(Javed Nama-07) Arif-e-Hindi Ke Ba Yake Az Ghaar Ha'ay Qamar-e-Khalwat

AN INDIAN ASCETIC, KNOWN TO THE PEOPLE OF INDIA AS JAHAN-DOST, WHO LIVES AS A HERMIT IN ONE OF THE CAVERNS OF THE MOON

Like a blind man, my hand on my companion’s shoulder,
I placed my foot within a deep cavern;
the moon’s heart was sore ravaged by its darkness,
within it even the sun would have needed a lamp.
Fancies and doubts made assault upon me,
hung my reason and sense upon the gallows.
I went along a road where highwaymen lurked in ambush,
my heart void of the joy of truth and certainty;
presently manifestations met my gaze unveiled,
a bright dawn without any rising of the sun—
a valley, whereof each stone was an idolater,
a demon’s haunt thick with lofty palm-trees.
Was this place truly compounded of earth and water,
or was my sleeping fantasy painting pictures?
The air was filled with the joy and gaiety of wine,
the shadows, kissing its dust, were light’s own essence.
No cerulean sky spanned its earth,
no twilight painted its margin crimson and gold;
there light was not in the chains of darkness,
there no mists enveloped dawn and eventide.
Under a palm-tree an Indian sage,
the pupils of his eyes bright with collyrium,
his hair knotted on his head, his body naked,
coiled about him a white snake writhing,
a man superior to water and clay,
the world a mere image in the cloister of his fantasy,
his time subject to no revolution of days,
he had no traffick with the azure-tinted skies.
He said to Rumi, ‘Who is your fellow-traveller?
In his glance there is a desire for life!’

Rumi

A man who is a wanderer on the quest,
a fixed star with the constitution of a planet.
His enterprise is more mature than his immaturities;
I am a martyr to his imperfections.
He has made of his glass the arch of heaven,
his thought seeks to be boon- companion of Gabriel!
He swoops like an eagle on the moon and sun, his prey,
hot-foot he circumambulates the nine spheres.
A drunkard’s words he has spoken to the people of earth
calling the houris idols, Paradise an idol-house.
I have seen flames in the billow of his smoke,
I have seen majestic pride in his prostration.
Ever he laments yearningly like a flute,
separation and union alike slay him.
I do not know what is in his water and clay;
I do not know what his rank and station may be.

Jahan-Dost

The world is a thing of colour, and God is without colour.
What is the world? What is man? What is God?

Rumi

Man is a sword, and God is the swordsman;
the world is the whetstone for this sword.
The East saw God and did not see the world,
the West crept along the world and fled away from God.
True servanthood is to open the eyes to God;
true life is to see oneself without a veil.
When a servant takes quittance of life
God Himself calls down blessings on that servant.
Whatever man is unconscious of his destiny,
his dust travels not with the fire of the soul.

Jahan-Dost

Tied up in the knot of being and not-being
the East has seen little into these secrets.
The task of us celestials is only to see,
and my soul does not despair of the East’s tomorrow.
Yesterday I saw on the summit of Qashmarud
an angel that had descended out of heaven;
out of his glance the joy of sight distilled
as he gazed solely towards our mound of dust.
I said to him, ‘Hide not a secret from your confidants;
what is it that you see in this silent dust?
Do you melt for the beauty of some Venus?
Have you flung your heart into the well of Babylon?’
He said, ‘It is the hour of the East’s arising;
the East has a new sun shining in its breast.
Rubies come forth from the stones of the road,
its Josephs are issuing out of the well.
I have seen a resurrection happening in its bloom,
I have seen its mountains trembling and quaking;
it is packing up to quit the station of Azar
at last to forswear forever idolatry.
Happy is the people whose soul has fluttered,
that has created itself anew out of its own clay.
For the Throne – angels that hour is the dawn of festival
when the eyes of a nation at last awake!’
The Indian sage was silent for a little while;
then he looked at me again, somewhat impatiently.
He asked, ‘Death of the reason?’ I said, Giving tip thought.’
He asked, ‘Death of the heart?’ I said, ‘Giving up remembrance.’
He asked, ‘The body?’ I said, ‘Born of the dust of the road.’
He asked, ‘The Soul?’ I said ‘The symbol of One God.’
He asked, ‘And Man?’ I said, ‘One of God’s secrets.’
He asked, ‘The world?’ I said, ‘Itself stands face to face.’
He asked, ‘This science and art?’ I said, ‘Mere husk.’
‘He asked, ‘What is the proof?’ I said, ‘The face of the Beloved.’
He asked, ‘The commons’ religion?’ I said, ‘Just hearsay.’
He asked, ‘The gnostics’ religion?’ I said, ‘True seeing.’
My words brought much pleasure to his soul,
and he disclosed to me delightful subtleties.