Layla and Majnun (11 page)

T
he moon was a shining silver orb, while on the horizon Venus burned like sulphur. Meteors fell to the earth like blazing spears tossed by some heavenly hand, while the stars sparkled like a myriad of sequins sewn on to the indigo cloak of the sky.

Majnun stood looking up at the heavens, his eyes wandering from planet to planet, from star to star. Which one of them should he invoke? Which one of them would come to his aid?  

As his eyes scanned the horizon, he first noticed Venus, and cried, ‘O Venus! You are the guiding light for all those who seek happiness in this world. Mistress of poets and singers, in your hands lies the key to success. You are the seal in the signet ring of the King, you are the queen in the palace of worldly prosperity, you are the ruling star of lovers. Yours is the gift of
pleasant words on ruby lips; those who belong to your circle, and drink your wine, are scented with ambergris. Admit me to your circle also, and bestow your favours upon me! Open the gate of hope: do not let me die waiting! My soul is sick and only you know the cure. Let the night breeze bring the scent of my beloved to me while there is still time!’

After he had petitioned Venus, Majnun turned to Jupiter. Could he not help him too? Majnun said, ‘O Jupiter, star of delight! You are a loyal soul, for you always keep your promise. You stand for fairness and equity; on each realm you leave your seal, for you are the star of just rulers and jurists. You determine who is to be victorious; the Pen of Fate is in your hands! The future of the whole cosmos depends on you! Keep faith with me, for my heart draws all its strength from you. Do not close your eyes in my hour of need!’

M
ajnun invoked planet after planet, star after star, yet not once did he receive an answer. The heavens remained silent and Majnun’s soul froze in the chill of their icy, heartless beauty. The heavenly bodies went on their way, unconcerned with his plight, oblivious to his heartache. What did they care? Why should they trouble themselves to help him?

And then Majnun realised; for the first time it all became clear. The stars did not care for him because they could not care. The stars, like the grains of sand beneath his feet, were blind, deaf and dumb! Their glittering show was just that — a show. Beneath the splendid façade, they were but inanimate creatures with neither voice nor vision. What could the suffering of a human soul possibly mean to them?

And so Majnun raised his face to the heavens once
more, but this time not to invoke the stars. They are mere subjects like me, he thought. And where there are subjects, there must be a ruler. If the creation will not answer me, he thought, maybe the Creator will.

And so Majnun prayed to Him Who has created all beings on earth, and Who is without need. He said, ‘O Lord! To whom can I turn, if not to You? Venus and Jupiter are but Your bondsmen, doing Your bidding, while Yours is the well-spring of all creation. Your knowledge encompasses all things, while the extent of Your bounty cannot be fathomed. All power belongs to You, and there is no chain so strong that You could not break it. You are the Supreme Judge, the Lord Nurturer and Sustainer of all beings. Whatever the great ones in this world have, they have because of You. You are the One Who comes to the aid of those in need. We are all prisoners in chains — each and every one of us — and no one else can help us if You do not.

‘The seven heavens and all that exists therein belong to You. All beings — however great or insignificant — bow to Your command.

‘O Lord! You fashioned me from clay, resonant, dark and heavy, and breathed life into me from Your own spirit. Life is from You, for Yours alone is the power to quicken the dead. Tonight I stand before you as one who lives and breathes, it is true, but also as one whose very soul has died. Only Your mercy can save me now; only Your grace can rescue me from eternal perdition. Only Your compassion can turn my darkness into light, my night into day.’

When Majnun had finished his prayer, he was
overwhelmed by a deep sense of serenity. No longer did he feel the need to scan the horizons or scout the night sky. His heart had found a resting-place and when sleep stole into his eyes, he did not notice it. Soon he was dreaming, and in his dreams he saw strange things:

Out of the ground in front of him a tree appeared suddenly and started to grow. Rapidly it shot up before his eyes until it was towering above him. Following it as it continued to shoot up to the heavens, Majnun noticed a bird perched on one of the topmost branches. Something in the bird’s beak was glittering. The bird left the tree and hovered above Majnun awhile. Then it opened its beak and let the glittering object fall. The glittering object was a jewel, and it fell directly on to Majnun’s head. And there it remained, like the shining centrepiece of a royal diadem.

Majnun awoke just as the sun was rising. His precious dream had vanished, but his whole being was filled by a feeling of happiness and inner joy. He had not felt so untroubled and peaceful for a long time. His body felt light, as though it had the power of flight. Was his soul about to take wing? Was this sudden burst of happiness all because of a simple dream?

O
ften a dream is so real, so full of the light of truth, that its effulgence permeates our whole being and brightens our waking hours. Such was Majnun’s dream. When he woke, he woke to a morning whose possibilities seemed endless. The air was crystal-clear and filled with a scent that could only have wafted down from Paradise itself; each breeze was like the breath of Christ, sent to awaken the dead and alert them to the beauty of living.

The day, the whole life that stretched ahead, seemed to Majnun to be a wondrous rose-garden, filled with magic. How could the seeds of misfortune take root in such heavenly soil?

Fate, too, had grown tired of Majnun’s suffering and so She had dealt him hand after hand of happiness. But was it too late?

Majnun was sitting on the mountainside, in one of his tiny retreats that were surrounded by rocks for protection. His animals were nearby, as usual, some sleeping, some keeping guard.

Suddenly, he caught sight of a small dustcloud at the very bottom of the valley. Violet-coloured in the pale ochre light of morning, it whirled like a dervish as it moved upwards. Slowly, it came nearer until it looked like a veil covering a woman’s face. And just as it is sometimes possible to perceive the face behind the veil, Majnun could see that the swirling dust hid a rider, a rider clad in deep violet whose steed was moving like the wind.

‘Who is he and what does he want?’ thought Majnun. ‘There is neither tent nor caravanserai for miles around; what is he doing here?’ Clearly, the rider was looking for him, for Majnun. Majnun rose to his feet, his heart beating wildly. Could it be the same black camel-rider who once brought him the news of Layla’s marriage to Ibn Salam?

The rider reined in his horse and dismounted, covering the last twenty paces over the rocks on foot and with considerable difficulty, for as Majnun could now see, his visitor was an old man and his face was quite unfamiliar.

Majnun lifted his hand to quieten his animals, who had begun to stir and growl. Then he went forward to greet the rider.

Majnun said kindly, ‘Noble sir, it seems that you have lost your way. Tell me, where are you bound? Or could it be that you are here to see me? No, that could
not be, for we are strangers to each other. I like your face, but my animals do not trust you: see how they growl and snarl. And I feel that I should not trust you either. As they say, those who have been bitten by a snake will recoil at the mere sight of a rope! I have been bitten by such a snake — no, it was not a snake, it was a dragon!

‘Some time ago, another rider came to me and drove a stake through my heart: the splinters are there still and cause me great pain. So you see, I have a right to mistrust you. And if you have come to finish what he started, you had better keep silent and retrace your steps immediately.’

Hearing these words, the stranger threw himself at Majnun’s feet and cried, ‘Among all creatures you are the noblest, for you have tamed the wildest of beasts and made them your boon companions! Gazelles nuzzle against you and give you their love; tigers brush against you with tenderness and affection; lions gambol with you as though they were tabby cats bought from a market stall.

‘Why should you and your animals be afraid of a frail old man like me? I wish you no harm; I am here with a message from your beloved. It is a secret message, a missive such as no one has ever brought before. It is from her to you, and to you alone. If you still want me to remain silent and retrace my steps, so be it, but I think you had better let me speak.’

Such words Majnun had not expected, and his heart was suddenly filled with hope. Grasping the old man by the shoulders he said, ‘For the love of God, speak,
man! Speak quickly and put me out of my misery!’

The old man continued, ‘I know that Fate has been unkind to you: your stars have behaved like a pack of obstinate mules, but there is no reason why you should not tame them! But first let me tell you what happened to me.

‘A few days ago, I happened to pass by a camp of tents close to a garden — a shady grove with streams, flowers and tall palms. I walked around for a while until I saw someone sitting alone, all but hidden by leaves. I say “someone”, but in reality I thought I had chanced upon a star that had fallen down from heaven! It seemed as though the garden was the Garden of Paradise itself, and she one of the
houris
promised to the faithful.  

‘Now a bubbling brook ran through the oasis, like the streams of milk and honey that run through heaven, but when this young picture of beauty began to speak, the words poured from her lips so sweetly and with such eloquence that the stream ceased to ripple and splash, as though it, too, was hanging on her every word. As for her eyes — well, what can I say?! Even a lion would fall into a trance were the eyes of such a gazelle to fall on him!  

‘Her appearance was that of a most beauteous book in which all of the subtlest, most beautiful characters of our alphabet had been written. Her hair was curled like the hook of the letter “Jim”; her figure was as lithe and slender as an “Alif”; her mouth was curved like a “Mim”. Yes, when you add these three letters together, they spell “
Jam
” [goblet], and that is what she was: a
precious goblet of crystal reflecting the secrets of the universe!

‘Her eyes are narcissi that flower at the mouth of a stream: look deep into them and you can see her dreams! But with these few words I cannot do justice to her beauty, for it is like the light of life itself. Yet her beauty is scarred by the weakness that comes with a broken heart. Grief has brought her to her knees; for so long have the tears filled her eyes that she can hardly see.’

The old man sighed deeply, wiped a tear from his eye and continued, ‘Believe me, she married out of fear: in reality, you are her only hope. As she spoke, tears misted her eyes; they were like a veil blocking the sun’s light. Indeed, it was a sight to move the stoniest of hearts!

‘I approached her and asked her who she was and why she was so sad. She lifted her face, a weak smile on her ruby lips, and said, “Why do you rub salt into my wounds? Let me tell you that I was once Layla, but I am Layla no longer. I am now mad, more ‘majnun’ than a thousand Majnuns. He may be a crazed dervish, a wild wanderer tormented by love, but believe me my suffering is a thousand times worse!

‘“True, he is a target for the arrows of grief, but so am I — and he is a man, while I am a woman! He is free and can tell his sorrows to the mountains; he can go where he pleases, he can cry and shout and express his innermost feelings in his verses. What can I do? I am a prisoner and I can do nothing. I have no one to talk to, no one in whom I can confide; were I to open
my heart to those around me, ignominy would be my only reward. Honey turns to poison in my mouth and everything I touch turns to dust. Who knows how I feel? Who knows how I suffer? I put a brave face on it all, covering my suffering with a thin veil of smiles and laughter, but all the time I am burning, burning, burning!

‘“Love cries out to me in my heart: ‘Run while you can, fly away from this raven of a father, this vulture of a husband!’ But then reason admonishes me, saying, ‘No, to fly away would be to invite disgrace. You must stay and submit to your fate!’

‘“Oh, a woman may conquer a hero and wield the sword of death above his head, yet when all is said and done she is still a woman, oppressed and unable to act of her own accord. A woman may thirst for blood and show the courage of a lion, yet for the sake of honour and dignity she must act according to her nature, as others perceive her. And so, since it is not in my power to end my suffering, I have no choice but to submit. I am not allowed to be with Majnun, but I need to know what he is doing, I hunger for news of him.

‘“How does he spend his days and where does he lay his head at night? What does he do as he roams the desert wastes and who are his companions, if any? What does he say and what does he think? If you know anything at all about him, dear stranger, tell me now!”

‘Such were Layla’s words. As for me, well although I have met you for the first time today, I feel that I know much about you already. I have not grown old and seen the world and all it has to offer for
nothing. The story of you and your love is on everyone’s lips; is anyone better known than you among the Arabs? How strange that is, and how cruel: the whole world knows about you, yet Layla alone is not allowed to hear! That is why I stayed with her a while, to talk about you. And believe me, my words made an impression on her.

‘I told her: “Majnun lives alone, like a recluse, with neither friends nor family; he is alone with the memories of his love. His only companions — or so people say — are wild beasts, animals such as wild asses and mountain lions that shun the world of men. But suffering has broken him, too: love is too strong a force for a weak creature like man to repel, and so Majnun is crushed, his mind weakened and sick. His father’s death took him even lower.

‘“Day after day, Fate scatters thorns in his path and now he has become a poet who chronicles his own misfortunes. His verses tell the story of his life, and the story of his life is the story of love and pain. Tears fall from his eyes like rain from a spring cloud, and when he speaks of his dead father his words would melt the iciest of hearts.”

‘Then I recited some of your verses, the ones I had heard in the market and committed to memory. A deep sigh escaped her lips and her head drooped as though she was about to faint or die. She wept — oh, how she wept — until there were no more tears left to fall. And as she wept she prayed for your father’s soul.

‘She wanted to be with you now that you were doubly alone, separated from both her and your dear
father, but what could she do?

‘Suddenly, a decision came to her. She gestured towards her tent in the distance and said, “You are a man of integrity with a heart that is pure. I trust you. I am going now to my tent, where I shall write a letter to Majnun. Promise to return tomorrow so that I may give you the letter to take to him. Will you promise?”

‘I promised, and the next day I went to her tent. In mourning for your father she had put on a dark-blue dress: she looked like the most beautiful desert violet I had ever seen. In the folds of her dress she had hidden a sealed letter. This is that letter!’

The old messenger took the letter from his bag and handed it to Majnun. At first, Majnun showed no reaction. He stared at the parchment in his hands as though he were dreaming.

Was it too much for him to take in? Had word from his beloved come too soon? Was it too much for him to bear?

Suddenly, he came to life. It was as though he had been seized by several crazed demons whose intention it was to pull him to pieces. His body jerked this way, then that, until finally he started to whirl around like a demented dervish. He whirled around so fast that he became a blur; finally, the sweat pouring from his skin, he sank into a heap at the old man’s feet.

There he lay, like a man knocked into a stupor by too much wine, completely robbed of his senses. Yet throughout his fit of madness the letter was held tightly in his fingers; it was still in his grasp as he lay there unconscious.

And when he came to, the letter was the first thing he saw. His heart was beating more calmly now and so he slowly broke the seal.