Rise up, for there is nothing you can keep;
What will it profit you to comprehend
The present world when it must have an end?
Know He has made man’s seed and nourished it
So that it grows in wisdom until fit
To understand His mysteries, to see
The hidden secrets of Eternity.
But in that glorious state it cannot rest –
In dust it will be humbled, dispossessed,
Brought back to Nothingness, cast down, destroyed,
Absorbed once more within the primal void –
There, lost in non-existence, it will hear
The truths that make this darkness disappear,
And, as He brings man to blank vacancy,
He gives man life to all eternity.
You have no knowledge of what lies ahead;
Think deeply, ponder, do not be misled –
Until our king excludes you from His grace,
You cannot hope to see Him face to face;
You cannot hope for Life till you progress
Through some small shadow of this Nothingness.
First He will humble you in dust and mire,
And then bestow the glory you desire.
lines 4291–4312
Be nothing first! and then you will exist,
You cannot live whilst life and Self persist –
Till you reach Nothingness you cannot see
The Life you long for in eternity.
The king who ordered his beloved to be killed
There was a monarch once of seven lands,
A second Alexander, whose commands
Sent armies forth from pole to pole, whose might
Eclipsed the splendour of the moon at night.
He had a minister whose wise advice
Was well-informed, sagacious and precise.
This minister was father to a son,
A beauteous youth, a peerless paragon;
No man has ever seen such comely grace
As glanced out from that boy’s bewitching face
(He dared not leave the palace save at night
For fear of causing some tumultuous fight;
Since all the world began no youth has known
The love, the adoration, he was shown).
His face was like the sun; his curls like dusk,
A twilight scented with delicious musk;
His little mouth was fresher than the brook
That gives eternal life, and in his look
A hundred stars seemed gathered as a guide
To tempt whoever saw him to his side;
His thick, spell-binding hair spilled down his back
In twisted tresses, glistening smooth and black;
And round his face the clustered ringlets seemed
Like little miracles a saint had dreamed;
His eyebrows’ curve was like a bow (what arm
Could ever draw it or resist its charm?),
The eyes themselves a sorcery to quell
A hundred hearts with their hypnotic spell;
His lips were like the freshet that bestows
A sweet, new life on spring’s reviving rose;
lines 4313–34
His youthful beard was like the fledgling grass
That re-emerges where spring’s runnels pass;
His serried teeth were like… O, who but fools
Would try to represent such shining jewels!
And on his cheek there was a musk-like mole,
That seemed a portent of Time’s hidden soul;
What can I say? – no eloquence conveys
A beauty that surpassed all mortal praise.
His king caught sight of him – and passion made
This monarch like a drunken renegade.
That full moon caused his sovereign to appear
As thin as is the new moon, wan with fear.
His love obsessed the king; a moment spent
Without that youth was torture, banishment –
He could not rest away from him; desire
Destroyed his patience in its raging fire.
He sat the boy beside him day and night,
Whispering secrets till the last dim light
Left that beloved face – when darkness fell,
Sleep did not touch this sovereign sentinel;
And when the boy’s head drooped the monarch kept
A guardian vigil while his servant slept,
The face lit by a candle’s softening light
Watched by the weeping king throughout the night.
The king threw blossoms in his loved one’s hair,
Or combed it hour by hour with tender care,
And then for sudden love would cry aloud,
Weep tears like raindrops scattered from a cloud,
Or make a public banquet for the boy,
Or drink with him alone, in secret joy –
He could not bear to be without his face,
To see him absent for a moment’s space.
The youth chafed inwardly, but he was tied
By terror to his royal master’s side,
Afraid that if he went away but once
The king would hang him for his impudence
(Even his parents were afraid to say
lines 4335–55
They wished to see their son from day to day –
They dared not offer succour or support
To one who seemed the prisoner of the court).
There was a girl at court, a lovely child
Who filled the room with sunlight when she smiled.
This youth caught sight of her, and like a fire
Love kindled his impetuous desire.
One night (the king was drunk) he slipped away
And in her room the two together lay.
At midnight, though the king could hardly stand,
He staggered out, a dagger in his hand,
And searched the court, prowling from place to place,
Until he found them locked in love’s embrace.
Then hate and love could not be held apart;
Wild flames of jealousy swept through his heart.
‘How could you choose another love?’ he cried,
‘What idiocy is this, what selfish pride?
To think of all that I have done for you
(Far more than any other man would do!).
Is this then my reward? – Continue, please!
You’re expert at it, everyone agrees!
But think – my coffer’s key was in your hand;
My noblemen were under your command;
I ruled with your assistance and consent;
You were my closest friend, my confidant;
And yet you sneak in secret to this whore –
Foul slave, you are my confidant no more!’
He paused, then ordered that the youth be bound
And dragged in chains along the filthy ground –
The silver pallor of his lovely back
Was at the king’s commandment beaten black,
And where his throne had been the soldiers built
The gibbet that would show the world his guilt.
‘First flay the faithless wretch,’ their monarch said,
’then hang him upside-down until he’s dead –
And then those chosen for my love will see
lines 4356–74
Their eyes should glance at no one else but me.’
The monarch’s courtiers hurried to comply –
Gasping, head down, the youth was left to die.
But when the minister, his father, heard
The punishment this lover had incurred,
He wept and cried: ‘What harsh necessity
Has made the king my son’s sworn enemy?’
Two slaves had seized the boy – to them he went,
To them he made his fatherly lament,
And as he gave them each a pearl he said:
&n
bsp; ’drink has confused our noble monarch’s head;
He will regret my son’s uncalled-for fate,
But when he’s sober it will be too late;
Whoever kills my son will then be killed.’
They said: ‘If his commands are not fulfilled,
It’s we who’ll die – if he comes here and sees
No bloody corpse, the next deaths he decrees
Are ours!’ The wily minister then brought
A murderer, convicted by the court,
Who waited in a prison-cell for death –
They stripped the villain, flayed him, stopped his breath,
Then hanged him upside-down until the mud
Beneath the gibbet reddened with his blood
(The boy was hidden in a private place
Till it was safe for him to show his face).
The next day dawned; the king was sober now,
But anger still stamped furrows on his brow.
He called the slaves and asked: ‘What did you do
With that abhorrent dog I gave to you?’
They said: ‘We flayed the wretch, then hanged him where
The court could witness his last, cruel despair –
He hangs there now, my lord, head down and dead.’
The king rejoiced to hear the words they said
(He there and then made each of them a lord,
And gave them presents as a fit reward).
lines 4375–98
‘Let him hang there,’ he cried, ‘till late tonight –
There is a lesson in this shameful sight!’
But when his people heard the tale they felt
Their hearts in surreptitious pity melt;
They came to stare, but none could recognize
The youth in that hacked corpse which met their eyes.
They saw the beaten, blood-stained flesh but kept
Their thoughts a secret and in secret wept;
All day the city mourned with smothered cries,
Tears hastily suppressed and inward sighs.
A few days passed; the king’s rage vanished too,
And as his anger went his sorrow grew –
Love made him weak; this lion-hearted king
Became an ant, afraid of everything.
Then he remembered how they used to sit
For days and nights, when love seemed infinite,
Drinking their wine in homely privacy,
And more drunk with each other’s company –
He could not bear the thought; he felt tears rise
To overflow his weeping, downcast eyes.
Regret consumed him; reason, patience fled,
And in the dust he bowed his noble head.
He dressed in mourning, neither ate nor slept,’
But, shut away in lonely anguish, wept.
Night came; he drove off that still-gaping crowd
Which stood beneath the gallows tree, and, bowed
By lonely grief, told over one by one
The actions of his absent paragon.
Then as each loved, lost deed was called to mind,
He groaned that he had been so rash, so blind.
Pain gripped his heart; his tears flowed like a flood;
He smeared his features with the corpse’s blood,
Grovelled in dust, clawed at his pampered skin,
Wept countless storms for his unthinking sin –
He raved, and, as a candle burns away,
Wasted with grief until the break of day,
lines 4399–4422
And when dawn’s gentle breeze arose returned
To his apartments’ hearth, and still he burned.
For forty nights the ashes of despair
Reduced him to the stature of a hair;
For forty nights none dared approach the throne
Or speak to him, and he was left alone.
For forty days he fasted, then one night
He dreamt he saw the boy – his face was white
And smeared with trickling tears; from foot to head
Were blood-stains where his gaping wounds had bled.
The king cried: ‘Comfort of my soul, what chance
Reduced you to this evil circumstance?’
‘I am like this,’ the weeping boy replied,
‘Because of your ingratitude and pride –
Is this fidelity, to flay my skin
For some imagined slight, some paltry sin?
Is this how lovers act? No infidel
Would make his lover undergo such hell;
What have I done that I should hang and die,
A shameful spectacle to passers-by?
God will revenge my death; I turn away
But I shall face you on His Judgement Day!’
The king woke trembling from his troubled sleep;
Grief overwhelmed him; he began to weep
And in his wretched agony he saw
Insanity swing open like a door.
He cried: ‘Dear heart and soul, your shameful death
Bereaves my heart and soul of vital breath –
You loved me and you died for me; what fool
Would smash, as I did, his most precious jewel?
0, I have killed my only love, and I
Deserve to suffer torture and to die!
Wherever you are now, my child, do not
Let all our vows of friendship be forgot;
It was myself I killed! Do not give back
The blackness of my deeds with deeds as black;
lines 4423–41
It is for you I grieve, for you I groan,
For you I bow down in the dust alone –
Take pity on me now; where can I find
Some trace of you to comfort my poor mind?
I tricked you, but be bountiful and true –
Do not serve me as once I dealt with you.
I spilt your body’s blood, but you have spilt
My spirit’s blood to expiate my guilt –
The deed was done when I was drunk; some fate
Conspired against me and my sovereign state.
If you have left the world before me, how
Can I endure the world without you now?
One moment’s absence kills my life and heart;
One moment more, my life and body part –
Your king’s soul hovers ready now to pay
-Blood-vengeance for your death and die away!
O, it is not my death which troubles me,
But my unthinking, vicious treachery;
However long I beg and sue and plead,
I know that nothing can forgive this deed.
O God, that you had cut my throat, that I
Untouched by grief had been condemned to die!
My soul is burnt with passion and despair;
There is no part of me that does not bear
The scars of wild regret – how long, O Lord,
Must absence be my fate and my reward?
Just God, destroy me now; I gladly give
My soul to death; I have no will to live.’
He fell bewildered in a strengthless faint,
And silence closed his passionate complaint.
But help was near; the minister had heard
Each conscience-stricken and repentant word –
He slipped out from his hiding-place and dressed
His son as if he were some honoured guest,
Then sent him to the king. The youth appeared
Like moonlight when the heaven’s clouds have cleared;
Dressed all in white he knelt before the king,
lines 4442–55
And wept as clouds weep raindrops in the spring.
Then, when the wakened monarch saw the boy,
There were no words that could express his joy.
They knew that state of which no man can speak;
This pearl cannot be pierced;* we are too weak.
The absence
that the king endured was gone
And they withdrew, united now as one.
No stranger followed them, or could unfold
The secrets they to one another told –
Alone at last, together they conferred;
Blindly they saw themselves and deaf they heard –
But who can speak of this ? I know if I
Betrayed my knowledge I would surely die;
If it were lawful for me to relate
Such truths to those who have not reached this state,
Those gone before us would have made some sign;
But no sign comes, and silence must be mine.
Here eloquence can find no jewel but one,
That silence when the longed-for goal is won.
The greatest orator would here be made
In love with silence and forget his trade,
And I too cease: I have described the Way –
Now, you must act – there is no more to say.
BIOGRAPHICAL INDEX
This includes most of the characters unfamiliar to western readers to whom Attar refers, together with entries on one or two well-known figures (e.g. Joseph) whose role in Islamic literature differs slightly from the western conception of their legends. It has not been possible to trace a few characters; some of these (e.g. Sheikh Noughani) probably had a purely local fame in Neishapour. Attar may have invented Abbasseh – he gives her no provenance and reports no anecdotes about her.
Ibrahim Adham: Abou Eshaq Ibrahim ibn Adham was a prince born in Balkh who renounced the world and lived as a wandering dervish. The similarity of his story to that of the Buddha has often been remarked on, and it is of especial interest because Balkh had been a Buddhist area. He died c. 782. He is the Abou ben Adham of Leigh Hunt’s poem, and the story on which this is based is told in Attar’s Tadhkirat al-Auliya. (p. 133)
Ayaz: Ayaz ibn Aymaq Abou-Najm was the favourite slave of Sultan Mahmoud of Ghazna (q.v.). Though Ayaz actually existed (he died in 1057), his life was quickly overlaid with legend. His story became the archetypal tale of the slave raised to the highest honours by his king; his relationship with Mahmoud is used as a metaphor of the mystic’s relationship with God. The story obviously appealed to Attar, who returns to it frequently, (pp. 55–6, 158–9, 175–6, 194 – 6)
Azar: the father of Abraham, who lived by carving idols, (p. 93, 161) Bayazid (Bistam): see the Introduction, 13–14. (76–7, 126–7, 145, 150) Dar (Malek Dar): see Joseph, (p. 217)
The Conference of the Birds (Penguin) Page 23
