The Masnavi, Book One (Oxford World's Classics)

The Poor Bedouin and his Wife
175

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The caliph accepts the present and orders gifts to be bestowed even
though he is completely without need of that present
The caliph saw this man and heard of him,
2865
Then
filled his jug with gold up to the brim,
He saved that bedouin from poverty,
Gave gifts and robes of honour generously,
Then to his servants he gave this command,
That world-bestower with this generous hand:
‘Hand him this jug that I’ve 
filled up with gold;
Show him the Tigris too!’ his men were told.
‘By land he slowly journeyed here in need
But on the Tigris he’ll return with speed.’
He reached the Tigris on a boat, and bowed,
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Prostrated, blushed with shame and cried aloud:
‘That generous king was unbelievable ––
His taking my gift was incredible!
How did that sea of generosity
Accept my worthless present readily!’
The whole world is a jug which you can stop,
Knowledge and beauty 
fills it to the top,
But near the Tigris that’s a drop of rain ––
The boundless Tigris no jug can contain.
A hidden treasure
* opened when too full
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And made the world so bright and bountiful:
Its fullness made it boil and spill like milk,
Making the earth a sultan dressed in silk.
Of God’s great Tigris if he’d seen a bit
He would have smashed the jug, e
ffacing it––
On viewing it, men always lose control,
Through jealousy they throw stones at their bowl:
You’ve thrown stones at your jug through jealousy,
It smashed, becoming perfect totally!
The jug has shattered, but now water’s poured,
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Perfection’s what this shattering has restored,
The Poor Bedouin and his Wife
176

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The jug’s parts now all dance delirious ––
To intellects that sounds ridiculous!
Now neither jug nor water’s manifest,
Look at it and enjoy ––
God knows what’s best.
Knock on reality’s inviting door,
Let thought take wing, like falcons you will soar!
Your thought’s wing’s mud-stained and weighs more than lead
Because you now eat mud instead of bread ––
Eat less of meat with bread since they form clay,
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Then you won’t stick like mud to earth this way:
When hungry you’re a dog in temperament,
So
fierce, aggressive, and malevolent;
When full you’re like a carcass in the dirt,
Just like a wall you’re ignorant, inert:
A rotting carcass then, a wild dog now,
You claim the path of lions anyhow!
The dog’s your only help in hunting prey:
Feed it much less, so it will then obey!
If it grows proud and disobedient
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It won’t race happily towards the hunt.
Want drove that bedouin along the road
Towards the court, where fortune was bestowed;
Of the great king’s bene
ficence we’ve told,
His generous granting of a jug of gold.
When lovers speak love’s scent is smelt on them,
It comes out of their mouths in love’s pure realm;
If he talks law, then poverty is heard ––
Poverty’s whi
ff spreads from his every word;
If unbelief, then we smell true faith’s scent,
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Certainty’s perfume from his argument:
The crooked wave that’s risen in the sea
Is sound –– its origin’s sincerity;
Consider that wave pure and worthy too
Like the beloved’s mouth reproaching you:
That harsh expression which you didn’t seek
Became so sweet because it showed his cheek.
The Poor Bedouin and his Wife
177

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His words are true though faults you 
first detect––
What crookedness which can make things correct!
If you bake sugar in the shape of bread,
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It won’t taste like a loaf, but sweet instead:
A golden idol’s found by a believer ––
He’ll keep it from the heathen unbeliever,
He’ll burn it in a bon
fire straight away
To break its transient, borrowed form this way,
So that the idol’s form won’t last in gold
And thus mislead men from truths they’ve been told.
Gold’s essence has come from divinity:
The idol’s form in gold is temporary.
Because of one 
flea don’t burn the whole rug,
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Don’t be distracted by a 
fly or bug!
You worship idols when 
fixed in form’s realm,
Leave form behind, 
find meaning inside them!
To make the Hajj
* seek a companion
Though he be Arab, Turk, or Indian;
Don’t judge him by his 
figure, form, or name,
But look at his intention and true aim;
Though he is black he’s in accord with you,
He shares your hue within –– call him white too!
This story has been told the wrong way round
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Like thoughts of helpless lovers that astound:
Headless, predating pre-eternity,
Tailless, for it’s like post-eternity,
But it’s like water: every single drop
Is head and tail and neither –– I should stop,
For God knows this is not a tale to share
But the pure substance of our state –– beware!
The Su
fi has achieved true mastery,
Of past things this man has no memory.
We are all three: jug, king, and bedouin!
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They’ve turned away from it
*––they’re vile within!
Reason’s the husband, greed the wife, that’s right,
Both dark deniers of true wisdom’s light.
Now listen to how such denial starts
Because the world consists of various parts,
The Poor Bedouin and his Wife
178

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For parts aren’t separate from the whole: your nose
Breathes in the scent which is part of the rose;
Leaves to the rose’s beauty too belong,
The dove’s coo to the nightingale’s sweet song.
If I put problems and their answers 
first,
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I can’t give water to those who have thirst;
If problems make you feel much stress and grief,
Be patient ––
patience is what brings relief!
Abstain from thoughts though they tempt and harass ––
The heart’s the forest, thought a crazed wild-ass!
The best of medicines is abstinence,
Scratching increases itches, even once,
For this is medicine’s key principle ––
Abstain and watch your soul grow powerful.
Prick up your ears to hear what I have told
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And I’ll make you an earring of pure gold
To mark you as a servant of the moon,
So you will soar up to the heavens soon.
Created things are so diverse, it’s said
They di
ffer like the letters A to Z;
The di
fferent letters may need sorting out
Although from one view they’re the same throughout:
From one view opposites, from one the same,
From one view serious, from one a game!
On Resurrection we face scrutiny,
2930
The beautiful wait for it eagerly,
But if you’re like an Indian cheat that day
You’ll be disgraced, your cover blown away!
Since his face isn’t sun-like, clear, and bright,
He wants to hide beneath the veil of night;
He’s just a thorn without one petal, so
Spring is the secret of this rose’s foe,
For one who’s like a rose all over, spring
Is a reunion that he’s welcoming;
Autumn is what the soulless thorns prefer,
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Rose gardens then are not superior:
The Poor Bedouin and his Wife
179

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Their beauty’s covered like the thorn’s own shame:
You can’t tell them apart, they look the same,
So autumn gives it life instead of spring ––
Then stones and rubies look like the same thing;
God’s gardener spots it in the autumn too,
His glance sees more than the whole world can view:
That person has the whole world in his soul:
Celestial stars are part of the moon’s whole,
And thus each image is now beckoning,
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‘Glad tidings everyone, here comes the spring!’
When blossom’s radiant like a coat of mail,
How then can fruits their charming form unveil?
When blossom falls, that’s when fruit takes its place,
When bodies are destroyed souls lift their face ––
Fruit is the spirit, blossom is its form,
Blossom’s good news, fruit ripens when it’s warm:
When blossom’s shed, fruit then begins to show,
When one’s decreased, the other starts to grow;
How can bread nourish till it’s broken up?
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Can uncrushed grapes become wine in your cup?
Unless some healing herbs are ground with it
How can a medicine give bene
fit!