Is that this was my very first offence.’
Omar said, ‘God forbid that God’s decree
Should punish first offenders mercilessly.’
He hides it many times to show His kindness 170
And then He punishes to show His justice,
So both these attributes are in plain view,
One giving hope, the other warning you.
The wife had also done this frequently,
So it seemed trivial, done so easily.
Her weak intelligence did not then dream
The jug might not return whole from the stream.
Fate made her now behave as desperately
As hypocrites when death comes suddenly:
No refuge, hope, or way out from this holē 175
When Azrael comes reaching for one’s soul.
The wife trapped in the bedroom felt that way,
Paralysed with her partner in dismay.
The Sufi whispered to himself, ‘You two—
I’ll wait before I take revenge on you.
For now, though, I’ll pretend I’ve no idea,
So no one else hears of commotion here.
God will make sure you pay the penalty
The way an illness strikes one, gradually.’
The sick man wastes away, like ice, each moment, 180
But keeps imagining: ‘I feel improvement.’
Like the hyena caught when hunters shout
‘Where is it?’ from afar, to lure it out.
That woman had no other place to hide,
No exit door below, above, outside;
No oven even that could hide her lover,
Nor any large sack that could serve as cover,
Just like the plain on Resurrection Day:
No hill, no ditch, no place to hide away.
God has described the Last Assembly’s place: 185
‘There’s no unevenness found in that space. ’*
The wife hides the lover under her chador* and gives an excuse, for ‘The wiles of you women are tremendous.’*
She quickly threw her chador on the man,
Disguising him as much as someone can.
Under the chador it was still so clear,
Like a sore thumb, that he was hiding here.
The Sufi said, amazed, ‘What’s up? Tell me.
I’ve not seen her before here—who is she?’
His wife said, ‘She’s a lady from the town;
A rich and noble lady of renown.
I’d locked the door, so strangers can’t come in 190
Unawares quickly, leading thus to sin.’
The Sufi said, ‘How can we help this one?
I don’t expect to be paid in return.’
She said, ‘She wants now to become related.
She’s decent, and by God she’s highly rated.
She wished to see our girl and run the rule
Over her, but today she is at school.
She’s said, “No matter what she’s like, I will
With heart and soul make her my son’s bride still.”
Her son, who’s out of town, is strong and clever; 195
He’s independent and a high achiever.’
The Sufi said, ‘We’re poor and have low standing;
Her family’s rich, respected, deemed outstanding—
How can our daughter be her rich son’s bride,
Ivory one side, twigs the other side.
In marriage, partners ought to match each other
Or joy won’t last as marriage will then suffer.’
The wife says, ‘She is not attached to possessions; her wish is modesty and uprightness.’
She said, ‘I gave such answers. She replied:
“I don’t seek property. I’m satisfied.
Of wealth and property we’re very bored, 200
Unlike the common, greedy men who hoard.
We’re seeking purity and modesty—
In both worlds these ensure prosperity.” ’
The Sufi cited poverty again,
So it should not be overlooked, and then
His wife said, ‘I’ve been telling her throughout
How poor we are, so she would have no doubt.
She has a mountain-like conviction; she
Will not be put off by our poverty.
“My wish is chastity,” is her retort, 205
“You are sincere with values; you’re my sort.” ’
The Sufi said, ‘This woman’s obviously
Seen all that we can claim as property:
A cramped home that has room for just one person,
Where even one small needle can’t stay hidden.
She has seen self-restraint and modesty
With your fine virtues and chaste purity;
She knows this better than we fathom it—
The front, the back, the head, the arse of it!
Yeah right, she can see virtue, and apparent 210
As well is that our daughter has no servant.
A daughter’s modesty is clear as day,
So fathers need not brag in any way.’
I’ve told this story so that you won’t boast
As much when your offence becomes exposed.
You make pretentious claims continually;
It is your creed and practice obviously.
You’ve cheated like this wife, yet you still dare
To lie and with pretence set your own snare.
You feel ashamed before some low-life babblers
But not before God—who would you say matters?
The Reason why God is called ‘the Hearing One’ and ‘the Seeing One’.
God called Himself ‘the Seeing One ’ to be
A strong deterrent to you constantly.
He called Himself ‘the Hearing One ’ so that
You’ll close your lips to any odious chat.
He called Himself ‘the Knowing One ’, my dear,
So you won’t nurse corrupt thoughts out of fear.
These names do not define God all the same—
‘Kaafoor’ can sometimes be a mere slave’s name.*
God’s names come from His attributes, so they 220
Aren’t rootless like the first cause in some way;
Otherwise it would be false mockery,
Like calling someone blind ‘one who can see’,
Or using ‘shy’ for someone who is shameless,
Or calling ‘beautiful’ one who is hideous.
A girl’s name can be ‘Hajji’ or ‘God’s warrior’,
But this tells of her lineage, not about her.
If you apply to her such titles though
She lacks credentials, that’s an empty show;
It would be madness and a joke that way— 225
God is so far from what wrongdoers say.
‘I always knew’, the sought one clarified,*
‘That, though you’re handsome, you are bad inside.
I also knew full well before our meeting
You’re bent on being wicked through disputing.
When my eyes redden due to a disease
I know it’s you, though I can’t see with ease;
You saw me as a lamb without a shepherd,
None watching over me to say I mattered.
When lovers moan in pain and in dejection 230
It’s due to looking in the wrong direction—
They viewed as shepherdless their sought gazelle,
And thought their captive up for grabs as well,
Until an arrow from God’s glance had flown
To say, “I am their Guard. They’re not alone.”
How can I be less than a goat or sheep
To lack protection? I am in the keep
Of someone who is fit for sovereignty—
He knows about the winds that blow on me.
Whether it should blow hot or cold out therē 235
That Knowing One is never unaware.
The self is deaf and blind to God, and I
Can easily tell you’re blind with my heart’s eye.
I didn’t ask about you for eight years
Since I saw idiocy up to your ears!
Someone peers down a bath-stove and falls through—
Why should I have to ask him “How are you?” ’
Comparison of this world to a bath-stove and piety to a public bathhouse.
Lust for this world is like the bath-stove: it
Is what lets piety’s bathhouses be lit,
But it cannot pollute the pure man’s sharē 240
While he is in the bath and clean in there.
The rich are carriers of mere dung—they take
It to the bath-stove men for their fuel’s sake.
God has filled them with lust and greed inside,
So that the baths are hot and well supplied.
Leave the stove and dive in the baths, my friend—
You must leave it to reach them in the end.
Anyone in the stove-room’s like a slave
To patient men who know how to behave.
One in the bathhouse, on his lovely face, 245
Displays for all a special sign’s clear trace;
The stokers have their own mark, which is found
On clothing, soot, and smoke that’s all around.
If you can’t see, then use your sense of smell
Which is the best tool for the blind to tell.
If you can’t smell, then make them talk to you,
Then trace old clues in discourse that is new.
A stoker who possesses gold will say:
‘I’ve filled with grime some twenty bowls today.’
Fire in this world and your greed are the same: 250
Men’s mouths are opened by each tongue-shaped flame.
Gold here is worthless dung to wisdom’s eyes,
Though, like dung, it will cause the flames to rise.
The sunshine, which emits heat, also can
Turn moist grime into fuel for fire, good man.
The sun can also make stone seem like gold
To some men’s eyes, raising greed twentyfold.
One says, ‘I’ve gathered wealth.’ (What does he own?)
‘I’ve brought so much grime.’ (Now his meaning’s known.)
Though sounding like the butt of a good joke, 255
One hears such boasts at stoves from men who stoke.
They say, ‘You filled just six bowls—look at me:
I’ve filled up twenty times that easily.’
Those born in stove-rooms don’t know what is pure—
They say that musk smells worse than foul manure.
The story about the tanner who fainted and fell sick from the scent of musk and perfume in the bazaar of the perfumers.
At the perfume bazaar one busy day,
A tanner fainted and lay in the way:
The scent of perfume reached his nose, then he
Felt giddy and collapsed immediately.
Still like a corpse, this man lay unawarē260
In front of passers-by who would walk there.
A crowd of people rushed near suddenly,
Praying, ‘God’s strength! ’,* each with a remedy.
One felt his heart to check he wasn’t dead,
Another sprinkled rose water instead,
Unaware it was due to the sweet smell
Of such rose water that the victim fell.
Another rubbed his head and hands, then after
An equally concerned man brought a plaster.
Another brought some sweetened aloes wood. 265
Another stripped him then for his own good.
Another checked his pulse in case of death.
Another stooped down low to smell his breath
In case he had consumed hashish. These men
Could not wake that poor victim up again,
So they rushed to inform his family:
‘So-and-so fell and suffers tragically.
He’s lying face down, but no one’s aware
Of why or how he had his seizure there.’
That tanner had a brother who was clever 270
And very wily, so he hurried over,
Bringing some dog shit with him in his sleeve.
The crowd gave passage when they heard him grieve.
‘I know what made my brother faint down here,
And when one knows the cause, the cure is clear.
It’s difficult for those who aren’t sure,
Through trial and error’s way, to find the cure.
It’s easy when you know the cause—that key
Is what ends ignorance immediately.’
He then thought, ‘Awful dog shit’s smell remains275
So concentrated in his brain and veins—
He’s used that for his tanning every day,
Trying to earn a living in this way.
Galen once said, “Give sick men what they will
Remember from before they’d fallen ill—
When doing something different is to blame,
Seek cures in what’s familiar and the same.”
He’s just like a dung beetle, so don’t doubt
Rose water’s scent will knock dung beetles out.
His remedy is dog shit, as its smell 280
Is what he is accustomed to as well.’
‘The wicked women for the wicked men ’* —
Remind yourself of its intent again.
Well-meaning helpers would most likely see
Rose water as a better remedy,
But lovely things don’t suit the wicked, friend.
It’s not appropriate; it can’t heal or mend.
‘We see you as bad luck, ’* rejecters said
When from God’s message’s fine scent they’d strayed.
‘Your words mean misery and painfulness. 285
Your sermon doesn’t augur well for us.
Do not reprove us; do not waste your breath—
We’ve thrived so long on trivial things and playing;
We’ve not experienced this approach you’re saying.
Our nourishment is bragging, lies, and jest.
Your speech makes us feel nauseous now at best.
You’re multiplying many times our pains;
You’ve drugged us and your opium harms our brains.’
The tanner’s brother treats him with the smell of shit.
The brother kept on pushing men away, 290
So none could see his treatment on that day.
As if to whisper secrets, he leaned close,
Then put the hidden stuff up to his nose.
He’d smeared the dog shit on his palm to ease
And cure the sick man’s brain’s infirmities.
That man began to stir a short while later.
They said, ‘What spells his brother said, the saviour!
He whispered spells and blew inside his ear.
His spells revived a dead man—it was clear.’
Corrupt men always have an inclination 295
Towards flirtation, winks, and fornication.
If prudent counsel’s musk won’t make them well,
They have to learn to like a noxious smell.
God called the polytheists unclean, for they
Were dung originally, and some men say:
‘The worm that has been born in dung won’t ever
Transform its nature to sweet-smelling amber.’
From God’s light’s sprinkling if one’s kept apart
He’ll stay shell-like, all body with no heart.
If God had given him a share, a bird 300
Could have been conjured easily from a turd.
And not a low, domestic fowl, but one
Known as the bird of wisdom, my dear son.
His sweetheart said,* ‘If you lack light as well,
You bring your nose to shit, so it can smell.
From being apart your face is yellowy;
Unripened fruit are what hang from your tree.
Although the pot was blackened by the flame,
Bad meat would not turn tender all the same:
I’ve made you boil in separation now 305
For eight years, but you’re still false anyhow.
Your young grape is as bad as stones for sickness,
Unripe, sour, while the rest are sweet sultanas.’
That lover begs forgiveness for his sin and his beloved perceives that as well.
‘I did the test’, the lover said, ‘to see
If you’re a flirt or modest genuinely.
I knew of course before the actual test,
However seeing for yourself is best.
You’re sunshine and you’re famous, so what harm
For me to test you? Why feel such alarm?
You are I, and I test myself each day 310
With loss and profit that should come my way.
Prophets were tested once by enemies,
So miracles would bring them to their knees.
With light I’ve tested my own eye—you are
The one from whom the evil eye stays far.
The world’s a ruin, you’re the gold within—
Don’t be annoyed I’ve already looked in.
I acted foolishly then, heaven knows,
So I could boast forever to my foes,
So when my tongue named you, my eyes could then 315
Give proofs of what I’d seen to other men.
If I’ve robbed you of honour, I’m not proud—
Come here, moon, take this sword then use my shroud:
By your hand only cut apart my body,
As I belong to your hands and yours only.
You talk again of separation—cease!
Do what you wish to, but don’t do that please.’
Eternal speech’s way is open now,
But time’s run out, and so we can’t see how.
We’ve talked of husks, the kernel’s hidden though.320
If we persist it won’t be always so.
The beloved rejects the apology of her lover, and rubs his duplicity in his face.
That man’s beloved answered him to say:
‘On your side it is night, on mine it’s day.
Why bring here to be judged your shady plot
To those who see what’s true from what is not?’
Whatever schemes you try to hide away
Are manifest to us as clear as day.