Original content

English translation

One day in the time of spring, Mahmud of Zabul went hunting. He saw an old woman sitting by the road, Her face blackened from the smoke of oppression. On her body, from oppression and cruelty, a shirt, Torn from the collar to the hem. Every moment she would say, "O King, help! What is this oppression and what is this injustice?" A herald went to drive her away, He saw the king and his minister from afar. Mahmud rode his horse towards the old woman, To ask about those circumstances: "What is this commotion, cry, and plea for help? Tell me, from whom has injustice befallen you?" The weak old hag with a darkened soul, Let the water of regret flow from her eyes. She said, "I am a weak and poor old woman, No one should be bothered by my having little or much. I have a son and two young daughters, The father of all three died two years ago. From the sorrow of their bread and clothing, I run along the path of the dervishes. I glean at the time of sowing and reaping, Millet, beans, wheat, and barley. From year to year, that is my bread, Lest you say that I am idle. Why is your cruelty apparent upon me? After all, today has a tomorrow. How much of this oppression and tormenting of subjects, And consuming the wealth and property of orphans? I was a hired laborer in a village for a month, For the sake of one basket of grapes. Yesterday was the end of the month, and I, in joy, Took my wage to go to the caravanserai. Five Turks came before me by chance, One of them called me to himself. He took that basket from my neck, I let out a wail from suffering. Another came and struck me with a stick, So that no commotion would rise from me. I said, 'Who is this and who might this be, Who brought forth smoke from my body?' He said, 'It is the bodyguard of King Mahmud, What is your intention with this lamentation? Do not bring harm upon yourself and your soul, beware, Take your path and do not make a sound.' I became frightened by his speech, And I inquired about your hunting route. I ran swiftly to your path, All peace and patience left me. I have given you a lesson on my condition, Fear the prayer of me, a weak one. If I do not find justice from you, At dawn, I will cry out to Him. The sigh of the oppressed at dawn, certainly, Is worse than an arrow, dart, and javelin. At dawn, the prayer of the oppressed, The bitter groan and sigh of the deprived, Breaks the neck of the fierce lion; Draw back your skirt from oppression, O King! What an old woman does at midnight, A king like you cannot do in a year. If you will not give me justice, You will not be happy in your kingdom for a day. What lawlessness and tyranny is this? And what Pharaonic behavior and despotism is this? If there were justice in your kingdom, The wind would not snatch a straw from me. After all, one must remember the Gathering (Resurrection), The king must enact justice and equity. The sultan's throne has seen many like you, It has heard the justice and injustice of everyone. The span of your life will suddenly pass, They will place the hat on the head of another. He will consume the wealth and you will give account, On that day, how will you answer? On that day, when will anyone's help reach you, Any slave or free man?" Mahmud of Zabul remained bewildered, At that old hag with the dominating tongue. He wept bitterly at her words, He said, "Why must we live like this? That a hired woman cannot bring, Grapes from a vineyard to her home. On the Day of Gathering, ultimately, they will ask me this; Look at how content I am in my ignorance. Whether there is a kingdom or not, what sorrow is this? Upon me, this sorrow from my name is an oppression. If my adversary is this very old woman, What will be my strategy on the Day of Resurrection? If the woman does not become pleased with me, How miserable it will be on the Day of Resurrection!" He said, "Finally look and see who they are, Who cause suffering to the dervishes." He called the old woman forward and said, "Speak, Seek whatever desire you must have." The old woman wept bitterly and said, "O King, Although my hand was cut short from wealth, By God, if you give me a hundred treasures, This suffering will not rise from my soul. A monarch is needed for the sake of justice and equity, Otherwise, everyone is from the back of the children of Adam. Why should it be that when you are the king, A wind should snatch a straw from before me?" The monarch of the world swore an oath, By God, the Prophet, and the Quran. He said, "I will hang all five, And then I will spur my horse from this place." Soon they brought all five, They took their throats toward the rope. He hung each one in a corner, The army poured blood from their eyes. He said to the old woman, "There, are you pleased? This was the share of the highwaymen from you." He bestowed upon her a garden from his own private estate, So that she saw both generosity and justice from him. A successful monarch must be like this, So that state and religion find peace through him. Whoever is like this in state and religion, Is worthy of praise and applause. Since you opened the hand of equity, This world has bound the hat of joy. If you do good, you will find reward, In the eternal world, you will find survival.