by Nizami
Majnun was sitting alone, far from the company of other men, beating out ode after ode on the drum of his loneliness. To him, it mattered little whether it was day or night: a man in his state does not record the passing of time. He was a stranger to the events that pass in the world of men; he would not have known that his mother had left this earth had his uncle, who had come to bring him food and a change of clothes, not given him the news.
Salim held his nephew by the shoulders and spoke gently, saying, ‘Your mother suffered much unhappiness while she was alive and now she has departed. Prepared for death, she has said farewell to this house of misery and has gone to a better place. You were not with her when she left, but her thoughts were with you. On her deathbed she longed for you as your father did before her.’
Majnun took an invisible blow to the stomach and held his breath. Then, distress welling in his heart, he clawed at his face with his jagged nails. Screaming like a banshee he jumped up and rushed to the place where his mother lay buried next to his father. There, he buried his face in the earth where they both lay waiting to be questioned by the angels on the Day of Judgement. His cries reached the heavens, his tears were enough to flood the desert and make it bloom, but he knew what we all know: no cries, no tears can bring back what God has taken. Those who heard his laments could hardly bear to listen. His family and the men from his tribe came rushing to his side. Seeing him there, broken by despair, their hearts went out to him. ‘Accept our commiserations,’ they said. “Your grief is our grief, and our home is your home. Come back and stay with us, for this is where you belong. Stay with us, do not leave again!’
Majnun could reply only with a whimper. With a tiny voice, he thanked them for their hospitality but refused their offer, adding that he was but a guest here. Nothing, no one could hold him now. This was no longer his home; his family and friends were now strangers. He bade them farewell and made his way back to the mountains where his real friends, his animals, awaited him: only in the mountains was there space enough for his heavy heart to suffer; only there were the horizons wide enough to contain the extent of his pain. For one shining moment he had descended on the world of men like a flash of lightning but now he must return, a storm cloud driven on by the desert wind.
And what is human life, if not a flash of lightning in the dark? It is as nothing: even it were to last a thousand years, compared with eternity it is but the twinkling of an eye. From the outset, life bears death’s seal: life and death are entwined like lovers, closer in nature than twins born joined at birth. O man, for how long will you pull the wool over your own eyes? For how long will you refuse to see things as they really are? Each grain of sand judges itself by its own criteria, taking its own length and breadth as the only measure of the world; yet next to the mountain it is nothing. You are but a grain of sand, a prisoner in a world of illusions. You must smash through the bars of your cage and break free! You must free yourself from yourself, and from the rest of mankind! You must learn that what you took for reality is not real at all, and that reality is something else entirely! Follow this writer’s example: be like a candle and burn your own treasures — only then will the world, which is now your ruler, become your slave.
Chapter 45
Majnun’s letter did not ease Layla’s heartache; indeed, it served only to increase her sadness and prolong her suffering. Majnun did not want this; his only intention was to torture himself with his bitter lamentations and sorrowful reproaches. In his heart of hearts, however, he knew the truth, and at the end of his letter he admitted as much. He asked Layla to forgive him, saying that although he had suspected her, he knew deep down that no one had conquered her fortress …
Layla, for her part, understood only too well how her beloved was thinking. She did not feel hurt by his suspicions; she felt hurt only because he had hurt himself so deeply.
She was also hurt by envy, for it was true, she envied him his freedom. He in his desert wilderness could be as wild and as free as he wished, while she was a prisoner. She had been a prisoner for as long as she could remember: first of her father, now of her husband.
True, she had been loved, spoiled, wooed and courted — but she remained a prisoner nonetheless. Her husband complied with her request that she should never be touched by him, yet he nurtured hopes of being able to wear down her resistance and win her with his tenderness, enclosing her for ever in the walled citadel of his love. And so he waited, guarding jealously the one gate that he had been forbidden to enter. And Layla waited, too …
Until one dark, moonless night — a night that Layla sensed was no ordinary night — the guard outside her tent fell into a deep sleep and she was able to escape! But where could she go? Following a voice in her heart, she moved through the darkness until she found herself at the edge of a palm grove where two paths met — the very same spot, in fact, where she had once given the old horseman a letter to take to Majnun. ‘Who knows?’ whispered the voice in her heart, ‘maybe your prayers will be answered and you will receive word from him again here.’
And that indeed is what came to pass. As soon as she reached the crossroads she saw a figure in the darkness ahead of her, a figure whose steps, like hers, seemed to have been guided there by some strange power of the heart. She knew almost immediately that it was the old man. But who was he? Could it be that this was Khidr, God’s messenger himself? Little did she care, for she had known in her heart that she would meet him here; his true identity did not matter in the least.
Unhesitatingly, she stepped forward and said, ‘What news do you bring from heaven, old man? What does my wild love do, out there in his desert wilderness? Around whom do his dreams revolve? And what does he say?’
The old man did not seem surprised to see her, nor was he taken aback by her words. Softly, and with great tenderness, he replied, ‘Without the radiance of your moon-like beauty, the one about whom you enquire is like the young Joseph at the bottom of the well. His soul is like the ocean in the middle of a winter’s night, whipped up by a thousand storms under a moonless sky. Like some herald possessed, he roams the mountainside, screaming and shouting.
‘And there is but one word on his lips, and that is “Layla”. Layla is all he seeks. And so lost is he in this search that he no longer knows himself. He is on the road to nowhere, for there is no goal left but Layla.’
When Layla heard this, her eyes brimmed with tears and she became like a reed that sounds the plaintive melody of love unrequited. She said, ‘The blame is all mine: I am the one who has set fire to my lover’s heart and reduced his whole being to ashes! How I wish that I could be with him in his time of trouble! Yet we suffer in different ways. I am the one who is trapped like Joseph in the well; Majnun is free, free to wander the mountains while I am held captive in the valley! I must see him; I will see him!”
Taking the jewels from her ear-rings, she kissed them and handed them to the old man, saying, ‘These are for you, as a reward for your troubles. Now, go to Majnun and bring him here. I want only to see him, to look upon his face for a little while, to bathe in the light of his countenance for but a moment!
‘How else can I know how things are with him? How else can I know whether he is still loyal to me? Who knows, perhaps he will recite a few verses for me, verses that no one else has heard before. Perhaps if I listen to his verses, the magic of his words will unravel the knot of longing in my soul.’
The old man tied her jewels into his sash and, kissing the tears from her eyes, bade Layla farewell. Then he rode off into the night, Layla’s hopes and fears riding invisible alongside him.
From oasis to oasis he rode, asking and searching, but there was no one to point him to Majnun. Fate alone was to be his guide. Finally, he found the wild recluse at the foot of a mountain, surrounded by savage beasts, his face as sorrowful as that of a jeweller whose stock has been stolen by thieves.
As soon as he saw the old man, Majnun jumped up and went forward to greet him, ordering his snarling beasts not
to attack. The old man dismounted and they embraced; Majnun looked as though he had been given the earth, so happy was he to see such a welcome guest. The old man prostrated himself with the deference due to a shah or sultan, invoked God’s blessings on Majnun and began to speak:
‘You are the King of love, Majnun, and may your reign endure as long as love itself! I have been sent here by Layla, whose beauty is the eighth wonder of the world. She values the love you share more than she values her own life. And since much time has passed since she last saw your face or heard your voice, she wishes to see you, to meet your eyes with her own, if only for a moment.
‘Would it not also make you happy to see her again? Could you not bring yourself to break your vows of separation from the world to look upon her tearful face, just for a second? To whisper some sweet verses that would still the stormy ocean of her young heart, to relive what has become just a memory, to reawaken that which has become part of the past?
‘Do not worry, no one will see you. I know of a garden where there are thick palm trees that will protect you both from prying eyes. There will be nothing above you but the indigo dome of the heavens, nothing beneath your feet but a carpet of emerald green. Come, come quickly, for spring awaits you there; spring, and the key to Fate’s talisman …’
The old man opened his bag, took out a cloak and gave it to Majnun to wear. Majnun stood there, dumbfounded by what he had heard. Would it really be possible to catch a glimpse of paradise while still on earth? Would it really be possible to taste eternal bliss while still in the realm of time?
‘Little does this old man understand me,’ thought Majnun. ‘Little does anyone understand me, Majnun the “madman”! Do they not realise that their idea of happiness is not mine? Do they not see that while it may be possible for them to have their wishes granted in this life, my longing is something else entirely, something that cannot possibly be fulfilled while I remain in this transient world?’
Nevertheless, this was an opportunity that Majnun could not resist, an offer that he could not refuse. How, pray, could he ignore the call of his beloved Layla? And so he let the old man dress him for the journey; then, when they were ready, they set off into the desert, Majnun’s caravan of beasts in tow.
The nearer they came to the place where Layla was waiting, the more Majnun shivered with delight and trembled with desire. Impatiently, he goaded his mount to move faster.
It was as though the well-spring of the water of life itself was tempting him from the horizon; it was as though the wind was wafting the scent of his beloved under his nose to spur him on; it was as though he was dying of thirst while the Tigris itself shimmered in the distance, ever receding from his grasp. Majnun wondered whether Fate would be kind to them, just this once …
Eventually, Majnun and his guide reached the palm grove where his animals were to camp and await their master’s return. As dusk fell, Majnun went into the garden and sat down under a palm tree to wait, while the old man left to give the pre-arranged signal to Layla.
Layla, alone in her tent, saw the old man approach and, donning her veil, rushed out to meet him. Her heart was torn between fear, doubt and hope: she had waited so long, cried so many tears — she knew exactly what she was risking by seeing Majnun like this, but see him she must. Protected by her veil and the falling dusk, Layla acknowledged the old man with a nod and flew past him into the garden.
She saw him straight away, but she stopped before she reached the palm tree beneath which he was sitting. Her whole body was trembling and it was as though she was rooted to the spot. No more than twenty paces separated her from her beloved, but it was as though a sorceror had drawn a magic circle whose bounds she must not overstep.
The old man, who had by now caught up with her, took her by the arm as though to lead her forward. She said courteously, ‘Noble sir, this far, but no further. Even now I am like a burning candle; one step closer to the fire and I shall be consumed completely. For proximity brings disaster; for lovers there is safety only in separation.
‘Nearness is bliss, that is true, but it is a honey that conceals poison. Why should I ask for more? Even Majnun, the King of love, does not ask for more. Go to him! Go to him and ask him to recite some of his verses to me. Let him sing of love; I shall be all ears. Let him be the cup-bearer; I shall drink of his wine.’
The old man obeyed, but when he approached the quiet figure under the palm tree he saw that Majnun’s face was totally drained of colour, his eyes glassy and staring, tears streaming down his cheeks.
The old man took Majnun in his arms and stroked his face until he was himself again. Then he pulled him to his feet, brushed his hair out of his eyes and pointed in Layla’s direction. As soon as their eyes met, Majnun felt life course back through his veins. Then, without thinking, he opened his mouth and the verses Layla had asked for began to flow from his lips.
Chapter 46
He sang:
Whenever the garden is gay with red roses
How fitly we match them with ruby-red wine:
For whom does the rose tear its garment,
I wonder —
From love of the sweetheart, insane
I tear mine!
Do not wretched victims cry out at injustice?
Why rumbles the thunder — the victim am I!
Like raindrops that fall on the jasmine at sunrise
The cheek of the sweetheart, the tears that I cry.
With tulips aflame all the plain is a ruby —
What robber has been to the gem-mine to plunder?
The trees scatter musk in such fragrant profusion
That musk of Khotan is left breathless in wonder.
Layla listened in awe as Majnun continued to recite poem after poem. Suddenly, he fell silent. Then, with a cry, he jumped up and fled out of the garden and into the desert like a shadow. True, Majnun was intoxicated with the scent of the wine, but he knew that such wine may be tasted only in paradise.
Chapter 47
By this time the merchants and their caravans had returned, bringing Majnun’s verses with them from the deserts and into the streets and markets of the town. Now in Baghdad, on the banks of the Tigris, there lived a youth known as Salam, a young man of considerable beauty and intelligence who had known the pains of unrequited love.
Understandably his love of poetry was great, and as soon as he heard of Majnun and his love-songs for Layla, his imagination was captured.
‘I must find this Majnun, this “madman”,’ he thought. ‘Wherever he is, I must find him and talk to him, for he too has suffered in love and can understand my plight.’ And so he packed a bag, mounted a camel and rode off into Bedouin country without further ado.
For days he roamed the desert wastes, asking and searching, until eventually he came upon a poor wretch, naked from head to foot, whom he took instantly to be the very Majnun he was looking for. When Majnun saw Salam approaching, he knew that the youth must have spent many days trying to find him and so he held back his beasts and prevented them from attacking him.
Then he greeted the youth politely and helped him dismount. ‘Where have you come from, young man?’ said Majnun.
‘Where I have come from is of little import,’ replied the youth. ‘It is where I am now that matters. And I am glad to say that I am at my journey’s end: I have reached my goal!’
He took Majnun’s hand in his and continued, ‘My home, if you must know, is Baghdad, and I have come to this strange land for your sake, and for your sake alone. I have come to look upon your wondrous face and to listen to your miraculous verses.
‘Now that God has preserved my life thus far, allow me to stay with you for a while. You are a man of great wisdom and enlightenment, and I am the slave come to kiss the dust beneath your feet and obey your every command.
‘Every verse you recite I will commit to memory: my heart will be a goblet for the wine of your sweet words, a treasure chest for the jewels of your wisdom!
‘Let me stay a
nd serve you, I beg you. Look on me as just another of these dumb beasts, here to guard you faithfully and never leave your side. What harm could one more animal do? I am one of those crushed by the millstone of love, as you are; do not reject me.’
Chapter 48
When Majnun had listened to what the stranger had to say, his lips split into a smile and he replied, ‘My dear, most noble sir! The path you have taken is beset by untold dangers and you would do better to return as quickly as possible. There is no place for you here with me, for you have experienced none of my sufferings, you have tasted none of my woes.
‘I have nothing in life but these few wild beasts; since I have no secure foothold, how could I provide you with one? How could I live in harmony with you when I am unable to live with myself? Even the devil and his minions flee from me; why, then, do you think that you would be able to endure my company for even a second? You search for the warmth and companionship of another human being, but I am a wild and lonely savage who can give you nothing.
‘Return to your people for there is nothing here for you. We are like chalk and cheese, we do not agree on anything. Our paths are different and will never converge: you are your own best friend, I am my own worst enemy. You have found someone who has become a stranger not only to the world but also to his own soul. Say, “May God be with you!” and leave him as you found him.
‘Please, retrace your steps and go home. Take my advice, now that you have come so far, and go without further question. For if you do not go of your own accord, you will eventually be forced to flee, damaged in mind, body and soul, whether you want to or not.’
