1Cademy - بخش ۲۰ - حکایت آن اشتر که به مشورت روباه در آب خسبید و در آخر بار وی گران تر گردید / Section 20 - The Tale of the Camel That, on the Foxs Advice, Lay Down in the Water, and in the End Its Load Became Heavier

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Haft Awrang

Poem

بخش ۲۰ - حکایت آن اشتر که به مشورت روباه در آب خسبید و در آخر بار وی گران تر گردید / Section 20 - The Tale of the Camel That, on the Fox's Advice, Lay Down in the Water, and in the End Its Load Became Heavier

Original content

کمان گردنی از پی و استخوان
کلاغش پی طعمه زاغ کمان

بدل گشته او را ز بار درشت
چو گردن به تقعیر تحدیث پشت

شده پیر و چون شاهد خودپرست
هم آیینه هم شانه او را به دست

نموده ز آیینه اش مرگ روی
ز بس محنت از شانه اش رفته موی

ز بی گوشتی ایمن از گرگ و شیر
چریدی به هر دشت و وادی دلیر

ز بس بوده کوهان او بارسنج
به پشتش ازان آمده کوه رنج

دوچارش فتاد از قضا روبهی
ز حالات حیلتگران آگهی

بدو گفت کای قانع سربلند
ازین باغ کرده به خاری پسند

ز گیتی نوردان چه کهنه چه نو
چو تو کیست کم خوار و بسیار رو

خرد کشتی خشک دریات خواند
کسی چون تو کشتی به خشکی نراند

چرایی چنین لاغر و پشت ریش
چرا آمد این پشت ریشیت پیش

نیازرده موری ز تو ماه و سال
چو مورت که کرد اینچنین پایمال

بگفتا چه گویم به تو حال خویش
خبرهای ادبار و اقبال خویش

گرفتار سنگین دلی گشته ام
که از وی به خون دل آغشته ام

به پشتم نهد از نمکسار بار
کشد زیر بارم به بینی مهار

نسنجیده باری به آنسان ثقیل
که از ثقل آن بشکند پشت پیل

ازان بار هر جا درافتم ز پای
بجنباند از زخم چوبم ز جای

چنین پشت و پهلوی من ریش ازوست
به هر ریش من آمده نیش ازوست

به ناله زبان کرده ام چون جرس
مرا هیچ کس نیست فریادرس

چو روبه شنید این حدیث دراز
پی چاره کاریش شد حیله ساز

بگفتا میان نمکسار و شهر
بود رودی از موج دریاش بهر

چو آنجا رسی زن در آن آب جک
که گردد نمک از گدازش سبک

وز آن پس برون نه ازان رود گام
سبک بار تا شهر خوش می خرام

شتر چون ز روبه شنید این سخن
بدان حیله شد خویش را چاره کن

پیاپی در آن دجله نیک تک
به یک نیمه آورد بار نمک

شتربان چو زان حیله آگاه شد
به چالاکی او را جزا خواه شد

به یکبار ترک نمکسار کرد
بدو جمله پشم و نمد بار کرد

ازان حیله مسکین شتر در حجاب
به دستور خود خفت در رود آب

ز بس آب برداشت پشم و نمد
یکی ده شده آن باز و ده گشت صد

به سختی همی رفت آن راه را
به نفرین همی گفت روباه را

که بادش ز روی زمین نام گم
که بر من روا داشت این اشتلم

من از یک نمک داشتم دل دو نیم
به آبم درافکند پشمین گلیم

گلیم خود از آب گر برکشم
ز شادی بر اوج فلک سرکشم

بیا ساقیا فکر آن باده کن
که دل را بود از حیل ساده کن

به یک جرعه ام ساز ازان شیر گیر
خلاصی ده از مکر روباه پیر

بیا مطربا نقشی از نو ببند
بزن این نوا را به بانگ بلند

که آنست شیر این گذرگاه را
که از سر کشد پوست روباه را

یکی اشتر از ضعف چون عنکبوت
سوی دشت شد تار تن گرد قوت

English translation

A creature bow-necked, made of sinew and bone, its neck curved seeking food like a raven's bow. Transformed for it by the heavy load, its neck bent to a hollow, its back a concavity. Grown old, and like a self-admiring beauty, holding both mirror and comb in hand. Its mirror shows it the face of death, from so much toil the hair has gone from its comb. For its lack of flesh, safe from wolf and lion, it grazed boldly in every plain and valley. Since its hump had so long been a scale for burdens, a mountain of suffering came upon its back. By fate a fox chanced to meet it, one aware of the ways of tricksters. It said to it: O content and proud one, who from this garden are satisfied with a thorn, among the world's travelers, old or new, who is like you, eating little and walking much? Wisdom calls you a ship of the dry sea; no one like you sails a ship over dry land. Why are you so thin and sore of back? Why has this sore-backedness come upon you? You have not troubled even an ant for months and years; who, like an ant, has trampled you like this? It said: what shall I tell you of my state, the tidings of my misfortune and my fortune? I have fallen captive to a hard-hearted one, by whom I am stained with my heart's blood. He lays on my back a load from the salt-flat, and drags me beneath the burden by a nose-rope. An unmeasured load, so heavy that its weight would break an elephant's back. Under that load, wherever I fall from my feet, he moves me from my place with the blow of a stick. My back and side are sore because of him; to each of my sores comes a sting from him. I have made my tongue lament like a bell, yet I have no one to answer my cry. When the fox heard this long tale, it set about, scheming, to devise a remedy. It said: between the salt-flat and the city there is a river that shares in the sea's waves. When you reach there, plunge into that water, so the salt dissolves and grows light. And after that, step out of that river, and stroll lightly and pleasantly to the city. When the camel heard this speech from the fox, it took that trick as its own remedy. Again and again, in that swift Tigris, it brought the load of salt down to half. When the camel-driver became aware of that trick, he swiftly moved to punish it. At once he abandoned the salt-flat, and loaded it entirely with wool and felt. The poor camel, veiled by that trick, by its own custom lay down in the river water. From so much water the wool and felt took up, one became ten, and ten became a hundred. With difficulty it went along that road, cursing the fox as it went: May its name be lost from the face of the earth, who worked this bullying deceit upon me! Over a single salt-load my heart was already torn in two; now it has cast me into the water with a woolen blanket. If I could pull my blanket out of the water, from joy I would raise my head to the summit of heaven. Come, cupbearer, think of that wine that frees the heart of guile. With a single draught make me a lion-seizer; deliver me from the cunning of the old fox. Come, minstrel, compose a new design; play this melody with a loud voice: That the lion of this passage is he who draws the skin from the fox's head. A camel, weak as a spider, went toward the plain, its thread-thin body seeking strength.

Updated 2026-07-19

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Ganjoor

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