Invocation; the Blind King and the Quest for the Rose

On every branch there is a blossoming;
the fruit of the pen is the praise of the Creator.

With its two tongues it utters, all in one,
the praise of God and the eulogy of the Prophet.

Held in five fingers it sets down letters,
which is to say it obeys the Five Holy Ones [pun: panj-tan = five fingers and the Prophet's five holy family].

In it all devotion to speech finds its end;
it goes on ahead of the tongue.

A prayer to the Almighty for the composing of the masnavi Gulzar-e-Naseem

O Lord, give my pen a tongue;
give it the beak of the nightingale of a thousand tales.

May the tale of the Bakavali rose
become a spell of the springtime of love.

Although this tale has been heard before
from storytellers in the Urdu tongue,

that was prose; I will give it the honour of verse,
I will make this wine twice-distilled.

Although the masters of the art before me
were sultans in the realm of poetry,

and to seek to shine in front of them
is to show a lamp to the sun,

yet the sea of poetry remains for ever;
the river does not wait upon the cupbearer.

Stop the fault-finder's tongue from its taunts;
keep my point sharp among the men of the pen [pun: nok = nib and honour].

May it win hearts with its excellence,
the magic of Naseem, breeze from the garden of Kashmir [pun: naseem = the poet's name and the breeze].

May its dots be rue-seed burned against the evil eye of fine speech,
and its ruled border a charmed circle for the spell it recites.

Whatever fine point I write, let no letter of blame fall on it;
let my pull reach the very centre [pun: harf = letter and blame; nukta = dot and subtle point].

The tale of Prince Taj-ul-Muluk and Zain-ul-Muluk, king of the East

The record of the ancient days
is related thus by the tongue of the pen:

In the East there was an emperor,
the exalted Sultan Zain-ul-Muluk.

He was a leader of armies and a crowned king,
a slayer of enemies and a lord of the land.

The Creator had given him four sons,
wise, intelligent, quick and prudent.

Then one more set a new design in place:
the herald of a late-born child arrived.

The palm of hope bore its fruit;
a sun appeared in Aries [pun: hamal = Aries and pregnancy].

Such a light that the shining sun was his sacrifice,
such a face that no eye could rest upon it.

A son is called the light of the eye,
but a wink of ill fortune was that father's lot [pun: chashmak = wink and estrangement].

As soon as he rejoiced in the moon-browed child,
it was established by the star-gazer:

"This darling is such that once you see him
you will never be able to see anyone again."

That ill-starred child fell from his father's sight
like a tear from a wet eye.

The nurse never brought him out from behind the curtain;
she raised him guarded like the pupil of the eye.

That rose-coloured boy was the crown of kings;
he was reared and named Taj-ul-Muluk, Crown of Kings.

When, God be praised, he had grown into a youth,
like a glance he went out freely.

The king was returning from the hunting ground
and suddenly caught sight of his son.

He saw the son's eyes, perfect as the letter sad,
and his eyesight took one last look at that face.

Silence became the seal upon the king's lips;
the light of his eyes closed its eyes and left him.

When the king gave his eyes as a gift for seeing that face,
the brothers, in their spite, did not like their brother.

Though the king tried to put them off,
they drove that moon out of the city.

From house to house this was the talk, this the clamour:
the light of a blind eye has been banished.

Someone came bringing a prescription for sight;
someone went and fetched the collyrium of Mount Tur.

Against fate no force could prevail;
that blind eye did not see again.

What God wills, that alone comes to pass;
He is free to order things as He pleases.

The four princes set out on the eye-doctor's advice in search of the Bakavali rose

Finding the page white as a blinded eye,
the pen's probe drew its collyrium thus:

There was an eye-doctor, old and ancient,
who had looked into the eyes of Jesus.

That man of God groaned deeply,
met the sultan and said, "O king,

in Bakavali's garden there is a rose;
fasten upon it with the claws of your eyelashes.

The radiance in the sun's rays
comes from a herb of that very garden [pun: mihr-giya = love-herb; mihr = sun]."

He told of the rose of Iram,
and the people got a strange new tale to tell [pun: shagufa = bud and a marvel].

The four princes made themselves ready;
the king, having no choice, gave them leave.

They set out royally, taking with them
an army, baggage, tents and pavilions.

That desert wanderer, his home laid waste,
I mean the unhappy Taj-ul-Muluk,

was raising the dust in the open plain
when he saw that army coming.

He asked, "You people, troop upon troop,
where are you heading like a flood?"

A soldier of the army answered,
"The royal force is marching to Iram.

Sultan Zain-ul-Muluk the mighty
was blinded by the sight of his son.

The cure for his sight is what we want;
the Bakavali rose is what we seek."

When he heard this news of the rose,
a longing for the garden filled his head.

Joining himself to one of the soldiers,
that well-starred youth set out, trusting to fortune.

The four princes play chausar with Dilbar the courtesan and become her slaves

With dots for dice, the pen's game of pieces
brings out this tale of foul play thus:

For some time that throng roamed about,
desert after desert and mountain upon mountain.

They all turned nightingales with a thousand longings,
yet no one found any trace of the rose.

At nightfall they arrived at a place
whose name was Firdaus.

There was a canal running beside the city;
it was as if the planets had halted on the Milky Way.

On the bank of the canal there was a garden,
and the seekers of the rose went that way.

There was a courtesan named Dilbar;
that moon had her palace there.

The house stood some way off from the gate;
at the gate were a kettledrum and a mace-bearer.

The strangers did not know right from wrong;
the fools beat the drum and stopped there.

She was waiting for that very sound,
and she herself looked over their show of wealth.

Whatever man she found to be rich
she would lure in from outside,

seat him, bring up talk of gambling,
and strip him bare at chausar.

Whatever came to the board, the win was hers;
no one ever found out her trick.

The head of a cat served as her lampstand,
and a mouse was the keeper of the dice.

At the crucial throw they turned it over, as fate does:
the cat held the lamp, the mouse the dice [pun: diya = lamp and "gave"].

She had won thousands of slaves already,
and fate snared these four as well.

The huntress brought in her prey, trapped,
and seated them on chairs like figures of hope.

There were wiles of heart-stealing,
talk of friendship and intimacy.

When her spell had taken hold she brought the chausar,
and that gamester played a crooked game.

She was playing for the kill; they took it for friendship,
they took the game of chausar for mere sport.

Proud of their riches, they staked their wealth;
when their goods were lost, they staked their heads.

By ill luck it was the final wager:
to become her slaves was what was staked.

In two rounds she plundered all four;
caught in her claw, they lost their wits [pun: panja = claw and the throw of five; chhakke chhutna = lose one's wits, chhakka = six].

Not one of them got free of her all night;
at break of day their pairs were broken [pun: pau = daybreak and the ace; jug = a pair of pieces].

They went to prison, struggling and fretting;
unlike pieces on the board, they did not move round and come home.

Those of the army who went off to the city
never flowed back, like water, toward the canal.

Taj-ul-Muluk defeats Dilbar the courtesan, leaves her and sets out in search of the Bakavali rose

How the gold of the rose was brought from Iram
is painted thus upon the page by the pen:

That dust trailing behind a caravan of drifting sand,
I mean the wretched Taj-ul-Muluk,

was bewildered: "O God,
what ruin has fallen on this army?"

He rose: "Let me go and find out,"
and passed by the gate of the courtesan's garden.

As that noble youth stood there bewildered,
an old nurse came out from within.

A boy of hers had been lost,
and this moon-faced youth looked just like him.

She said, "What is your name?
My son had exactly this face."

He said, "My name I do not remember;
I was made homeless as a child.

But this much I know, to my sorrow:
my mother too was old, just like you."

Taking him to heart as her own son,
she brought him home with laughter and joy.

Two gamblers were passing that way,
each of them abusing the other.

They said, "What trick will you play on me?
We are not princes, and you are not the courtesan!"

Hearing his brothers mentioned,
the dear youth said, "Listen, mother,

who is this gamester courtesan
who has checkmated princes?"

She said, "Yes, gambling is a wicked trade.
Dilbar is a wilful courtesan.

She sets a lamp on a cat at night
and robs everyone at chausar.

The trick of the dice is bound up with the lamp:
the lamp on the cat's head, the dice in the mouse's hands.

Some princes from somewhere, ill-fated,
lost their gold and goods and became her slaves."

They were his brothers; where could the surge of blood go?
He was stricken, and in pain he cried, "Alas!

The shifting of the dice by the lamp
they could not see. Look at this darkness!" [pun: andher = darkness and injustice]

He thought, "Now that I know the secret,
if I live, I will win, and suddenly."

A cat pounced, having spied a mouse;
a mongoose, showing it a snake, drove it off.

He took it for a rare omen;
he caught the mongoose and kept it in his sleeve.

Only to learn the game of chausar
he went round like a piece from house to house.

One day he met a nobleman,
a man of rank and good at heart.

Taking him for well-born, he brought him home
and gave him a horse, robes and gold.

When gold came into that rose's hand,
he went to Dilbar to stake his life.

That gamester could be met by the beat of the drum;
so drum and stick came to blows.

Hearing the sound she came to the gate
and took him in with her.

Since her trade was to play and to devour,
the business of chausar was set up.

The darlings of the courtesan, the apples of her eye,
came and began their peeping and spying.

The mongoose, a snake in the sleeve,
was there at the snap of a finger.

The cat, though lamp-footed with fury, stayed silent;
the mouse forgot all about its hole [pun: chiragh-pa = furious, literally lamp-footed].

Laughing and laughing he made his rival weep,
and burned her like a faint and flickering star.

At last, with a thousand sulks,
Khizr took the lamp-fee from the ghoul.

Her fraud did not work through the dice;
the game she had built and built was ruined.

Having lost all her cash and goods,
she lost the slaves she had won by fraud.

All the capital she had, she squandered;
then the gamester herself came onto the board as a piece.

Again the dice showed her no favour;
as she lost her courage, she lost her heart.

The evil of the dice is plain to see:
Raja Nal lost his kingdom by it.

When would a wise man ever lean that way?
Even the ox is worn down by the name of jua [pun: jua = gambling and the yoke].

When the courtesan saw herself beaten,
God had made her the slave of another.

She thought, "No more tricks now;
let me have the joy of a marriage."

With a thousand pleas and humble entreaties she said,
"You have won, my master; I have lost to you.

I am your slave-girl, I make no refusal;
accept me into your service."

He said, "Listen: give up these tricks,
and break the drum at your gate with its stick.

This wealth, this gold, these slaves I have won,
keep them just as they are for a while.

For now I am going to Iram;
God willing, I shall come back."

She said, "Listen, cherisher of your servants:
the garden of Iram is the home of the fairies.

How can a man stand face to face with a fairy?
What is it to grip the wind in your fist?"

The prince laughed and said, "Dilbar,
it is nothing to take to heart.

If a man's reason is not lost,
his place is in the very pupil of a fairy's eye [pun: mardum = pupil of the eye and mankind]."

Saying this he rose: "Well, my dear,
I am going." She said, "God protect you."

Though the wealth was his to command,
he kicked it away like a man.

His hand fell on no wealth but his own empty pocket;
he took no companion but his shadow.

That servant of God was a dervish;
he set out in the name of God.