23. Our comrades reported the following anecdotes by Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ [of which this is the first]:
Ibn Judham used to attend my classes and would sometimes go with me to my house. He’d have dinner with us and stay on for a while. I knew what an utter miser he was, for all his vast wealth. He insisted I ought to visit him, but I always said I couldn’t.
“Bless you!” he said. “Do you think your visit’s going to cost me a lot, so you’re taking pity on me? I’m only talking about a few dry crumbs, some salt and some water from the pot.”
He was trying, I thought, to cajole me into suggesting a visit that wouldn’t cost him much. So I said:
“That’s like saying: Young man, give us a crumb to eat, and give the beggar five dates. But the meaning goes far beyond the words. I don’t think anyone would invite me all that way, to where you live, just for a few crumbs and some salt.”
When I did finally make it to his home, a beggar came to the door.
“Feed us from what you’re eating,” the beggar said, “and may God feed you from the food of Paradise.”
“May you be blessed,” Ibn Judham replied.
The beggar repeated his plea, and the same answer came back to him. The beggar repeated his words for the third time.
“Get out of here, curse you!” my host shouted. “You’ve had your answer.”
“May God be praised,” the beggar said. “I’ve never seen anyone refuse to give a bit of food when it’s there in front of him.”
“Get out of here, curse you,” my host yelled again, “or I’ll come out and break your legs for you!”
“You’d better go while you’re still in one piece,” I told the beggar. “If you knew him as well as I do, you’d know he means every word of what he threatened. I wouldn’t stay a moment longer.”
24. Abu Ishaq Ibrahim ibn Sayyar al-Nazzam told the following about his neighbor in the town of Marw:
This neighbor wouldn’t wear any shoes or slippers till the cherry season was over, because the streets and markets would be covered with dried cherry stones. And once this same neighbor saw me sucking a piece of sugarcane and collecting the juice in my mouth, ready to spit it out.
“If you don’t,” he told me reprovingly, “have a baking oven, or some children, then find someone who does and give them what you were going to spit out. Be careful, don’t get into a habit like that while you’re still free of responsibilities. You never know when a family might start springing up!”
25. Abu ʾl-Qamaqim said:
The first step in getting on is not to give you back what’s come into my hands. If what’s come into my hands has become mine, then it is mine. It wasn’t mine before, but I’ve more claim to it now than the one who put it in my hands. If someone takes a thing out of his hand, without any compulsion, and puts it in someone else’s hand, then he’s made it available to the other person. Taking and putting a thing is like making it available to others.
“Abu ʾl-Qamaqim,” a woman once said to him, “I’ve married a man who only comes to see me during the day. He’s due now, and I’m not properly prepared. Please, take this daniq and go and buy me some basil for this loaf of bread, and some face cream. You’ll have your reward from God, Who’ll soften my husband’s heart toward me. And because of the help you’ve given me, I’ll make some headway in life at last. I’m quite worn out.”
Abu ʾl-Qamaqim took the bread and the daniq, but he never came back. A few days later, the poor woman spotted him.
“God be praised!” she said. “Don’t you have any pity on me?”
“Shame on you!” he replied. “The daniq fell out of my hand, and that upset me so much I had to eat the loaf of bread!”
Translated by ʿAbd al-Wahid Luʾluʾa and Christopher Tingley
83
From Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Kalila and Dimna
1. The Ringed Dove
The king said to the philosopher:
“I have understood the example of those whose affections for others are spoiled by the treachery of backbiters. Now tell me about those who are brothers in happiness. How does their friendship for one another begin? And how do they enjoy one another’s comradeship?”
“The wise man,” the philosopher replied, “doesn’t recompense his supporters by showering them with favors and rewards. Those who are bound to one another in the brotherhood of goodness do good whenever called upon to do it, and they’re always ready to bring comfort to others in trouble. Such was the case with the ringed dove, the deer, the crow, the rat, and the turtle.”
“What of them? Tell me their story,” the king commanded.
It’s told (the philosopher began) how there was, near a city called Marwat, in the land of Dostad, a hunting ground where hunters came in search of game. A great tree stood there, thick with intertwining branches and lush foliage; and in this tree was the nest of a crow called Haʾir. One day, as the crow was perched on top of the tree, he saw a hunter, ugly and shabbily dressed, approaching the tree with a net around his neck and holding a stick and a trap in his two hands. The crow took fright at this, sensing villainy afoot.
“Something,” he said to himself, “has driven this hunter here. What could it be, I wonder? Is it me he’s after, or someone else? Whatever he’s about, I’ll stand firm here and see what he does.”
The hunter laid out his net and scattered his seed over it. Then he hid himself nearby. Soon a ringed dove flew over with some other doves. She caught sight of the seed but not the net, and, with all the others, she swooped down to the bait. And so they were all trapped. The other doves fluttered frantically to try and get free, but the ringed dove called out to them to stop.
“No,” said the dove, “not everyone for himself! Let’s work together. Perhaps we can get the net away from here and help one another escape.”
This they did, all fluttering upward together. Combining their efforts skillfully, they raised the net off the ground. Then, slowly but surely, they soared up, with the net still over them, high into the air.
The hunter watched them fly off, then rushed after them, still hoping to catch them.
“They can’t fly far,” he said to himself, “weighed down with the net like that.”
The crow, meanwhile, had been following the whole thing.
“I’ll follow on,” he said to himself, “and see what happens to them, and to him.”
The ringed dove saw the hunter in hot pursuit.
“There he is!” she told the others. “If we stay here in midair, we’ll be exposed, out in the open, and he’ll be able to follow us easily. If, though, we land and hide among some trees, we’ll be hard to spot. In the end he’ll get tired of looking and go away. Close by here there’s the hole of a rat, a friend of mine. If we call to him for help, he’ll gnaw at the net and free us.”
The other doves agreed to this; and, since they were so well hidden, the hunter searched for them in vain and finally went off in despair. Meanwhile the crow, perched high up in the tree, was watching the doves carefully. They might, he thought, have some other tricks, which he could learn to his advantage should he ever be trapped himself. The ringed dove and the other doves flew down, with the net still over them, and landed by the rat’s hole. In fact, as they saw, he’d prepared a hundred other holes to use in case of need. The ringed dove called out to the rat by name.
“Zayzak!” she cried.
“Who is it?” the rat called back.
“It’s your friend, the ringed dove.”
“Sister!” the rat exclaimed, hurrying out to her. “How did you come to fall into that snare—and you so wise, and careful, and wary?”
“Don’t you know,” she answered, “that no good or evil ever happens unless it’s so ordained? There’s no escape from what’s written; what’s destined to be is meted out exactly. It’s fate that led me to the seed and hid the net till it closed on me and my friends. You can hardly wonder if I don’t escape what fate decrees! Even those stronger than I am, by far, can’t overc
ome their destiny. Fate eclipses sun and moon alike, didn’t you know that? Every fish caught in seas where no man bathes, every bird brought down from the sky and caught—all this happens by the dictates of almighty fate. If the weak fall short of their goal, then so, equally, do the strong.”
The rat, true brother that he was, set swiftly to work, gnawing at the knots that kept the ringed dove snared.
“No!” she objected. “Work to free the others first. You can attend to me afterwards.” Still she kept asking this, and still the rat took no notice of her plea.
“You keep on and on, saying the same thing,” the rat objected reproachfully. “Don’t you have any thought for yourself? Don’t you have rights for yourself, too?”
“Don’t blame me for asking you this,” the ringed dove said. “I’ve been entrusted with the task of leading these others, and that’s a heavy responsibility. They owe me obedience, and it’s their duty to listen to my advice and accept it. They acted as they were supposed to do, and I did the same; and so we escaped from the hunter. My fear is that, if you cut my knots first, you’ll exhaust yourself and grow tired of cutting theirs afterwards; and so they’ll never be free. If, on the other hand, I’m left to be freed last, then you, as a true brother, will never leave me captive, no matter how tired you are from all that weary work of freeing the others.”
“You’re quite right,” the rat said approvingly. “And what you’ve suggested will make your companions love you even more than they do now.”
With that he began gnawing at the net, till, finally, he’d freed them all. And then the ringed dove and her companions flew safely homeward.
After the rat had freed the doves, the crow decided to go and make friends with the rat. “I’m not completely safe either,” he said to himself. “I need the rat as a friend.” He approached the rat’s hole and called out to him by name.
“Zayzak!” he cried.
“Who is it?” the rat asked.
“It’s the crow,” came the reply. “When I saw how loyal you are to your friends, I decided I wanted you as a brother. I’ve come to ask you to take me as one.”
“There’s no reason why we should be friends,” answered the rat. “The wise seek only what can be attained. What can’t be attained they leave be. Anyone who acts otherwise is regarded as a fool—like those who try to move ships on land or drag wheels over water. I can’t do any such thing. How could we be friends? I’m flesh and you’re an eater of flesh. I’d be your prey.”
“Just stop and think,” the crow replied. “You might be food for me, agreed, but my devouring you wouldn’t make me any richer. But if you’re alive and my friend, I’ll be enriched by your comradeship. Think back on all your experience of life. Have you ever once come across someone who sells what’s useful, knowing what he’s doing, to buy something harmful? I want your friendship for the benefits it would bring. Your being alive will be useful to me in times of difficulty, when the going gets hard. I want to be friends with you. Don’t, please, reject my offer or harbor doubts and suspicions about me when I’m speaking to you frankly, opening my heart to you truthfully, in good faith. I’ve had clear enough sight of your own loyalty and good faith. Goodness can’t be hidden, however hard someone may try to hide it. It’s like musk: you can quickly hide the thing itself, but not its fragrance. Don’t turn your friendly feelings away from me. Don’t deny me your friendship.”
“Enmity,” the rat replied, “or the lack of enmity is a matter of the kind you belong to. The elephant and the lion are enemies. The lion can kill the elephant, or the elephant the lion. And there’s enmity between your kind and mine, apart only from periods of quiet between hostilities. The trust of an enemy isn’t to be trusted. The nature of things can’t change. Water, even if brought to the boil over fire, will always put it out; heated by fire it may be, but it’s still fire’s enemy. The wise shouldn’t be deceived, or lulled into a trusting comradeship. If they were, they’d be like the snake charmer who sees his snake half-frozen and puts it in his sleeve to give it some warmth. Brought to life by the warmth, the snake moves and strikes its master. ‘And is this how you reward me,’ the master asks the treacherous snake, ‘for keeping you and caring for you?’ ‘It’s my nature,’ the snake replies. ‘My instinct. My way. Only fools seek to part a creature from the instincts born in it.’ The wise shouldn’t be trusting when an enemy approaches with beguiling offers of friendship. Indeed, they should arm themselves with greater wariness still.”
“I understand what you say,” the crow replied. “You’re right, indeed, to be aware of the natural instincts born into your kind. But I say again even so: don’t make things hard for me by saying we can’t be friends. The wise who are also magnanimous seek out every path to friendship and goodwill. Goodwill is quick to bring one another closer, and slow to fragment. A gold goblet is slow to break; even if dented or chipped, it can be easily repaired. Between the wicked, though, goodwill fragments swiftly and is repaired slowly; like an earthenware pot, easy to break and hard to mend. The gracious befriend the gracious, after a single meeting, after knowing one another just for a day. The mean and base befriend no one except for reasons of greed, or avarice, or fear. You are gracious, and I need your friendship. I shall stand here fast at your door, without food or drink, till you take me as your friend and brother.”
“As a brother I accept you,” the rat replied. “I’ve never turned away anyone in need. I take you at your word—but with reservation even so. Then, if you betray me, you won’t be able to say: ‘I found the rat to be weak-minded, easily deceived.’ ”
With that he came out from his hole and waited.
“What’s keeping you from coming closer?” the crow asked. “Do you still have doubts?”
“Those who live in the world,” the rat replied, “have dealings with one another through their hands or through their souls. Those whose souls are pure treat one another righteously and honestly. Those, though, whose thoughts are merely for what might come into their hands see the other, for the most part, in that light alone. The one who does good only because he expects material gain is like the hunter who scatters seed to lure birds. What honest souls gain from one another is worthier, by far, than what hands may dole out, or receive, in expectation. I’ve trusted the goodness of your soul, and I’ve offered you the goodness of mine. I’ve conquered any natural hostility and come out to meet you. I fear even so that other crows, your friends, who share your instincts but don’t know me as you do might spot me, swoop, and make a meal of me.”
“The sign of a good friend,” the crow replied, “is that he’s a friend to his friend’s friend, and an enemy to his friend’s enemy. Anyone not ready to befriend you is no friend of mine. I can forsake any, easily, who make an enemy of you. Gardeners tear up harmful weeds and toss them away.”
At that the rat, his mind at rest, came safely from his hole to meet the crow. Greeting each other, they exchanged vows of loyalty, friendship, and goodwill, each quite sure in his mind of the other’s total trust. Some days later the crow told the rat his hole was too near the highway. Both of them, he said, might come to harm when there was so much coming and going just nearby. “I know a secluded spot,” the crow observed, “where the waters are filled with fish. I have a friend there, a turtle. I hope to live there, in peace and safety.”
The rat agreed to be his comrade in the venture.
“I’ll go with you,” he said. “To tell you the truth, I dislike this place myself.”
“What makes you dislike it?” the crow asked.
“When we reach our new home,” the rat answered, “I’ll tell you all about it.”
The crow picked up the rat, held him in his beak by the tail, then flew off, landing, finally, by the turtle’s spring. When he saw the rat along with the crow, the turtle took fright; not knowing the two were friends, he plunged into the water and swam off. The crow set the rat down safely. Then, perching on the top of a nearby tree, he called out to the turtle by name. Th
e turtle recognized the voice and swam back to meet him, asking where he’d come from, and the crow told him all about the doves, and what had passed between him and the rat. The turtle, astonished at the rat’s wisdom and loyalty, approached him and welcomed him warmly.
“What brought you to this place?” the turtle asked him.
“I’ve heard so many things about you,” he replied, “from my friend the crow. He told me, too, how peaceful and secluded this place is. And so I’ve come to make my home here.”
“And what,” the crow asked him then, “of the stories you promised to tell us when we arrived? Let’s both hear them. You can trust the turtle, now, as much as you trust me.”
The rat accordingly began his account.
My first home (the rat said) was in a city called Marout, in the house of a man who lived alone. Each evening he’d bring home a basket of food, and some of this he’d eat, then put the rest to one side to keep. I’d watch him as he ate. Then, when he’d finished eating and gone out of the room, I’d spring onto his basket and devour the food, flinging some aside for the other rats there. The man knew rats or mice were pilfering his food, and he did his best to hide the basket, but all in vain. Wherever he hid it, I’d find a way to it.
One evening the man had a guest, and, after supper, the two sat down to talk.
“What country are you from?” the host asked the guest. “And where are you heading?”
The guest was a traveler who’d been to strange lands and seen wonders there. He recounted to his host what he’d seen in different lands. The host, though, noticed that I’d come close to the food basket, and, as he listened to his guest’s stories, clapped his hands loudly to scare me away. This annoyed the guest.
“I’m talking to you,” the guest exclaimed angrily. “And you’re clapping your hands to make fun of me!”
The host at once explained:
“I’m not making fun of you at all,” he said apologetically. “Quite the reverse. I find your adventures fascinating. I was just trying to scare off a rat that eats up every piece of food I keep in the house. I don’t know how to stop it.”
Classical Arabic Stories Page 33
