Madhumalati
Page 7
he is the steersman over seven oceans.*
Whoever comes in contemplation of his feet,
sees his face and is filled with joy.
All hopes are fulfilled, for now and hereafter.
The man who bends and touches his feet
destroys his sins. From the Shaikh’s mouth
comes only knowledge. He teaches the fourteen sciences
and the secret syllables of spiritual power.*
In his heart, there’s no pleasure, nor grief.
He meditates constantly, absorbed in union.
Shaikh Muḥammad is generous and appreciates virtues.
In both the worlds, he is pure and true, a preceptor profound and deep.
16. As the sun’s rising illumines the world,
his light radiates from east to west.
Some people’s eyes are lit by that sun,
like stars, which he lights with ultimate knowledge.
For those who are born as blind as bats,
even that rising sun is dark.
In this Kali age,* the man who takes courage
gains perfection through courage alone.
Shaikh Muḥammad is a matchless adept,
he grants spiritual power even to cowards.
Like a magic stone, his touch transforms base metal to gold.
Even I, irresolute, came to be realized through a glimpse of Shaikh Muḥammad.
17. The man absorbed in the Absolute knows,
he understands the alphabet of the soul.
The letters of the soul are difficult, unfathomable,
only the Guru can take you through them.
If you want to know these syllables,
simply lose your self, it’s simplicity.*
If you want the Guru’s grace,
leave aside all the mind’s arguments; know him!*
Everyone sees his manifest form,
but few recognize his secret nature.*
The Lord has made mighty kings and saints who steady the world,
but Shaikh Muḥammad Ġhau transcends the attainments of both.
18. Shaikh Muḥammad is an ocean of knowledge,
fathomless and profound. The man who serves him
crosses over to the farthest shore.
Some dip their heads in, others wash their limbs,
some wash only their hands and faces,
and some come to drink at this ocean shore.
Others look and just come back,
but all obtain the blessings of life.
Others remain bereft of this ocean’s waters,
only a few have earned enough merit.
As one resolves, so does one perfect oneself. In this age of Kali,
the Shaikh is a fathomless ocean, a hoard of knowledge and virtue.
19. The man who comes, desire in his heart,
and sees his face, attains his goal.
Ultimate knowledge enters his heart,
deep in meditation, he is shown the way.
The man who sleeps and loses the day,
loses his bag in the market-place.
Who knows what one’s fate will hold?
The harder you practise, the further you get.
And if your forehead has the line of fate,
you’ll see Shaikh Muḥammad in this life.
God makes some as seeing men; in their hearts, the trumpet blows.
Those He creates as sightless bats live in total darkness.
20. All the pandits in the age of Kali
shaved their heads to learn from him.*
As his disciples, they attained perfection.
Many too are the madmen born on earth,
but to all he gave the knowledge of salvation.
He does nothing but meditate, absorbed in knowledge,
and makes kings of seekers, whether clothed or naked.
The man who stays with him four days,
rejects both worlds and just stays on.
Those he looks at with compassion
turn aside from now and hereafter.
The Shaikh’s heart shines, more dazzling than a million suns,
for he has swallowed up pride and transcended the triple world.
21. Twelve years he stayed alone in a place
which sees neither sun nor moon.
A horrible, rugged, difficult place,
called Dhundha Dari in this age of Kali,
with impassable mountains on all four sides
where no human had gone before.
There he went to meditate on God.
He ate only leaves and berries in the forest.
In subduing his soul, he killed a mad elephant,
and imbibed the nectar of pleasure, enlightenment.*
Controlling his self with great austerities, he attained perfection.
Twelve years in mountain and wasteland he stayed absorbed in God.
In Praise of *
22. Now listen while I tell of the brave,
invincible in battle, intelligent and wise.
He is a man of knowledge, virtue and courage,
learned and wise, yet a hero in battle.
He is the King’s mighty right arm,
wherever he stands, retreat is impossible.
When he gives his word, he does not waver,
like the pole-star, he is firm and unmoving.
He is bounteous like the billowing ocean.
Never does an untruth cross his lips.
War incarnate, he is brave, yet knowledgeable and refined. By the grace of his sword
he is courageous and true, a treasury of the fourteen sciences.
23. ‘In the whole army, there’s only one man
who worships the sword,’ said Salīm Shāh in praise.
His blade is thirsty for red blood and booty,
and when his spear moves, everyone flees like mice.*
Enemies hear his pledges and tremble,
thunder and lightning strikes at their hearts.
When his army attacks, all the warriors praise him,
and rush into battle on his left flank.
He is the bravest in the world,
purest gold in all twelve parts.
No rival for his sword in the Kali age, no connoisseur to match him.
When he takes up sword in hand, enemies hear him and quake.
In Praise of the Word*
24. Word, O word, where is your home?
From where did your light shine forth?
Where were you born? My mind cannot fathom it.
My mind has puzzled over this,
and no one can say what it means:
if words arise from mortal mouths,
then how can the word be imperishable?
If man, the master of words, can die,
then how does the word remain immortal?
Reflect on my words, and you will see:
the word is alive in every heart, like Him.
25. If the Maker had not made the word,
how could anyone hear stories of pleasure?
Before the beginning, before first creation,
the word was incarnate in Hari’s mouth.*
First, word, one word, the sound of O,
good and bad, it pervaded the cosmos.
The Creator gave the word a high place in creation,
it distinguishes man from beast.
Everyone knows about the word,
God is incarnate within it.
No one has seen You, no one knows Your home,
Master of the triple world, You are manifest in the word.
26. Words came into the world as precious pearls,
through them the Guru taught enlightenment.
The Maker fashioned the four holy Vedas,
and the word became manifest on earth.
Words came down from heaven to earth,
sent down by the Lord Himself.
Had He found anything to equal the word,
He would have sent that
in its place.
Through man, immortal word became flesh,
undying through all four ages.
The word is too precious to be described or sketched.
The word belongs to God, who has neither form nor line.
In Praise of Love
27. Love made an entrance at the beginning,
then the world came into existence.*
From love all creation sprang:
love filled each created form.
Only he enjoys life’s reward on earth
in whose heart is born love’s anguish.
The man whose soul does not know love,
does not know the simple mystery.*
Fate gives some the pain of separation,
gives them the crown of the triple world.
Do not think separation is pain; from it, joy comes into the world.
Blessed is the man whose sorrow is the sorrow of love-in-separation.
28. Love is the costliest jewel in existence.
The man whose soul knows love is blessed.
God made the world only for love.
Through love, God Himself is manifest.
Love’s radiance lights up all of creation.
No rival to love exists anywhere.
Rare are those who have the luck
to gain the good fortune of love.
The word rings out in all four ages:
‘He alone is the king,
who gives his head on the path of love!’
The market of love is open to all. O people, buy what you need.
Buyers, look at profit and loss; don’t lose a chance like this!
29. The root of creation, separation’s anguish,
brought into being the whole world.
A man needs previous merit to feel this pain.
Know this in your soul, that love
is the dearest thing in all the world.
Whatever I’ve seen and heard tells me:
for love’s sake, nothing is forbidden.
Hearts in which love’s lamp is lit,
see the beginning and end of all things.
Hearts which are tortured by separation,
remain immortal, never die.
No scripture, no wisdom, no magic power, can teach the lesson of separation.
This treasure goes only to those on whom God’s grace falls, compassionate.
30. The man whose soul is marked by love,
sees the Unseen One wherever he looks.
And then if insight is born in his heart,
he sees himself in all other selves.
If the tree of knowledge blooms and bears fruit,
he abandons everything, eats of nothing but this tree.
No duality remains in the world for him,
wherever he looks is eternal joy.
You are the lamp in the house of creation.
Never mistake the body for the soul.
All the joys and sorrows of the world happen exactly as God wishes.
When they touch you, know that it is God no one else.
To the Soul*
31. O soul, you are an ocean of treasures.
Why do you destroy yourself with pride?*
All of creation is the mirror of your face,
from it the triple world shines with light.
In heaven, earth and the nether world,
your radiance gives light to all.
You alone are manifest in all creation,
everything is You, there is no other.
Whoever loses his self can find himself.
What can he find who has not lost himself?
O light of the triple world, what place is there where you are not?
Look hard, you are everywhere, at play in all that comes to be.
Some Spiritual Advice*
32. Now listen, here’s some practical advice:
sit in meditation and focus on the Absolute form.
Seize the upward breath in your body,
blow at the fire within your heart.
When the flame rocks, it showers sparks,
and burns the blackness off your body!
Then sound* will vibrate through your body,
while you can barely hold yourself in!
That is the light of your inner heaven,*
live in that mystic sound!
Among millions of beings, a solitary man enjoys this heaven.
He dwells like fragrance in the circle of emptiness,* in the abode of bliss.
33. Abandon consciousness, wisdom and knowledge,
focus on meditation, not on your body.
When you reach the state of union,
there you will find your own true self.
In the place of the Absolute, the Pure,
the Void, will be your self without any selfhood.
Beyond all knowledge, unknowing rules,
where your self will lose all knowledge of itself.
There, in the mystical, self-born union of Sahaja,
your own true self will be revealed.
Stay in absorption in the deep cave, motionless as if in sleep,
in the union where there is no you, no other, and no action.
In Praise of Carnāḍhi*
34. The city of Carnāḍhi is a peerless fort,
built like invincible Laṅkā in this age of Kali.
A river runs around it to the east,
and the Gaṅgā is its moat to the north and west.
I cannot describe the Gaṅgā which flows
within its walls. It must be seen to be appreciated.*
A thousand kings with forces joined
and laying siege, would retreat in shame.
Above, its roofs are built in many shapes,
while down below the divine river surges and swells.
The city is matchless in beauty, the fort impregnable and strong,
Impossible to acquire, just like hard-earned merit.
35. The fort is beautiful, its king, godlike and wise,
its people are happy and intelligent.
Enlightened all and devotees of God,
themselves joyful, they feel the pain of others.
Generous and kind and dutiful are they,
deeply absorbed in the savour of love.
All are nobly born, and enjoy every good fortune.
Think of it as the shadow of paradise on earth,
for I cannot adequately sing its praises.
In every lane and every house, there is excitement and joy.
Heaven has come down to earth, and made its dwelling here.
A Warning
36. Kali, the age of degeneration, is black as a cobra.
A tricky old virgin, she charms the triple world.
Old and young, she deceives them all,
she devours everyone who is born on earth.
Many have fallen for this pretty girl, Kali.
She is engaged to many men, but marries none.
This wicked sinner cheats the whole world,
men who lust for her come to no good.
Don’t fall for her, she’s fickle and treacherous,
or you will lose both capital and interest.
O lustful parrot, leave the silk-cotton tree, for it has trapped many birds!*
Only those whose hearts are blind could possibly enjoy this evil sinner.
37. She’s tricky; no man who falls for her
ever profits from it, but loses his capital.
Like a palm tree’s useless shade,
she offers much but quickly slips away.
She’s a mean bitch, no good to anyone.
She sticks to you for just a few days,
never is she a faithful wife until death.
The man she nurtures she certainly kills,
whomever she picks up, she always abandons.
High or low, she visits everyone’s house,
but she never stays forever.
She’s an enchanting whore, and black-fac
ed, a fraudulent ancient virgin.
She beguiles the whole world and then devours it, this restless little imp of a girl.
38. No spring has ever come to the world
that did not suffer a fall of leaf.
No moon has ever grown to fullness
that was not lost in the dark of the month.
O wise people! Do not forget this Kali:
she is like water in a pitcher of air.
Do not wilfully deceive yourselves,
or you will have much to repent of at leisure.
In this age of Kali, no one is born immortal.
Everyone is sorry in the end.
She never stays for anyone, so don’t go falling in love with her!
Do not be taken in by a world ten times trickier than you!
To the Reader
39. In the year nine hundred and fifty two,
the man of truth abandoned this Kali age.*
Then a desire arose within me
to weave a tale in language full of feeling,
using the sweetest, most powerful words
that ever I had heard or stored in my heart.
All who aspire to love should hear me,
for I will speak in words sweet and tender.
I offer you a delightful story in verse,
cease all arguments and enjoy the tale.
Listen to this sweet and moving story, full of feeling and love!
And if you hear a line with a flaw, I beg you spare the poet’s blushes.
40. God inspired this tale in my heart:
listen and I will tell it to you.
The connoisseur who relishes the savour of love
will expertly reckon every flaw and excellence.
For when a poet strings his words together,
poetic excellence hides defects of verse.
In just this way did God make humans deficient.
He made the human spirit pure,
but placed it in a body prone to sin.
Mankind, which was defective at creation,
will surely so remain until the end of time.
God alone is flawless and free from the taint of sin.
If we find faults in man’s imperfection, why should we be amazed?
41. Scholars, hear this plea of mine:
I fold my hands, bow down to your feet.
If you cannot admire the virtues of my poem,
I beg you not to be mean, spiteful critics.
If, when you read my poem, you like it,
then you can criticize it and destroy the flaws.
Where the words do not flow, improve them.
Be generous when you criticize, consider good and bad.
What is the good of writing bad poetry?
What can one do with such stuff?
If madmen find fault with my work, that does not worry me.
Blessed is the man who accepts my faults to grasp the deeper meaning.