Chapter VIII: Story of Sadi's Journey to Hindustan and the Depravity of Idolatry

An ivory idol I saw at Somnat,Begemmed, as in paganish times was Monat.So well had the sculptor its features designed,That an image more perfect no mortal could find.Caravans from each district were moving along;To look at that spiritless image they throng.Kings of China and Chighil, like Sadi, forsooth !From that hard-hearted idol were longing for truth.Men of eloquence, gathered from every place,Were beseeching in front of that dumb idol's face.I was helpless to clear up the circumstance, howThe Animate should to th' inanimate bow?To a pagan with whom I had something to do—A companion well spoken, a chum of mine, too—I remarked in a whisper, "Oh Brahmin, so wise !At the scenes in this place I experience surprise !About this helpless form they are crazed in their mind,And in error's deep pit are as captives confined.Its hands have no strength, and its feet have no pace ;And if thrown to the ground 'twould not rise from its place.Don't you see that its eyes are but amber, let in?To seek for good faith in the blind is a sin !"That friend at my speech to an enemy turned ;He seized me and, fire-like, from anger he burned.He told all the pagans and temple old men ;I saw not my welfare in that meeting, then.Since the crooked road seemed unto them to be right,The straight road very crooked appeared, in their sight ;For although a good man may be pious and wise,He's an ignorant fool in the ignorant's eyes.I was helpless to aid, like a man being drowned ;Except in abasement no method I found.When you see that a fool has malevolence shown,Resignation and meekness give safety alone.The chief of the Brahmins I praised to the skies :"Of the Zind and Asta, oh expounder, most wise!With this idol's appearance I'm satisfied, too;For the face and the features are charming to view.Its figure appears very choice in my sight;But regarding the truth, I am ignorant, quite.I am here as a trav'ller a very short while,And a stranger knows seldom the good from the vile.You're the queen of the chess-board and therefore aware;And the monarch's adviser of this temple fair.To worship by mimicking, doubtless, is wrong ;Oh happy the pilgrim whose knowledge is strong!What truths in the figure of this idol lie?For the chief of its worshippers, truly, am I!"The face of the old Brahmin glowed with delight ;He was pleased and said, "Oh thou whose statements are right !Your question is proper, your action is wise—Whoever seeks truth will to happiness rise.Like yourself, too, on many a journey I've been,And idols not knowing themselves I have seen,Save this, which each morning, just where it now stands,To the great God of Justice upraises its hands!And if you are willing, remain the night here !And to-morrow, the secret to you will be clear."At the chief Brahmin's bidding I tarried all night;In the well of misfortune, like Bizhan's my plight.The night seemed as long as the last Judgment Day;The pagans unwashed, round me feigning to pray.The priests very carefully water did shun ;Their armpits like carrion exposed in the sun !Perhaps a great sin I had done, long before,That I on that night so much punishment bore.All the night I was racked in this prison of grief,With one hand on my heart, one in pray'r for relief;When the drummer, with suddenness, beat his loud drum,And the cock crowed the fate of the Brahmin, to come.Unresisted, the black-coated preacher, the Night,Drew forth from its scabbard, the sword of daylight.On this tinder, the morning fire happened to fall,And the world in a moment was brilliant to all.You'd have said that all over the country of Zang,From a corner, the Tartars had suddenly sprung !The pagans depraved, with unpurified face,Came from door, street and plain to the worshipping place.The city and lanes were of people bereft;In the temple, no room for a needle was left.I was troubled from rage and from sleeplessness dazed,When the idol its hands upwards, suddenly, raised.All at once, from the people there rose such a shout,You'd have said that the sea in a rage had boiled out.When the temple became from the multitude free,The Brahmin all smiles gazed intently at me:" I am sure that your scruples have vanished," he said,"Truth has made itself manifest, falsehood has fled."When I saw he was slave to an ignorant whim,And that fancies absurd were established in him,Respecting the truth, I no more could reveal,For from scoffers, 'tis proper the truth to conceal.When you find yourself under a tyrant's command,It would scarcely be manly to break your own hand.I wept for a time, that he might be deceived,And said, " At the statement I made, I am grieved !"At my weeping, the pagans' hearts merciful proved—Is it strange that a stone by the torrent is moved?In attendance, they ran to me, very much pleased ;And in doing me honour my hands they all seized.Asking pardon, I went to the image of bone—In a chair made of gold, on a teak-timber throne—A kiss to the hand of the idol I gave,Saying, "Curse it and ev'ry idolatrous slave !"A pagan I was for a little, in name ;In discussing the Zind, I a Brahmin became !When myself, "one of trust," in the temple I found,I could scarcely from joy keep myself on the ground.I fastened the door of the temple one night,And, scorpion-like, ran to the left and the right.All under and over the throne I then pried,And a curtain embroidered with gold I espied ;A fire-temple prelate in rear of the screen,With the end of a rope in his hand, could be seen !The state of affairs I at once saw aright—Like David ' when steel grew like wax in his sight.For, of course, he has only the rope to depress,When the idol up-raises its hand for redress!Ashamed was the Brahmin at seeing my face—For to have any secret exposed's a disgrace.He bolted and I in pursuit of him fell,And speedily tumbled him into a well ;For I knew that the Brahmin escaping alive,To compass my death would incessantly strive.And were I despatched he would happiness feel,Lest, living, I might his base secret reveal.When you know of the business a villain has planned,Put it out of his pow'r! when he falls to your hand.For if to that blackguard reprieve you should give,He will not desire that you longer should live.When in service he places his head at your gate,If he can, he will surely your head amputate !Your feet, in the track of a cheat, do not place!If you do, and discover him, show him no grace !I despatched the impostor with stones, without dread,For tales are not told by a man when he's dead.When I found that I caused a disturbance to spread,I abandoned that country and hastily fled.If a fire in a cane-brake you cause to arise,Look out for the tigers therein, if you're wise!The young of a man-biting snake do not slay!If you do, in the same dwelling-place do not stay!When you've managed a hive, full of bees, to excite,Run away from the spot! or you'll suffer their spite.At one sharper than you, don't an arrow despatch !When you've done it, your skirt in your teeth you should catch !No better advice Sadi's pages contain :"When a wall's undermined, do not near it remain !"I travelled to Sind, after that Judgment Day ;By Yemen and Mecca I, thence, took my way.From the whole of the bitterness, Fate made me meet,My mouth till to-day has not shown itself sweet.By the aiding of Bu-Bakar-Sad's fortune fair—Whose like not a mother has borne nor will bear—From the sky's cruel harshness, for justice I sought ;In this shadow diffuser, a refuge I got.Like a slave, for the Empire I fervently pray :Oh God, cause this shadow for ever to stay !"He applied not the salve to my wound's need alone,But becoming the bounty and favour his own.Meet thanks for his favours, when could I repeat?Even if in his service my head changed to feet !When these miseries passed I experienced joy ;Yet some of the subjects my conscience annoy.One is—when the hand of petition and praise,To the shrine of the Knower of Secrets I raise,The thoughts of that puppet of China arise,And cover with dust my self-valuing eyes ;I know that the hand I stretched forth to the shrine,Was not lifted by any exertion of mine !Men of sanctity do not their hands upward bring,But the Powers unseen pull the end of the string.Ope's the door of devotion and well-doing, still,Ev'ry man has not pow'r a good work to fulfil.This same is a bar; for to Court to. repair,Is improper, except the king's order you bear.No man can the great key of destiny own,For absolute pow'r is the Maker's alone.Hence, oh travelling man on the straight path Divine !The favour is God, the Creator's, not thine.Since, unseen, He created your mind pure and wise,From your nature no action depraved can arise.The same Who has poison produced in the snake,The sweetness produced by the bee, too, did make.When He wishes to change to a desert your land,He first makes the people distressed at your hand ;And should His compassion upon you descend,To the people through you He will comfort extendThat you walk the right road, do not boast, I advise !For the Fates took your hand and you managed to rise.By these words you will benefit if you attend;You will reach pious men if their pathway you wend.You will get a good place if the Fates are your guide;On the table of honour, rich fare they'll provide.And yet 'tis not right that you eat all alone,For the poor, helpless Dervish some thought should be shown.Perhaps, you'll ask mercy for me when I die,For upon my own efforts I do not rely.