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دفتر دوم - بخش ۳۲ - تتمهٔ حسد آن حشم بر آن غلام خاص / Book Two - Section 32 - The Conclusion of the Envy of the Emirs Toward the Special Slave

Original content

قصهٔ شاه و امیران و حسد
بر غلام خاص و سلطان خرد

دور ماند از جر جرار کلام
باز باید گشت و کرد آن را تمام

باغبان ملک با اقبال و بخت
چون درختی را نداند از درخت

آن درختی را که تلخ و رد بود
و آن درختی که یکش هفصد بود

کی برابر دارد اندر تربیت
چون ببیندشان به چشم عاقبت

کان درختان را نهایت چیست بر
گرچه یکسانند این دم در نظر

شیخ کو ینظر بنور الله شد
از نهایت وز نخست آگاه شد

چشم آخربین ببست از بهر حق
چشم آخربین گشاد اندر سبق

آن حسودان بد درختان بوده‌اند
تلخ گوهر شوربختان بوده‌اند

از حسد جوشان و کف می‌ریختند
در نهانی مکر می‌انگیختند

تا غلام خاص را گردن زنند
بیخ او را از زمانه بر کنند

چون شود فانی چو جانش شاه بود
بیخ او در عصمت الله بود

شاه از آن اسرار واقف آمده
همچو بوبکر ربابی تن زده

در تماشای دل بدگوهران
می‌زدی خنبک بر آن کوزه‌گران

مکر می‌سازند قومی حیله‌مند
تا که شه را در فقاعی در کنند

پادشاهی بس عظیمی بی کران
در فقاعی کی بگنجد ای خران

از برای شاه دامی دوختند
آخر این تدبیر ازو آموختند

نحس شاگردی که با استاد خویش
همسری آغازد و آید به پیش

با کدام استاد استاد جهان
پیش او یکسان هویدا و نهان

چشم او ینظر بنور الله شده
پرده‌های جهل را خارق بده

از دل سوراخ چون کهنه گلیم
پرده‌ای بندد به پیش آن حکیم

پرده می‌خندد برو با صد دهان
هر دهانی گشته اشکافی بر آن

گوید آن استاد مر شاگرد را
ای کم از سگ نیستت با من وفا

خود مرا استا مگیر آهن‌گسل
همچو خود شاگرد گیر و کوردل

نه از منت یاریست در جان و روان
بی منت آبی نمی‌گردد روان

پس دل من کارگاه بخت تست
چه شکنی این کارگاه ای نادرست

گوییش پنهان زنم آتش‌زنه
نی به قلب از قلب باشد روزنه

آخر از روزن ببیند فکر تو
دل گواهیی دهد زین ذکر تو

گیر در رویت نمالد از کرم
هرچه گویی خندد و گوید نعم

او نمی‌خندد ز ذوق مالشت
او همی‌خندد بر آن اسگالشت

پس خداعی را خداعی شد جزا
کاسه زن کوزه بخور اینک سزا

گر بدی با تو ورا خندهٔ رضا
صد هزاران گل شکفتی مر ترا

چون دل او در رضا آرد عمل
آفتابی دان که آید در حمل

زو بخندد هم نهار و هم بهار
در هم آمیزد شکوفه و سبزه‌زار

صد هزاران بلبل و قمری نوا
افکنند اندر جهان بی‌نوا

چونک برگ روح خود زرد و سیاه
می‌ببینی چون ندانی خشم شاه

آفتاب شاه در برج عتاب
می‌کند روها سیه همچون کتاب

آن عطارد را ورقها جان ماست
آن سپیدی و آن سیه میزان ماست

باز منشوری نویسد سرخ و سبز
تا رهند ارواح از سودا و عجز

سرخ و سبز افتاد نسخ نوبهار
چون خط قوس و قزح در اعتبار

English translation

The story of the king, the emirs, and their envy toward the special slave and the sultan of wisdom was left far behind by the dragging pull of lengthy speech; we must turn back and finish it. How could the fortunate gardener of the kingdom fail to distinguish one tree from another: the tree that is bitter and rejected, and the tree whose one becomes seven hundred? How could he tend them equally when he sees them with the eye of the end, seeing what fruit those trees will finally bear, though for the moment they look alike? The shaykh who became one who sees by the light of God knew the end and the beginning. For God's sake he closed the eye that sees the ultimate end and opened the eye that sees the primordial beginning. Those envious ones were bad trees, bitter in essence and ill-starred. Boiling with envy, they poured out foam and secretly stirred up plots to cut off the special slave's head and tear his root from the world. How could he perish when the king was his soul? His root was in God's protection. The king had become aware of those secrets; like Abu Bakr the rebab-player he kept silent. Watching the hearts of those base-natured ones, he beat the little drum over those potters. A crafty people were devising schemes to put the king into a cup of foaming beer. How could a kingship so great and boundless fit into such a beer-cup, O asses? They stitched a trap for the king; after all, they had learned this stratagem from him. Ill-omened is the pupil who begins rivalry with his own master and steps forward. With what master? The master of the world, before whom manifest and hidden are alike. His eye has become one that sees by the light of God, tearing through the veils of ignorance. From a heart full of holes like an old rug, he hangs a curtain before that sage; the curtain laughs at him with a hundred mouths, each mouth a rent in it. That master says to the pupil: O less than a dog, you have no loyalty to me. Do not take me as master, O iron-breaker; take as pupil one like yourself, blind of heart. Is there not help from me in your soul and spirit? Without my favor no water runs. So my heart is the workshop of your fortune; why break this workshop, O false one? You say, I will secretly strike the fire-steel. No: from heart to heart there is a window. Through that window he sees your thought; the heart bears witness to this thought of yours. Suppose, from generosity, he does not rub it in your face; whatever you say, he laughs and says yes. He does not laugh from delight in humiliating you; he laughs at that scheming of yours. Thus deception became deception's recompense: bowl-striker, eat the jar; here is the fitting return. If his laughter toward you were the laughter of satisfaction, a hundred thousand flowers would bloom for you. When his heart brings an action into satisfaction, know it as the sun entering Aries. Through him both day and spring laugh; blossom and meadow mingle together. A hundred thousand nightingales and doves cast song into the soundless world. When you see the leaf of your own soul yellow and black, how do you not know the king's wrath? The sun of the king in the mansion of rebuke makes faces black like a written page. For that Mercury, the pages are our souls; that whiteness and blackness are our measure. Again he writes a decree in red and green, so spirits may be freed from melancholy and incapacity. Red and green are the script of new spring, like the line of the rainbow in significance.

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Updated 2026-05-16

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