Layla and Majnun by Nezami (Translated by Peter J. Chelkowski, further editing by Farshad Torkashvand)

 Layla and Majnun

Long ago, many great chieftains lived in the desert of Arabia, and the greatest was the chieftain of the tribe of the Banu Amir. Now, this sayyid, as he was reverently called, had wealth beyond imagining; his gold and jewels were as countless as the grains of desert sand, and in his tent hung the most precious silks and carpets, and the finest herds grazed upon his land. But rich as he was in worldly goods, he was richer still in the goodness of his heart. He ruled with perfect justice and was generous to all; to those in need, he readily opened his purse, and every traveler was welcome in his camp. His tribesmen prospered, and they loved and honored him. The sayyid was sound content, but for one thing: he had no son and heir.

As the years passed and no son was born, he prayed to God with all his heart and brooded on the fortune that denied to him what he most desired. "What care I for my jewels and gold if I should die without an heir?" he asked. "Indeed, he truly lives who lives in the memory of his son!" And thus, he prayed even more fervently until, at last, his prayers were answered, and God gave him a son.

There was a grand celebration in the camp of the Banu Amir, and the sayyid opened his treasury so that all might share in his happiness. The desert was filled with shouts of joy, for the child was a boy of unsurpassed handsomeness, even from the very moment of his birth. When he was only two weeks old, his face was as round and beaming as the moon, and his comeliness increased every year. And the excellent sayyid was known to exclaim, "Of all men on this earth, surely none is more fortunate than I!"

Now when Qays, for so the boy was named, was of school age, he was sent to study under a learned teacher. So quick of mind was he that scarcely did he take a pen in hand than he had mastered script; no sooner did he hold a book than he could read. He was eager for new knowledge, and in all the intellectual disciplines, he excelled, but his most excellent skill by far was in the art of discourse. When he spoke, his words were sweeter than the music of a lute; his wit sharper than an arrow; his wisdom more lustrous than a pearl. All his schoolmates gathered around and listened with delight.

Now the pupils in this school were from the noblest families, and so it was that one morning the daughter of a mighty chieftain, second only to the sayyid himself, was brought into the classroom. This little girl was very beautiful. She was as slender as a cypress tree and as graceful as a bird; her skin was white as milk, her cheeks and lips were red as roses, and she had the darting black eyes of a gazelle. But even darker than her eyes was her raven hair; her hair was more lustrous than the sky at midnight, and indeed she was called Layla, or Night.

The moment Layla entered the schoolroom, love awakened in Qays' heart. All that day, he could neither read nor write but only stare at her and wonder at her beauty and at her long black hair. Enraptured, he whispered "Layla, Layla," softly as if in prayer, and all the next day, and the next, and for many days after, he could say no word but "Layla!" Even at this tender age, Qays claimed her for his own and vowed that he would love her all his life.

And Layla loved Qays in return. Yet they spoke not, for their souls were so perfectly attuned that they had no need of words. Thus Qays would gaze at Layla while the other pupils studied or played in the courtyard. And Layla would blush deeply, lower her lashes, then open her eyes, gaze at him, and sweetly smile. And every evening, when the sun set and the heavens darkened, and the two were apart, they sighed and wept and eagerly went to their beds, all the sooner to dream of one another. When the sun rose, they would hasten joyfully to school. Thus did they love, and every day their love increased.

Now love shines more brightly even than the sun, and Qays loved Layla so intensely that the other children noticed what was plain to see after a while. They were too young to know of love, so they laughed at Qays, pointed at him, and cried, "Our friend has lost his heart and head! He cares not for his books but thinks only of Layla. See how he stares at her like a love-stricken sheep!"

Then Qays tried to hide his love, but his eyes refused to stray from Layla's face. His schoolmates would follow him, taunting, "Have you not heard that Qays loves Layla? Like a madman, he stares at her and chants her name!"

At last, Qays could contain himself no longer and surrendered to his passion. In the classroom, as the others recited their lessons, he shouted, "Layla! Layla!" And he ran through the streets and the bazaars, calling out her name, praising her black eyes and her raven hair. People looked after him and shook their heads. "Indeed, he is a madman, a majnun," they said. And so it was that Qays came to be called Majnun.

Now it was not long before word of Majnun's infatuation reached the ears of Layla's father, and the chieftain was greatly incensed. "Who is this Majnun that he should speak Layla's name in the bazaars and thus insult my daughter and my tribe?" And so the chieftain ordered that Layla be taken from the school at once, brought to the desert camp, and confined in a tent alone.

Majnun was sick at heart. For several days he sat listlessly before his open books, staring sadly at her empty place. When he could no longer bear Layla's absence, he closed his books and fled to the bazaars. From dawn to dusk, he wandered among the stalls, murmuring her name and sobbing with grief. So deeply did he suffer, and so strongly did he love, that his ravings became poems. Walking in the markets, Majnun, the possessed, composed love songs of the most exquisite beauty. And as he sang, the wind lifted his words, like leaves, and carried them into the desert. "Layla, Layla! May my songs fall at your feet!" he cried.

And every night, when darkness fell, Majnun followed his songs into the desert. With two or three faithful companions who were still his friends, he crept into the camp of Layla's tribe. Approaching her tent, he hid behind a tree, hoping for a glimpse of his beloved. One night Layla, restless and sleepless, sat at her tent door. Majnun suddenly appeared. In the moonlight, they gazed at one another, unbelievingly and trembling with love; neither could say a word. It was not until the sky reddened with the dawn that Majnun turned and hastened back to his own camp lest he is discovered.

From that day on, his passion burned even more fiercely; like a thorn-bush set afire, Majnun was consumed by love. And as he lost his heart, so he lost his reason. Leaving the camp of the Banu Amir, he wandered in the desert and the mountains of Najd. And as he went, he tore his robes, shouted Layla's name, and wildly sang his songs. He went alone, for his friends despaired of him and left. People would point to him from afar and say, "There goes Majnun, that madman who was once called Qays. For the love of Layla, does he wander in the wilderness and bring dishonor to his father and his tribe."

Now when Majnun fled into the wilderness, the good sayyid grieved greatly. He called his counselors to him. "Indeed, my son has lost his heart," he said. "His senses are confused, for without Layla does he live in darkness. If he should win her, surely he will find his light." And thus did the sayyid resolve to go to Layla's father and ask the chieftain for her hand. The following day, as the sun rose in the sky, a search party went into the desert to find Majnun. At the same time, the sayyid set out for Layla's camp. His camels were laden with many precious gifts, and his hopes were brighter even than the rising sun.

But when he went before the chieftain and told why he had come, the chieftain spoke harshly, for he was a proud man. "Who has not heard of Majnun's mad­ness?" he declared. "My daughter will not marry him! See first that your son is cured, then come to me again. For even if I were to grant your wish, as surely as the sun beats down upon the desert sand, Layla's name will soon again be heard in the bazaars, and every man in all Arabia will laugh at me!"

The sayyid sadly shook his head and returned to his own camp. There he found Majnun and told his son what Layla's father had said. "Why must you worship only Layla?" he asked. "Indeed, among our tribe, there are a thousand lovely maidens. Choose one as your wife, and forget Layla. Then you will be happy!"

But Majnun only cried out in despair and fled once more into the wilderness. He stumbled across the burning sand, thorns caught at his robes, and still, he called, "Layla! Layla!" And he tore at his hair and sang his songs until the desert resounded with his words. As he passed through one village and then another, all who heard him marveled at his eloquence; they Pitied him and wept. Yet Majnun saw them not, nor did he hear their weeping, or even the sound of his own voice, for he could think only of Layla.

At last, like a burnt-out candle, he fell exhausted to his knees and, whispering Layla's name once more, prayed to God for death. "I am an outcast. I bring only shame upon my tribe. Let me die now, for there is no hope for me in life!" Thus he sighed and sank onto the sand.

No sooner had he fainted than a group of shepherds gathered. They prepared a litter for him and carried him gently across the desert to the camp of the Banu Amir. He lay in his tent singing his songs and calling Layla's name. And his father's sorrow was no less than Majnun's. "Would that Majnun had never set eyes on Layla, for no longer do I have a son!" he lamented.

With a heavy heart, he called his counselors to him once more. To the eldest, he said, "Does not the whole world go to Mecca to ask God's blessing? Let us, too, make a pilgrimage and pray to God that Majnun should be cured."

And so it was that in the month of pilgrimage, the last month of the year, the sayyid and his closest kinsmen departed from their camp and traveled to Mecca. For this journey, the sayyid chose his best camels. A litter was devised for Majnun, and as the caravan crossed the desert, Majnun was carried as gently as if he were an infant in his cradle. At last, they entered Mecca, and the sayyid showered gold coins, as alms, upon the crowds of people in the streets. Then, trembling with hope, he brought Majnun before the shrine and, taking his hand, said softly, "My son, ask God to save you from your passion; pray to Him to end your madness. Surely you will be cured."

When Majnun heard these words, he wept bitterly. Then he laughed wildly and stretched out his hands toward the shrine, the Kaaba. In supplication, he touched the shrine. "I pray to You, let me not be cured of love, but let my passion grow!" he cried. "Take what is left of my life and give it to Layla's, yet let me never demand from her so much as a single hair! Let me love for love's sake, and make my love a hundred times as great as it is this very day!"

As Majnun prayed, the sayyid listened silently and bowed his head with grief. Then they returned to their camp. When they arrived, the sayyid told his kinsmen, "I have tried, but never will Majnun be cured, for, before the holy Kaaba, he has blessed Layla and cursed himself."

Now everyone in the city of Mecca heard of Majnun's prayer, and there was none in the land of Arabia who did not speak of it. When word reached the camp of Layla's tribe, the chieftain thundered with rage and vowed to kill Majnun. But first, he sent two messengers to the sultan's court to register his complaint. "Magnificence," they said, "this Majnun is a man possessed and does dishonor to our tribe. Order him to be punished at once so that the name of Layla will be unstained.

Then the sultan's prefect drew his sword. "So be it; let him be punished as you wish."

Now it happened that a kinsman of the Banu Amir was in the sultan's court and heard what had been said. He hastened to the sayyid to warn him of the threat to Majnun's life, but Majnun had again fled into the desert. Greatly alarmed, the sayyid with his tribesmen searched the wilderness until Majnun was found, in a desolate gorge, writhing like a snake, moaning and sighing, and rising and falling upon the rocks. Tenderly the good sayyid gathered his son into his arms, weeping bitterly. So too did Majnun weep. "My father, there is no creature on earth who is not ruled by destiny," he said. "To love Layla is my fate, and never can I throw off my burden. But listen to me, for I have a tale to tell.

Once upon a time, a partridge went hunting in a field and spied an ant, which she seized in her beak by one of its legs. The ant laughed and said, 'You are a skillful hunter, partridge, yet it is a pity that you cannot laugh as I do !' Whereupon the partridge opened her beak to laugh, and the ant escaped. Then the partridge saw how foolish she had been. So it is with man, for he will regret his laughter with bitter tears. Yet I will have nothing to mourn, for I have no cause to laugh." And Majnun wept and called out Layla's name.

Then Majnun was carried from the rocky gorge to his own tent, and his kinswomen brought food and water, and his mother whispered many soothing words. But Majnun, staring blankly into the cool darkness of the tent, did not even know her. Several days passed, and when he could rest no longer, he tore open the curtain of his tent and fled again into the desert of the Najd; he roamed under the blistering sun until his face was black and his feet bled from the thorns ...