Tale V: The Lion and the Beasts

Kalīl’ and Dimna’s book relates a charming tale,From which males may a moral draw;--and eke, female.

Within a shelter’d vale, four-footed game in droves,Were kept in tremor by a lion from its groves.So frequently had he borne victims off from thence,The vale a prison had become in every sense.

A consultation held, they fair proposals state,To satisfy the lion’s hunger by a rate;But on condition that he rapine lay aside,And not prolong disquiet in that valley wide.

The lion gave consent, if they’d perform their part;Remarking: “I’ve a victim been to wily art.Man persecutes me with his deadly stratagems;The snake and scorpion sting me;--rancour’s true emblems.But worse than any man, in venom and in spleen,The fleshly lust within me traitor’s always been.But I’ve grown wary. Has not Ahmed said: ‘Rely!Believers are not twice caught by the selfsame lie?’”Their answer was: “O most sagacious, knowing guide,Thy caution pray dismiss; decree of God abide.Suspicion, caution, ever is corroding ill.Put trust in Providence; and God thy maw will fill.Strive not with Providence, however strong thou be;Lest Providence should take offence, and war with thee.”

He answered them: “Sure! Sure! Trust Providence we must.His prophets in the Lord have always placed their trust.To trust in God, and yet put forth our utmost skill,The surest method is, to work His holy will.The Prophet plainly said to his disciple train:‘Put trust in God, and bind thy camel’s shank amain.’Remember the old saw: ‘The friend of God must work.’Through trust in God, neglect not ways and means, O clerk.”

Abashed they were not; answer thus they promptly made:“To gain aught from the poor is fraud; a trick of trade.There is no gain so good as trust placed in the Lord.What more praiseworthy than to build upon His word?How many flee this danger, falling into that!From fryingpan leaps one, to light in fire right pat.Man plans a stratagem; in it is caught himself.That which he took for health, he finds is death itself.He locks his door when treason’s lurking in his house.So Pharaoh deemed he’d danger shun ere it should rouse.How many thousand infants did he doom to death;While Moses, whom he feared, his own roof was beneath.Our eyes afflicted are with various kinds of ills.Then go and make them blind, by seeing God ’tis wills.God’s sight of providence is keener than men’s eyes.By seeing with His sight, thou’lt find all thou wilt prize.An infant, that can neither grasp nor walk as yet,Takes seat upon his father’s neck, and runs. Sweet pet.Some seasons past, he scarcely gains some strength of limb;When sorrow fastens on him;--sharp, and ghastly grim.The hearts of men, before they gain or power or wealth,Decline away from duty, pleasures seek by stealth.And since by God’s decree from paradise they’re rent,They prisoners become to rage, lust, discontent.We are the household of that Householder, whose wordThus spake: ‘Creation’s all as children of the Lord.’He that doth send the fattening rain upon the earth,In mercy, too, can feed His creatures from their birth.”

The lion thus replied: “’Tis true. But still, the LordA ladder sets before our feet to be explor’d.Step after step we have to mount unto the roof.Th’ idea of compulsion’s quite devoid of proof.Two feet thou hast. Then why thyself hold to be lame?Two hands also. Why maimed account thyself in name?Whene’er a master puts a spade in hand of slave,He has no need to speak; the act expression gave.Our hands just so are given; spades they are to us.Think out this problem well; it needs not any fuss.When thou hast laid this unction to thy soul amain,In duty’s path to lay down life thou’lt count as gain.Those symbols indices are, whence are secrets known.Responsibility’s from thee withdrawn; work shown.Thou’rt surely burdened. Borne also most truly art.Recipient; hence accepted;--fully on His part.Recipient be of God’s command; content thou’lt be.Seek unto Him; and to Him joined thyself thou’lt see.To strive to give thanks power provides this to perform.Allege compulsion. Gratitude’s ground thou’lt deform.Thanks for thy powers the power of thanks tenfold expands.Take favour for compulsion. Power will leave thy hands.Compulsion dost affirm? That’s sleeping by the way.Go not to sleep until thou’st fairly won the day.Sleep not, Compulsionist! Thou man, with folly rife!Until thou reach the goal, the fruitful Tree of Life.The cool breeze there will rustle through its leaves profuse,Each moment scattering fruits for food and future use.Compulsion’s creed is sleep among the highwaymen;Unseasonable bird is mercilessly slain.If thou at God’s signs carp and peck, so finding fault,Though man thou count thyself, ’tis womanlike assault.The little sense thou hadst has really taken flight;A head that has no brains is tail turn’d round to sight.Ungrateful men are ever cursed of God on earth;And after death are flung to hell-fire’s vengeful hearth.If thou repose thy trust in God’s almighty pow’r,Sow first thy seed; and then, await the harvest hour.”

The beasts a clamour raised; they would not be repressed:“They who on means depend, are urged by greed confessed.The millions upon millions, man and womankind,Are pinched by want; they suffer need; they food scarce find.By millions and by millions, since creation’s day,—Insatiate dragons,--they their gaping jaws display.A crowd of would-be wise men stratagems invent,Enough to upset mountains, could they give them vent.So God himself described in His most holy bookTheir arts: ‘By which they’d tear away the hills.’ Just look.Except the lot decreed by Providence of yore,By hunting or by toiling none can swell his store.Device of man, his plans, shall all be brought to naught.God’s dispensations sole will stand, with wisdom fraught.Strive not then, man of sense; except good name to leave.Exertion’s a delusion. Out! Thou sottish knave!”

A simpleton one morning rushing came in haste,Where Solomon his court of justice then had placed.His cheeks were blanched, his lips were blue; effects of fright.Said Solomon to him: “What ails thee? Say aright.”Him answer’d that poor wretch: “The angel, Lord, of death,Upon me fixed, just now, a look that stopped my breath.”Said Solomon: “What wilt thou I should do for thee?”He answered: “That the wind may now commanded beTo carry me away forthwith to Hindūstān.Perchance by fleeing thither, save my life I can.”

See how mankind do shun the garb of poverty.Hence they’re a prey to greed and dire necessity.This fear of poverty is like that man’s dismay,Its Hindūstān, remark, is greed and grasping’s sway.

So Solomon the wind commanded, him, forthwith,To bear to Hindūstān; and land him near some frith.

Another day as Solomon his court did hold,Death’s angel came; the king to him the matter told:“Thy wrathful look, the other day, upon that man,Has driven him his home to quit for Hindūstān.Didst thou in wrath survey the pious man that way,That he might wander forth a waif, like sheep astray?Or was thy look’s intent, so dreadful to behold,His soul to separate from its corporeal fold?”

To him replied the angel: “King of sprites and men!His fancy him misled; he’ll ne’er do so again.’Twas not in anger then that I did look on him;’Twas wonder him to see here, looking hale and prim.For God had me commanded: ‘Go this very day,And take his soul in Hindūstān, his debt to pay.’In wonder, then, I said within myself: ‘Had heA hundred wings, in Hindūstān he could not be.’But going, still, by God’s command, to Hindūstān,Him there I found, and took his soul with my own hand.”

So thou, good reader, understand, the things of earth’Tis God ordains. Reflect. ’Twas written ere his birth.From whom to flee? From self? Oh! That’s absurd!From whom to steal? From God? Worse, worse! No word!

The lion now remarked: “The words you speak are true.But just consider how the prophets, saints, ensue.What they have wrought hath God blessed, made to prosper still;Their joys and griefs, their sufferings, pains, were by His will.Their stratagems dictated by their God were, all.‘Who comes of gentle blood, will gentle words let fall.’Their traps have taken angels with the baits they placed.Their seeming slips and faults were all by wisdom traced.Exert thyself, O man; put shoulder to the wheel,The prophets and the saints to imitate in zeal.Exertion’s not a struggle against Providence.’Twas Providence enjoined it,--made it our defence.Blasphemer may I be, if ever single manBestowed in vain one effort to fulfil God’s plan.Thou hast no broken bones; why bind thy limbs in splints?Have patience yet awhile; then laugh; we’re not mere flints.It is a bad investment to seek worldly gain.Whose hope is placed in heaven never shall see pain.The stratagems employed for worldly gain are vile,But stratagems for gaining heaven are worth our while.Blest stratagem is that which bursts a prison door.Curst stratagem is one that spreads a dungeon floor.The world’s a dungeon. We are all in prison here.Burst, then, thy prison gate, and free thyself from fear.What is the world? Unmindful of our God to be;Not gold or silver, wife or children, things we see.The wealth we hold at service of our God is blest.‘The riches of the just are pure,’ Ahmed confess’d.The water from a leak is danger to a ship;The sea beneath her keel is just what makes her skip.Great Solomon despised wealth, sway, with all his heart.With countless treasures poor he named himself. Best part!An empty jar will float upon a raging sea,The air that fills it will not let it sunken be.Th’ afflatus of true poverty man’s soul will buoy.Above the troubles of the world he rides. Ahoy!Should all earth’s boundless riches by him be possessed;The whole is viewed in his pure sight as naught at best.Close then the inlet to thy heart; seal it with love;First filling it with wisdom’s spirit from above.Endeavour is from God; so sickness, and its balm.He vainly strives who would deny this truthful psalm.”

Of this complexion, many proofs the lion brought;No answer those compulsionists in dispute sought.The fox, the deer, the hare, and eke the sly jackal,Were fain to quit compulsion’s cause, for good and all.

A treaty they concluded with the forest king,That he, by this concession, should not lose a thing.His daily ration ready always should be found;And he should have no cause to trespass on their ground.Lots they would cast among themselves from day to day.On whom the lot should fall, he’d be the lion’s prey.

But lo, at length the lot upon the hare did light.He found it very hard, and wailed his awful plight.The other beasts remarked: “We each have had our turn;And none of us refused th’ agreement to confirm.By breach of faith on us fresh infamy bring not.Begone forthwith; the lion must not be forgot.”

The hare replied: “Dear friends, a respite to me grant.A stratagem I’ll plan, and cheat this grim tyrant.My wily plan shall save the souls of all alive;And safety heirloom be your children shall derive.Thus every prophet’s promised to his sect, at least,Salvation from the doom o’erhanging man and beast.They found a ready way to ’scape beyond the spheres,So soon as to reflect they turned their minds from fears.Man sees another’s eye is but a wee, wee thing;He knows how great a service can th’ eye’s pupil bring.”

The beasts in answer: “Jackass! Prate to us no more.Consider. Thou’rt a hare; a beast of no great store.What talk is this? Thy betters ne’er have used such speech.They never would have dared to think as thou dost preach.It must be thou’rt o’erweening, or our fate’s at hand.For otherwise, pretensions such as thine can’t stand.”

To them as a rejoinder puss spoke: “My dear friends,My inspiration’s God’s; small means effect great ends.The wisdom God hath taught the little honey-bee,You do not find possessed by lion, or by me.We see its cells arranged, with liquid sweetness filled,The portals of such art to open God hath willed.Then see the silkworm, how it’s taught by God to spin.Have elephants the power to draw out threads so thin?The earthy Adam was by God taught all our names.His knowledge was the admiration of heaven’s frames.Th’ angelic choir were silenced; they knew not so much.The fiend be cursed. He’d not confess the fact was such.That fasting hermit of six hundred thousand yearsBecame the new-born babe’s dire muzzle,--source of tears.Lest it should suck the milk religion’s teachings give,—Lest it should soar on high around heaven’s towers, and live,—The learning of external sense a muzzle lies,—The milk of truth sublime’s denied to all its cries.But God hath planted in man’s heart a precious pearl.Nor seas, nor skies, such gem enclose within their whirl!How long of form thy talk--form-worshipper--vain man?Cannot thy senseless soul cast off form’s deadening ban?Did human form alone suffice a man to make,Ahmed and Abū-Jahl were one in grade, in stake.A painting on a wall may show the human form.But look and see what lacks, the figure to inform.’Tis life it wants, and soul;--the pretty-looking thing!Ask for its life. No! No! Though portrait of a king.The heads of all earth’s lions bowed down meek and low,When God the Seven Sleepers’ dog applauded. How!To call it dog, to charge it with defect of race,No harm can do it; God in heaven hath given it place.’Twas not the pen prescrib’d the qualities of form;Th’ Omniscient, the Just, ’twas, made it multiform.Th’ Omniscient, the Just, a Spirit is, All-Blest;Him no place holds; He’s not before, behind, east, west.He influences matter from His high abode;But heaven of heavens cannot contain the Spirit’s mode.”

That theme is endless. Let us then just turn away.Let’s ask about the hare; hear what he has to say.Sell off thy ass’ ears; with the price a fresh pair buy.An ass’s ears will never understand this cry.Go to. Examine well the hare’s most foxy wile,—The subtle stratagem that did the lion foil.

Wisdom’s the seal by which great Solomon did rule.The whole world’s but a frame, and wisdom is its soul.Hence ’tis, by wisdom’s spell, as clay on potter’s wheel,The seas, the hills, the plains, are made man’s power to feel.The lion, tiger, leopard, dread him as does mouse;The shark, the crocodile, he follows to their house.The demon and the fairy, both constrained to flight,Have hid themselves from him,--are only seen by night.The human being has his foes hid every side.A prudent man by caution may in safety bide.Those hidden foes,--the hideous, and the fair as well,—By day and night affect his heart with charm and spell.

Thou enterest a river, just to have a bathe;A hidden thorn may pierce thy foot, bared of its swathe.Thou seest it not. ’Tis hid at bottom of the stream.Thou feel’st it in thy foot; thou knowest it’s not a dream.Plagues, troubles, fears, and cares, of various degree,All spring from many sides, and fix themselves in thee.Bear all with patience; slowly thou’lt experience gain.Thou’lt recognise the truth; the dark will be made plain.At length thou’lt scout the vagaries of learned men,And take unto thyself, as patterns, saints of ken.

The beasts on second thoughts resolved to hear puss out.“Explain,” said they, “what ’tis thou’dst have us set about.Let’s hear; ’tis with the lion we shall have to do.Set forth thy plan; let’s see what stratagem’s in view.Deliberation’s ever wisdom’s truest friend;Two heads than one are better,--lead to safer end.The prophet spake: ‘O ruling judge, ere thou decide,Take counsel; for ’tis said: “In councillors confide.“’”

The hare objects: “A secret’s not for ev’ry clod.Odd even is at times; and sometimes even’s odd.Too closely with a mirror shouldst thou converse hold,From prudery it umbrage takes, grows dull; the scold.On matters three, allow not oft thy lips to speak:First, going; gold, next; third, the path thou hast to seek.These all have sundry enemies and deadly foes,Who’ll lie in ambush, each, if he thy purpose knows.If thou ‘Adieu’ to only one or two shouldst call,Remember: ‘Two’s a secret; three is none at all.’If fast together thou shouldst bind birds, two or three,They’ll quiet lie on earth, nor strive themselves to free.Men hold it best to ask for counsel in wide terms.Beware; and wrangle not with perverse pachyderms.The Prophet covertly men’s counsel used to seek.His answer he’d obtain; his purpose did not leak.He’d speak in parables, and so convey his wish,That foes might hear, but not suspect its purport. Pish!He’d ferret out in answers all he wished to learn;And still not give an inkling of his thought’s real turn.”

Enough we’ve said of this. Now turn we to our tale.By puss the lion’s held right hungry in the vale.And so it was; the hare his counsel did conceal;He would not let his comrades learn how he would deal.Some hours he now let pass before he took his leave;Then to the lion went, their honour to retrieve.

He found the brute impatient, chafing at delay,From hunger’s pangs fierce howling, tearing every spray;And roaring in his rage: “I knew it so would be!Those vile, time-serving rascals! Thus they worry me!They’re plausible, smooth-speaking, bland, calm, mild; and stillThey’ve cheated me! Alas! Who will be cheated, will!A too complaisant prince most foully is let in!Who sees no farther than his nose, none heeds a pin!”

The path is smoothed beneath which lurks a deadly trap.A missive’s filled with compliments; all mere clap-trap.Bland messages, smooth words, are but a hook or snare.Civility’s a sandbank; life’s bark’s oft wrecked there,The sand from which a spring of water’s seen to flowIs rare to find. Go, seek such. Where? I do not know.

Yes, yes! Be sure that sand’s a holy man of God,Unto himself lost, rapt, in union with his Lord.Religion’s crystal waters flow from him apace;Disciples thence are edified and grow in grace.A worldling is a sandbank, void of moisture quite,On which you may make shipwreck, lose all chance of light.Seek wisdom, then, from wisdom’s sons, the pure of mind;So mayest thou learn the way salvation’s port to find.

A seeker after wisdom, is, of wisdom, fount.“Humanities” he shuns; them, he does trash account.A memory replete with holy Qur’ān’s loreA “hidden tablet” is; its mind is wisdom’s store.If man begin as pupil to good common sense,He’ll end by being teacher,--mind, his audience.Man’s mind declares, as Gabriel to Ahmed there,“One step beyond due limit leaves me ashes sere.Go forward, man of God; leave me; I know my place.To every one’s not given to see God face to face.”

Whoever, out of sloth, endeavour’s path shall quit,And patience lose, compulsion’s creed must needs admit.Whoe’er affirms compulsion, brings woe on himself,Until his troubles to the grave conduct the elf.

The Prophet said: “My mission, ’s truth to preach to man.Much trouble will surround it during my life’s span.”Compulsion’s but the setting of a broken bone,Or binding of a muscle, torn, asunder gone.Thou hast not broke thy leg in travelling God’s path.Why put thy leg in splints? Cast off the idle swath.He that shall really lose a leg in God’s just fight,To him Burāq shall come, a chariot of light.Religion’s carrier was he; carried then he’ll be.God’s precepts he accepted; accepted now is he.The Great King’s orders has he bravely carried out.Henceforward he’s a herald;--shall God’s judgments shout.The planets until now may have affected him;Above the planets now he rests, and rules their trim.

If forms material find much honour in thy sight,Thou’lt doubt the truth of writ: “The moon clave,” left and right.Renew thy faith at heart, not merely with mouth’s gust,O hypocrite, who covertly dost worship lust.While lust is dominant, faith cannot be so strong;For lust’s a bolt to close the door, lest faith should throng.The virgin text of God explain not thou away;Reform thyself; deform not what the Lord doth say.As suits thy lusts thou comments makest on God’s Qur’ān.Vile, as by thee perverted, is its sense, base man.Thy case resemblance has with one of silly fly,Who once upon a time himself thought very high.Intoxicated was he, though he’d sipp’d no wine.Like sunbeam’s mote he saw himself most gaily shine.He’d heard of noble falcons scorning lure and cage;And straightway dubbed himself the phœnix of the age.

Our fly on scrap of straw, in pool from ass’s ease,Had poised himself, as though a sailor on the seas.Then cried: “Lo! I’ve called forth a sea and ship at will.Long since I ’ve had a notion, pleasure’s cup to fill.Behold a sea and ship of which I captain am,Imbued with naval science, bold as any ram.”

Imagination thus had conjured up a sea.To him it boundless seemed, dwarfing credulity.Compared with him it was a truly boundless pool.When people see with their own eyes, call them not fool.His universe was measured by his power of sight.To such an eye such pool a sea was. He was right.

A false interpreter of scripture is such fly.His fancy is the urine pool on which straws ply.If flies in fancy thus explain the things they see,By fortune’s freaks, in turn, a phœnix each may be.He’s less than fly, of whom this tale example lends;His soul unworthy is ev’n of the frame it tends.Just like the hare who’d lion undertake to fight,How should his soul remain in his poor carcase, slight?

The lion growled in tones of anger and of rage:“My ear it was bewrayed me; war my foes did wage.Compulsionists’ false wiles placed bandage on my eyes.Their wooden swords it was that stung my skin, like flies.Henceforward I’ll not list to such cajoleries,—Of elves and demons, in the wilderness, mere cries.Tear, rend them; O my heart, pay no regard to them.Strip off their skins; there’s naught beneath; mere stratagem.”

When words deceitful are employed as wraps for guile,They’re bubbles on the water, only last a while.Such words are merely shell; th’ intent their kernel is;—Or coloured portraiture of man; no life is his.A shell may often cover kernel of foul smell.A kernel sound can well afford to lose its shell.

If mind be pen; if page be water, in thy hands;Be not surpris’d when all that’s written quick disbands.On water ’tis to write, t’ expect good faith from bail.Regret must follow. Shrug your shoulders. What avail!

Man with desires is oft puffed up, and wishes vain.Put out desire; you’ll find Jehovah’s endless reign.His messages are peace, and sweet to pious soul;For He alone’s eternal, free from change, and whole.

Men’s prayers for kings and princes change full oft in tone.The prayers of saints and prophets call on God alone.Th’ existence of earth’s sovereign’s empty pomp and pride,The glories of a prophet in his God abide.The names of kings on coins are used a little while;The name of Ahmed there is ever seen to smile.That name of Ahmed covers all the prophets still;As hundred, when ’tis said, ninety includes as well.

Reflections such as these would never have an end.So turn we through our hare and lion’s tale to wend.

The hare but slowly towards the lion took his way.Wiles in his brain he hatched; weighed what he had to say.Procrastination served him his design to fill;He’d secrets, one or two, the royal mind to still.

How many worlds there are that hang on wisdom’s worth.How vast an ocean wisdom! Compasses the earth.A shoreless ocean is the subtle mind of manA fearless diver sounds its depths; as who else can?Our bodies drift about in mind’s strong eddies still,Like basins on the water, at the stream’s sole will.Until they fill, they float like bowls, on ocean’s brink;And, like the bowls, when full, they cannot choose but sink.

The wind’s invisible; a world without, we see.Our bodies are the waves or drops of that vast sea.Whatever means our bodies seek to grasp, anon,A billow drives it far; no sooner seen than gone.

Until our hearts perceive the Giver of all good,The swiftly-flying bolt shot far from o’er the flood,They hold their coursers to be lost; and out of spite,They push their roadsters hastily, as thoughts invite.They hold their coursers to be lost; and all the whileLike noble courser, roadster’s borne them many a mile.They now begin to wail, distress’d, and ask the way.They knock at ev’ry door they see, they beg, they pray:“The stealer of our courser was a little child.What horse is this, my master? Seems it not too wild?”“O yes, a horse it is; but not the horse you want.Come to your senses, man; to some one else go chant.”

The soul is void of patency and fellowship.Thou, like a wine-jar, full within, hast parched lip.How shouldst thou e’er distinguish red from green or brown,When these are all the colours unto thee well known?And when thy mind is dazed by colour’s magic round,All colour’s lost in one bright light diffused around.Those colours, too, all vanish from our view by night.We learn from this, that colour’s only seen through light.

The sense of colour-seeing’s not from light distinct.So, too, the sudden rainbow of our mind’s instinct.From sunlight, and the like, all outer colours rise;The inward tints that mark our minds, from God’s sunrise.The light that lights the eye’s the light that’s in the heart.Eye’s light is but derived from what illumes that part.The light that lights the heart’s the light that comes of God,Which lies beyond the reach of sense and reason, clod!

By night we have no light; no colour can we see.Thus, light we learn by darkness, its converse. Agree!A seeing of the light, perception is of tints;And these distinguished are through darkness’ gloomy hints.Our griefs and sorrows were by God first introduced,That joy to sense apparent thence should be reduced.Occult things, thus, by converse, grow apparent, all.Since God has no converse, apparent He can’t fall.Sight first saw light, and then the colours saw.From converse converse stands forth, as Frank from Negro.By converse of the light, distinguish we the light;A converse ’tis that converse shows unto our sight.The light of God no converse has in being’s bound;By converse, then, man has not its distinction found.Our eyes cannot distinguish God, decidedly;Though He distinguish Moses and the Mount from thee.

Form and ideal, gnat and lion, word and sense,Sound of the voice and thought, learnst thou by dissidence,The words and sounds take rise from exercise of thought.The sea of thought is where? Of this thou knowest naught.Words, as thou seest, rise as waves upon the sea.The sea of thought thou knowest great, immense to be.The waves of thought arise, by breath of knowledge raised;They take the forms of words, of sounds, which ear has seized.Through words have forms arisen, and passed away again;As waves still lose themselves beneath the ocean’s main.From realm of formlessness, existence doth take form;And fades again therein: “To Him we must return.”Each moment, then, for thee death and return await,As Ahmed hath declared: “Life’s transitory.” Wait!Thoughts, bolts are, shot by God into the air like dust.Whose thoughts can reach to God, through densest air of lust?

The world’s renewed each moment, though we still remainIn ignorance that permanence can change sustain.Life, like a river, ceaselessly, is still renewed;And apes persistency, in forms by change subdued,Through fleetness it puts on continuity’s shape;Like squib when ’tis revolved in dark by boy with tape.A flash of flame, through motion’s necessary speed,Appears unto our eyes a fire of size, indeed.Its length and its extension, through quickness of fact,Appear to be effects of God’s creative act.A student of this mystery, a doctor of great skill,Is our Husāmu-’d-Dīn, whose praises books would fill.

The lion, now enraged with hunger’s gnawing pain,Perceived the hare was coming, bounding o’er the plain.All carelessly, in confidence, he frisking came,The lion all the while growled, gnashed his teeth from shame.No consciousness of fault was visible, no fear;But confidence, sure sign his conscience he felt clear.

When he’d reached hearing range, the lion him addressedIn tones of wrath: “Thou demon, insolent, possessed!Know I’m a lion; elephants my prey I make.The tigers, spotted pards, by me are caused to quake.A petty hare am not I, slighted thus to be,Or see my just dominion spurned by likes of thee.Cast off assumed prim innocence, awake to fact;Thou hear’st the lion’s roar; forget not thus the pact.”

The hare replied: “Gramercy! Hear my poor excuse.Let me explain. Your Majesty will ne’er refuse.”

The lion now: “Excuse? Thou basest of the base!Is this the time to pay thy court? A pretty case!Unseasonably crowing cock art thou! Reprieved?Excuse from simpleton can never be received.A simpleton’s excuse is worse than was his fault.Excuse of ignorance were science to assault.Excuse from thee, thou hare, were quite devoid of sense.Take thou me not for hare; with me strive not to fence.”

The hare to him: “O prince! Have pity on the weak!Lend ear unto the tales of them who justice seek.Thankoffering let it be for thy august estate.Poor supplicant like me, thou’lt not drive from thy gate.Great river like, thy boons stream aye through all canals;Each flower that decks thy hair in price rich pearls excels.The sea is not dried up by yielding showers of rain.Thy ease will not decrease by lessening of my pain.”

The lion then: “My clemency I show to thoseWho’ve it deserved. ’Tis stature rules the length of clothes.”

The hare: “Give ear. Should I of grace unworthy prove,I’m at thy feet. My life is thine, I cannot move.At morning’s early hour I set out for thy court.Companion had I with me. True, the way is short.That second hare I speak of, food was for thy maw;By lot selected, as the pact lays down the law.Upon the road, a lion on us onslaught made.The savage, strange invader, rendered us afraid.I remonstrated with him; told him our intent;Said we were coming here; by treaty were we sent.

He answered: ‘Prate not to me. Treaty such as thisNo value has. I’m king. He a usurper is.Thy paltry king and thee I’ll quickly rend in two,If thou and thy companion will not with me go.’I craved of him permission, him to leave awhile,Till I could come and tell thee of his claim and guile.He granted leave; but kept my fellow as a pledge;Saying otherwise he’d kill me, as his privilege.We strove to coax and pacify the sturdy brute.’Twas no avail. My mate he’d keep; me he’d depute.My comrade three times was in bulk more full than I;More plump, more sleek, more toothful. Dare I tell a lie?Henceforward, through that lion, who can come this way?The case is so. I’ve told thee truly all my say.From hence, for evermore, thy ration’s lost, forsooth.The truth I speak to thee. Unpleasant oft is truth.Wouldst thou thy ration have, arise and clear the way.Come on. I’ll guide. Let’s see, then, who shall win the day.”

The lion now: “In God’s name! Come! Where is the beast?Go thou before, if thou speak truth. Take heed at least.I’ll treat him as he merits, and a hundred such.But should this prove a lie, thou’lt rue it very much.”

The hare set out in front, so acting as a guide,That he might lead the lion as he should decide.A well there was not far off, which the hare had seen.This pit he destined for the lion’s last death-scene.They journeyed thus, the two, towards the well in haste,The scheming, plotting hare’s fell stratagem to taste.

A stream of water freely bears the chaff away;But how it undermines a mountain’s hard to say.All single-handed, Moses,--Red Sea at command,—Can drown pursuing Pharaoh’s vast ungodly band.A gnat, by God’s behest, a Nimrod may annul;Its feeble wings may burst the sutures of his skull.

The doom of him who acts on what a foe adjusts,Is like the end of one his envier who trusts.The punishment of Pharaoh’s listening to Haman,Resembles Nimrod’s, who faith pinned upon Satan.

A foe who talks in friendly guise, a false game plays;He vaunts the bait; but be thou sure, a trap he lays.His proffered sugarcandy poison will conceal.His seeming kindly offices are treachery’s veil.Should God ordain thy fall, thy sight will blinded be;’Twixt friend and foe the difference thou’lt fail to see.Since thus it is, betimes betake thyself to prayer;Fast, supplicate, entreat thee gracious God to spare.Thus pray: “O Thou, to whom all secrets well are known,Crush not Thy trusting servant ’neath sore trial’s stone.If doglike acts I’ve acted, Thou who lions formest,O let not loose upon me lions Thou informest.O Lord of mercy, Pardoner of sin, All-just,Upon me vengeance wreak not, or succumb I must.Cause not Thy pleasant waters me to burn like fire;Let not the fiery furnace form of stream acquire.If Thou me madden with the vials of dismay,Thou’lt make nonentities the parts of things to play.”

What’s madness? ’Tis a bandage to the eye of faith.A stone we see as pearl, an island as a frith.What’s madness? False to judge of every stick and straw.To seek the violet’s perfume in hip and haw.

One day, when Solomon a camp had formed afield,The birds all flocked around him, homage due to yield.They found he spake their language, all their secrets knew.With pleasure, birds of every kind about him flew.The birds with Solomon all left their twit-twit-twee,And spake a tongue articulate; as one might see.

Synglottism is a link, a very potent spell;Among mere strangers, man’s a captive in a cell.How many Turks and Hindūs synglottise with us;How many pairs of each are strange as incubus!A synglottist is then a man’s another self;But syncardism, than synglottism’s much closer, elf.Besides our words, our signs, our written characters,From hearts, there rise by hundreds mute interpreters.

The birds about their secrets one by one communed;About their knowledge, sciences, and voices tuned.To pay their court to Solomon their notes they raised;Revealed their capabilities; skill of each praised.Not out of pride and vanity; excess ’twould seem;But solely to please Solomon, gain his esteem.

So slaves that seek for favour at a master’s handExert themselves to name the talents they command.But if they feel ashamed of one would them purchase,Straightway they’re sick, halt, deaf, or something still more base.

The turn then came for hoopoe’s setting forth his skill,To say what he could do, what office he could fill.Said he: “O King, one little talent’s all I own.I’ll tell it in few words; succinctness is a crown.”

Said Solomon: “Let’s hear it. What then is thy skill?”The hoopoe answered: “This.--I perch where’er I will.From my seat I look down like plumbline on the ground,And see if hidden water under it is found;Where is it; at what depth; what are its qualities;Whence takes its rise; from rock, sand, clay’s varieties.O Solomon, whene’er thou send’st thy armies forth,Me call to mind; my skill is surely notice worth.”

To him replied then Solomon: “Esteemed good friend,Thee I will name Purveyor-General on land.Whene’er my troops go forth, through sandy deserts sent,With them thou’lt journey; so, ne’er will be water scant.”

The crow on hearing this with jealousy was stung.Addressing Solomon, he said: “This bird a lie has sung.His insolence is great to boast thus to the king.Such falsehood’s quite disgusting. Who’s heard such a thing?Had he possessed this very wonderful insight,Would he be caught in springes barely out of sight?He cannot see those traps beneath a little mound;So caught he is, and caged. High dudgeon thence is found.”

Said Solomon: “O hoopoe, true is this remark.A gulp of vanity has set thee raving, stark.How is it thou’rt so tipsy early in the day,To come and prate of things so far out of the way?”

The hoopoe then replied: “Great King, against poor me,For love of God, believe not all my foes’ false plea.If untruth I have spoken,--cannot prove my tale,—I cast myself before thee; kill me without fail.The crow denies the rule of Providence on earth;With all his cunning, he’s a miscreant from birth.”

Of miscreants’ defects, if any one in usExist, it’s sure to spread,--a plague-spot cancerous.

A snare man may detect in every lust of flesh,If God’s decree will not he fall into its mesh.By God’s decree our reason ceases clear to see,As moon, when darkened all, can hide the sun from me.Whoever dares deny God’s ruling providence,’Tis Providence decrees his blindness, want of sense.

The Father of Mankind, Lord Nomenclator first,In every nerve possess’d a vein of knowledge nursed.He knew the names of all things, right, without default.From first to last his mind could hold them from revolt.Whatever name he gave, that name endured unchanged.If he said: “This thing’s active,” slothful it ne’er ranged.He knew at first who was believer in God’s word.He from the first, too, knew the miscreant toward his Lord.

From one who knows them well, of things seek thou the fames,And mystery of the symbol: “God taught him the names.”The name of everything, with us, is what it seems;With God, the name of everything, what He it deems.By Moses was his staff a simple rod proclaimed;By its Creator, God, a dragon was it named.‘Umer idolater was classed by each array;God him believer called upon creation’s day.What is by man termed seed upon this transient heath,Impressed by God was with the seal: “Father of death.”In realm of nullity that seed received a form,Existent with its God; nor less, nor more; a worm.Result thereof sprung forth the essence of our nameWith the Creator, who will be our final aim.He each one names according to his last estate,Not with respect to that which is but passing fate.

So soon as mind of man with light has gained its strength,It spies the soul, and mysteries of every name, at length.When man perceives therein the kingdom of truth’s rays,He falls in adoration, worships, spends his days.That Adam’s praise, whose blessed name we’re proud to bear,Should I recite till judgment-day, would not end there.

Decree of Providence so willed, with all his lore,One single prohibition known, cost him right sore.He asked: “Was prohibition laid, joy to prevent;Or can, by gloss, evasion unto it be lent?”To his mind, explanation having been inferred,His appetites, perplexed, to taste the wheat preferred.A thorn the foot of Eden’s gardener thus rent.A thief the chance perceived, the garden robbed, and went.Amazement o’er, the gardener’s himself again.He saw the thief had carried off th’ unguarded train.He sobbed aloud: “My God, I’ve deeply sinned;” and sighed:“A darkness came, and from the road I turn’d aside.”

Decree of God was thus a cloud the sun to veil.A lion, dragon, were a mouse beneath that bale.When judgment’s needed, should I not detect a snare,Not I alone am blind, my weakness others share.Blest he, whose steadfast feet have never gone astray!Who waywardness has shunned, and taught his tongue to pray!

Should God’s decree encompass thee with blackest night,The same decree will readily help set thee right.Should Providence at times thy life to menace seem,’Twas Providence that gave it, can prolong its gleam.Should life’s events appear to threaten every way,God can in heaven prepare a home for thee to stay.What ’tis thou tremblest at, a special favour count,Designed to bring thee safe to Zion’s holy mount.

And now we turn again from morals,--they’ve no end,—To see how fares it with our lion and his friend.

They came to where the well was. Here the lion sawThe hare his pace had slackened, backward ’gan to draw.At this he remonstrated: “What art thou about!Come forward still. The enemy we must find out.”

The hare replied: “I have no power to move a foot.From fear I faint. I tremble; courage has ebbed out.Thou seest how pale my face; like ashes I’ve become;An indication sure of fear, most troublesome.God hath the countenance the mind’s true index named.The adept keeps his eye on countenance enchained.A face’s colour tell-tale is, like tinkling bell.A horse’s neigh of other steeds’ approach will tell.A sound from anything attention brings to pass;’Tis thus we know the creak of door from bray of ass.The Prophet said, no point of character t’ asperse:‘Enigma is a man until he’s heard converse.’The colour in man’s face makes known how stands the heart.Compassion take on me; thy sympathy impart.Enjoyments sensual give man a rosy face;The fame of pale-faced men reports good sense and grace.I feel within me what makes all my joints seem weak;It’s borne away my colour, strength, and power to speak.It casts down whomsoe’er it chances to attack;As tempest uproots trees it meets upon its track.I’m subjected to that by which both men and beastsAre turned to stocks and stones;--to say the very least.They are but parts; that thing a universal is.It makes men’s faces pale; gives ashiness where ’tis;As long as nature mournful is, or full of glee;—As long as fields now verdant, naked then we see.The sun each morning rises, joying in his course;At eve sinks down again, and goes from bad to worse.The planets circulating, each within its sphere,Are subject to immersion when the sun they near.The moon in splendour far excels each tiny star.But near its change it dwindles almost to a hair.The very earth, that in firm steadfastness doth sit,When subject to an earthquake, shakes as in a fit.How many regions in the world, encroaching sandsHave changed from gardens into bare and sterile lands.The air, that with its breezes gives new life to all,When Providence ordains, brings pestilence and thrall.Sweet water’s running stream, a very source of life,In pond confined, turns fetid, black, and poison-rife.The fire, so arrogant when fed with breezes long,With one puff is extinguished by a breath too strong.The sea, now boisterous with waves and swelling tide,At times is like a mirror, shrinking from land’s side.The sky, revolving night and day, is never still;The seven planets like, it works its Maker’s will.Those planets, too, in apogee and perigee,--what not,—Auspicious, inauspicious are in several lot.Thyself consider;--little part, of universals mixed;—And thou’lt divine the state of all extended, fixed.Since universals are by no means free from toil,How should a petty part escape from trouble’s moil?A part, too, that’s compound of every opposite,—Of fire, and air, and water; adding earth its mite.If sheep from wolf should flee, there’s really wonder none;To see them herd together ’d ’stonish every one.Life springs from concord of th’ ingredient opposites.And death results when discord their pact disunites.God’s mercy hath appointed every lion’s mate;And unto each wild ass a fit associate.But since the world in trouble prison-like offends,What wonder that all’s transient,--that all suffering ends?”

’Twas thus the hare the lion tricked with specious lies;And added: “Hence the reason why I cannot rise.”The lion answered: “I see naught to cause thy fear.Point out to me the object seems to thee so drear.”

The hare then: “In this well thy foe takes his repose.His stronghold is this pit, where he’s secure from woes.A wise man hides himself at bottom of a well;For ’tis in solitude heart’s choicest raptures dwell.Seclusion’s gloom is easier borne than wrongs from men.Who craves a victor’s mercy, saves his life just then.”

The lion muttered: “Onward come. My arm is strong.Go look. At home is he? He’ll not live long.”The hare: “Alas! Already I’ve endured his gaze.Take me unto thy breast. My mind is all amaze.From off thy back, most potent lord and prince,I’ll look down in the well. I’ll neither blink nor wince.”

The lion took him on his back without more fuss.So, under this protection to the well went puss.They both looked down; and in the water thereReflection shadowed forth a lion and a hare.The lion saw his own shape in the water shine:“Another lion,” thought he, “with fat hare on chine.”His foe he fancied, thus, that in the well he’d spied.The hare he set down safely; in leapt he with pride.

He thus fell in the pit he had for others dug.Iniquity will visit those who drink out of her mug.Iniquity’s a pit into which tyrants fall.Such is the firm conviction of our wise men all.The wickeder a man, the deeper does he sink.So justice wills; and so, the wrong’d will doubtless think.

O thou who in thy might injustice dost commit,For thy own self a pit thou diggest; our tale to wit.Thou weavest round thyself a web, as does silkworm;Thou’lt not escape unless to justice thou conform.Look not upon the weak as quite without a friend.Reflect; ’tis said: “When God’s help comes.” Where’s then thy end?If thou’rt an elephant in strength, the weak will fleeTo his Protector. Then the Lord’s wrath shalt thou see.Whenever wrong’s weak victim on his God doth call,A clamour rises from the ranks in heaven’s hall.If with his blood, in pride, thou stain thy teeth just now,The toothache shall avenge him; dentist’s victim thou.

The lion saw himself reflected in the well.Through blindest rage himself from foe he could not tell.He thought his own reflection was his hated foe,And slew himself while seeking on him to work woe.

So tyrant, when thou seest injustice in the world,Thyself behold. Those deeds thy banner have unfurled.Thine are included with them in God’s just decree.Thy rage, greed, lust’s reward most certainly thou’lt see.They are thy very self; in them thou art condemned.Thou judgest them; in selfsame manner thou’rt contemned.In thy own acts thou seest not the sin thou work’st;Or otherwise thy own self’s foe thou’dst be from first.It is thyself against whom thou mak’st thy attack;Just as the lion took the hare upon his back.If thou’d sound deep to bottom of the moral well.Thyself thou’dst find there; thy own acts would plainly tell.

The lion at the bottom found out who was there.Let him as likeness serve of many who are here.Whoe’er beats out the teeth of weaker than himself,Commits the lion’s error;--springs upon himself.

O thou who loath’st a mole upon thy neighbour’s cheek,Reflect. ’Tis but an image. Thy own features seek.Believers are as mirrors; each sees self in each.So said the Prophet. His words to us truth may teach.

Thou wearest spectacles, of blue, or red, or green;And thence thou judgest all is tinged with that sheen.If thou wilt use a window glazed with coloured glass,Thou may’st expect the sun will seem of that same class.If thou’rt not mad, thou’lt know the colour is thy own.Thyself call evil. Henceforth others leave alone.

Believers see with eye of faith,--the light of God.How else to them were visible all things’ synod?If thou examine things with hell-fire in thy heart,How canst thou see distinct the good and bad apart.Seek by degrees to drown that fire in holy light.So shalt thou, sinner, soon, thy weakness change for might.

And do Thou, Lord, asperge from mercy’s cleansing stream,To change the fire of sin to light of faith supreme.The ocean’s waters are a mere drop in Thy hand;The streams of mercy, fire of wrath, at Thy command.If Thou so will, the fire a pleasant stream may be.And at Thy word, a lake a fiery pit we’d see.From Thee spring our devotions, supplications, prayers.’Tis Thou deliverest the victims from their slayers.Without our supplication, Thou entreaty gavest.The stores of Thy great mercy for all men Thou savest.

The hare, for his deliverance, jubilant set out,To join his fellows, scattered in their homes about.He saw the lion prone at bottom of the well;Then rapidly went back his stratagem to tell.He clapped his hands for joy at his escape from death,Exuberant as plant sprouts from the earth beneath.Its stalk and leaf break forth from prison underground.It rears itself apace, makes friends with th’ air around.The leaves burst from the stem, and spread themselves abroad;Until by growth a tree, whose grace all men applaud.It now expands in thanks for favours of the Lord;Each leaf, flower, fruit intones a hymn of praise, like bard.“Thou, Giver of all good things, nourishedst my root.And madest me become a strongly growing shoot.”

Our souls, shut up in prison in our frames of clay,So break forth into raptures when they’re called away.They dance for very joy, from love of God Allwise,When, like full moon perfected, they in glory rise.Material beings, thus, their dance perform, and souls.Ask not of them the subject of their hyperboles.

The hare had lodged the lion in a dungeon safe.More shame for lion was it, hare should make him chafe.Just so a shame it is, and subject for surprise,The state in which he’s left, who Fakhru-’d-Dīn would rise.O, he’s a lion, sure, at bottom of a well.His pride of flesh the hare that cast him down to hell.His pride, the hare, at large, disporting as it will;Himself down in the pit. O, what a bitter pill!

The lion-slaying hare now scampered to his friends,Exclaiming: “Good news bring I; let joy know no ends!Good news! Good news! Festivities bring into play!The hell-cat’s gone to hell, from which he came our way.Good news! Good news! That foe to all our lives, and peace.Has had his teeth extracted, through our Maker’s grace.He who so many crushed with paw of tyranny,Like rubbish has been swept by death’s broom clean away.”

A convocation now was held by all the beasts,Hilarity and joy enlivened all their breasts.About the hare, as candle, they, moths-like, all flocked.All their respects presented; none were found who mocked.They all declared: “Thou art an angel by heaven sent(Angel of death, however, he to lion went).Whatever thou may’st be, our souls thy sacrifice!Thou’st triumphed. For such prowess praise will not suffice.Our God it was endowed thee with such wondrous skill.May God be praised! Deliverance is by His will.Pray, tell us all about it. How was such thing done?How couldst thou compass to deceive th’ experienced drone?Relate in full. ’Twill comfort give to all our souls.Detail the facts; balm will they be for bygone doles.Recount at length; for, ah, how many tyranniesDid we not suffer from him, who now stark dead lies!”

Quoth he: “Most venerable Sirs! God’s grace did all.What could a hare accomplish without Him at call?He strength of purpose gave me,--light from heaven above.That light it was that nerved me in my every move.God granteth crowning grace, to further cause of truth,’Tis God also who sends vicissitudes on earth.He, ’tis, alternately, who parties makes prevail.Now mere opinionists, now men of light avail.If then, in turn, thou now thyself find uppermost,Why let hypocrisy, presumption, make thee boast?”

Joy not o’er great prosperity. It does not last.Airs give not thou thyself; thou’rt but a passing guest.They whose eternal kingship lasts beyond all times,Who sing God’s praise beyond the seven spheres and climes,They more endure than transient reigns of kings’ short rolls.They are the never-failing feeders of men’s souls.

If thou the pleasures of the world short time forego,Eternal bliss may compensate th’ imbroglio.Know that this nether world but for a period lasts.T’ abandon it, eternal rest to man forecasts.Give ear. Forsake all mundane ease, all earthly rest;Then will thy soul enjoy heaven’s cup with double zest.Cast thou the carcase vile of earthly pomp to dogs.The cup of mere surmise reject; the soul it clogs.