## Original content
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شه فرستاد آن طرف یک دو رسول 
حاذقان و کافیان بس عَدول
تا سمرقند آمدند آن دو امیر 
پیش آن زرگر ز شاهنشه بَشیر
«کای لطیف استاد کامل معرفت 
فاش اندر شهرها از تو صفت
نک فلان شه از برای زرگری 
اختیارت کرد زیرا مهتری
اینک این خلعت بگیر و زرّ و سیم 
چون بیایی خاص باشی و ندیم»
مرد مال و خلعت بسیار دید 
غرّه شد از شهر و فرزندان برید.
اندر آمد شادمان در راه مرد 
بی‌خبر کان شاه قصد جانْش کرد
اسپ تازی برنشست و شاد تاخت 
خونبهای خویش را خلعت شناخت.
ای شده اندر سفر با صد رضا 
خود به پای خویش تا سوء القضا
در خیالش مُلک و عِزّ و مهتری 
گفت عزرائیل رو، آری بری
چون رسید از راه آن مرد غریب 
اندر آوردش به پیش شه طبیب
سوی شاهنشاه بردندش بناز 
تا بسوزد بر سر شمع طراز
شاه دید او را بسی تعظیم کرد 
مخزن زر را بدو تسلیم کرد
پس حکیمش گفت کای سلطان مِه 
آن کنیزک را بدین خواجه بدِه
تا کنیزک در وصالش خوش شود 
آب وصلش دفع آن آتش شود
شه بدو بخشید آن مه روی را 
جفت کرد آن هر دو صحبت‌جوی را
مدت شش ماه می‌راندند کام 
تا به صحتْ آمد آن دختر تمام
بعد از آن از بهر او شربت بساخت 
تا بخورد و پیش دختر می‌گداخت
چون ز رنجوری جمال او نماند 
جان دختر در وبال او نماند
چونک زشت و ناخوش و رخ زرد شد 
اندک‌اندک در دل او سرد شد.
عشقهایی کز پی رنگی بود 
عشق نبود عاقبت ننگی بود
کاش کان هم ننگ بودی یکسری 
تا نرفتی بر وی آن بد داوری
خون دوید از چشم همچون جوی او 
دشمن جان وی آمد روی او
دشمن طاووس آمد پرّ او 
ای بسی شه را بکشته فرّ او
گفت: «من آن آهوم کز ناف من 
ریخت این صیاد خون صاف من،
ای من آن روباهِ صحرا، کز کمین 
سر بریدندش برای پوستین،
ای من آن پیلی که زخم پیلبان 
ریخت خونم از برای استخوان،
آنک کشتستم پی مادون من 
می‌نداند که نخسپد خون من
بر منست امروز و فردا بر وی‌است 
خون چون من کسْ، چنین ضایع کی‌است؟
گر چه دیوار افکند سایهٔ دراز 
باز گردد سوی او آن سایه باز؛
این جهان کوهست و فعل ما ندا 
سوی ما آید نداها را صدا»
این بگفت و رفت در دَم زیر خاک 
آن کنیزک شد ز عشق‌و رنج پاک
زانک عشق مردگان پاینده نیست 
زانک مرده سوی ما آینده نیست
عشق زنده در روان و در بصر 
هر دمی باشد ز غنچه تازه‌تر
عشق آن زنده گزین کو باقیست 
کز شراب جان‌فزایت ساقیست
عشق آن بگزین که جمله انبیا 
یافتند از عشق او کار و کیا
تو مگو ما را بدان شه بار نیست 
با کریمان کارها دشوار نیست

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## English translation
The king sent in that direction one or two messengers, skilled, capable, and very upright men. Those two amirs came to Samarkand as bearers of good news from the king of kings to the goldsmith: “O gracious master, perfect in knowledge, your reputation is openly known through the cities. Behold, such-and-such a king has chosen you for goldsmith’s work, because you are superior. Take this robe of honor, gold, and silver; when you come, you will be a favorite and companion.” The man saw much wealth and robes of honor; he was beguiled and tore himself from city and children. Gladly he entered upon the road, unaware that the king intended his life. He mounted an Arabian horse and joyfully rode off, mistaking the robe of honor for his own blood-price. O you who set out on the journey with a hundred satisfactions, walking by your own feet toward evil fate! In his imagination were kingdom, glory, and eminence; Azrael was saying, “Go, yes, you are going.” When that stranger arrived from the road, the physician brought him before the king. They led him graciously toward the king of kings, so that he might burn before the candle of Taraz. The king saw him and honored him greatly, entrusting the treasury of gold to him. Then his sage said, “O great Sultan, give that handmaiden to this master, so the handmaiden may be happy in union with him, and the water of union may quench that fire.” The king bestowed that moon-faced one on him and paired those two seekers of companionship. For six months they fulfilled their desire, until the girl was fully restored to health. After that, the physician made a potion for him, so that he drank it and wasted away before the girl. When, through sickness, his beauty was gone, the girl’s soul was no longer in bondage to him. When he became ugly, unpleasant, and yellow-faced, little by little he grew cold in her heart. Loves that follow outward color are not love; in the end they are disgrace. Would that even that disgrace had been entire, so that that evil judgment had not fallen on him! Blood ran from his eyes like a stream; his face became the enemy of his life. The peacock’s feathers became its enemy; how many a king has been slain by his own splendor! He said: “I am that deer from whose navel this hunter shed my pure blood. I am that desert fox whose head they cut off from ambush for the sake of its fur. I am that elephant whose mahout’s blow shed my blood for the sake of ivory. The one who killed me for what is lower than me does not know that my blood will not sleep. Today it is on me, and tomorrow it is on him; when is the blood of someone like me ever wasted so? Though a wall casts a long shadow, that shadow returns back to it. This world is a mountain, and our action is a shout; the echo of shouts comes back to us.” He said this and at once went beneath the earth; the handmaiden was purified of love and suffering. For love of the dead is not lasting, since the dead do not come toward us. Love of the Living One, in spirit and in sight, is fresher at every moment than a bud. Choose love of that Living One who is everlasting, who is cupbearer to you from soul-increasing wine. Choose the love of the One from whose love all the prophets found power and glory. Do not say, “We have no access to that King”; with the generous, affairs are not difficult.

دفتر اول - بخش ۹ - فرستادن پادشاه رسولان به سمرقند به آوردن زرگر / Book 1 - Section 9 - The King Sending Messengers to Samarkand to Fetch the Goldsmith

## Original content
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بعد از آن برخاست و عزم شاه کرد 
شاه را زان شمّه‌ای آگاه کرد
گفت تدبیر آن بوَد کان مرد را 
حاضر آریم از پی این درد را
مرد زرگر را بخوان زان شهر دور 
با زر و خلعت بده او را غرور

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## English translation
After that, he rose and turned toward the king,
And made the king aware of a mere hint of that matter.

He said, “The remedy is this: that we bring that man
Into our presence for the sake of this pain.

Summon the goldsmith from that distant city;
With gold and a robe of honor, lure him into false confidence.”

Google

## Original content
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قصهٔ رنجور و رنجوری بخواند 
بعدازآن در پیش رنجورش نشاند
رنگ روی و نبض و قاروره بدید 
هم علاماتش هم اسبابش شنید
گفت هر دارو که ایشان کرده‌اند 
آن عمارت نیست ویران کرده‌اند
بی‌خبر بودند از حال درون 
استعیذ الله مما یفترون
دید رنج و کشف شد بَر وِی نهفت 
لیک پنهان کرد و با سلطان نگفت
رنجش از صفرا و از سودا نبود 
بوی هر هیزم پدید آید ز دود
دید از زاریش کو زار دل است 
تن خوش است و او گرفتار دل است
عاشقی پیداست از زاری دل 
نیست بیماری چو بیماری دل
علت عاشق ز علت‌ها جداست 
عشق اصطرلاب اسرار خداست
عاشقی گر زین سر و گر زان سرست 
عاقبت ما را بدان سر رهبرست
هرچه گویم عشق را شرح و بیان 
چون به عشق آیم خجل باشم از آن
گرچه تفسیر زبان روشنگرست 
لیک عشق بی‌زبان روشنترست
چون قلم اندر نوشتن می‌شتافت 
چون به عشق آمد قلم بر خود شکافت
عقل در شرحش چو خر در گل بخفت 
شرح عشق و عاشقی هم عشق گفت
آفتاب آمد دلیل آفتاب 
گر دلیلت باید از وی رو متاب
از وی ار سایه نشانی می‌دهد 
شمس هر دم نور جانی می‌دهد
سایه، خواب آرد تو را همچون سمر 
چون برآید شمس انشق القمر
خود غریبی در جهان چون شمس نیست 
شمس جان باقیست کاو را امس نیست
شمس در خارج اگر چه هست فرد 
می‌توان هم مثل او تصویر کرد
شمس جان کو خارج آمد از اثیر 
نبودش در ذهن و در خارج نظیر
در تصور ذات او را گُنج کو 
تا درآید در تصور مثل او
چون حدیث روی شمس‌الدین رسید 
شمس چارم‌آسمان سر در کشید
واجب آید چونکه آمد نام او 
شرح کردن رمزی از انعام او
این نفس جان دامنم برتافتست 
بوی پیراهان یوسف یافتست
کز برای حقِ صحبت سال‌ها 
بازگو حالی از آن خوش حال‌ها
تا زمین و آسمان خندان شود 
عقل و روح و دیده صدچندان شود
لاتکلفنی فانی فی الفنا 
کلت افهامی فلا احصی ثنا
کل شیء قاله غیرالمفیق 
ان تکلف او تصلف لا یلیق
من چه گویم یک رگم هشیار نیست 
شرح آن یاری که او را یار نیست
شرح این هجران و این خون جگر 
این زمان بگذار تا وقت دگر
قال اطعمنی فانی جائع 
واعتجل فالوقت سیف قاطع
صوفی ابن‌الوقت باشد ای رفیق 
نیست فردا گفتن از شرط طریق
تو مگر خود مرد صوفی نیستی 
هست را از نسیه خیزد نیستی
گفتمش پوشیده خوش‌تر سِرِّ یار 
خود تو در ضمن حکایت گوش‌ دار
خوش‌تر آن باشد که سر دلبران 
گفته آید در حدیث دیگران
گفت مکشوف و برهنه بی‌غلول 
بازگو، دفعم مِدِه ای بوالفضول
پرده بردار و برهنه گو که من 
می‌نخسپم با صنم با پیرهن
گفتم ار عریان شود او در عیان 
نه تو مانی نه کنارت نه میان
آرزو می‌خواه، لیک اندازه خواه 
برنتابد کوه را یک برگ کاه
آفتابی کز وی این عالم فروخت 
اندکی گر پیش آید جمله سوخت
فتنه و آشوب و خون‌ریزی مجوی 
بیش ازین از شمس تبریزی مگوی
این ندارد آخر، از آغاز گوی 
رو تمام این حکایت بازگوی

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## English translation
The king related the account of the sick one and her illness, then seated the physician before the patient. He looked at the color of her face, her pulse, and the urine flask, and heard both her symptoms and their causes. He said, “Every remedy they have used has not restored the building but destroyed it. They were unaware of the inward state; I seek refuge in God from what they fabricate.” He saw the suffering, and what was hidden was disclosed to him, but he concealed it and did not tell the sultan. Her suffering was not from yellow bile or black bile; the smell of every wood is known from its smoke. From her lament he saw that she was sick at heart: the body was well, but she was caught by the heart. Love is manifest from the heart’s lament; there is no sickness like sickness of the heart. The lover’s malady is apart from other maladies; love is the astrolabe of God’s mysteries. Whether love is from this side or from that side, in the end it leads us to that side. Whatever I say in explanation and description of love, when I come to love I am ashamed of it. Although the tongue’s commentary illuminates, tongueless love is clearer. When the pen hurried in writing, when it came to love the pen split itself. Reason, in explaining it, lay like a donkey in mud; love itself spoke the explanation of love and loving. The sun is the proof of the sun; if you need proof, do not turn your face from it. If shadow gives a sign of it, the sun gives soul-light at every moment. Shadow brings you sleep like evening tales; when the sun rises, the moon is split. There is nothing more strange in the world than the sun; the sun of the soul is everlasting, for it has no yesterday. Although the outward sun is single, one can still picture its likeness. The sun of the soul, which is beyond the ether, has no likeness in mind or outside. Where is there room in imagination for his essence, so that his like might enter imagination? When the discourse reached the face of Shams al-Din, the sun of the fourth heaven drew in its head. Since his name has come, it is necessary to explain a hint of his bounties. At this breath my soul has seized the hem of my robe; it has found the scent of Joseph’s shirt, saying: “For the sake of the right of years of companionship, tell again something of those happy states, so that earth and heaven may laugh and reason, spirit, and sight may become a hundredfold.” “Do not impose this on me, for I am annihilated in annihilation; my understandings are exhausted, so I cannot count the praise. Whatever one not fully sober says, whether from affectation or boastfulness, is unfitting.” What shall I say? Not one vein of mine is sober enough to describe that Friend who has no peer. Leave the explanation of this separation and this bloody grief for another time. He said, “Feed me, for I am hungry; hurry, for time is a cutting sword.” The Sufi is the son of the moment, friend; saying “tomorrow” is not among the conditions of the Path. Are you perhaps not a Sufi man yourself? From treating the present as deferred credit, nonbeing arises. I said to him, “The Friend’s secret is better veiled; listen for it yourself within the story. It is better that the secret of beloveds be told in the discourse of others.” He said, “Tell it revealed and naked, without concealment; do not put me off, you meddlesome one. Lift the veil and speak nakedly, for I do not sleep with the idol while wearing a shirt.” I said, “If he becomes naked in open sight, neither you, nor your embrace, nor your middle will remain. Desire, but desire in measure; a straw cannot bear a mountain. A sun by which this world was lit, if it came a little nearer, would burn everything. Do not seek sedition, turmoil, and bloodshed; say no more than this of Shams of Tabriz.” “This has no end; speak from the beginning. Go, retell this whole story.”

دفتر اول - بخش ۶ - بردن پادشاه آن طبیب را بر بیمار تا حال او را ببیند / Book 1 - Section 6 - The king taking that physician to the sick person so he may see her condition

## Original content
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گفت ای شه خلوتی کن خانه را 
دور کن هم خویش و هم بیگانه را
کس ندارد گوش در دهلیزها 
تا بپرسم زین کنیزک چیزها
خانه خالی مانْد و یک دَیّار نَه 
جز طبیب و جز همان بیمار نه
نرم‌نرمک گفت شهر تو کجاست؟ 
که علاج اهل هر شهری جداست
واندر آن شهر از قرابت کیستت؟ 
خویشی و پیوستگی با چیستت؟
دست بر نبضش نهاد و یک‌به‌یک 
باز می‌پرسید از جور فلک
چون کسی را خار در پایش جهد 
پای خود را بر سر زانو نهد
وز سر سوزن همی جوید سرش 
ور نیابد، می‌کند با لب ترش
خار در پا شد چنین دشواریاب 
خار در دل چون بود؟ وادِه جواب
خار در دل گر بدیدی هر خسی 
دستْ کِی بودی غمان را بر کسی؟
کس به زیر دمِّ خر خاری نهد 
خر نداند دفع آن، برمی‌جهد
برجهد، وان خار محکم‌تر زند 
عاقلی باید که خاری برکند
خر ز بهر دفع خار از سوز و درد 
جفته می‌انداخت، صد جا زخم کرد
آن حکیمِ خارچینْ استاد بود 
دست می‌زد جابجا می‌آزمود
زان کنیزک بر طریق داستان 
باز می‌پرسید حال دوستان
با حکیمْ او قصه‌ها می‌گفت فاش 
از مُقام و خواجگان و شهر و باش
سوی قصه گفتنش می‌داشت گوش 
سوی نبض و جَستنش می‌داشت هوش
تا که نبض از نام کی گردد جَهان 
او بود مقصود جانش در جهان
دوستان و شهر او را برشمرد 
بعدازآن شهری دگر را نام برد
گفت چون بیرون شدی از شهر خویش 
در کدامین شهر بودستی تو بیش؟
نام شهری گفت و زان هم درگذشت 
رنگ روی و نبض او دیگر نگشت
خواجگان و شهرها را یَک‌به‌یَک 
باز گفت از جای و از نان و نمک
شهر شهر و خانه خانه قصه کرد 
نه رگش جنبید و نه رخ گشت زرد
نبض او بر حال خود بُد بی‌گزند 
تا بپرسید از سمرقند چو قند
نبضْ جست و رویْ سرخ و زرد شد 
کز سمرقندیِّ زرگر فرد شد
چون ز رنجور آن حکیم این راز یافت 
اصل آن درد و بلا را باز یافت
گفت کوی او کدام است در گُذَر 
او سرِ پل گفت و کوی غاتِفَر
گفت دانستم که رنجت چیست، زود 
در خلاصت سِحرها خواهم نمود
شاد باش و فارغ و آمن که من 
آن کنم با تو که باران با چمن
من غم تو می‌خَورم، تو غم مخَور 
بر تو من مشفق‌ترم از صد پدر
هان و هان این راز را با کس مگو 
گرچه از تو شه کند بس جست‌وجو
خانهٔ اسرار تو چون دل شود 
آن مرادت زودتر حاصل شود
گفت پیغامبر که هر که سِرّ نهفت 
زود گردد با مراد خویش جفت
دانه چون اندر زمین پنهان شود 
سِرِّ او سرسبزی بستان شود
زَرّ و نقره گر نبودندی نهان 
پرورش کی یافتندی زیر کان
وعده‌ها و لطف‌های آن حکیم 
کرد آن رنجور را آمن ز بیم
وعده‌ها باشد حقیقی دل‌پذیر 
وعده‌ها باشد مجازی تاسه‌گیر
وعدهٔ اهل کرم گنج روان 
وعدهٔ نااهل شد رنج روان

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## English translation
He said: O King, make the house private; send away both intimate and stranger. Let no one have an ear in the corridors, so that I may ask this slave girl some things. The house remained empty, not a single person there, except the physician and that same patient. Softly, softly he said: Where is your city? For the treatment of the people of every city is different. And in that city, who is kin to you? With whom do you have attachment and connection? He placed his hand on her pulse and, one by one, kept asking about the oppression of fate. When a thorn sticks in someone's foot, he puts his foot on his knee and searches for its tip with the point of a needle; if he cannot find it, he moistens it with his lips. A thorn in the foot is so hard to find; what, then, is a thorn in the heart? Give an answer. If every base person could see the thorn in the heart, how would grief ever have power over anyone? Someone puts a thorn under a donkey's tail; the donkey does not know how to remove it and jumps. It jumps, and the thorn drives in more firmly; a wise person is needed to pull out a thorn. The donkey, from burning pain, kept kicking to remove the thorn and wounded itself in a hundred places. That wise thorn-picker was skilled; he touched here and there, testing. From the slave girl, by way of story, he kept asking about the condition of her friends. She told the physician stories openly, about her dwelling, masters, city, and residence. He kept his ear on her storytelling and his attention on her pulse and its leaping, so that whoever's name made the pulse leap would be the object of her soul in the world. He counted off her friends and her city, then named another city. He said: When you left your own city, in which city did you spend the most time? She named a city, and he passed on from that too; her complexion and pulse did not change. One by one he recited masters and cities, with places and hospitality. City by city and house by house he told the story; neither did her vein move nor did her face turn yellow. Her pulse remained in its own state, unharmed, until he asked about Samarqand, sweet as sugar. Her pulse leapt, and her face flushed and paled, because she was separated from a Samarqandi goldsmith, unique. When that physician found this secret from the sick one, he found again the root of that pain and affliction. He said: Which lane is his in the quarter? She said: At the head of the bridge, in the Ghatifar lane. He said: I know what your illness is; soon I will work marvels for your deliverance. Be happy, free from care, and secure, for I will do for you what rain does for the meadow. I will bear your grief; do not grieve. I am more compassionate to you than a hundred fathers. Take care, take care: tell this secret to no one, even if the king questions you much. When the house of your secrets becomes like the heart, your desire will be achieved sooner. The Prophet said: Whoever hides a secret soon becomes joined with his desire. When a seed is hidden in the earth, its secret becomes the greenness of the garden. If gold and silver were not hidden, how would they be nurtured under the mine? The promises and kindnesses of that physician made the sick one safe from fear. Some promises are true and pleasing to the heart; some promises are figurative and bring anguish. The promise of the generous is a flowing treasure; the promise of the unworthy becomes a flowing torment.

دفتر اول - بخش ۷ - خلوت طلبیدن آن ولی از پادشاه جهت دریافتن رنج کنیزک / Book One - Section 7 - That Saint Seeking Privacy from the King to Discover the Slave Girl's Illness

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In Jalaluddin Rumi's *Masnavi*, the divine physician employs a meticulous, psychosomatic diagnostic method to uncover the exact cause of the handmaiden's hidden lovesickness. Recognizing that her ailment is not a physical disease, he clears the room to ensure privacy and continuously monitors her pulse while guiding her to recount her past. Rumi illustrates the difficulty of identifying such hidden emotional afflictions through the metaphor of a 'thorn in the heart.' Just as locating a tiny physical thorn in the foot requires careful probing with a needle, discovering the invisible thorn of spiritual or emotional affliction demands the delicate, patient expertise of a spiritual master. By observing the handmaiden's physiological reactions—specifically her leaping pulse and changing complexion at the mention of the city of Samarkand—the physician successfully pinpoints the hidden object of her desire.

The Psychosomatic Diagnosis and the 'Thorn in the Heart' Metaphor

دفتر اول - بخش ۸ - دریافتن آن ولی رنج را و عرض کردن رنج او را پیش پادشاه / Book 1 - Section 8 - That Saint Discovering the Pain and Presenting It Before the King

## Original content
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این طبیبان بدن دانش‌ورند 
بر سقام تو ز تو واقف‌ترند
تا ز قاروره همی‌بینند حال 
که ندانی تو از آن رو اعتلال
هم ز نبض و هم ز رنگ و هم ز دم 
بو برند از تو بهر گونه سقم
پس طبیبان الهی در جهان 
چون ندانند از تو بی‌گفت دهان
هم ز نبضت هم ز چشمت هم ز رنگ 
صد سقم بینند در تو بی‌درنگ
این طبیبان نوآموزند خود 
که بدین آیاتشان حاجت بود
کاملان از دور نامت بشنوند 
تا به قعر باد و بودت در دوند
بلک پیش از زادن تو سالها 
دیده باشندت ترا با حالها

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## English translation
These physicians of the body are learned—
More aware of your ailment than you yourself are.
From the urine flask they discern your condition,
An infirmity of which you yourself are unaware.
From pulse, from color, and from breath,
They scent from you every kind of sickness.
Then how should the Divine Physicians in the world
Not know you without a word from your mouth?
From your pulse, from your eyes, from your color,
They see a hundred ailments in you without delay.
These physicians are novices themselves,
Who have need of such signs.
The perfect ones, from afar, hearing your name,
Plunge to the very depth of your wind and being.
Nay, years before your birth,
They will have seen you, along with all your states.

دفتر چهارم - بخش ۶۷ - دریافتن طبیبان الهی امراض دین و دل را در سیمای مرید و بیگانه و لحن گفتار او و رنگ چشم او و بی این همه نیز از راه دل کی انهم جواسیس القلوب فجالسوهم بالصدق / Book Four - Section 67 - The divine physicians perceiving the ailments of religion and the heart in the countenance of the disciple and the stranger, and his tone of speech, and the color of his eyes, and without all these, also by way of the heart, for 'verily they are the spies of hearts, so sit with them in truth'

In the *Masnavi*, Rumi draws a sharp contrast between the diagnostic methods and capabilities of physical physicians (طبیبان بدن) and spiritual or divine physicians (طبیبان الهی). While physical doctors rely on observable bodily signs like pulse, complexion, and urine to treat somatic diseases, they remain blind to internal emotional and spiritual afflictions. In contrast, the divine physician diagnoses through spiritual insight (کشف), recognizing that ailments of the soul—such as lovesickness—cannot be cured with worldly drugs. This distinction highlights Rumi's broader philosophical theme that spiritual illnesses require the guidance of a spiritual master who perceives the unseen state of the heart.

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