Layla and Majnun by Nezami (Translated by Peter J. Chelkowski, further editing by Farshad Torkashvand) Part 3

 

But Majnun shook his head; he heard his father's words but understood them not, for he knew only that he loved, not who he was or what his name was. And, weeping, he replied, "My father, I am lost to you and can never return. I live like the wild animals that roam around me; I am a stranger to my tribe." With sorrow in his heart, the sayyid saw that this was so. He left Majnun in his forsaken cave and returned to the camp of the Banu Amir, and shortly thereafter, he died.

One day, while hunting in the desert, a kinsman came upon Majnun, told him of his father's death, and spoke many bitter words. "Wicked son of a good father, may you pray for forgiveness for your sins!" At this doleful news, Majnun wept; he went at once to his father's grave and prayed for a day and a night for forgiveness. Then he went back into the wilderness.

When he returned to the cave, the animals of the desert came to his side. First the lion, then the very stag that he had saved, and then the antelope, and the wolf, and the fox; the wild ass joined their company, and the hare and the timid gazelle. Majnun ruled over them all; as a king. Was he, and his cave was his court. All around were rocks and thorns and burning sand. No place on earth was more desolate than this, yet Majnun called it paradise, for here he lived in peace with all his friends. Among the animals, there was perfect harmony; the lion lay with the lamb; the wolf chased not the hare; the gazelle went undisturbed before the fox.

Every day, Majnun and his animals wandered in the wilderness and dug among the stones for roots and herbs. As the sun descended, they would feast together. Majnun would speak of Layla and sing his songs, and the beasts would listen quietly and sadly bow their heads. Then darkness fell. Majnun lay down to sleep; with his great bushy tail, the fox swept clean Majnun's resting place. The wild ass was Majnun's pillow; his knees rested on the haunches of the antelope, and the gazelle caressed his feet. Throughout the night, until the break of dawn, the wolf kept watching.

For many hours at a time, Majnun would gaze fondly on his animals, and he was wont to say, "Now that I am among my friends, surely I am the happiest man of all!" And he would think upon a story he had heard, years before, of a young courtier at the palace of the king of Merv. This king kept a pack of ferocious dogs, and it was his wont, whenever anyone displeased him, to throw that person to the dogs to be devoured. When the youth heard the dogs' barking and the victims' cries and moans, he resolved to cultivate the friendship of the keeper of the dogs, and then he won the friendship of the dogs themselves. One day, the courtier aroused the king's anger, and the king ordered him thrown to the dogs. But the dogs would not harm the youth, for he was their friend. When the king saw this, he tamed the beast of his own soul.

So did the wild animals guard Majnun against harm. After some time, two visitors came into the wilderness and approached the cave. The first was an old man; he had flowing white hair and a face so kind and gentle that the lion's growling ceased, and the wolf showed not his teeth. They let the old man pass. Majnun greeted him and asked, "My friend, what good news do you bring?"

Whereupon the old man brought forth a letter. Majnun seized it eagerly. "Know that I have seen Layla," the old man said. "One day, I came upon her grieving in a garden; so great was the sorrow that I bade her speak. She wept and said, 'A thousand times madder am I than Majnun, for he is free to wander where he pleases while I am but a prisoner in my camp. A thousand times greater than Majnun's are my torments. Though I cannot be with him, I hunger for news of him. Where does he go? What does he say? Has he companions? I beg you, search for him until you find him, and tell me how he is!' Indeed, these are her very words. When I promised to search for you, she wrote this letter and gave it to me to give to you."

Then Majnun read Layla's letter; his heart quickened with joy, for all the old man said was true. At once, he asked the old man for a paper and pen, and he wrote a reply. "I beg of you, take this to Layla, with my love!" he cried. And the old man rode into the desert to Layla's camp and brought the letter to her.

Now the second visitor to the cave was Majnun's uncle Salim Amiri. He came into the desert bringing food and clothing. Majnun was glad to see him, for his uncle was a good man, and as a boy, Majnun had loved him dearly. He put on the robes but gave the food to the wild beasts. When he did this, his uncle sighed and said, "Listen to me, for I have a story to tell.

Once upon a time, in this very land of Arabia, a king was riding in this very desert, and he happened to pass a hut. He learned that in this miserable dwelling, there lived a dervish who hardly ate and never slept, and he sent an attendant to speak to the dervish. The dervish said that he ate only herbs gathered from the fields. 'Indeed, you should have far better food if you were in the service of the king,' said the attendant, but the dervish shook his head. When the king heard of this, he said, 'The dervish is a wise man, and he is superior even to me. He knows well the worth of what he has and is satisfied.' Then the king went into the hut and kissed the dervish's feet."

When Salim Amiri had finished his tale, he said that he would bring Majnun's mother to the desert, for she had grown old and greatly longed to see her son. When the good woman was brought to the cave, she wept and washed the dust from Majnun's body and plucked the thorns from his feet. All the while, she pleaded with him to return to his people, but to no avail. "The Banu Amir are your people; they are mine no longer," Majnun said. "I know only the desert and my animals." Bent with sorrow, the old woman returned to her tribe. Shortly there­after, she breathed her last. Then Salim Amiri again visited Majnun and told him of his mother's death. Majnun went to her tomb and mourned and wept. There he met some of his kinsmen, and they spoke bitterly to him and reproached him angrily. After a day and a night, he again fled to the desert.

All this time, Layla waited eagerly for an answer to her letter. Every night she slipped from her tent and stood at the crossroads of her village, watching and listening for the old man. At last, one night, he came and gave her Majnun's letter. When she read it, she rewarded the good man with jewels and a sack of coins and asked him to bring Majnun to a grove nearby. "The trees grow as thickly as a wall, so we shall not be seen. Tell my beloved that Layla longs to hear him sing his songs!"

And so it was that one night the old man led Majnun into the grove. The faithful animals followed and stood patiently outside. The old man brought Layla into the grove. She stayed at a distance from Majnun, for like a moth fatally drawn to a flame, she feared that she would perish. Instead, she sat beneath a tree and listened but heard not a sound, for Majnun had fainted. The old man revived him, and then he sang the most beautiful love poem he had ever composed. Then the lovers gazed upon each other with joy and wonder, as they had when they were children. But all too soon, the moment passed; Majnun fled, and Layla went back to her tent.

When Majnun returned to his desolate cave, a young man came to him. Now this youth, whose name was Salam Baghdadi, begged Majnun to teach him his songs and poems. He stayed with Majnun in the desert and learned them all. Then he went to Baghdad and many other villages and cities and sang Majnun's words wherever he went, that all who loved might hear.

Soon after, Ibn Salam was taken ill with a fever as violent as the desert wind, and in a few days, he was dead. At last, Layla could weep without restraint, for all who looked upon her thought that she wept for her young husband, and they pitied her with all their hearts. Yet for Majnun, only did she mourn. Now, in Arabia, it was customary for a widow to seclude herself in her tent for two years, speaking to no one. Layla went dutifully to her tent; she welcomed the solitude and vowed that every moment she would think of Majnun.

This ritual she performed until autumn, when the trees blazed with color, and the wind rose. During her many months of solitude, Layla became so weak that she could no longer rise from her bed. Her weakness turned to fever, and she called her mother and told her what the good woman had known for many years. "Grant me one wish, my mother," Layla said. "When I die, for I am like an autumn leaf on the branches of the tree of life, I will be dressed in bridal robes. Thus shall I wait for my beloved, for surely Majnun will come to my grave. And I would have you comfort him as you would comfort me."

The next day, as the scarlet leaves fluttered to the ground, Layla died, and her mother did as she had promised. When Majnun heard of Layla's death, he went at once to her grave and wept from the depths of his soul. Indeed, he lamented his heart's blood; some say that as he wept, the flowers that grew at Layla's grave turned red. He sang his songs and again likened Layla to the graceful gazelle. For a month, Majnun stayed at Layla's grave, guarded by his animals. As time passed, he grew weaker and weaker. In a voice barely a whisper, he prayed to God to release him from his earthly form and bring him to Layla's side. Soon after, his prayers were answered; his animals guarded his body with fierce growls so that none could touch him. Only when he crumbled into dust did the animals go back to the wilderness. Then Majnun's tribesmen came forth and gathered his bones and buried them by Layla's side. All that day, and for many days after, there was mourning in the camp of the Banu Amir and in the camp of Layla's people.

For many years the story of Layla and Majnun has been told and told again, for never did there live two lovers as true as they.