hear tales from such a person, you

  Are giving alms to that lovelorn one too.

  You’ll hear about his heartache in this way,

  This noble spirit’s trials while trapped in clay:

  That pure one’s in a house that’s smoke-filled here—

  Open a window now by giving ear.

  485

  Then, it will breathe again, and struggles cease—

  That bitter smoke within will then decrease.

  Wayfarer, sympathize with us one time!

  If you are travelling to the Most Sublime.

  This dithering is like a gaol or wall,

  Not letting your entrapped soul move at all.

  One thing draws you this way, one thing that way—

  ‘I am the right path!’ each of them will say.

  This is an obstacle on God’s path, friend—

  You’re blessed if your feet easily can ascend,

  490

  Taking the right path with no vacillation.

  If you don’t know the way, choose emulation:

  Track the deer’s footprints left on this dry land

  And you’ll eventually reach its sought musk gland.

  If you dare, brother, to walk now on fire

  By this means you can reach realms that are higher;

  Why fear the ocean’s waves or foam? You’ve heard

  God say, ‘Do not fear!’ to you—heed His word!

  Remember ‘Do not fear!’ when fear descends*—

  He’ll send bread since He’s sent its basket, friends!

  495

  Fearless men will reserve for God their fear;

  Anguish fills those who fail to circle here.

  The townsman’s journey to the village

  The townsman got prepared then for the ride,

  And his resolve flew to the countryside.

  His wife and children started soon to pack,

  Loading their baggage on the oxen’s back,

  Then rushed towards the village, clamouring:

  ‘We’ll taste their hand-picked fruit first like a king.

  Our destination’s a sweet pasture, where

  We have a fine host who is kind and fair;

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  He begged us to go countless times, not once,

  And planted saplings of benevolence.

  From that fine host’s huge stock we’ll soon bring back,

  For our own town’s long winter, things we lack.

  He’ll give his orchard to us as a whole;

  He’ll make a place for us inside his soul.’

  Hurry to profits or it will get late!

  Intellect warns though, ‘Don’t yet celebrate!’

  Seek profit which comes from the King of Kings;

  God warns not to rejoice in other things.

  505

  Mildly rejoice in what God sends your way,

  For gifts can all distract you far away.

  Delight in Him, not in another thing—

  They are like winter, while He is the spring.

  Everything else attracts to fling you down,

  Be it a throne, a kingdom, or a crown.

  Rejoice in suffering, for that’s union’s snare—

  Decline means progress in this strange affair.

  Suffering’s like treasure and its mine’s your pain,

  But teaching children this can be in vain:

  510

  When children hear the word ‘game’, they all race,

  Just like wild asses, quickly to that place.

  Blind donkeys, hidden traps, await this side.

  Much blood’s shed here with nowhere left to hide.

  The bow stays hidden, but the arrows fly—

  A hundred strike your youth now from the sky.

  You must step in the heart’s own plain today—

  No opening is found in bodily clay.

  The heart is where one can find safety, friend,

  And rose gardens with fountains that don’t end.

  515

  Night travellers turn towards the heart and go

  Where you’ll find trees and springs which freely flow.

  Avoid the country—it makes fun of you.

  It steals your wisdom’s light and splendour too.

  The Prophet warned: ‘Countryside will prepare

  Your intellect’s grave if you settle there.’

  Stay in the countryside one day or night,

  For one whole month your wisdom won’t feel right:

  For one month you’ll possess stupidity—

  What can be reaped from wild hashish? Tell me!

  520

  Spend a whole month out there and you will find

  You’ll stay for ages ignorant and blind.

  What’s countryside? Shaikhs short of union’s station
<
br />   Who’re still embroiled in proofs and imitation.

  Near Universal Intellect, sense still

  Is a blind donkey circling for a mill.

  Set this aside—follow the tale’s form here:

  Leave the rare pearl and opt for a wheat ear;

  If you can’t go that way, then choose this way;

  Take wheat if you can’t take the pearl today.

  525

  Take its form, though it’s crooked, my dear friend.

  It leads to inner depths still in the end.

  Each human’s start is with a form, then later

  The soul comes, which is beauty in behaviour;

  Form is each fruit’s original beginning—

  After that comes sweet taste, its actual meaning.

  At first, the tent is made, or else it’s bought,

  Then they invite a Turkman to that spot:

  Your form’s the tent, the Turkman is your essence;

  Your form’s a ship, the sailor is your essence.

  530

  End this talk for a moment, for God’s sake,

  And let the townsman’s ass’s bells all shake!

  The merchant and his family go to the village

  The townsman and his children packed their things

  And galloped out on steeds, as if on wings,

  So joyously across the countryside,

  ‘Travel to gain!’ they’d shout as they would ride.

  The moon becomes, through travelling, Kaykhosrow*—

  How else could it become like him and grow?

  Travel can turn a pawn into a queen

  And bring to Joseph outcomes he’d foreseen.*

  535

  Their faces all got sunburned then by day;

  By night, through stars they worked out the right way.

  To them, the ugly route looked very nice;

  Love of the country made it paradise.

  Sweet-lipped ones can make bitterness turn sweet;

  The rosebush makes thorns seem a lovely treat.

  Bitter plants, through the Loved One, turn to dates.

  Houses seem bigger with the right housemates.

  Many a fine youth bore sharp thorns, so soon

  He’d win a rose-cheeked girl fair as the moon.

  540

  Many a porter broke his back, all for

  The moonfaced sweetheart whom he valued more.

  The blacksmith made his face black, so by night

  He’d earn a kiss from one whose face is white.

  The trader stands till nightfall in his store,

  Because a lovely figure fills his core;

  The merchant travels by the land and sea

  Through love for one who stays home patiently.

  Whoever longs for something that is dead

  Really hopes for a living thing instead.

  545

  The carpenter will focus on mere wood,

  So for his sweetheart he’ll make something good.

  Struggle then for a living lover too,

  One who won’t die within a day or two.

  Don’t choose a base man as companion—

  His friendship’s borrowed, not to count upon.

  Where now’s your closeness to your parents, friend?

  Closeness to anyone but God must end,

  And this includes your wet-nurse and your tutor

  As no one else is truly your supporter—

  550

  Your love of milk and nipples didn’t last,

  Nor your dislike of school once in the past.

  That was like sunlight shining on a door,

  That trace returned back to the sun once more.

  When sunlight’s rays fall on things from above

  Then those things stir within you passionate love.

  Your love for such existents, truth be told,

  Arises from God’s covering them with gold.

  But, when gold leaves them, copper’s what will stay—

  With senses sated you’ll throw that away.

  555

  Step back now from its gilded form! Speak less,

  In ignorance, of its attractiveness

  Because that beauty’s borrowed, and you’ll see

  It hides an ugly, foul reality.

  Gold flees from base coin to the mine, its source—

  You now should follow gold and take its course.

  Light rays flee from the wall back to the sun—

  Head to the sun, which is the perfect one.

  Drink water only from the skies, since you

  Have not found in canals what will stay true.

  560

  Wild wolves are lured by sheep’s tails and don’t know

  About the source which formed them down below.

  They rushed, deluded, to the countryside,

  Imagining gold was neatly wrapped inside.

  They danced and laughed away so merrily

  Whirling around each water-wheel they’d see.

  Whenever they saw birds which flew ahead,

  Eagerness for the village filled each head.

  And they would fondly kiss each person’s face

  Coming towards them from that sought-out place:

  565

  ‘You have seen our beloved’s face,’ they’d say,

  ‘So you’re as dear as our own eyes today.’

  How Majnun petted that dog which lived in Layli’s neighbourhood*

  Just like Majnun who’d pet a dog and kiss

  And croon then over it—they’d act like this.

  Majnun would humbly circle it and pour

  Rose syrup in its bowl from his own store.

  ‘Majnun!’ a person watching called one day,

  ‘Why do you always act so mad this way?

  Dog’s muzzles touch filth everywhere they go,

  And they lick their own genitals below.’

  570

  He gave a long list of the dog’s flaws too—

  About wise men fault-finders have no clue.

  Majnun replied, ‘You just see form and size.

  Come here and view beyond those through my eyes!

  For it’s a talisman sealed by the Lord—

  It is the guard-dog watching Layli’s road.

  Look at its soul—that dog can recognize!

  Its choice of where to live shows that it’s wise.

  It is the blest dog of the cave to me.*

  It shares in all my grief and agony.

  575

  That dog of her lane—I’d not give one hair

  From it to lions, though trapped in their lair.

  Lions are slaves to Layli’s dogs, so I

  Think there’s no point in saying more. Goodbye!’

  If from mere outward form you can transcend,

  You’ll reach such heavenly gardens, my good friend.

  When you’ve smashed your own form, then this will bring

  Knowledge of breaking forms of everything.

  You’ll smash then every form that still awaits—

  Like Ali, you’ll dislodge those Khaybar gates.*

  580

  Form duped that townsman with a simple brain,

  For he accepted words that were all vain,

  And rushed with joy to flattery’s own snare

  As birds rush to the bait that tempts them there:

  The bird deemed it a gift like some fine seed,

  But it was not a gift—it was sheer greed.

  Little birds, lusting for the bait, feel joy

  And fly towards what is a mere false ploy.

  That townsman’s joy if I were to relate,

  Wayfarer, I fear that I’d make you late.

  585

  I’ll be brief: when a village came to view

  It was the wrong one—he set off anew.

  Village to village, he went round and round,

  Not knowing where the right one might be found.

  Without a guide, a two-day trip wi
ll take

  A hundred years, so don’t make this mistake.

  Those on the Hajj without a proper guide

  Fall low like these fools who’d grown stupefied.

  Without a teacher, one took up a craft—

  His work was so poor everybody laughed.

  590

  From East to West, to be born is so rare

  If there aren’t any parents over there.

  A man who earns grows wealthy, but it’s rare

  For someone to find treasure lying there.

  The Prophet’s body was like soul—where can

  We find one whom Kind God taught the Qur _an?*

  ‘He taught with pen’* as intermediary

  To all attached to body generously.

  The greedy are forbidden this, my son,

  So slow down! Only greedy fools would run.