Original content

English translation

Suddenly Mahmud went hunting, He became separated from his army. An old thorn-gatherer was driving a donkey, His load of thorns fell off, and he scratched his head. Mahmud saw him so helpless, His thorns fallen and his donkey exhausted. Mahmud went forward and said, "O restless one, Do you want a helper?" He said, "I do, O horseman. If you help me, what of it? I will profit and you will suffer no loss. From your beautiful face I see a share of kindness, Kindness is not strange from the beautiful-faced." Out of generosity, that king dismounted, At once he reached his rose-like hand toward the thorns. That exalted one placed his load on the donkey, Then rode his steed back toward his army. He told the army, "An old burden-bearer, A thorn-gatherer with a donkey is coming behind. Block the path on all sides of him, So that his face may see my face." His army blocked the old man's way, No path remained for the old man except toward the king. The old man said to himself with his skinny donkey, "How can I make my way through such a cruel army?" Although he was afraid, he saw the king's parasol, And he saw the way was to go toward the king. He drove that little donkey near the king, When he saw him, the old man of the road became ashamed. He saw the familiar face under the parasol, He fell into grace and into distress. He said, "O Lord, to whom can I tell my state? I have made Mahmud my porter." The king said to him, "O my dervish, What is your work? Tell me." He said, "You know my work, do not play crookedly, Do not pretend to be ignorant in this way. I am an old man, with a family to feed and a burden-bearer, Day and night I am in the desert gathering thorns. I sell thorns, I buy dry bread, If you can, give me some bread." The king said to him, "O downcast old man, Set a price so I can give you gold; how much for your thorns?" He said, "O king, do not buy this from me cheaply, I will not sell for less than ten purses of gold." His army said, "O silent fool, This is worth two barleycorns, what a cheap seller!" The old man said, "This is worth two barleycorns, but It would be less than this, if this buyer were not so good. Since a fortunate one placed his hand on my thorns, My thorns have turned into a hundred kinds of rose gardens. Whoever wants to must buy such a thorn, They must buy every root of the thorn for a dinar. Misfortune placed many thorns upon me, Until someone like him placed his hand on my thorns. Although it is a thorn that is worth little, Since it is from his hand, it is worth a hundred lives." Another (bird) said to him (the hoopoe), "O backing of the army, I am weak, how can I turn my face to the path? I have no strength and am very helpless, Such a path has never appeared before me. The valley is far and the path is difficult, I will die at the first stage of it. There are many mountains of fire on the way, And such a task is not for just anyone. A hundred thousand heads became like balls on this path, So much blood flowed into streams from this quest. A hundred thousand intellects laid down their heads here, And whoever did not lay down their head, fell headlong. On such a path where sincere men Pulled a veil over their heads out of shame. What can rise from a wretched one like me but dust? If I make the resolve, I will die miserably." The hoopoe said to him, "O frozen one, how much of this? How long will you keep your heart bound by this? Since you have little value in this place, Whether you go or not, both are the same. The world is entirely like filth, People die in it, wandering from door to door. A hundred thousand people like yellow worms, Miserably die in the world in pain. If we ultimately die in this wretchedly, It is better than dying miserably in the essence of filth. If this quest is a mistake from you and me, If I die this moment from sorrow, it is also acceptable. Since there are many mistakes in the world, Consider this just another mistake. If someone has a passion for a bad reputation, It is better than sweeping latrines and cupping. Suppose this ambition is less than pickpocketing, Consider it less, this is less sorrow for me. If you make your heart an ocean from this ocean, When you look, you will make it all ambition. If someone says this desire is delusion, How will you get there when no one else has? If I give my life in the delusion of this desire, It is better than placing my heart in the house and shop. We have seen and heard all this, We have not turned away from ourselves for a single breath. Our affair became prolonged on us because of people, How much of this handful of independent beggars? Until you die entirely to yourself and to the people, Our pure soul will not rise from the throat. Whoever is not completely dead to the people, That man is not an intimate of this veil. The intimate of this veil is the aware soul, One who is alive to the people is unmanly on the path. Set foot on the path if you are a man of action, Like women, finally keep your hands from trickery. Know for certain that if this quest is infidelity, This is the work, this is not a trivial matter. On the tree of love, fruitlessness is the fruit, Whoever has the provision for this, tell them to raise their head. When love took up residence in the chest, That person's soul took the secret of existence from the heart. This pain throws the man into blood, Throws him headlong out of the veil. It does not release him to himself for a single breath, It kills him and then demands the blood price. If it gives him water, it is not without agony, And if it gives him bread, it is kneaded with blood. And if out of weakness he is more helpless than an ant, Love brings more force upon him every moment. When a man falls into the sea of danger, When does he ever eat a single morsel unknowingly?"