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

The in
fidel asks Ali, ‘After defeating someone like me, why
did you drop your sword?’
That friendly in
fidel then asked Ali
Through drunkenness and savour, thoughtfully:
‘Commander, please inform me, go ahead!
Make my soul like a foetus bow its head!’
The seven planets play in turn a role
In nurturing the foetus, O dear soul,
But when it needs a spirit, then the sun
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Provides the help required to get this done:
The foetus is stirred by the sun a bit
When quickly it provides a soul for it;
From planets it gains naught but a small trace
But then the sun shines down on it warm grace.
But how was this connection 
first begun
Inside the womb with the most gorgeous sun?
A hidden route beyond our human sight
Provides a path to that celestial light,
That route by which all hidden gold’s re
fined
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And stones turn into jewels that are mined,
That route which gives each ruby its red shade
And sends a spark where every horseshoe’s made,
That route which ripens fruit while on the tree,
That route which gives the timid bravery.
‘Tell all, great falcon, with your blazing wing,
Who’s been trained on the forearm of the king,
O phoenix-catching falcon, make it known,
You who defeat vast armies on your own ––
You are yourself 
my whole community,
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Since I’m your prey, great falcon, please tell me!
Mercy in wrath’s place! I don’t understand
Why you would choose to shake a dragon’s hand!’
Why Ali Dropped his Sword in Battle
230

---

The Commander of the Faithful
* answers, saying what the reason
was for dropping his sword in that situation
He said, ‘I use my sword the way God’s planned,
Not for my body but by God’s command;
I am God’s lion, not the one of passion ––
My actions testify to my religion:
“
You did not throw when you threw,”
* God has said:
I’m just a sword the Sun swings at your head;
I’ve moved the baggage of my self away,
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“All but God’s non-existent,” I now say,
My Lord’s the Sun and I’m the shadow seen,
For I’m His servant this side of the screen;
Adorned with jewels of union like a knife,
While
fighting I don’t kill but grant new life.
My diamond-bright blade blood can never stain ––
How can the wind drive o
ff my clouds again?
A mountain of forbearance and deep calm
The
fiercest winds can’t blow away or harm;
That which is swept by wind is trash, no more,
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And there are many winds like this in store!
The wind of rage and that of greed and lust
Blow those who don’t pray at the time they must!
I am a mountain, He’s my solid base,
Like straw I’m blown just by thought of His face;
My longing changes once His wind has blown,
My captain is the love of Him alone,
Rage may rule kings but I have conquered it;
I’ve tied up anger to my horse’s bit,
The sword of my forbearance chopped my rage,
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God’s anger is a mercy at my stage;
Although my roof ’s been wrecked I’m drowned in light:
Father of Dust’s
* a garden blooming bright!
A reason had emerged in that attack
For me to choose to draw my sabre back,
So “
he loves for God’s sake” should be my name,
“
He hates for God” my sole desire and aim,
Why Ali Dropped his Sword in Battle
231

---

“
He gives for God” my liberality,
“
He clings to God” my being, as you see;
I’m mean or generous too for God alone,
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I’m His possession, not what men can own.
My deeds for God are not based on opinion
Or mere conformity, but through His vision,
Reasoning and calculation I have 
fled
To tie my sleeve to God’s cloak hem instead;
While
flying I can see the realm I’m in,
While whirling the sole point round which I spin;
If I should drag a load I know to where,
For I’m the moon –– my chief ’s the sun up there!
I can’t tell any more humanity,
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A narrow river can’t contain the sea!
I speak thus for their brains are limited,
This isn’t wrong, it’s what the Prophet did,
So hear my evidence, I’m free from lust,
The word of slaves is worth much less than dust.’
The testimony of a slave’s worth naught
According to the law upheld at court,
*
Though thousands of slaves be your witnesses
The court still won’t give you allowances;
The slaves of lust are much worse in God’s view
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Than men they’ve captured, bound, and auctioned too.
The latter type can be set free again
While lust’s slaves live with joy but die in pain ––
The slave of lust has no means of release
Except the grace of God which doesn’t cease.
He’s fallen in hell’s pit now, it’s too late
And it’s his own fault –– it’s not down to fate:
He’s thrown himself inside such a deep pit
That I can’t measure the full depth of it.
I’ll stop here, for if this speech should extend
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Not only hearts but stones would bleed, my friend;
Not due to hardness would their hearts not bleed
But through distraction and not taking heed ––
They’ll only bleed that day when blood’s worth naught
But you must bleed when blood is worth a lot.