Published
Symphony of the Dead
by Abbas Maroufi
___________
Qoqnoos Published
Primordiality to Eternity
Critical Study of Symphony of the Dead
By Elham Yekta ___________
Abbas Marufi, Pioneer of a New Wave in Persian Fiction
Gardun magazine from 1990 to 1995. His first published work was a collection of short stories entitled Into the Sun. He also wrote a few plays which were performed on stage. In his The Last Superior Generation, he touched on social themes. His last collection of short stories, The Scent of the Jasmine was published in the United States.Born in 1957 in Tehran, Marufi was raised and educated in Tehran. He studied dramatic arts at Tehran University while teaching at schools and writing for the newspapers. He served as the editor in chief of the literary
Marufi came to prominence with the publication of
The Symphony of the Dead (1989) which is narrated in the form of a symphony. The novel provoked a slew of criticisms from the critics. Some saw it as a great masterpiece in the Persian literature; still some others relegated it to a sheer imitation of Faulkner’s Sound and Fury. Yet, the novel proved so influential that it came to be imitated by other writers. In this novel, Marufi uses the stream of consciousness technique very effectively. The Year of Turmoil and The Body of Farhad are among his other works.Marufi is currently living in Germany with his family. Some of his works have been translated in German.
A Moonlit Night, which follows in English translation, narrates the story of a shepherd boy called Mandal who is deeply in love with Nilupar.
In this story, the writer touches on a main theme in a traditional society where a man finds it impossible to express his love to his beloved; rather he prefers to keep his love to himself and burn in the cauldron of his passionate love. Albeit, there is more to it. Psychologically, Mandal is a sort of a voyeur who spends his time secretly watching the naked body of his beloved, thereby gratifying his sexual urges.
Voyeurism is a sexual perversion but the hero resorts to it because he cannot achieve his object of desire. Mandal is not a kind of character the reader may wish to identify because he is weak and undecided. There are moments in the story where he can open his heart and divulge his long-harbored secret. Yet, he prefers to keep it to himself as if he takes delight in inflicting pain upon himself, as if we were faced with a masochist.
A MOONLIT NIGHT
Mandal was again troubled by uneasy dreams. His heart pumped
violently and his body was soaked in sweat. The barking of a dog
drifted into his hearing from afar. He saw that he was falling from
a cliff into an unknown place and that darkness prevented him from
finding a hold. He was then swept away by a gust of wind into the
branches of a service-tree which stood in the depths of a valley
whose side had been eaten away by flood. There was many a time he
had carved Nilupar on the bark of the tree with the point of his
knife.
Turning over in bed, he tried to accustom his eyes to darkness
and saw moonlight through the crevices of the canvass. At that
moment, his mother, holding an oil lamp, came into view from the
tent which opened to Mandal's.
"Why were you talking in your sleep, Mandal?" she asked.
Mandal sat up and cast his eyes over the various objects around
him.
"Mm-m?" he moaned.
He waited for his mother to go to bed. But she insisted.
"You were talking deliriously.’ Get them! Tie them up!'" she
resumed, "Where was your mind wandering?"
"I don't know." he replied
But he did know. His mother raised the lamp higher. Instantly,
his eye fell on the yellowed muslin round her wrist once more. For
months, she had been applying a poultice of turmeric and goat's suet
to her broken wrist to help it knit together.
“Are you ill?"
"No. I am fine."
"Any quarrels or fights?"
"No."
"Why do you look so restless, then?"
Tell her you are in love with Nilupar and then it's over, he
thought to himself but remained silent. He had grown impatient and
despondent. For him, days and nights slipped slowly by. No longer
was he full of energy. A permanent feeling of lethargy had taken
possession of him.
"What's the matter with you?" she said.
At this, Mandal looked down at his hands, buttoned up his left
cuff, stretched out his arms and drew the quilt over his head.
"I don't know," he replied.
"All right, you better sleep," she observed, blowing out the
lamp before she left.
The tent was again engulfed in darkness and moonlight fell
needle-shaped through its crevices. Mandal's heart began
palpitating. Mountains and rocks threatened to approach and he
seemed to be falling. At that very moment, he fixed his eyes upon
the black wooden pole, unable to keep it still or to stop it from
receding into the distance. So he shut his eyes.
Ever since his father had died, his life had been taken up by
the sheep, the pathways, the mountains and the desert. From the
moment he woke up at dawn, he would drive the flocks to the
mountains where he would stay with only his thoughts until dusk.
Entrusting the flocks to the care of the night shepherd, he would go
to collect firewood. He could not remember a time when anyone had
returned to the dark tents before the evening star had been sighted.
When he came back, he would remove his leggings, scratch his body,
gulp down one or two glasses of tea and kept yawning until his
mother served him food.
That night at dinner, they had not exchanged a word as usual.
Crawling under the quilt, Mandal allowed his mind to dwell upon
Nilupar once more.
In his half-sleep, he had dreamed that an immense flood had
swept down the service tree of his previous dreams. When he woke up,
he racked his brains to interpret his dream but to no avail. At that
moment, he felt that nothing in the world would afford him more
pleasure than sleep. What happiness to be able to slumber in a cozy
warm bed. And how irksome to suffer the toil of going up and down
the mountain paths after the flocks, with your chukha* falling over
your shoulders.
Before sleep overtook him, he would muse about turning over a
new leaf. But then he would banish the idea from his mind, saying:
"I shall do something about it in autumn."
At length, autumn would come. The tribe would be moving to
Sangsar.
Shepherds would sign their annual contracts with their masters. And
by the time they had got settled in one place, Mandal would have to
set off for eight months in the desert.
"Oh, for the spring!" he would murmur.
Spring ran into summer, summer into autumn. The succession of
seasons, the job of tending the flocks, the agony of cold and snowy
days and many other things so preoccupied his mind that he hardly
knew he had reached the age of twenty five. Now he was thirty. His
skin was sunburnt.
He had tiny pimples on his forehead, some white hairs in his
moustache and broad shoulders which had remained unused as he had no
wife to embrace. It was a certain relief to hear his mother praying.
He followed suit. Yet he found himself unable to banish the memory
of the rocks and the eerie darkness. As he was praying, his thoughts
would turn involuntarily to Nilupar. The recollection of her
walking, lisping and swimming formed his fantasy. In the course of
all those years, he had only managed to have one single conversation
with Nilupar. It was while her mother was cooking oatmeal in front
of their tent and his father, chukha flung over his shoulder, was
chatting with the shepherd dealers. Mandal himself was moving
goatskins of yoghurt into the tents.
"May I trouble you to turn the carpet loom for me?" Nilupar had
asked.
"And you don't need to take off your chukka boots," she had
added.
"But I may bring in dust?"
"Never mind. I will sweep it clean."
And what a beautiful carpet she had woven! Fine, carmine, with a
design of blue flowers. It was then that Mandal knew he was deeply
in love with her. It was a long love which he had harbored in his
heart without anybody knowing. The mere sight of her or the sound of
her voice was enough to draw him back into the vortex of his
nightmare. He was fighting the inevitable fate. He would talk in his
sleep until he was startled out of it as he felt himself thrown onto
the service tree. Then sleep would be denied him until morning. The
nightmare of falling from the precipice recurred whenever he
indulged in the passion of watching Nilupar's naked body in the
mountain stream. During the day he would drive the flock to the
mountain whence he was in a position to let his eyes wander over the
area, the long black tents, the idle dogs, some diseased sheep and a
group of people working. He knew well when the women got together to
go to the mountain stream. At noon, when the sun weighed heavily
overhead, the women, bundles hoisted onto their heads, babies
pressed against their bosoms, would flock to the stream to wash
their bodies.
Even with her back turned, Mandal was able to pick out Nilupar among
the forty or so women from a distance. Mandal's eyes had followed
her for twelve years. He had watched her grow from eight to twenty
eight. It dawned on him then that Nilupar, instead of setting her
bundle on her head, would secure it over her shoulder with her
fingertips. Before they stepped into the stream, Mandal would
conceal himself in a snowy hollow in the mountain.
Lying prone on a black mass of rock, he would devour the stream
with his eyes. The one who poured water over her headwith cupped
hands, splashed the others, swam daringly in the cold water, called
out the loudest and sat herself on the rocks warmed by the sun,
unhurriedly put on her green dress and wrung her hair dry was no one
but Nilupar. At the very sight of her, a shudder would go through
his spine, immobilizing him. Then a sense of fatigue would overcome
him and an unspeakable pain would so twist his stomach that he
remained for hours in a state of bewilderment.
Consequently, he would have a terrible dream that night. Well,
what could he do? To marry Nilupar had never been a possibility, for
the simple reason that he used to work for her father as a shepherd
in those early years. Besides, he could not pluck up courage to seek
her hand. He pined for her. Now that Mandal had his own flock,
Nilupar was engaged to an untrained shepherd by the name of Gelverdi.
Mandal burnt even more passionately, in a perennial fever.
His eyes were burning and he could not sleep. He got up, put on
his chukka boots, swung his chukha over his shoulder and crept out
of the tent. It was a moonlit night. Polaris and Achernar had
already risen. He could hear the rushing water and it seemed as if a
bird were moaning.
Bravely, Mandal made his way towards Nilupar's tent and tiptoed
along it. From the interior came the sound of people sleeping. Her
father and brother were snoring loudly and there was a constant moan
from her mother. As for her, she was breathing softly as if the
Wheel of the World were spinning for her alone. Mandal paused for a
moment.
"You are alone or I?" he murmured to himself.
Then he made straight for the mountain and climbed up without
stopping to catch his breath. Once there, he saw the first glimmer
of dawn.
Suddenly he felt that his eyes were burning with an excruciating
pain.
It was as though the rims of his eyes were on fire. He felt as if a
hot metal spit were being thrust into his eyes. He had wandered over
the mountains before, staying awake until morning, but never once
had he been in such a quandary. He knew without any doubt that his
painful eyes were in some way connected with his spying on the naked
women. What else could be the cause of this agony? Again, the vision
of Nilupar's bobbing up and down in water came into his mind. It
made him experience such vertigo that he had to put his hands out to
find a support in the air.
When he shut his eyes he felt that his eyelids had caught fire
and had started to crack. He was convinced some terrible affliction
had befallen him. His temples throbbed until he thought they would
burst. He felt as if tiny creatures were eroding his eyes. A strange
sorrow gripped his soul. He touched the corners of his eyes and felt
afraid.
Inflamed and blistered. Then an overwhelming sensation of weariness
came over him. His knees trembled and gave way beneath him. In vain
he groped for a support but he subsided helplessly onto a stony
slab. As soon as he opened his eyes, his eyelids tore as material
does and burnt painfully.
Then a veil of darkness fell in front of his eyes. From behind the
veil, he could barely see the sun in the sky. The sheep were
bleating and dogs barking in the distance. He could hear a child
crying and the sound of a man's voice echoing faintly through the
wind. Mandal was quite unable to move.
There was one thing he yearned for and that was sleep. His mind
went blank. His one desire was to return to the peaceful dreams he
had had before. Trying to see, he looked all around him. Everything
was blurred. The veil of darkness blinded him. All he could make out
was the vague and misty shapes of the steep mountains. He endeavored
to resist his blindness and see more but in vain.
"Oh my God, I've gone blind," he said to himself.
He got to his feet and slowly went back down the mountain. He
did not have the least idea where he was going. He only wanted to
reach somewhere. Suddenly he found himself entangled in a thicket of
aloes.
Desperately trying to protect his face and hands, he took refuge in
the shade of the thicket and sat down. By then he realized that the
swollen rims of his eyes had turned into large blisters. He could
not see anything.
"Oh my God, I haven't gone blind, have I?” he said to himself.
Frightened, he prayed, not knowing which part of the ritual
prayer he was mouthing.
Without thinking about what he was saying, words tumbled out of
his mouth.
"Save me!" he prayed.
In his religious fervor, his hands began to work involuntarily.
Blindly, he undid his leggings and tied himself to the petiole
behind him, which served him as a shrine. The heat of the sun was
intense. His mind traveled back to his father, Shir Agha, a plain
and honest man. For years he had earned his living by cutting wood.
He used to have strange dreams and once he had dreamed that he had
gone to Mirza Ali Akbar's store.
"Mirza, this famine will come to an end one day and so will the
troubles. Besides life is short. Tell me, does it please God to see
my wife and children sleep on empty stomachs?" he had asked.
"Shir Agha, have you ever asked for anything that I have refused
you?" Mirza Ali Akbar had replied.
"You know, it's hard for me to ask. Misfortunes are raining down
on us. How can I go to Himeh to cut wood in this blizzard?"
Snow had covered the ground and was still falling. It was almost
dawn. As his father was recounting his dream, there was a sudden
knock at the door. Mandal was then seven or eight years old. He
opened the door and was amazed to see Mirza Ali Akbar with a laden
ass. He called to his father. Sacks of flour, sugar, tea and rice
were carried into the room.
"Shir Agha, I saw you in my dream last night," said Mirza. "I
asked how life was treating you in this ungodly year. I asked. And
you said: 'God is merciful.' Now don't let anything trouble your
mind. I've brought you some flour, rice, tea and a few odds and
ends. We'll reckon up! You can give us some firewood in the new
year."
"Is there any other way I can repay?" said Shir Agha gratefully.
"Listen, my wife is expecting a baby very soon. If it should be
a boy, we'll name him Mirza Ali Akbar."
Contrary to their expectation it turned out to be a girl and she
was named Noresa. It was a desperate spring that year. Many sheep
perished. The Russian Cossacks were roving round Sangsar.
No one had bread. Snow still lay in the alleyways. Every
morning, Shir Agha used to go to Khoreh to gather wood. One day, as
he was loading the panniers of his donkey, he began to scold his
dog: "Stay away from us starving people!"
However, the dog had grown accustomed to going to the forest
with Shir Agha. But as the sight of the dog's hunger became too much
for Shir Agha to bear, he decided to tie it to a tree. To his
astonishment, he found the dog sitting on the doorstep when he
reached home. The next day he threw the dog from the top of the
cliff into the foaming river below. Yet hardly had they gone to bed
than they heard the whimpering of the dog. All night long he
tormented them so that they could not sleep. As dawn was breaking,
Noresa was born.
"I shall become a shepherd tomorrow," vowed Shir Agha. “It’s no
use waiting for things to get better." Until that time they had
been settled in one place, but from that day on they started to live
a nomadic life.
Mandal fastened the leggings more tightly round his waist and
pleaded as a pilgrim tied to a shrine. "Dear God, I lost my
father when I was fourteen. For his sake, please forgive me! Dear
God, Oh dear God, dear God ...."
He dissolved in tears and repented his actions most sincerely.
He promised he would never again watch the women swimming naked in
the stream. And he vowed to keep his eyes clean and to depart this
life with a pure soul, to deserve the trust of others who could look
up to him as they did to his father. He began his prayers afresh and
everything and everyone sank into oblivion. He felt deep down that
he had absolutely no one he could turn to. All alone. He seemed to
have become an integral part of the tree. Just then, he heard
footsteps but was unable to see anyone. He could only hear.
His heart raced. Terror overcame him and he felt like vomiting.
Despite his giddiness he sensed the footsteps getting closer.
Raising his head, Mandal saw a figure clad in a dark blue
transparent dress. He had the impression that the figure in blue was
a woman.
"Wh-wh-who are you?” he said with difficulty.
The figure made no reply.
"I am Mandal," he said with a tremor in his voice.
Still, the figure said nothing. The edge of her gown streamed
through the wind into the distance.
"I've gone blind," said Mandal.
As the figure in blue, Mandal felt something within him rise and
fly out of his head. He was tongue-tied and a trembling took hold of
him.
The figure laid her hand on Mandal's forehead, stroking him gently.
He felt as if he had died. He remained without any feeling, like a
lump of meat until the hands touched his eyes.
Then he sensed nothing more. He could feel only a coolness drawn
over his eyes by a gentle hand. He thought he was dreaming. He
blinked. He opened his eyes easily and looked all around him. No one
was there.
He could see the tall bushes clearly. Then he looked at his hands
and saw the calloused fingertips. He realized he had tied himself to
a tree.
No one was there. Untying himself, he put on his leggings and stood
up. Light, tranquil and painless.
He looked around. No, there was nobody there. Overhead the sun
was shining and a north wind was blowing. Mandal climbed up the
slope and lay on the lofty mountain side, looking over to a bank of
cumulous cloud. Down below he saw the tents and a flock climbing up.
Close to the tents men were heating milk. The women and young girls
were leaving the camp on their way to the stream. Among them was
Nilupar with her bundle hanging from her fingertips over her
shoulder.
"Fate!" said Mandal.
Into his blood surged the pleasure he had felt when the figure
in blue had passed its hand over his face.
With a smile of fulfillment, he glided unseen down the mountain
and hid himself on a huge rock overhanging the stream. Like leeches
clinging to the udders of cows, the long tents had patterned the
mound. On the hillside opposite, Gelverdi was driving his flock; the
girls' laughter reached his ears. Transfixed, Mandal watched. A
group of women were swimming and one woman was undressing her child.
Nilupar plunged into the water. As her head surfaced, she cast her
eyes to the cliff surface. Mandal ducked down. He kept his head low
for a moment and then came up from his hiding place. Nilupar pointed
to the top of the cliff and let out a burst of laughter. He froze,
unable to move. His heart was pounding. Again he ducked down. For a
moment he held his breath, and then raised his head. Nilupar came
out of water, fixed her gaze upon him and gave a laugh. Mandal felt
as if he were falling from the top of the cliff and however hard he
tried he was unable to gain a hold.
Notes:
This story is set in the Sangsar district in the north of Iran. The tribes move around the edges of the Great Desert and the Salt Desert with their flocks.
*The service tree, commonly found in the area is a 'love tree'. It is said to arouse passions and it is forbidden for girls to go there.
*Chukha is a woolen garment worn by shepherds or farmers.
*Leggings are a sort of cloth binding round the legs to protect them from thorny plants and for warmth in the cold winters.
* The story was published in Pakistan in 1999.
Jalal Al-e AhmadAn Engagé Writer
Born in Tehran into a family of clerical stock, Al-e Ahmad studied religious subjects in Najaf for some months. Upon his return to Iran, he joined different political parties. Yet, he failed to find his desired goals. He studied Persian literature at Tehran University and took on a job as a teacher.
His first collected stories entitled Pilgrimage (1945) appeared in the Sokhan Literary Magazine. Exchange of Visits, his second collected stories, influenced by Sadegh Hedayat were published in the same year. The narrator of all these stories is an alienated man oscillating between belief and unbelief. Soon afterwards, his stories The Pains We Suffer (1947) were published. The stories, influenced by his political leanings, detailed the pressures exerted on the political activists by the government agents. It was in the same year when he defected from the Tudeh Party together with Khalil Maleki.
In his collected stories, Extra Woman (1948) and Setar (1952) he depicted the ignorance and blind prejudice of the lower classes. In these stories he employed the interior monologue, a technique which he brought to perfection in such stories as "An American Husband" and "The Auspicious Celebration". Pursuant to the 1954 coup, he was put to prison where he wrote the Story of the Honeycombs (1954) in which he illustrated the social situation of Iran during the oil nationalization process through the migration of the bees. The use of folk elements epitomizes the writer’s efforts to create a native literature. In his novel N and the Pen (1961), he used the form of folk literature and shed light on the modern social issues. In all, Jalal tries in his novels to prove himself as a social reformer and leads his characters in a direction to prove his points.
He is best-known for his novel The School Principal (1958) in which he illustrates the life of the frustrated generation who seeks to find solace in a restful spot but fails to do so. Bitterly tired of teaching, the hero is assigned as a principal of a school in a god-forsaken place. Events happen one after the other and the writer analyses the social ills. However, unlike his other fictional works, he tries to communicate his message through the narrative events and characters. We come to know all the characters through the school principal. The scandal of the sodomy between two students drags the principal to the court. Thinking that there is someone to listen to him, he puts down to paper his views and opinions. Yet, much to his disillusionment, he discovers that even the court lets the whole affair slip by as if nothing serious has happened. As a result he resigns and leaves. His style is marked by colloquialism, and simplicity. The idea of failure is once again illustrated through this novel.
In his next novel The Blight of the Earth (1968) which is somewhat the continuation of The School Principal, the narrator reports the changes following the land reforms in the villages. Instead of creating a novel of artistic value, Jalal dwells on issuing a revealing manifesto about the role of the land reforms on traditional agriculture. As a result, he offers a critical report of the existing situation.
His book Westoxification (1962) represents him as an intellectual writer who entertains a burning desire to go back to traditions and native beliefs. Lost in the Crowd (1968)’ is about Hajj.
In his autobiography entitled A Stone on a Grave (1983) he deals with his impotence and its effect on his social and emotional relations.
Jalal Al-e Ahmad was married to Simin Daneshvar, the great Iranian writer. He died in 1966 in Asalem, Gilan.
The importance of Al-e Ahmad lies in his true depiction of the social situation, colloquial style, simple narrative technique and criticism of the then prevailing social milieu. He is more of an engagé writer who seeks to lay bare the social problems, the ignorance, and blind prejudice of the common people and the evil influence of modernism and mechanization on people’s lives.
Attar, A Great Mystic Poet
Attar is one of the greatest Muslim mystical writers and thinkers of all times. The importance of this towering literary figure largely rests on his dissemination of Sufi thinking through his poetry and prose works.
Little is known of his life. Born Farid od-Din Mohammad ibn Ibrahim Attar in Neyshabur c. 1142?, he traveled widely throughout Egypt, Turkistan, and India during his youth. It is generally agreed that his father was a great apothecary and that Attar followed in his footsteps pursuant to his demise. Attar went through his spiritual awakening while he was practicing medicine. Jami, the great Iranian poet and mystic, states that he was an adherent of the mystical thoughts of Majd ad-din Baghdadi. Legend says that Attar was once sitting in his shop and a dervish entered and asked him: How will you die? He answered: As you will. Then the dervish lay down and mentioned the name of Allah and died on the spot. This event produced in him an indescribable state whereupon he relinquished all worldly matters and joined the circle of the dervishes.
Narration has it that Baha Walad, Father of Rumi, together with his son Rumi met him on their way to Mecca in Neyshabur and Attar gave them a copy of the Asrar-Nameh (The Book of Secrets).
A prolific writer and poet, Attar wrote and compiled many works of literature which are used as great references in Islamic mysticism.
In his works he deals with many sublime ideas; yet, a dominant theme which pervades most of his works is the notion of ‘Mad Wise Men’. The readers may be astounded by the way he addresses God through the tongue of his characters. Most of them are mad or half-wits. According to Attar, there are three groups of people who are allowed to speak audaciously to God: the prophets, the mystics, and the mad men. And the characters in his narratives are licensed to talk audaciously to and about God because they are mad.
Yet, Attar is best-known in the West for his Mantiq al-Tayr (The Conference of the Birds), a poem consisting of 4600 couplets. The book has long caught the attention and interest of the orientalists all over the world. There are more than seventy English renditions of the work in English alone, a fact which testifies to the significance of this work in the West.
Mantiq al-Tayr describes the journey of a flock of birds to the home of their guide. Each bird symbolizes a certain attribute. The birds are in fact after a king to rule over them. They assemble together and the hoopoe rises and states that the only bird who deserves to rule over them is but the Simorgh (phoenix). They start an arduous journey and some of them die on the way and the surviving thirty birds (simorgh=phoenix) arrive at their destination and look in the mirror-like countenance of the Simorgh (phoenix), only to realize that they and the Simorgh are one. The book in fact exemplifies the union between the human and the divine.
Another great work by the poet is Tadhkirat al-Awliya (Hagiography). It details the biographies of the Muslim saints and mystics. It includes the biographies of such great mystics as Hallaj, Bayazid Bastami and Imam Ja’far Sadeq (AS) whom the writer believes was one of the initiators of the doctrine of Sufism in Islam.
Attar’s influence is extremely felt not only in Iranian literature but also in other Muslim literatures.
Attar was killed at the hands of a Mongol soldier c. 1220.
Helmut Ritter is among the great orientalists who have conducted exhaustive studies on the works of this great mystic poet.
Jalal ad-Din Mohammad Rumi
Today, the greatest mystic poet is read and appreciated throughout the world as a poet of all nations. The reason is clearly the plethora of sublime messages communicated through the medium of a simple language. Toady, the whole world bears testimony to the grandeur and sublimity of this great poet who did not hesitate to bring all people into union through his poetry. Regardless of any religion the readers may have they are readily absorbed into his poetry for it embodies all the human qualities they seek. Thirteen centuries have passed since his death; yet, his poetry never ceases to fascinate and mesmerize people and as time goes on, the lovers of his poetry increase day by day. Language works miracles in his poetry and Rumi is a pure miracle-worker. One wonders if there is a better poet than Rumi in the whole world who so clearly communicated the message of brotherly and divine love. Love is a quality which is being consigned into oblivion in the modern world and the poet clearly succeeds in infusing a new life into the hearts of people through this everlasting concept. Through love, he says, all bitter things turn sweet. If just for a minute the readers come to think of the miraculous power of love of which he speaks, there would be no room for ennui, war, and enmity in the world.
Who is this cleric-cum-poet who has cast the fire of love into hearts of people all across the globe? What does he say which appeals to every heart and mind?
Jalal
ad-Din Mohammad known in the West as Rumi
was born on September 30, 1207, in
Characteristic of his style is the use of new-fangled mystical concepts. Early Sufis have only touched upon mystical subjects within the backdrop of literary traditions; however, Rumi through his innovative prowess, invented such concepts as sama’, whirling round, dancing accompanied by flute, creating a world of feeling, thought and language interwoven into a novel and buoyant rhythm. While he wishes to describe his ecstatic state, he employs novel literary forms, which are per se nonpareil. Sometimes his ghazals exceed the usual size, amounting to 30 verses and take the form of qasida (ode). In describing a ghazal, he sometimes tells a story, giving it the form of a mathnavi.
Rumi’s
Mathnavi
is yet another masterpiece of the poet. The first distinctive feature in
Rumi’s mathnavi
is the diversity of motifs. Mystical, religious, ethical, and sometimes
psychological motifs are used. Most of the chapters in
mathnavi contain narratives generally drawn
from the Qur’anic narratives about prophets.
In addition, he includes the Qur’anic verses
and hadiths, giving them a mystical
interpretation. Most of the tales are allegorical and some of them are
taken from the
Kalila wa
Dimna
and some
others from the literary works of Avicenna, Sana’i,
Nizami and Attar. He seemed to have taken
anecdotes from the wandering Sufis who would come to
Rumi’s intellectual sources are the Holy Qur’an and the tradition. Even when he is not inspired by these two sources, he does not borrow ideas from philosophers and Aristotelians. By using the Holy Qur’an, he demonstrates such an art as to be called the Qur’an in the Pahlavi language. A large portion of the Qur’anic verses used in the mathnavi has interpretative functions and Rumi may have employed them with a view to justifying and explaining mystical connotations. In his works, there is a kind of pantheism which is analogous to Ibn al-Arabi’s outlook. Although Rumi might not have had the opportunity to meet ibn al-Arabi, Sadr ad-din Qunavi, the great commentator on ibn al-Arabi had meetings with Rumi which served as a factor in transferring ibn al-Arabi’s ideas to Rumi. What gains importance in ibn al-Arabi’s pantheism is that the Reality of the Being is the origin and source of all manifestations. The works of Rumi are replete with complaints, separations, nostalgia, and lamentation.
Mulavi (Rumi) died on December 17, 1273.
The face of the Beloved
Emits sparks of fire,
Bringing doubts into my heart.
The Satan works at temptation,
Drawing people into agitation
The Beloved brings me great woe
And closes the door to my face so
The friends seek to console me
You drink the wine alone
And bring the drunkard to the throne
You give vent to your rage
And give sugary taste to this stage
Once the night is past
And joy conquers at last
The sun shines at full blast.
Once the beggar is generous
And the lover constant
The world is filled with light.
Let us celebrate love
And bring mercy back to our hearts
O wise Muse!
Come forth
And bring wisdom and light
The beggar blows to king
And gains wealth galore
And partakes of heavenly bliss.
The pharaoh works at mischief
And Moses finds relief
The ugly wolf of ignorance
Drowns into Joseph’s good nature.
Shams, Ambassador of peace
Planned the marriage of the west and east!
The Satan at God’s will
Deceived Adam
And a tempered man was born.
Once the moon begins to shine
And lavishes its generous light
The souls fly heavenwards
From your insight
The ignorant and the blind
Greater wisdom find
Greater than that of Christ
The souls begin to grow
And you begin to glow
Your anger was mercy
Sweet was your poison
As is the fruit of heavenly clouds
Let me alone! I am drunk
And bound to this earthly show
My mind reels and feels naught
Hafez, A Poet for All Times
Hafez was born in circa 1326 in Shiraz. After the death of his father, his brothers dispersed and he and his mother led a destitute life. In his prime days, he became a bakery worker and simultaneously attended the traditional school. Gradually, he pursued religious and literal sciences, achieved masterly skills in the 14-fold recitation of the Holy Qur’an and conducted exhaustive research on the Holy Qur’an. It is likely that his surname Hafez is derived from this source. Since literal sciences were a prelude to religious sciences, he acquired necessary mastery in this field too.
Shiraz was a safe haven for literati during the time of Hafez and this fact had a profound impact on the nature of his education. Besides religious and literal sciences, he was interested in clerical and administrative activities as well and paid due attention to these activities.
Hafez is an indisputable master of ghazal. The evolutionary course of ghazal started from Sana’i and was brought to perfection by Hafez. He synthesized the lofty amorous and mystical subjects and is therefore the inheritor of Sa’di and Rumi.
His ghazal is the most popular form for all social strata. This characteristic can hardly be traced in other poets and this fact induced posterior poets to follow him. His regard for predecessors resulted in the fact that in his style we see the examples of remodeling, but this refashioning is metamorphosed in his ghazal and is divorced from its previous form.
The skill of Hafez in the selection of words and meanings is such that it is almost impossible for other poets to achieve. In fact, Hafez was deeply influenced by Sa’di and has intermixed his ghazals with varying subjects and a bit of Khayyamesque thinking. He has exhibited his social agonies in ghazals and wherever expedient, he struggled against ostentatious ascetics and tyrant rulers.
His frequent use of double entendre makes him a complicated poet. The readers are sometimes entrapped into a mesh of contradictory concepts. Well versed in Islamic mysticism and teachings, Hafez could create an infinite capacity of purports and an unbounded scope for inspiration.
Sacred and profane mingle together to bring forth a poetry beyond human capabilities. To Hafez, poetry is not a means to express his innermost feelings but a means to express his love for the beloved. The beloved in Hafez’s poetry is no ordinary one. He goes beyond ordinary love and arrives at the truth of love, which is God.
Hafez died in between 791/1388 and 792/1389.
O preacher! Mind thy own business. What is all this frenzy meant to be?
My heart hath fallen in a trap. What hath befallen thee?
The connection with her which the Lord hath created from naught
Is a subtly the solution of which no living being hath sought.
Of her lips I was deprived to satiate my desire
The counsel of the entire world is like oil on fire.
The beggar of thy street hath no need of the heaven above
Free of this and the next world is the captive of thy love.
Intoxicated by love, senseless and numb have I grown,
Thus, the foundation of my being have I once again known.
O heart! Carp not of the tyranny of the one so dear
Thus hath she advised thee and justice to thee this should appear
Hafez! Go utter no tale; compose no verses of joy or woe
Many of such wondrous conceits and verses do I know.
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