Layla and Majnun

by Nizami

  ‘Is this how you help me?’ he cried out. ‘Is that the only way you know of bringing together two people in love? Is that the last resort of wisdom, to fight with men and weapons? Is that the secret of your power? Is that the proof of your strength? Is that the way you go into action for the sake of your friends? For God knows that I never wanted you to help me in that way; God alone knows that I never asked you to spill blood on my account!

  ‘And now you have succeeded in making enemies of my friends. The door I wished to enter in peace they have, thanks to you, locked for ever and thrown away the key!

  ‘You have turned my good cause to infamy, all in the name of friendship! You are no friend of mine; I hereby renounce all ties of friendship with you. How can we be friends? I feel like the king in chess who is checkmated by his own knight! I feel like the sheepdog, pierced by the arrow that the shepherd aimed at the wolf!

  ‘True, you may be great when it comes to generosity, but when it comes to fulfilling your promises you are small, very small indeed!’

  There was nothing Nowfal could do to defend himself against these words. Gently, he tried to remonstrate with his friend.

  ‘You must understand that we would have been outnumbered: the enemy was superior on every front. That is why I was unable to achieve our goal and win Layla for you. But it is not over yet, believe me. True, I made peace and we departed. But that was a stratagem forced on me by Fate.

  ‘Rest assured, my friend, that I shall return! My aim now is to muster support from the surrounding tribes; I shall gather together an army the likes of which Layla’s tribe has never seen! I shall not rest until I have done what I first set out to do. I shall not rest until the treasure you most desire is in your hands.’

  And Nowfal did exactly as he said he would. He sent envoys to all of the tribes in the area, from Medina to Baghdad and beyond. With his untold wealth he assembled an army that swelled from horizon to horizon like a sea of iron. Then, for a second time, he went to war in order to win Layla for his friend.

  Chapter 20

  Like a vast sea of men and iron, Nowfal’s army swept across the plain. The drums of war were beating, the horses’ hooves were pounding, and the war-cries of the men were enough to cause a dead man’s heart to tremble. Blood-red banners fluttered in the breeze, swords and daggers glinted menacingly in the bright sunlight. At noon, Nowfal’s army reached the outskirts of Layla’s camp. There, the sea of men and iron became calm — the calm before the coming storm.

  Scouts from Layla’s tribe had relayed the news of Nowfal’s approach back to her camp, and although they knew they were vastly outnumbered, they did not lose heart. They were still determined not to acquiesce, not to give way to force: they were willing to die rather than hand over Layla to the aggressor.

  The battle commenced, with fighting more fierce than either side had ever experienced. The whole plain was soon one vast crush of men and horses; so locked in battle did they become that there was little room to move, and no chance for anyone to escape. And so every thrust of the dagger hit its mark, every swing of the sword found its victim. Blood gushed like ruby wine from a thousand goblets; so red did the sands become that it looked as though countless desert poppies had suddenly bloomed from nowhere.

  Finally, the slaughter became too much for even the hardiest of warriors to stomach: many men were beginning to hesitate before they struck, as though tired and ashamed of wounding yet another foe, of taking yet another life. But Nowfal pressed on, spewing fire and destruction like a dragon possessed in the front line. No head was secure from the swing of his club, no heart safe from the thrust of his sword. He moved forward like some scythe of death, mowing down all in his path, never stopping to look back, unaware of the extent of the carnage he and his men had brought about.

  As night began to fall, it was clear that the day had been won by Nowfal and his men. Layla’s tribe had been well and truly defeated. Many of them had been killed or wounded, and those who had been spared were exhausted beyond description. As a symbolic gesture of surrender and a sign of mourning, the elders of the defeated tribe poured earth over their heads and made their way in silence to the victor’s tent. There, they prostrated themselves before Nowfal and cried, ‘O, Nowfal! Today the victory is yours and we have tasted a bitter defeat. Now, for the sake of God, let justice reign! Let those of us who have survived this bloodbath live in peace. Allow us to rise after our fall, remembering that soon we shall all be summoned to rise once more before Him on the Day of Judgement. Lay down your arms, for you no longer need them: we are defenceless men who wish you no ill. Put your spears and arrows away; you have no use for them now. We, for our part, have thrown down our shields and placed our fate in your hands. For the love of God, have mercy.’

  Nowfal was moved by the elders’ speech and, for a while, he was unable to reply. He, too, was ready to forget all that had happened and put the past to rest. Solemnly he agreed to a truce, but not without mentioning his price: ‘I have listened to what you have said and I agree that peace is our only solution. Therefore, I agree to a truce. Now I shall depart, but before I leave I must ask for that which I have won from you here today. Bring me Layla — only then shall I be satisfied and leave you be.’

  Just as he finished speaking, a man stepped forward from the defeated tribe and approached Nowfal. It was Layla’s father, his back bent low by grief and humiliation. Slowly, he knelt down in front of Nowfal, prostrated himself in the dust at the victor’s feet and began to sob. ‘O Nowfal! You are the pride of all Arabs and a prince among men! I am an old man — an old man whose heart is broken and whose back has been bent low by the vicissitudes of time. Disaster has brought me to my knees; grief has pushed me to the edge. Blame and infamy are being heaped upon me as we speak, and when I think of the blood that has been shed because of me, I wish that God’s earth would open up and swallow me whole. It is now for you to decide. If you spare me my daughter, then the gratitude is mine. If you wish to kill her, then kill her! Slit her throat with your dagger, thrust your sword into her heart, trample her body into the dust under the hooves of your horse if you will. I shall not question your decision.

  ‘But there is one thing I can never accept. Never, while I am her father, shall my daughter be given to this lunatic, to this demon in human guise, to this madman, this ‘majnun’ — never! To be sure, he should be shackled with chains of iron and locked away, not tied with bonds of marriage and set free!

  ‘After all, what is he? He is a fool, a common vagrant and vagabond, a homeless, good-for-nothing tramp who roams the mountain wastes like a filthy hermit possessed by Satan and his minions. Is he fit to sit with other humans, let alone take a wife? Am I to have as a son-in-law some perfidious poet who has dragged my name through the dirt? There is not one corner in the whole of Arabia where my daughter’s name is not part of some sick little verse on the lips of common people. And you, in all seriousness, ask me to hand my daughter over to him? My name would be dirt for ever, my honour soiled beyond redemption. You are asking the impossible, sir, and I beg you to desist. Why, I would rather cut off her head with my own sword than give her to Majnun: it would be like feeding my own child to a lion. It is better that she die a quick death by my sword than be placed in the jaws of a dragon like Majnun!’

  For a second, the audacity of the old man’s polemic and the violence of his threats stunned Nowfal into silence. Yet he bore no resentment towards the bent figure in the dust before him. Firmly, but politely, he replied, ‘Stand up, old man! Even though I have the upper hand, I do not intend to take your daughter by force. A woman taken by force is like food without salt: I shall take her from you only if you give her willingly.’

  Nowfal’s aides and advisers agreed with him. If Majnun could not have Layla, he had only himself to blame. After all, the whole thing was Majnun’s doing; the blame for the bloodshed was his. And had he not, during the first encounter, taken the side of the enemy and acted treacherously towards those who were fighting f
or his sake? The very same horseman who had berated Majnun for his behaviour during that first battle now stepped forward and addressed Nowfal.

  ‘The old man is right,’ he said. ‘This fool, Majnun, is a slave to lust. Thoughts of disobedience and rebellion dominate his whole being and he is in no fit state to ask for anyone’s hand in marriage. He is clearly of unsound mind and is not to be trusted. Did we not risk our lives on his account? Were we not ready to fight to the death? In spite of all that, his hope was that the enemy would emerge victorious! On his behalf we presented our bodies as targets for their arrows — arrows that he, in secret, was blessing! No sane man acts in such a way. Look at him, see how he laughs without reason and cries with no excuse! Even if he were to win Layla, Fate would not bless their union. The man has no redeeming qualities and you, Nowfal, will live to regret ever having come to his aid. The honour and shame so far apportioned are enough: let us cut our losses now and wash our hands of the whole affair.’

  What was Nowfal to do? Layla’s father was inexorable even in defeat; he even enjoyed the support of Nowfal’s men. And given that his own mind was filled with doubts concerning Majnun, Nowfal could hardly blame them.

  And so he decided. Electing to withdraw his request for the spoils of victory, Nowfal signalled to his men to break camp and depart.

  Chapter 21

  Majnun was unable to suppress his anger for long, and they had not travelled far before he turned to Nowfal and began to shout, ‘Do you call yourself a friend? You nurtured my hopes and made them strong like a tree, and now you fell that tree with your own axe. The spoils of victory were yours for the taking. Layla was as good as yours, and thus mine: why did you let her go? Why promise to help me, then turn against me?

  ‘I was like a man dying of thirst: you led me to the banks of the Euphrates and then, before I could drink, you pulled me away and led me back to the scorching heat of the waterless desert wastes! You led me to the table, but you would not let me eat! Why, if you never intended to let me have my treasure, did you show it to me in the first place?’

  Majnun tugged at the reins of his horse and, without taking his leave, galloped off across the sands and into the wilderness. Soon he had disappeared from sight, leaving Nowfal and his men to scratch their heads in amazement.

  A few days after Nowfal had returned to his own land, he formed a search party and went to look for his friend. He was, after all, devoted to Majnun. He wanted to find his friend, to comfort him and tell him how much he loved him, and to reassure him that it had never been his intention to hurt him.

  But of Majnun there was no trace. It was as if he had disappeared completely from the face of the earth. It was as if his name had been erased from the book of life. Gradually, Nowfal came to the painful conclusion that he had lost his friend for ever.

  Chapter 22

  Having left Nowfal, Majnun was like a motherless child. He mounted his horse and galloped off deep into the desert, the wind his only companion now. In a voice cracked by grief, he sang to himself of Nowfal’s infidelity, recounting his fate to the abandoned camp-fires and deserted caravanserais as he went.

  Suddenly, he saw something moving in the distance; as he approached he saw that it was two gazelles, caught in a trap. And there was a hunter standing above them, his dagger drawn, ready for the kill. Majnun felt the anger rise in his chest.

  ‘Let those poor beasts alone!’ he cried. ‘I am a stranger to these parts and so I am your guest here; it is not fitting for a host to refuse the request of those who call on him! Now, remove the nooses from their necks and set them free! Is there not room enough in this world for all of God’s creatures? What is their crime, that you are ready to slaughter them? Look how elegant they are, how beautifully they have been created! Do they not remind you of spring itself? Do their soulful eyes not remind you of the eyes of your beloved?

  ‘Let them go! Leave them alone to live in peace! Their necks are too fine to suffer the blows of your sword; their breasts and thighs were not created to fill your pot; their backs, which have never carried any load, are surely not destined for the fire! Let them go, I beg you!’

  The hunter stood back, astonished. Never in his life had he heard a plea for clemency so impassioned, so noble. Still shaking his head in disbelief, he said, ‘Well, what can I say? I understand your point of view and I agree with you.

  ‘But I am a poor man; were it not for my poverty, I would never stoop to slaughtering God’s creatures. But this is the first catch I have had in two months. I have a wife and several small mouths to feed. Am I to sacrifice the well-being of my family for the freedom of a few animals?’

  Majnun dismounted and, with not so much as a word, handed the reins of his horse to the hunter. Perplexed by Majnun’s behaviour, but more than happy with the exchange, the hunter rode off, leaving Majnun to untie the fettered gazelles. Tenderly he took them out of the trap, stroked their necks and kissed their eyes, saying:

  I see her eyes in yours, darker than night;

  Yet mere likeness cannot restore her to my sight.

  For what I have lost no one can return,

  And all that is left are the memories that burn …

  Invoking God’s blessings on the animals, he released them and watched as they trotted off across the sands. Then he continued on his way, only at a much slower pace this time, bent almost double by the weight of his grief and his few possessions.

  The sun beat him mercilessly about the head with her burning stick, while the sand roasted his feet. His skin was scorched, his brain seemed to be on the boil, his feet were blistered and shredded by thorns, but he carried on unperturbed. He carried on until the night threw its indigo cloak over the earth, and the moon, borrowing the sun’s light, became a huge all-seeing eye in the sky above. Only then did he rest.

  Panting and groaning, he crept into a cave and made a bed with his old shawl for a blanket and a rock for a pillow. Then he lay down and, struggling for sleep, he read awhile from the book of his own life, the pages of which were blacker than night itself.

  Chapter 23

  As morning unfurled her banner of light and the sun scorched a hole in night’s coal-black veil, the sleep demons unchained Majnun’s mind and returned it to him, allowing him to wake.

  Rubbing his eyes, he emerged from the cave and continued on his way, composing his odes and his quatrains and singing them aloud to himself and the desert.

  Towards evening, Majnun came across another hunter. The man had trapped a stag in a snare and was just about to slit its throat.

  His blood set to boil, Majnun ran towards the hunter and screamed, ‘You monster of a tyrant! You shameful oppressor of the weak and the defenceless! Let this creature go so that it may spend what is left of its life in peace!

  ‘Have you no thought for this poor creature’s companion? For its offspring, waiting for their father to return? What would the poor hind say if she could speak? She would curse you; she would ask God to make you suffer as you have made her companion suffer.

  ‘Does the distress of those you torture mean nothing to you? Put yourself in the stag’s place; imagine yourself as the victim in the snare and the stag as the hunter, about to kill you. What would you feel, then?’

  ‘I do not kill for the sake of killing,’ said the hunter, lowering his dagger. ‘I kill in order to survive, in order to put food on the table. If you wish, I am ready to sell the stag to you.’

  Majnun had neither money nor jewellery, but he did have the few things that Nowfal had given him. He took them out of his bag and handed them to the hunter, who was quite satisfied with the exchange. Stuffing them into his sack, he patted the stag on the back, smiled at Majnun and set off over the dunes.

  When the hunter had gone, Majnun went over to the stag and began to stroke it gently, like a father caressing his child. Then he began to whisper into its ear:

  ‘You are like me, separated from the one you love. Never mind, for your sorrows are over. Now you can return to her an
d sleep in her shadow, where you belong. And if, as you return to your beloved, you should encounter mine on the way, give her this message from me:

  Every breeze that blows brings your scent to me;

  Every bird that sings calls out your name to me;

  Every dream that appears brings your face to me;

  Every glance at your face has left its trace with me.

  I am yours, I am yours, whether near or far;

  Your grief is mine, all mine, wherever you are.’

  With these words, Majnun untied the stag and set it free. Then he watched it as it hurried off into the distance, anxious to rejoin its mate.

  High above, the caravan of night had returned from its travels; in the eastern sky, the moon emerged from the darkness and began to bathe the desert in its hypnotic silver light. Majnun looked up to the sky like a bird with injured wings, unable to fly. Then he stared at the stars and, with tears in his eyes, pondered his fate.

  Chapter 24

  Dawn cast its ochre light over the indigo dome of night, while the sun, awakened from its slumber, painted fresh red roses on the horizon.

  But Majnun, wearied by grief and the pain of separation, resembled a flower in autumn, its sepals withered, its petals yellow and fading and set to fall.

  When the sun reached its zenith and began to roast him, Majnun was relieved to find a small, palm-fringed oasis with a bubbling stream where he could rest awhile. Water and trees and shade! This place, thought Majnun, is a small part of Heaven fallen down to earth!

  He drank from the cool, sweet stream until his thirst subsided; then he lay down on the velvet-soft carpet of grass in the shade of the palms. Within minutes he had drifted into a deep, sweet sleep. Slowly his cares dissolved, his worries melted away, and he began to dream.