The Masnavi, Book Three Page 8

  595

  The journey’s toil drained that man from the town

  Like landbirds falling where they could soon drown.

  All of them grew sick of the countryside

  And sweet-talk from that bumpkin with such pride.

  The townsman and his group reach the village, but the bumpkin is nowhere to be found

  When finally they stopped, a month had passed,

  All food consumed, steeds breathing now their last.

  That evil bumpkin had deliberately

  Continued to make them face difficulty.

  By day he’d hide his face from them, lest they

  Fed from his orchard and declined to pay.

  600

  A face so full of evil and cruel lies

  Should be kept far away from good men’s eyes!

  Demons are perched like flies on such vile faces,

  As if they are the guards of sought-out places.

  When you should see that face they’ll set on you—

  Don’t look! At least don’t smile back if you do.

  Concerning such a face have you not read—

  ‘We’ll drag him by the forelock!’* God has said.

  They asked and found that man’s house finally,

  Then hurried to his door like family.

  605

  At once the door was bolted from inside,

  Making the townsman mad at what he’d tried.

  It wasn’t now the time to get aggressive:

  Trapped down a well, there’s no point being abrasive.

  They stayed there by the door for five full days,

  Freezing at night, then burned by the sun’s rays.

  Their staying wasn’t mere stupidity—

  They had naught left: it was necessity.

  When forced, good men might join those fit for hell;

  If starved, lions eat carcasses as well.

  610

  The townsman saw him and called out, ‘Hello!

  This is my name and I am so-and-so.’

  He would reply, ‘Maybe? I can’t be sure

  Who you are—dirty foe or friend who’s pure.’

  The townsman then would say, ‘I see a brother,

  Like at the last hour, fleeing from another!

  I am the one from whose rich table you

  Ate all the fine food that you wanted to.

  I bought those goods that sunny afternoon;

  A secret shared with more than one spreads soon:

  615

  All know about the kindness shown by me—

  Past dinner guests should show humility.’

  He answered, ‘Nonsense! Why is it you came?

  I don’t know where you’re from or what’s your name.’

  A violent storm began on the fifth night—

  Even the sky was stunned at such a sight.

  The townsman, who could not take any more,

  Screamed, ‘Call your master!’ as he banged the door.

  After a hundred calls, the man came out:

  ‘Gentleman, tell me what you’ve come about.’

  620

  ‘I now renounce each single previous claim

  And all that I presumed when I first came.

  Five years of suffering I’ve felt these five days,

  Standing unsheltered from the sun’s hot rays.’

  A sole injustice from a friend or brother

  Is worse than millions of them from another,

  Because the victim won’t expect injustice

  From those who normally would show him kindness.

  Some acts seem harsher therefore to men’s eyes

  Because they are both wrong and a surprise.

  625

  He added, ‘Sun whose grace now fades from view,

  Shed my blood—I’ll say it’s allowed to you.

  This rainy night give us a place to stay

  And gather your reward on Judgment Day.’

  ‘There is the gardener’s shelter,’ he replied.

  ‘At night he usually stands as guard inside,

  Carrying bow and arrow just in case

  The wolf should wander up towards that place.

  If it’s of use, tonight call it your own;

  If not, find somewhere else! Leave me alone!’

  630

  ‘I would be grateful if you should bestow

  That place to me with arrows and a bow.

  I won’t sleep but I’ll guard your vines instead,

  And if the wolf shows up, I’ll shoot it dead.

  You two-faced man, don’t leave us here again

  On ground that’s sludgy due to pouring rain!’

  The townsman and his family then went

  To that cramped hovel which they had been lent.

  Like piles of locusts, they were forced to lie

  Together lest a huge flood should pass by.

  635

  They cried, ‘O God!’ throughout that desperate night,

  ‘This is what we deserve. It serves us right.’

  This is what’s earned if you befriend the base

  Or treat such people courteously with grace.

  This is what’s earned by those who from sheer lust

  Should stop revering noble people’s dust:

  Licking the dust that pure men leave behind

  Earns more than vines of vulgar men you’ll find;

  Following mystics who’re enlightened brings

  More gain than if you lord it over kings.

  640

  Apart from drum rolls, from the kings on earth

  You won’t gain anything that has real worth.

  Next to the spirit, townsmen seem like muggers.

  So what are bumpkins? Naught but worthless failures.

  This is what’s earned when you don’t use your brain—

  You hear the ghoul close by, yet you remain.

  The time that true repentance takes possession

  Of your own heart, there’s no point in confession.

  With bow and arrow in his hand, held tight,

  He sought the wolf out, looking left then right.

  645

  The wolf had hypnotized him; he’d search there,

  But of his inner wolf stay unaware.

  Each gnat became a wolf, and every flea,

  So they could bite now much more viciously.

  There was no chance to drive the vile gnats back

  From fear the cruel wolf might launch an attack.

  The danger of the wolf caused consternation

  As well as fear of more humiliation

  By that cruel bumpkin on that chilly night—

  They gnashed their teeth while their souls burst with fright.

  650

  The figure of a wolf then suddenly

  Appeared behind a hilltop they could see.

  That townsman put an arrow in his bow

  And shot the animal down like a foe.

  It farted loudly as it slowly fell—

  This made the bumpkin shake his fists and yell:

  ‘You wretch, that was my ass’s colt! He died!’

  ‘No, it’s the wolf,’ the townsman then replied.

  ‘It has the features of a wolf; you can

  Observe this clearly from its form, good man.’

  655

  ‘The fart it let off told me it was mine;

  It is like telling water from good wine—

  You’ve killed my ass colt claiming you’re a friend!

  May you be cursed with farting that won’t end!’

  He said, ‘Observe more carefully. It’s night—

  Distinctive features are now veiled from sight.

  Things look strange and one’s sight’s inaccurate;

  At night, not all men’s sight is adequate.

  It’s night with clouds and rain—and all these three

  Combined cause visual inaccuracy.’

  660

  ‘For me it is a clear day
all the same:

  My ass colt’s arse—from there that loud fart came.

  Among a thousand, I can tell that fart

  The way that travellers tell their bags apart.’

  The townsman leapt up, unperturbed, and held

  The bumpkin by his collar, as he yelled:

  ‘Idiot thief, you’re lying or you’re blind!

  You’ve smoked hashish and opium both combined.

  How can you tell your ass’s fart at night

  When you can’t recognize me in the light!

  665

  He who, at midnight, easily can tell

  His colt, can recognize a friend as well.’

  You act like mystics in ecstatic highs,

  Throwing dust in munificence’s eyes,

  Claiming: ‘I’ve lost myself! I’m unaware!

  My heart lets none but God to enter there.

  What I ate yesterday I can’t recall;

  My heart loves deep perplexity—that’s all.

  I’m both sane and insane through God—it’s bliss,

  And I’m excused when selfless just like this.’

  670

  Men who drink date wine or eat carrion can

  Still be excused by law despite the ban.*

  If drunk or high, one can’t divorce or trade:

  One’s like a child, absolved—one’s debts are paid.

  A hundred vats could not cause drunkenness

  Like that from scent blown from His holiness.

  The horse is legless—it won’t rise at all.

  How can such men be held responsible?

  Who would put on an ass colt heavy loads

  Or try to teach the Devil Persian odes?

  675

  The load is taken off when it is lame,

  As God has said, ‘For blind men there’s no blame.’*

  I see through God and of myself I’m blind,

  So I’m absolved of sins of every kind.’

  You boast of dervishhood and selflessness,

  And holler like one drunk in God, no less,

  Saying, ‘I cannot now tell land from sky’—

  God’s jealousy’s test, though, proves that you lie.

  Your ass colt’s fart has brought you such deep shame,

  Showing you still exist despite your claim.

  680

  This is how God can put to shame a fraud;

  This is how fleeing prey is caught by God.

  A million tests await for anyone

  Who claims, ‘I am the captain!’ Heed this, son!

  Even if simple men can’t understand,

  The adepts know what proof they should demand.

  A wretch may claim to be a tailor, but

  The king will throw before him silk to cut:

  ‘Make a fine robe from this that’s bound to stun!’

  This test will show him up to everyone.

  685

  If one did not test bad men, on that day

  Effete men would seem Rostams in the fray!

  Even if they wear armour, one soft blow

  Will make them feeble captives of the foe.

  A breeze can’t shake one drunk in God awake

  When he won’t wake for the Last Day’s blast’s sake.*

  The wine of God is true and strong, my friend—

  You’ve drunk mere yoghurt and wish to pretend.

  Jonayd or Bayazid you claim to be:*

  ‘Drunk, I can’t tell an axe now from a key.’

  690

  Through fraud, how will you hide sloth, lust, and greed?

  Trickster, when will you finally take heed?

  You claim to be Mansur Hallaj, and set

  Aflame the cotton of the friends you get:*

  ‘I can’t tell Omar and Bu Lahab apart,*

  But still at night I know my ass’s fart!’

  Only a donkey would believe that’s true,

  Making itself both blind and deaf for you.

  Don’t claim you’re travelling on the mystic way—

  You spoil the path. Rubbish is all you say.

  695

  Fly back from fraud to intellect. Don’t lie!

  How can false wings enable you to fly?

  Your claim to be God’s lover is an act,

  For you make love with demons now in fact.

  On Resurrection, lovers shall be tied

  With those they love and then be brought outside—

  You now act drunk and witless—tell me how?

  Where is your wine? You’re drinking our blood now.

  I do not recognize you—go away!

  ‘I am love-crazed like Bohlul,’ you still say.

  700

  Nearness to God is just a dream you claim;

  To you the plate and potter are the same.

  You don’t know that the saint’s proximity

  Means miracles and powerful majesty:

  David turned iron to wax*—please understand

  Wax turns to iron if placed in your vile hand.

  God is near all and gives them food to eat;

  Love’s revelation comes to His elite.

  Proximity’s of various kinds, my son—

  Mountains and goldmines feel rays from the sun,

  705

  But mines of gold have a proximity

  That’s never fathomed by the willow tree;

  Dry and fresh branches both are near the sun—

  How should the sun be veiled from either one?

  The fresh branch bears fruit, even if no nearer—

  It feeds you ripe fruit, so it is superior.

  From nearness to it, branches that are dry

  Gain nothing—they will quickly rot and die.

  Don’t be the kind of drunkard who invents it—

  On sobering up from his act, he regrets it.

  710

  No, be a drunkard whose wild drunkenness

  Makes intellectuals feel so envious.

  O cat, you’ve caught a mouse that’s now half-dead—

  With powerful wine one catches lions instead.

  You’ve drunk the empty glass of fantasy—

  Don’t reel like those who’re drunken mystically.

  Just like a drunk you’re staggering about—

  You’re in this realm—you’ve not found a way out.

  The time you find a path that leads you yonder

  Swing your head side to side, then dance and holler.

  715

  You’re fully down here—not another breath!

  Don’t agonize as if you’ve tasted death.

  If Khezr-souled ones who don’t fear death should state

  They don’t know creatures, that’s appropriate.

  You salivate for what’s not really there—

  You fill your bag of selfhood with hot air,

  Then, with one prick, you’ll empty and fall flat—

  May no wise body get as fat as that!

  In winter, you make pots from snow, but they

  Will not last, holding water, for one day.

  720

  How the jackal fell into the dyeing vat, became multi-coloured, and claimed to the other jackals that it was a peacock

  A jackal strayed into the dyeing vat

  And stayed in there for such a long time that

  Its skin was dyed. When finally it came out,

  ‘I’m paradise’s peacock!’ it would shout.

  Its coloured fur had gained a pretty splendour

  And sunlight would reflect upon each colour.

  It saw itself as golden, red, and green,

  And stepped out proudly, eager to be seen.

  The others asked, ‘What has got into you?

  You’ve grown deluded and exultant too.

  725

  Due to this glee, you’re snubbing us for once—

  Where did you find this twisted arrogance?’

  One of the jackals asked, ‘Are you a fraud?

  Or are you really feeling
bliss through God?’

  To climb the pulpit you have used deceit;

  Your babble saddens everyone you meet.

  You’ve not gained any ardour, though you’ve tried,

  And so you’ve acted shamelessly and lied.

  Ardour is for a Prophet and God’s Friend;

  Impudence suits impostors who pretend,

  730

  To draw men’s eyes towards themselves with pride,

  Then claim, ‘We’re blissful!’ though they’re glum inside.

  How a boaster greased his lips and moustache every morning with the skin of a sheep’s tail, and came out to his associates, saying: ‘I’ve eaten such-and-such!’

  A poor man found a sheep’s tail, which he used

  To grease his moustache, to leave men confused: