And heard about the people of Qazvin:
Their shoulders, arms, and bodies they tattoo
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With needles and a special ink that’s blue.
One of them asked a barber casually,
‘Please draw a beautiful tattoo on me.’
He asked, ‘What image do you have your eye on?’
He said, ‘Tattoo the figure of a lion;
Leo is my ascendant, so I think
A roaring lion’s best—use lots of ink!’
He said, ‘Now all I need to know is where?’
‘Across my shoulder-blades—you’ll find space there.’
But when the barber stuck the needle in
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The man felt pain he couldn’t bear begin:
Our fearless hero screamed, ‘Aargh! Stop it, sir!
What are you stabbing like a murderer!’
‘You did ask for a lion, didn’t you?’
He wailed, ‘What part was it that you just drew?’
‘I started the tattoo back with the tail.’
‘Leave that bit out, for it’s of no avail.
I’ve just been strangled by its tail and rear,
They blocked my windpipe, which before was clear!
So draw a tailless lion now instead,
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That needle of yours fills my heart with dread!’
He started then to draw another bit,
Not showing mercy or restraint in it.
The man then screamed, ‘Which part have you drawn here?’
He said, ‘Its ears, dear fellow, have no fear.’
‘Let it be earless, nobody will see,
Leave out the ears, and finish rapidly!’
He now pricked somewhere else just as before,
The hero from Qazvin complained once more:
‘Which part is this? I’m sure I must have bled!’
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‘It’s just the lion’s stomach, friend,’ he said.
‘I beg you, leave the stomach out as well!
Don’t prick so deeply, please, this hurts like hell!’
The barber grew confused and so perplexed,
He bit his finger, wondering what’s next,
Then finally flung his needle on the ground,
And shouted, ‘Where is such a lion found
Without a tail and ears, and stomach too?
No lion like this lives, I swear to you!’
Brother, you have to bear the needle’s pain
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To flee your infidel self’s poisonous reign;
Sky, sun, and moon bow down and show obeisance
To that group who’ve escaped their own existence:
The sun and clouds obey what’s specified
By those whose self-love has completely died;
Their hearts have learned to light their lamps, and so
The sun can’t burn them with its fiery glow:
The sun moved strangely, far apart it kept,
Turning thus from the cave* where that group slept;
The thorn too turned completely to the rose:
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Towards the universal each part goes.
How can a man praise God, the lord of all?
Be like mere dust, contemptible and small!
What can men learn about God’s being one?
To burn themselves in Him just like the sun!
If like the day you wish to shine so bright,
Burn up your being, for that’s like the night—
Like copper burn yourself with alchemy
In that One who gives being generously!
You’ve clung fast to the self of ‘I’ and ‘you’
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Although all wretchedness stems from these two.
The wolf and the fox go to the hunt in attendance on the lion
Attended by the wolf and fox, one day
The lion climbed the mountain to find prey,
With mutual support this group of three
Thought they might hunt them more effectively,
Combining forces in that vast terrain
More catches thus they hoped that they would gain.
The lion, though embarrassed by this pair,
Still honoured them by letting them come there,
For such kings feel they’re burdened by their troops,
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But he agreed, for blessings come from groups:
The moon is shamed by stars, in honesty,
It lets them near through generosity.
Was not the Prophet told, ‘Consult them too!’*
Though no one had as good a point of view,
On scales we pair mere iron weights with gold
Though for a fraction of gold’s worth they’re sold;
The body is the spirit’s travelling mate,
The guard dog serves the king at his court’s gate.
Towards the mountain then they made their way,
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Accompanying the lion on that day;
They caught an ox, a goat, and a fat hare,
Thus had a most successful hunt out there:
Whoever backs a lion in the fight
Will never lack his meat by day or night.
When they took back their catch across the plain,
Their victims, wounded, drenched in blood, and slain,
The wolf and fox then waited eagerly,
Hoping to see the catch shared equally.
The lion sensed that they’d grown covetous
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And knew the basis of their lustfulness:
Know that the lion of the mysteries—
Whatever thoughts you have he clearly sees,
Refrain distracted heart when he is near
From bad thoughts, for to him they all are clear!
He knows, but doesn’t give you any clue,
He wears a smile as mask and laughs with you.
About their whisperings once he was aware;
He thought he’d better guard against the pair:
‘I’ll show you what you two have truly earned,
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Beggarly misers, then you will have learned!
For you, will my opinion then not do?
Is this your measure of what I’ve shown you?
Your own minds and opinions come from mine,
My world-adorning gifts which are divine;
The painting thanks its painter, as is fit,
For thought and knowledge which he’s granted it—
Is your opinion of me then so low?
Disgraces of the epoch, now I know!
Those who think ill of God,* if I don’t break
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And chop their heads, then that is my mistake!
I’ll free the heavens from your vile disgrace
So that your tale remains in this low place.’
While thinking this he would smile all the while—
Don’t feel assured on seeing lions smile!
Material wealth is like the smiles of God—
It’s made us drunk, conceited, prone to fraud;
Becoming poor is best for you who’re sure
About wealth’s worth—it soon sheds its allure.
The lion tests the wolf saying, ‘Come forward, wolf, divide the prey among us!’
The lion said, ‘Decide each hunter’s share
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So we can see, wolf, if you’re truly fair;
In distribution be my deputy
Until your essence is made clear to me.’
He said, ‘Dear king, the wild ox is for you
Since you are big, well-built, and powerful too;
The goat’s mine, for its size is moderate;
Fox, take the hare and don’t be obstinate!’
The lion said, ‘What talk I’ve listened to!
How dare you speak near me of “I” and “you”!
That wolf insulted me when it came near<
br />
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And saw itself still, though I have no peer.’
The lion roared, ‘Come here, conceited ass!’
Then punched him down and slew him on the grass;
Not hearing true words in the things he’d said,
He flayed his skin and then chopped off his head!
‘You saw me, but your self you failed to leave,
Your soul must die abased and none will grieve!
You failed to pass away before my face—
Breaking your neck was thus an act of grace!’
All perishes* except His face, submit,
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Don’t claim existence—you’ve no part of it!
To whomsoever in My face should die
The rule All perishes does not apply:
‘There is no’ for ‘except’ he’s left aside,*
Whoever’s in ‘except’s’ realm has not died,
And those who talk near him of ‘I’ and ‘we’
Are not let in, thus drowned in vanity.
Story about the person who knocked on the door of his beloved, who asked him from inside, ‘Who is it?’ He replied ‘It is I!’ She responded, ‘Since you are you, I won’t open the door: I don’t know any friend who is “I”—go away!’
A man knocked on his lover’s door one day,
‘Who is it?’ he heard his beloved say.
He said, ‘It’s me.’ She answered, ‘Leave at once!
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There isn’t room for such raw arrogance.’
Raw meat’s cooked just by separation’s flame—
What else can cure hypocrisy’s deep shame?
He wandered off in pain as his heart burnt,
In exile from the one for whom he yearned,
Matured before then going back once more
And walking to and fro outside her door.
He tapped the door, now suffering nerves inside,
Not to let slip a wrong word how he tried!
His sweetheart then responded, asking who
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Was at the door—he said, ‘None, love, but you.’
‘Now you are I, please enter in this place
Because for two I’s here there isn’t space.’
A needle can’t accommodate split thread,
To enter thread must have a single head.
To fit a needle thread is suitable,
For camels, needle eyes are much too small!*
A camel’s being must be cut to size
With scissors of religious exercise—
For that to work God’s hand is necessary—
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His ‘Be!’* solves each impossibility.
With His hand everything is possible—
Fear of Him tames each stubborn animal;
He doesn’t heal just lepers and the blind
But he can raise the dead too you will find,
And non-existents, more dead than the dead,
Towards existence by His will are led.
Recite, ‘He works on something new each day’*
And never think He idles time away.
His least achievement daily is to send
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Three armies, each to a specific end:
One from men’s loins to mothers has to go
So in their wombs they’ll form an embryo;
One from the wombs towards the world outside—
Thus males and females have been multiplied;
One army’s sent above straight from the earth
So all can see good actions have much worth—
This talk is endless, so come quickly here
To friends and followers who are sincere!
His sweetheart said, ‘Come in, all of my heart,
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Not like the rose and thorn that are apart.’
Make fewer errors now there’s just one thread—
If you see two, know there’s just one ahead.
Just like a noose, ‘Be!’* draws you from a distance
And thus brings non-existence to existence,
Although in form the noose may look like two
There’s just one rope and one thing it will do!
With pairs of legs all men must cross the street,
Two scissor-blades together cut one sheet;
Look at this pair of laundry-men, for instance,
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Between them there is obviously a difference:
One washed your clothes in water with some soap,
To dry the other hangs them on a rope,
But then the first one rinses them again
As though there is a fight between these men!
But these two who may seem to be apart
Both act and think as one—they’re one at heart;
Each prophet and each saint has his own way,
The Masnavi, Book One: Bk. 1 (Oxford World's Classics) Page 33
