The Masnavi, Book One: Bk. 1 (Oxford World's Classics)

by Jalal al-Din Rumi

  At night I can’t sleep—love burns me away:

  I’ve passed beyond both day and nighttime’s sphere—

  They’re shields I’ve penetrated like a spear.’

  Beyond there’s just one army with one name,

  A thousand years and one hour are the same,

  There pre- and post-eternity have merged,

  The brain can’t reach there, it soon gets submerged.

  The Prophet asked Zayd, ‘Where’s your souvenir?

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  Present some knowledge suitable for here.’

  Zayd said, ‘While other people see the sky,

  I see God’s throne with those who live on high,

  The seven hells and the eight heavens too

  Are visible to me—I swear it’s true!

  I recognize each individual

  Like wheat and barley piled up at the mill:

  Who’s heaven-bound and who in hell will bake

  I see just like a fish next to a snake.’

  It has now been revealed like dawn’s first light

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  The day their faces will turn black or white.*

  However many faults the soul then had,

  Inside its womb* none knew that it was bad:

  The damned are damned inside the womb, that’s why

  Their states some outwardly identify.*

  The body’s pregnant with the soul till death,

  When birth pains make her writhe and gasp for breath,

  The souls of all the dead now watch and wait

  To see the way it’s born and its new state:

  The Africans will claim, ‘This soul is ours!’

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  The Greeks, ‘No, he looks glorious, with great powers!’

  It’s now born in the realm of souls and grace,

  The blacks and whites are equal in this place;

  If he’s been bad, by bad men he’ll be led,

  If good, he’ll join the good up there instead;

  Until it’s born it’s hidden from men’s eyes,

  Unborn souls so few men can recognize—

  It’s by the Light of God* that such men see

  Straight through a person’s skin so easily.

  Sperm’s essence is pure goodness like the light,

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  Beyond the realm of what is black or white;

  Of those of highest stature* He’ll bestow

  Colour to half, to banish them below.

  This topic’s incomplete, but it’s now late,

  If we’re not back the caravan won’t wait.

  The day they will turn black or white we’ll learn,

  The Turks from Indians then we can discern;*

  Inside the womb no man can separate

  The two, but once they’re born one’s vile, one great.

  ‘As if it is already Judgment Day,

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  I see through men and women here today—

  Shall I stay silent or share one more sign?’

  The Prophet bit his lips, ‘This much is fine.’

  ‘O Messenger of God, shall I now mention

  To all the secret of the Resurrection?*

  Let me tear open this last veil of mine

  And like the sun let my true essence shine,

  Such that the sun will be eclipsed by me,

  Marking the date-palm from the fruitless tree,

  For Resurrection’s secret I’ll disclose—

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  Real gold from false, so everybody knows.

  With hands cut off, the damned all men will see

  Distant from our pure Muslim family,

  I’ll make hypocrisy’s worst failings plain

  In moonlight, which won’t be eclipsed or wane,

  The ragged clothes of damned men I’ll display

  And make the Prophet’s drums be heard today,

  Heaven and hell, the realm between as well,

  I’ll show so clearly to each infidel,

  A turbulent Kawsar* I’ll make appear

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  To splash their faces and ring in each ear,

  The thirsty who keep circling it I’ll show

  This very moment, so all men will know;

  Their shoulders rub against mine and their screams

  Keep ringing in my ears, or so it seems,

  While willingly in heaven filled with grace

  They pull each other close in an embrace—

  They take each other’s hands with gentle grips

  And snatch some kisses from each other’s lips;

  This ear of mine’s been deafened by their sighs

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  And all the damned ones’ bitter grieving cries—

  From hidden depths mere hints I now relate,

  For fear, dear Prophet, you might grow irate.’

  He spoke thus—drunken, wasted, almost dead,

  The Prophet curled his collar up and said,

  ‘Your horse has grown excited, pull the reins!

  God feels no shame,* in you now none remains.

  Your mirror has slipped out of its own cover,

  But with Truth’s weighing-scales can it now differ?

  How can they both keep silent out of tact,

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  So as to not shame someone with a fact?

  They are both touchstones which speak truthfully:

  Though you should serve them for a century

  And say, “Conceal truth for my benefit:

  Display the profit, hide the deficit!”

  “Don’t make yourself look stupid!” they will cry,

  “Just for your sake can scales and mirrors lie?

  Since God has made us for this aim alone:

  That through us both the truth can be made known,

  If we don’t do exactly as we should,

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  We won’t be worthy for the fair and good.”

  So put the mirror back, Zayd, in its case,

  Your breast’s been split like Sinai by God’s face!’

  ‘The sun of truth and pre-eternity

  Can’t be stuffed in one’s arms so none can see:

  It would tear off that arm which tries to hide,

  Wisdom and madness would be nullified.’

  The Prophet said, ‘Place fingers on your eyes

  And you won’t see the sun begin to rise,

  One fingertip can veil the moon at night—

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  This is a sign God can conceal from sight:

  The world gets covered by a single tip,

  The sun can be eclipsed by just one slip.’

  Keep quiet, watch the sea’s depths if you can,

  God’s made that subject to the will of man

  Like Salsabil and Zanjabil*—both springs

  Are ruled in heaven by the King of Kings;

  And heaven’s streams are ruled by you and me,

  Not forcefully but through the Lord’s decree:

  We make them flow where we want them to go

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  Like magic at a good magician’s show,

  And, like my eyes’ streams, they’re in firm control

  Of what sends out the tears—my heart and soul;

  If the heart wants, they’ll flow towards a snake,

  Or a much better route instead they’ll take,

  Or if it wants—to what’s perceivable,

  Or to veiled things that are invisible,

  Or if it wants—towards the Universal,

  Or to contingents that are only temporal.

  All outward senses are in flow this way,

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  The heart’s decree these five pipes must obey:

  When your heart tells them what it has in mind

  All five set off and drag their skirts behind,

  Your hands and feet obey your heart’s command

  Like Moses’s rod, held in his right hand:

  If it’s the heart’s wish, legs will dance for
it

  Or flee from loss to greater benefit,

  And hands will bend their fingers to hold tight

  A pen with which a book you then can write—

  Hands are controlled by one unseen inside,

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  Which has arranged the body’s form outside—

  You’ll be a snake against your enemy

  Or help your friend, if that’s the heart’s decree;

  Or to a spoon with which to eat you’ll turn,

  Or to a massive mace that weighs a ton.

  How does the heart instruct them? How amazing!

  This marvellous, hidden link we’re contemplating!

  Perhaps King Solomon’s ring* it can gain,

  The outward senses’ yearning to restrain?

  The outward senses it controls with ease,

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  The inward ones too follow its decrees;

  There are ten senses, seven organs too—

  Try counting what no words can show to you!

  Since you’re like Solomon, heart, come and fling

  On angels and the demons your famed ring;

  If you’re free from deceit here in this land,

  No demon then can steal it from your hand;

  The universe will be ruled by your name

  The way you rule your body, just the same.

  But if a demon steals the seal from you,

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  Your kingdom will be gone, your fortune too,

  Then misery will be your destiny

  Till Judgment Day as part of God’s decree—

  Though you deny your own deceit, my brother,

  Your soul won’t be saved from the scales and mirror.

  His fellow servants accuse Loqman of eating the fresh fruit that they were supposed to bring home

  Loqman used to be in his master’s eyes,

  In outward form, the servant he’d despise;

  The master sent some servants out one day

  To gather fruit for him from far away.

  The others thought Loqman embarrassing—

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  He was dark-skinned though mystically a king—

  And so they ate the fruit with such delight,

  Led by their greed, although they had no right;

  When they returned they gave Loqman the blame;

  Their master cursed him with his eyes aflame!

  To make him check the cause he answered back,

  Loqman turned to him after his attack:

  ‘Dear master, God has often made it clear

  The faithless slave is not one He holds dear;

  Examine who is faithful and who’s not:

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  Make everyone drink water that is hot,

  Then make us run out in the countryside

  On foot, while you are riding at our side—

  You’ll witness who has acted wickedly,

  This will reveal the hidden mystery.’

  The master poured hot water in each cup

  And made each servant drink his last drop up,

  He sent them out then to the yard, where they

  Were forced to run this way and then that way;

  They vomited once they had run about:

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  Hot water made them spew their food all out,

  But when Loqman’s turn came, since he’d not lied,

  Water is all he brought up from inside—

  He’d shown such wisdom though a simple man,

  Imagine what the Lord of Being can:

  That day when all the secrets are revealed*

  What you would like to hide can’t be concealed;

  Draughts of hot water that for each are poured*

  Will tear all veils away from what’s abhorred;

  Vile infidels fire’s torture suits the best,

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  Since for hard stones fire is the perfect test:

  When to the stony-hearted we’ve been good

  And gently talked, they’ve shunned our brotherhood;

  A heavy wound needs treatment that is strong—

  To hungry dogs the donkey’s bones belong:

  Bad women to the bad men* now dictate—

  An ugly woman is a vile man’s mate;

  Whichever mate fulfils your fantasies—

  Become effaced in that one’s qualities:

  If you want light, reflect it like a star,

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  If distance, be self-centred and stray far;

  If from this vile gaol you long to be free

  Prostrate before him, move near constantly!*

  The remainder of the story of Zayd answering the Messenger of God

  ‘Zayd, none can venture to its furthest reach—

  Now shackle the Boraq* which brings your speech!