Wisdom
In ancient times, when people still
Translated from Uzbek · Original text
In ancient times, when people stillFled from the filth of the world,When the sun of contemplation shone, the worldGrew bright, and to find that light was happiness.In the bosom of the hoary mountains a pirHad made his dwelling, alone and broken.Having left the world, with patience in seclusion,He found reward bound up with toil.But as his fame spread among the people of the path,People kept coming to hold onto his hem.Caught amid all the talk, the murshid said:“For the sake of the Truth, rise to serve people.”He let no one sit idle in his lodge,He gave tasks one after another to all who came.His sermons were short, his dhikr was hidden,As though he had resolved upon silence.The crowd, thirsting for a single word from him,Poured out wealth and riches one by one.To the pir it was all one whether the world was or wasn't,So how should he now look upon the world?Two friends came, seeking him out,Saying, “Show us the way, O murshid!”The master nodded, but no sound came from him,As if he saw no need even for counsel.The two young men were given their tasks:One carried water up from down below.The other went panting to the peaks and edges,Following the horse herds and the flocks.To one of them this toil was most irksome,“Where is the gnosis,” he said, “where are the litanies?!One can't even reach the pir — what kind of state is this,This is a waste of life, alas, alas!”Yet to win the heart of the murshidHe girded himself and threw himself into work again and again.Seeking day and night the way to earn respect,He showed himself ever ready to serve.But however much he sacrificed himself,No special favor ever came from the pir.As though not at the living, but bidding farewellTo the dead, his eyes would gaze — alas!The young man looked at his friend — how strange,His every deed resembled a dead man's:Without asking for honor or respect,His only care was to work like a slave.“I won't accept this!” said that bold one,And going, he found his way to the pir,Asking leave, he stated his purpose,Closing every door to further deliberation.The saint gave him a smile,“Very well,” he smiled, “farewell, and be well.”“Close your eyes,” he said, “you have suffered much,Before you go back there's one journey left.”The young man closed his eyes, and in that momentOpening them, he found himself upon the road.A camel stood there, fit and ready for the trip,And in the camel's saddlebag there was a letter:“This path has many secrets; you grew impatient,You did not endure the valley of testing.Now you are freed from all its torments,Go back in peace to the place you came from.On this path one sets one's foot with love,Then the lover can lay his head on every stone.When it is false love that has led a person here,He cannot stay here and rise above his reason.”Akrom MALIK
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