In Jalaluddin Rumi's *Masnavi*, following the old harpist's absolute surrender and slumber in the graveyard, the narrative shifts to Caliph Umar. A divine voice instructs Umar to take seven hundred dinars from the public treasury and deliver it to God's 'special and honored' servant in the graveyard as 'silk-money' (a divine reward for his music). When Umar locates the sleeping musician, the old man awakens in terror, assuming the Caliph—acting as the worldly moral overseer—has come to punish him for playing his instrument. However, Umar quickly reassures him, delivering glad tidings of God's immense pleasure and detailing how the Divine praised the harpist's disposition. This segment highlights a profound thematic reversal: the highest worldly religious authority is dispatched as a humble servant to a destitute, socially marginalized musician. Rumi uses this encounter to demonstrate that true spiritual rank is invisible to worldly judgment and is bestowed entirely by divine grace.

Umar's Divine Mission to the Old Harpist in the Masnavi

In Jalaluddin Rumi's *Masnavi*, the story of the old harpist (Pir-i Changi) serves as a profound metaphor for the transient nature of worldly talents and the enduring grace of the Divine. As the harpist ages, his once-captivating voice becomes grating, and he is rejected by his former patrons. Stripped of his worldly status and destitute, he turns his face to God, retreating to a graveyard to play his harp purely for the Divine. Rumi uses the harpist's physical decay to illustrate that when human faculties fail and societal approval fades, the soul is forced into sincere reliance on God. The narrative emphasizes that the Divine accepts the broken and marginalized without demanding worldly perfection, valuing the sincerity of the heart over the quality of the performance.

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مطربی کز وی جهان شد پر طرب 
رسته ز آوازش خیالات عجب
از نوایش مرغ دل پران شدی 
وز صدایش هوش جان حیران شدی
چون برآمد روزگار و پیر شد 
باز جانش از عجز پشه‌گیر شد
پشت او خم گشت همچون پشت خم 
ابروان بر چشم همچون پالدم
گشت آواز لطیف جان‌فزاش 
زشت و نزد کس نیرزیدی بلاش
آن نوای رشک زهره آمده 
همچو آواز خر پیری شده
خود کدامین خوش که او ناخوش نشد 
یا کدامین سقف کان مفرش نشد
غیر آواز عزیزان در صدور 
که بود از عکس دمشان نفخ صور
اندرونی کاندرونها مست ازوست 
نیستی کین هستهامان هست ازوست
کهربای فکر و هر آواز او 
لذت الهام و وحی و راز او
چونک مطرب پیرتر گشت و ضعیف 
شد ز بی کسبی رهین یک رغیف
گفت عمر و مهلتم دادی بسی 
لطفها کردی خدایا با خسی
معصیت ورزیده‌ام هفتاد سال 
باز نگرفتی ز من روزی نوال
نیست کسب امروز مهمان توم 
چنگ بهر تو زنم کان توم
چنگ را برداشت و شد الله‌جو 
سوی گورستان یثرب آه‌گو
گفت خواهم از حق ابریشم‌بها 
کو به نیکویی پذیرد قلبها
چونک زد بسیار و گریان سر نهاد 
چنگ بالین کرد و بر گوری فتاد
خواب بردش مرغ جانش از حبس رست 
چنگ و چنگی را رها کرد و بجست
گشت آزاد از تن و رنج جهان 
در جهان ساده و صحرای جان
جان او آنجا سرایان ماجرا 
کاندرین جا گر بماندندی مرا
خوش بدی جانم درین باغ و بهار 
مست این صحرا و غیبی لاله‌زار
بی پر و بی پا سفر می‌کردمی 
بی لب و دندان شکر می‌خوردمی
ذکر و فکری فارغ از رنج دماغ 
کردمی با ساکنان چرخ لاغ
چشم بسته عالمی می‌دیدمی 
ورد و ریحان بی کفی می‌چیدمی
مرغ آبی غرق دریای عسل 
عین ایوبی شراب و مغتسل
که بدو ایوب از پا تا به فرق 
پاک شد از رنجها چون نور شرق
مثنوی در حجم گر بودی چو چرخ 
در نگنجیدی درو زین نیم برخ
کان زمین و آسمان بس فراخ 
کرد از تنگی دلم را شاخ شاخ
وین جهانی کاندرین خوابم نمود 
از گشایش پر و بالم را گشود
این جهان و راهش ار پیدا بدی 
کم کسی یک لحظه‌ای آنجا بدی
امر می‌آمد که نه طامع مشو 
چون ز پایت خار بیرون شد برو
مول مولی می‌زد آنجا جان او 
در فضای رحمت و احسان او

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## English translation
A musician by whom the world became full of joy, and from whose song wondrous imaginings were set free; from his melody the bird of the heart would fly, and from his sound the soul's consciousness would be amazed. When time passed and he became old, through weakness the falcon of his soul became a gnat-catcher. His back bent like the back of a jar, and his eyebrows over his eyes like a pack-saddle. His delicate, life-giving voice became ugly and was not worth even free hearing to anyone. That melody which had become the envy of Venus became like the voice of an old donkey. What pleasant thing is there that has not become unpleasant, or what roof that has not become a floor? Except the voice of the beloved ones in hearts, which, from the reflection of their breath, is the blast of the Resurrection Trumpet. An inward one from whom inward beings are intoxicated; a nonbeing from whom these beings of ours have being. The magnet of thought is every voice of his; the delight of inspiration and revelation is his secret. When the musician grew older and weaker, through lack of livelihood he became hostage to a single loaf. He said: You gave me long life and respite; You showed kindnesses, O God, to a vile one. I have sinned for seventy years; yet You never withheld a day's morsel from me. Today I have no earning; I am Your guest. I will play the harp for You, for I am Yours. He took up the harp and went seeking God, sighing toward the graveyard of Yathrib. He said: I will ask the Real for the price of silk strings, for He graciously accepts counterfeit coins. When he had played much and laid down his weeping head, he made the harp his pillow and fell upon a grave. Sleep took him; the bird of his soul escaped from prison, left the harp and harpist behind, and leapt away. He became free from the body and the world's pain, in the simple world and the plain of the soul. There his soul was singing this tale: If they had left me here, my soul would have been happy in this garden and spring, drunk with this plain and unseen tulip-field. Without wings and without feet I would travel; without lips and teeth I would eat sugar. Free of the brain's toil, I would practice remembrance and contemplation and sport with the dwellers of the sphere. With closed eyes I would see a world; without a hand I would gather roses and basil. A water-bird drowned in a sea of honey; the very spring of Job, both drink and bathing-place, by which Job was cleansed from foot to crown of afflictions like eastern light. If the Masnavi in volume were like the heavens, even half of this portion would not fit in it; for that earth and sky, though very spacious, split my heart apart through their narrowness. And this world that appeared to me in sleep opened my wings and pinions by its spaciousness. If this world and its path were manifest, few people would remain there for even a moment. The command kept coming: No, do not be greedy; when the thorn has been pulled from your foot, go. There his soul kept crying Mawla, Mawla, in the expanse of His mercy and beneficence.

دفتر اول - بخش ۱۰۳ - بقیهٔ قصهٔ پیر چنگی و بیان مخلص آن / Book One - Section 103 - The Rest of the Tale of the Old Harpist and the Explanation of His Deliverance

Root URL: https://ganjoor.net/
Source URL: https://ganjoor.net/

This Reference node represents the source used by the Literature-to-1Cademy migration agent.

Ganjoor

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باز گرد و حال مطرب گوش‌دار 
زانک عاجز گشت مطرب ز انتظار
بانگ آمد مر عمر را کای عمر 
بندهٔ ما را ز حاجت باز خر
بنده‌ای داریم خاص و محترم 
سوی گورستان تو رنجه کن قدم
ای عمر بر جه ز بیت المال عام 
هفتصد دینار در کف نه تمام
پیش او بر کای تو ما را اختیار 
این قدر بستان کنون معذور دار
این قدر از بهر ابریشم‌بها 
خرج کن چون خرج شد اینجا بیا
پس عمر زان هیبت آواز جست 
تا میان را بهر این خدمت ببست
سوی گورستان عمر بنهاد رو 
در بغل همیان دوان در جست و جو
گرد گورستان دوانه شد بسی 
غیر آن پیر او ندید آنجا کسی
گفت این نبود دگر باره دوید 
مانده گشت و غیر آن پیر او ندید
گفت حق فرمود ما را بنده‌ایست 
صافی و شایسته و فرخنده‌ایست
پیر چنگی کی بود خاص خدا 
حبذا ای سر پنهان حبذا
بار دیگر گرد گورستان بگشت 
همچو آن شیر شکاری گرد دشت
چون یقین گشتش که غیر پیر نیست 
گفت در ظلمت دل روشن بسیست
آمد او با صد ادب آنجا نشست 
بر عمر عطسه فتاد و پیر جست
مر عمر را دید ماند اندر شگفت 
عزم رفتن کرد و لرزیدن گرفت
گفت در باطن خدایا از تو داد 
محتسب بر پیرکی چنگی فتاد
چون نظر اندر رخ آن پیر کرد 
دید او را شرمسار و روی‌زرد
پس عمر گفتش مترس از من مرم 
کت بشارتها ز حق آورده‌ام
چند یزدان مدحت خوی تو کرد 
تا عمر را عاشق روی تو کرد
پیش من بنشین و مهجوری مساز 
تا بگوشت گویم از اقبال راز
حق سلامت می‌کند می‌پرسدت 
چونی از رنج و غمان بی‌حدت
نک قراضهٔ چند ابریشم‌بها 
خرج کن این را و باز اینجا بیا
پیر لرزان گشت چون این را شنید 
دست می‌خایید و بر خود می‌طپید
بانگ می‌زد کای خدای بی‌نظیر 
بس که از شرم آب شد بیچاره پیر
چون بسی بگریست و از حد رفت درد 
چنگ را زد بر زمین و خرد کرد
گفت ای بوده حجابم از اله 
ای مرا تو راه‌زن از شاه‌راه
ای بخورده خون من هفتاد سال 
ای ز تو رویم سیه پیش کمال
ای خدای با عطای با وفا 
رحم کن بر عمر رفته در جفا
داد حق عمری که هر روزی از آن 
کس نداند قیمت آن در جهان
خرج کردم عمر خود را دم بدم 
در دمیدم جمله را در زیر و بم
آه کز یاد ره و پردهٔ عراق 
رفت از یادم دم تلخ فراق
وای کز تری زیر افکند خرد 
خشک شد کشت دل من دل بمرد
وای کز آواز این بیست و چهار 
کاروان بگذشت و بیگه شد نهار
ای خدا فریاد زین فریادخواه 
داد خواهم نه ز کس زین دادخواه
داد خود از کس نیابم جز مگر 
زانک او از من بمن نزدیکتر
کین منی از وی رسد دم دم مرا 
پس ورا بینم چو این شد کم مرا
همچو آن کو با تو باشد زرشمر 
سوی او داری نه سوی خود نظر

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## English translation
Book One - Section 107 - The remainder of the story of the minstrel, and Amir al-Mu'minin Umar, may God be pleased with him, bringing him the message that the heavenly caller cried out. Return and listen to the minstrel's state, for the minstrel had grown helpless from waiting. A call came to Umar: O Umar, ransom Our servant from need. We have a servant, special and honored; trouble your steps toward the graveyard. O Umar, rise and take from the public treasury; place a full seven hundred dinars in your hand. Go to him and say: O you who are Our chosen one, take this amount now and hold Us excused. Spend this much as silk-money; when it is spent, come here again. Then Umar sprang up in awe of the voice and girded his waist for this service. Umar set off toward the graveyard, running with the purse under his arm and searching. He ran around the graveyard many times; he saw no one there except that old man. He said, This is not he, and ran again; he grew weary and still saw no one except that old man. He said, God told us, We have a servant who is pure, worthy, and blessed. How could an old harp-player be God's special one? Blessings, hidden secret, blessings. Once more he circled the graveyard like a hunting lion around a plain. When he became certain that there was no one but the old man, he said, In darkness there are many bright hearts. He came and sat there with great courtesy; Umar sneezed and the old man started up. He saw Umar and stood astonished; he meant to leave and began to tremble. Inwardly he said, O God, justice from You: the moral overseer has caught a poor old harp-player. When Umar looked at the old man's face, he saw him ashamed and pale. Then Umar said, Do not fear me; do not flee, for I have brought you glad tidings from God. God praised your disposition so much that He made Umar a lover of your face. Sit before me and do not keep away, so that I may tell into your ear the secret of good fortune. God sends you peace and asks after you: how are you from your boundless pain and grief? Here are a few pieces as silk-money; spend this and come back here again. The old man trembled when he heard this; he bit his hand and struck himself. He cried, O incomparable God; the poor old man melted away from shame. When he had wept greatly and the pain passed all bounds, he struck the harp on the ground and smashed it. He said, O you who have been my veil from God, O you who have waylaid me from the King's highway, O you who have drunk my blood for seventy years, O you through whom my face is black before Perfection, O God, generous in giving and faithful, have mercy on a lifetime spent in estrangement. God gave a lifetime, each day of which no one in the world knows the value. I spent my life breath by breath; I breathed it all into treble and bass. Alas, through remembering the melody and the Iraq mode, the bitter breath of separation slipped from my memory. Alas, through the fresh sweetness of the treble, reason was cast down; the field of my heart dried up and my heart died. Alas, through the sound of these twenty-four modes, the caravan passed and the day grew late. O God, help against this seeker of help; I seek justice, not from anyone else, against this seeker of justice. I cannot obtain justice against myself from anyone except Him, for He is nearer to me than I am to myself. Since this I-ness comes to me from Him at every breath, I shall see Him when this I-ness becomes diminished in me. Like one who is with you counting gold: you keep your gaze on him, not on yourself.

دفتر اول - بخش ۱۰۷ - بقیهٔ قصهٔ مطرب و پیغام رسانیدن امیرالمؤمنین عمر رضی الله عنه باو آنچ هاتف آواز داد / Book One - Section 107 - The remainder of the story of the minstrel, and Amir al-Mu'minin Umar, may God be pleased with him, bringing him the message that the heavenly caller cried out

The Spiritual Symbolism of the Old Harpist in the Masnavi

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آن زمان حق بر عمر خوابی گماشت 
تا که خویش از خواب نتوانست داشت
در عجب افتاد کین معهود نیست 
این ز غیب افتاد بی مقصود نیست
سر نهاد و خواب بردش خواب دید 
کامدش از حق ندا جانش شنید
آن ندایی کاصل هر بانگ و نواست 
خود ندا آنست و این باقی صداست
ترک و کرد و پارسی‌گو و عرب 
فهم کرده آن ندا بی‌گوش و لب
خود چه جای ترک و تاجیکست و زنگ 
فهم کردست آن ندا را چوب و سنگ
هر دمی از وی همی‌آید الست 
جوهر و اعراض می‌گردند هست
گر نمی‌آید بلی زیشان ولی 
آمدنشان از عدم باشد بلی
زانچ گفتم من ز فهم سنگ و چوب 
در بیانش قصه‌ای هش‌دار خوب

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## English translation
At that moment God sent a sleep upon 'Umar
So that he could not keep himself from sleep.

He fell into wonder, saying: "This is not customary;
This has come from the unseen — it is not without purpose."

He laid his head down and sleep took him; he had a dream
In which a call came to him from the Truth — his soul heard it.

That call which is the origin of every cry and melody —
The call itself is that, and all the rest is mere echo.

Turk and Kurd and Persian-speaker and Arab
Have understood that call without ear or lip.

Indeed, what place for Turk and Tajik and Zanj —
Wood and stone have understood that call.

Every moment from Him comes "Alastu" ("Am I not your Lord?"),
And substance and accident come into being.

Though "Yes" (balā) does not come from them,
Their very coming from non-existence is their "Yes."

Of what I have said about the understanding of stone and wood,
Hear well a story that explains it.

دفتر اول - بخش ۱۰۴ - در خواب گفتن هاتف مر عمر را رضی الله عنه کی چندین زر از بیت المال بن مرد ده کی در گورستان خفته است / Book One - Section 104 - A heavenly voice telling Umar, may God be pleased with him, in a dream, to give a certain amount of gold from the public treasury to the man who is sleeping in the graveyard

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