by Nizami
LAYLA AND MAJNUN
BY
NIZAMI
PROSE ADAPTATION BY
COLIN TURNER
To Mahshid, with love
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Layla
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Copyright
Layla
by Eric Clapton
What will you do when you get lonely
No one waiting by your side?
You’ve been running and hiding much too long;
You know it’s just your foolish pride.
Layla, got me on my knees. Layla
I’m begging, darling, please. Layla
Darling, won’t you ease my worried mind?
Tried to give you consolation;
Your old man had let you down.
Like a fool, I fell in love with you;
You turned my whole world upside down.
Layla…
Make the best of the situation
Before I finally go insane.
Please don’t say we’ll never find a way
Tell me all my love’s in vain.
Layla…
Foreword
More has been written about love than about any other area of human experience. Since we first began to commit our ideas and feelings to paper, writers the world over have waxed lyrical about the joys of love, and about the sorrows of love unrequited.
Arguably the most popular story in the Islamic world is Layla and Majnun. For well over a thousand years, versions of this tragic tale have appeared in prose, poetry and song in almost every language in the Islamic Near East, yet it is Nizami’s epic poem which still serves as the basis for all others.
The Persian poet Nizami was commissioned to write Layla and Majnun by the Caucasian ruler, Shirvanshah, in AD1188. In his original preface to the poem, Nizami explains that a messenger from Shirvanshah arrived and gave him a letter written in the King’s own hand. Extolling Nizami as ‘the universal magician of eloquence’, Shirvanshah asked the poet to write a romantic epic based on a simple Arab folk-tale: the age-old tale of Majnun, the ‘love-mad’ poet, and Layla, the celebrated desert beauty.
Since the dawn of Islam some five hundred years before, the legend of Layla and Majnun had been a popular theme of the love songs, sonnets and odes of the Bedouins in Arabia. Majnun was associated with a real-life character, Qays ibn al-Mulawwah, who probably lived in the second half of the seventh century AD in the desert of Najd in the Arabian peninsula. By Nizami’s time there were many variations on the Majnun theme circulating throughout the region, and no doubt Shirvanshah approached Nizami with a view to the creation of something ‘special’.
Initially, Nizami was loathe to accept the commission, as he felt the story offered ‘neither gardens nor royal pageants nor festivities, neither streams nor wines nor happiness’, all of which are staples of classical Persian poetry. But eventually, at his son’s insistence, he relented. Less than four months later, Nizami’s Layla and Majnun, which comprises in the original some 8,000 lines of verse, was completed.
In writing Layla and Majnun, there is little doubt that Nizami uses all the material — both written and oral — that was available to him. He preserved the Bedouin atmosphere of the original tale while at the same time placing the story into the far more civilised Persian world of his time, embellishing the tale with the rich colours and imagery of his own native language and literary tradition.
Nizami did indeed create something special for his patron, Shirvanshah. This striking originality lies in his masterful psychological portrayal of the complexity of human emotions when faced with ‘love that knows no laws’. The lightness of heart that falling in love can bring; the thrill of mutual affection; the sorrows of separation; the pains of doubt and jealousy; the bitterness of love betrayed; the grief that comes with loss — Nizami maps the whole of the mysterious world of love, leaving no region uncharted. His language may be the language of twelfth-century Persia, but his theme is one which transcends all barriers of time and space.
Dr Colin Paul Turner,
Durham University
Chapter 1
Only man can know the pain of having something he does not need, while needing something he does not have …
In Arabia of old there once lived such a man — a great Lord, a Sayyid, who ruled over the tribe known as the Banu Amir. No other dominion matched his in prosperity and success, and his prowess as a leader of men was acknowledged throughout the land. To the poor, he was generosity itself — the doors of his vast treasury were always open, the strings of his purse always untied. And his hospitality towards strangers was legendary. Yet, although he was loved by his people and enjoyed the kind of respect usually reserved for sultans and caliphs, he saw his own situation in a different light. To his own mind, he resembled a candle, slowly consuming itself without spreading enough light for others. One great and ever-present sorrow gnawed away at his heart, blackening his days — the Sayyid had no son.
What importance do wealth and power have when one is childless? What do glory and prestige matter if there is no one to carry on the family name? And what purpose is there in a life that remains untouched by the happiness brought by children? Thus did the old man ponder these questions, and the more he thought about it, the greater was his sorrow. His prayers came to nothing, the alms he spent were all in vain; he awaited a full moon that would not rise, a rose-garden that would not flower. Yet never did he give up hope.
This one burning desire had scorched his soul to the extent that he forgot everything else. For the sake of the one thing his heart craved, but did not possess, he ignored the manifold bounties that God had granted him — his health, his wealth, his dominions. Is that not, after all, the way a man’s mind works? When goals are not reached and prayers not answered, do we ever stop to think that God’s apparent silence may be for our own good? We are convinced that we know our own needs, it is true. But needs are often confused with wants, and those things that are wanted — but not needed — are sometimes the cause of our downfall. Of course, if we could tell what the future holds for us, this confusion would never arise. But the future is veiled from our eyes; the threads of each man’s fate extends well beyond the bound
aries of the visible world. Where they lead we cannot see. Who can say that today’s key will not be tomorrow’s lock, or today’s lock not tomorrow’s key?
And so the Sayyid prayed and fasted and gave alms until, just as he was about to admit defeat, God granted his wish. He was given a boy, a beautiful child like a rosebud freshly opened, like a diamond whose brilliance changes night into day. To celebrate his birth, the Sayyid unlocked the doors of his treasury and scattered gold as though it were sand. Everyone was to share in his joy, and the wondrous event was celebrated with much festivity throughout the land.
The child was placed in the caring, tender hands of a wet-nurse, who suckled him and saw to it that he grew big and strong and healthy. And so he did. Fourteen days after his birth, the boy already resembled the full moon in all its splendour, scattering light upon the earth and enriching the vision of all who cast eyes on him. On the fifteenth day, his parents gave him the name of Kais. Yet all of this was done in secret, hidden from others so as to ward off the Evil Eye.
A year passed, and the boy’s beauty blossomed into perfection. A happy, playful child, he bloomed year by year — a carefully tended flower in the happy rose-garden of childhood. By the end of his seventh year, the first fine down of approaching adulthood began to shine like a violet sheath on his tulip-red cheeks. Whoever caught sight of him, even from a distance, would call down God’s blessings upon him, and by the time the first decade of his life was over, the people told stories of his beauty as though they were recounting fairy tales.
Chapter 2
Mindful of the boy’s need for education, the Sayyid placed his son under the tutorship of a renowned scholar, a sage to whom all Arabs of noble descent entrusted their children so that they might acquire wisdom and the skills needed for desert life. No matter that these children often feared their teacher, for now was the time to put away their toys and take up their books in earnest.
Kais was diligent and enthusiastic. Before long, he had outshone his peers in every subject, proving to be the best pupil his teacher had ever taught. In reading and writing, in particular, he excelled; when he spoke, be it in debate or simple conversation, his tongue scattered pearls of wisdom, and it was a delight to listen to him.
But then something quite unexpected happened. Kais’ fellow pupils were, like him, mostly from noble families of different tribes, and they included several young girls. One day a new girl joined the class, a girl of such dazzling beauty that Kais, along with every other boy in the class, was smitten instantly.
The girl’s name was Layla, from the Arabic ‘layl’, which means ‘night’. In keeping with her name, her hair was indeed as dark as night itself, while beneath the shadow of her hair, her face shone out like a radiant beacon of beauty. Her eyes were dark and deep and lustrous, like the eyes of a gazelle, and with one flutter of her eyelashes she could have reduced the whole world to ruins. Her tiny mouth opened only to say the sweetest things, and when others responded — either with words or smiles — she would blush, bringing blood-red roses into bloom on her milk-white cheeks.
The iciest of hearts would have melted at the very sight of this miracle of creation, but the young Kais felt more passionately about the newcomer than any of his peers. He was drowning in a sea of love before he even knew what love was. He had given his heart to the girl before he had even realised what it was that he was giving away. Layla, for her part, fared no better, for she, too, had fallen. A fire had been lit in both their hearts, one reflecting the other. And what could they do to ward off the flames? Nothing. They were children, and children accept what comes to them with little question. Love was a wine-bearer who had filled their cups to the brim, and they drank whatever he poured for them. And in due course they became intoxicated, not realising the power of the wine. The first intoxication is always the most severe. The first fall is always the hardest. The first cut is always the deepest.
And so it went on, until they were both too far gone to turn back, entranced by a magic power whose source they did not recognise, whose magic was too great for them to fight. They drank deeply from the cup of love both night and day, and the more they drank, the deeper they became immersed in each other. Their eyes became blind and their ears became deaf to the school and the world beyond the classroom. Both Kais and Layla had lost themselves … and found each other.
Chapter 3
They say that first love is the greatest, and that its happy memory never dies. For Kais and Layla this was most certainly true. Indeed, so intense was their happiness that they did not dare question it, for fear that it might disappear as quickly as it had come upon them.
For Kais, Layla was like the sun, ascending into his sky with a beauty and radiance unparalleled. With each passing day she shone more brightly, illuminating not only his world but the worlds of all those who had the good fortune to meet her. The other boys were sunstruck, too, filled with awe by her blinding light. During their lessons, they would stare at her openmouthed, until the teacher appeared with his stick to beat them back to their lessons. If the school was closed, they would roam the alleyways and the passages between the market stalls, all in the hope of catching a tiny glimpse of her dimpled face. And whenever they did, they would feel like pomegranates, full of juice and fit to burst with desire. Such was her attraction.
Naturally, Kais knew that the other boys desired her, but he also knew that they could not desire her as much as he did, and so their antics did not perturb him in the least. Yet at the same time he felt a certain unease, a sense of foreboding of what fate had in store. Given the miracle of Layla’s beauty, he knew that he would never be alone with her. He knew that there would always be someone — or something — that would come between them. Suddenly, the whole situation seemed to change and that which he had thought perfect now appeared to have its defects. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, a small black cloud appeared on his horizon.
But is that not always the case? Nothing lasts forever: everything in this transient world is fated, one day, to perish.
While the two lovers basked in the glow of each other’s love, quaffing the wine of forgetfulness and enjoying the paradise of oblivion, the eyes of the world were on them. Did others realise what had happened between Kais and his Layla? Did they see the stolen looks, the furtive glances that passed between them? Could they read the signs and crack the codes of secret love that bound their hearts together? Who knew about them, and how much was known? Nothing was said, of course. Until one day, in the market, a voice was heard to say, ‘Kais and Layla are in love. Have you not heard?’
A whisper, they say, can cause a kingdom to fall. And soon the rumours were being whispered all over the town, from tent to tent, and stall to stall.
Slowly, the two lovers began to realise how blind they had been. People had seen them together, heard them talking, watched them laughing and they, in their cocoon of love, had been completely unaware. The veil was torn, the wall had crumbled, and now it was time for action. To save themselves, and to protect their love, they tried to tame their wild glances and seal their love-hungry lips.
But desire and caution rarely mix and love, once out in the open, cannot be hidden. Caution is no chain for a heart that is already chained by its lover’s beauty. What was Kais to do? His soul was a mirror for Layla’s radiance: how could he keep such a reflection to himself? She shone in him like the sun at noon in a cloudless sky: how could such light be concealed? How could he turn away, even for a second, from the only thing that gave meaning to his life? Kais’ heart was out of step with his reason, and however hard he tried to hide his love for Layla, he failed miserably. With her, he felt the arrows of reproach from a thousand bows; without her, the pain of separation cut into his heart like a knife.
Kais could see no way out of his predicament, and in his confusion he fell. Having lost his heart, he now lost his mind. All he could do was wander around in a trance, extolling Layla’s beauty and praising her virtues to everyone he met. The more people saw him and
heard what he had to say, the more insane he appeared and the more bizarre became his behaviour. And everywhere the stares and the pointing fingers, the laughter and the derision, the cries of ‘Here comes the madman, the “majnun”!’
For Layla’s people, the entire situation became intolerable. Not only Layla’s honour, but the honour of her whole tribe was at stake. Was it right that they should have their integrity questioned and their name tarnished by this mad boy from the Banu Amir? Was it right that Layla’s reputation should be sullied? They had to act, and act fast. The first thing they did was ban Layla from leaving her tent. A guard was posted at the entrance with orders to apprehend Kais should he try to approach the girl. Thus did they conceal the new moon from the baying hound.
And there was nothing that Layla could say or do to prevent it. Furthermore, she had to hide her grief — grief that threatened to tear her heart in two. Only when she was alone did she let the mask drop and allow her lonely tears to fall.
Chapter 4
Kais’ separation from Layla brought about his separation from the rest of those he loved — from his family and friends, from his parents and home. And if Layla wept in secret, Kais wept openly, displaying his sorrow for the world to see.
He wandered aimlessly through the market where the merchants had their stalls, talking to no one, driven by nothing more than an aching heart, oblivious to the people and their staring eyes and pointing fingers. And as he wandered from stall to stall, from tent to tent, haunting love-songs were on his lips, tears of separation in his eyes. Passers-by would shout, ‘There goes the “majnun”, the madman. Hey, Majnun!’
The shell of his being had cracked, revealing the rawness of his soul. He was open, exposed, his innermost feelings and emotions laid bare. Not only had he lost Layla, he had lost himself. The pain in his heart was reflected in his face; it glowed like fire and no one could mistake it. Kais, one of the walking, talking wounded. Kais the lost, the forgotten; Kais the orphan of fate.
