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Additional materials to accompany
HAFIZ’S FRIEND: JAHAN MALEK KHATUN Who was Princess JAHAN MALEK? Daughter of the king of one of Shiraz’s most turbulent times (8th century A.H. 14th century A.D.), Masud Shah; pupil and lifelong friend of the world’s greatest mystical, lyric poet, Hafiz of Shiraz; the object of crazed desire by (among others) Iran’s greatest satirist, the obscene, outrageous, visionary poet Obeyd Zakani; lover, then wife of womanizer Amin al-Din, a minister of one of Persia’s most loved, debauched and tragic rulers, Shah Abu Ishak; cruelly imprisoned for twenty years under the Muzzafarids when her beloved, young daughter mysteriously died;open-minded and scandalous, one of Iran’s first feminists: the beautiful and sensuous, petite princess who abdicated her royalty twice; one of Iran’s greatest classical lyric poets; a prolific, profound, infamous female Persian poet and one of the greatest love poets of all time, Princess Jahan Malek. Preface by Princess Jahan Malek In the Name of God. Thanks be to the Almighty for creating human beings with the power of speech and eloquence and grace and oration, for He is the finest of creatures having all of these powers in this world. God the All-Powerful, created the human from the earth and the other creatures who all bowed down to Him. God gave the power of thinking to those who are wise. God, with special power, created the human form in the best of possible shapes. God changed the human body to the best of creatures so that he may attain perfection. God created this complete creature to have special attributes. Sometimes God sent prophets with miraculous powers. Moses in the cradle was able to speak! Sometimes God sent a prophet to reveal the happiness of both worlds to the people. Only God deserves to command, and those who know His mystery. Praise and greeting to God, Mohammed and his descendants. Mohammed is the source of religious law and during his life the world was at its finest. Everyone wishes for recognition in this world and to leave the world something worthwhile to be remembered by. When someone dies that one will be forgotten but if that one leaves a memory in people’s minds they never forget such a one. Poems and literature are the best way to be remembered in the world. I am Princess Jahan, the daughter of Masud Shah and I preferred, Don’t choose to be alone but also don’t choose to open your heart. I composed poems all day long. Sometimes untalented and lazy people teased or found fault with me. Only some people are able to compose poetry. If composing poems is so bad we wouldn’t have so many poets. At first I thought it wasn’t a good occupation because it was disapproved of and not liked in the society that I lived in. After sometime I realized that our Prophet Mohammed’s daughter composed poems and other women too, including his wife Ayesha. I began to compose poems everyday, it became my pleasure. If mine you will be, it is my pleasure: You may never be mine I know but if Composing poems isn’t easy: you have to learn a great many things about it. I’ve done my best but if there are problems with my poems, forgive me. If I didn’t do as well as I could and my poems are not as good as they should be, then please forgive me. Please edit them yourself: help me to correct them. Thank you. A SELECTION OF JAHAN’S GHAZALS. I can’t come to see you and you can’t come to see me: I cannot continue this waiting for I need you so much: Please come to me and rescue me for I’m so exhausted: I’m so sick and tired of love, so sick and tired of love! What I’ve earned from love would amount to nothing: Like a moth in a candle I continue burning in your love: You’ve no understanding of what’s happening to Jahan, *** O you source of peace and you jewel of purity too, Since you went away from me I’ve lay in grief’s bed: When the doctor knew that I was sick he said to me: O my love, please forgive me, but I am so afflicted: If me and what I am now feeling you are not believing, The world without you, this you’d know: how I feel! Isn’t it enough, how much do you want me to suffer? Beloved, who is suspicious of strangers, had my heart: People try to not suffer too much in the world, Jahan: *** My beloved, why in such a vile way keep treating me: Please do not be any worse to me any more than now: Our grief is killing us, don’t let it exceed its bounds: I’m in love with your long, black hair falling in braids: I’ll go off and start painting my face with my blood, If someone other than me you happen to be choosing, I told the breeze of your lips and your beautiful hair, I didn’t know that caught in the net of your black hair, Thank God that you keep staying in the world, Jahan, *** O my God, please have mercy on me, I’m so tired: I have lost all patience and I can’t wait any longer: Be faithful to me only one night, only one night: You did an injustice to me and then the kara stone My broken heart has a pain that is down so deep: You are king of Jahan and the world, I am a beggar: If for only one day you should be faithful to me then *** Between Jahan, the world and all in it, is separation: If I’m like a word in the peoples’ mouth it isn’t strange To one who leaves the world with its good and bad, "If you are simple and pure you will be seeing the Sun: I’ve placed this couplet by Hafiz in my poem because O my friend, I have no complaints about my enemies: My temperament’s garden’s breeze is jealous, impure: It could be likened to a bud the breeze easily blows Jahan, the world’s beautiful but don’t leave the grass: ** O my bewildered heart, because of all this world’s sorrow, do not grieve: If the hurricane of this world threw you into the blazing fire of love, And if you should happen to live your life like Jacob in the house of grief, Every day be seeking and do not be be hopeless about God’s kindness, If your aim is for the Kaaba then do not turn off from the desert’s path, Suffering from that One’s better than that One’s healing: sit, be patient! For the world there exists no trustÉ so one might as well just be happy: O gardener, best to wait and be patient with this trouble with crowsÉ Jahan, how long do you want your heart to be suffering from the world? *** My beloved, so distant you keep me, I don’t know why: When my beloved left my sight it was no choice of mine: All of a sudden to me that one was paying no attention, That one’s secret stays hidden forever in heart’s corner, My grief for that one is like a Mount Alvand in my heart: You didn’t pay any attention to the feelings of Jahan and With your charming ways you cause riots in Jahan’s world:
A SELECTION OF RUBA’IS Late last night I woke my beloved and said this: *** To the breeze this message was given by my heart: *** My loved one, calming my heart down is:
Copyright © Paul Smith 2005 ____________________________________ OBEYD ZAKANI: THE DERVISH JOKER
GHAZALS: O, your mole and brow all happiness is causing for us: When we step into kingdom of the soul in search of you, On us, love threw its shadow like hawk in the sky does: After all the people have looked at your beautiful face, These unimaginative people do not know how to pray, Tell the depressed Sufi about the One we bow down to: Obeyd, until that time you obtain the Priceless Goblet, *** I’m leaving the land of Shiraz as my life will be taken: I go, beating head with my hands, feet sinking in shit: Now, I cry out like the nightingale that is lost in love: I leave this city I’m leaving what I have for an unknown As I leave my Self, heart and friends, Shiraz behind me; There is no strength in my hands left to hold the reins: I’m so sick today and heart-aching from the pain of love: O Obeyd, this is not a journey that I wanted to make: *** In this house of ours there is no wine of ecstasy, In this solitude we experience there is not a sign Be happy and enjoy yourself even with strangers, If what you want is some wine pour it into a cup, All we own is poverty and pride of being Muslim: Just like Obeyd, leave the house of beings in ruins:
In arts and learning don’t be clever like me: *** Sir, stay clear of knowing, if it happens that you stay, *** He Who built the heavens and the stars created, *** Obeyd Zakani, to a physician on his deathbed: To this stupid doctor no one should apply KIT’A (FRAGMENTS) At least something small from what I owned FROM ‘THE JOYOUS TREATISE’ A king had three wives: a Persian, an Arab and a Coptic wife. One night he slept with the Persian and said ‘What time is it?’ She answered, ‘It’s almost morning!’ ‘How could you possibly know?’ he asked. ‘Because the smells of the flowers and grasses fill the air and birds sing, sire,’ she answered. The next night he asked his Arab wife the same question and she replied, ‘Morning’s almost here because my necklace’s beads are cold and they are making me cold.’ On the third night he asked his Coptic wife and she answered, ‘It’s morning as I’ve got to go to have a pee!’ Talhak’s wife gave birth. Sultan Mahmud asked him, ‘What is it?’ Talhak answered, ‘What else do poor people have born to them, a boy or a girl!’ The Sultan asked, ‘Is anything else born to the great?’ Talhak replied: ‘A thing that abuses people and destroys him.’ A man claimed to be God. He was brought before the ruler who said to him, ‘Last year someone here said he was a prophet and we put him to death.’ The man replied, ‘You did the right thing as I didn’t send him!’ A gypsy was angry with his son, saying, ‘You spend your life doing nothing! How many times must I tell you to learn to do somersaults, make dogs jump through hoops, walk tightropes, so you will get something from life? If you won’t listen, by God I’ll send you to college to learn some fly-blown science and become an intellectual so that for the rest of your life you can be wretched, poor, unfortunate and unable to earn even a barleycorn, anywhere!’ Someone asked a man, ‘How come your son doesn’t look anything like you?’ The man answered, ‘If the neighbours let us be perhaps our children might begin to look lie us!’ A Christian was asked by a Jew, ‘Who was more advanced, Moses or Jesus?’ The Christian gave this answer, ‘Jesus brought the dead back to life and Moses argued with a man one day and pushed him to the ground and the man died. In the cradle Jesus was heard to talk while when Moses was forty he said, "O God, make loose my tongue’s knot so the people can know what I’m saying." ’ One day someone asked a soldier, ‘Why is it you don’t want to go off to the war?’ The answer was, ‘By God, I don’t know one soul in the army of the enemy and they don’t know me so how could there be hatred between any of us?’ Juha was going off to a market one day to purchase a donkey and a man asked, ‘Where are you off to?’ Juha replied. ‘To buy a donkey at the market.’ Then the man said, ‘You’d better say, "God willing!"’ Juha answered him, ‘No need for any "God willing!" The donkey is in the market and the gold is in this pocket!’ On reaching the market his gold was stolen. On the way home he saw the man again who asked him, ‘Where are you coming from?’ Juha replied, ‘From the market, God willing. They took my money God willing so I couldn’t buy a donkey God willing and I am on my way home with no money, God willing!’ Mu’awwiyya was known far and wide for being a tolerant soul and no one made him angry. A man who claimed he would be able to make him angry saw him and said, ‘I wish to wed your mother as she’s got a big arse!’ Mu’awwiyya answered, ‘My father’s love for her was because of that.’ Someone asked a slave girl, ‘Are you a virgin?’ She answered, ‘May the Almighty forgive all my sins, I was.’ A woman said to her husband, ‘You are nothing but a penniless pimp!’ He answered her, ‘Praise God, that’s not my fault. The former is His fault and the latter yours!’ It was the month of Ramadan and a young homosexual was asked if business was slow and he replied, ‘It is, but may God keep alive the Christians and Jews!’ FROM ‘THE ETHICS OF THE NOBLES’ It is now some time since this humble writer Obeyd Zakani conceived the ambition of writing a compendious treatise dealing with certain ethical conceptions of the ancients, which the people of our time regard as outdated or obsolete, and some portion of the principles and practices of the leaders of thought in this age, which they regard as the latest to be adopted, in order that this treatise might benefit students of this science and neophytes in this path. Now at last, I have finished writing this short work, entitled ‘Ethics of the Nobles’, dividing it into seven chapters, each of which contains two views, first the ‘outdated’ view, in accordance with which our forefathers regulated their lives, and second the ‘latest’ view, now discovered by our great thinkers, whereby they regulate their affairs here and hereafter. And although this treatise borders on ribaldry, yet (in the words of Nizami): He who is familiar with the city will know The humble author’s hope in striving to complete this brief treatise is that (in the words of our Sadi): Perhaps somewhere, sometime, a man of heart, mellow, *** Chapter One. On Wisdom.
Wise men in defining Wisdom say that this consists in ‘seeking to perfect the human soul in its learning and practical attitudes. The former is knowing the true nature of things as they really are and the latter by the attainment of a spiritual habit or faculty, where the soul is able to perform virtuous actions and to abstain from evil actions, which is called ethics.’ In other words, there are centred in the rational being two faculties, on the perfecting of which its perfection dependsÉ one, the speculative faculty, the other the practical faculty. The first is that which craves after the appre-hension of knowledge and the acquisition of science so that, impelled by its promptings the soul acquires a power of knowing things as they truly are, whereby eventually it attains the happiness of knowing that true Object of all Search and the Universal Goal, Who, (exalted and holy is He!) is the destiny of all beings. So, guided by this know-ledge, the soul attains to the Realm of Unity, no, even to the Pre-cincts of Union and becomes tranquil and composed (for ‘are not hearts tranquil by the remembrance of God?’), while the dust of doubt and the rust of uncertainty are cleansed from the visage of its mind and the mirror of its heart, even as the poet says: Wherever certainty entered, doubt departed. Now as for the practical faculty: it is that which co-ordinates and arranges the powers and actions of the soul, so that they cooperate and agree with one another and by virtue of this balance its qualities become pleasing in God’s sight. And when such knowledge and practice are combinedÉ balanced in this degree in any person, he may indeed be called the Qutub, the ‘Perfect Man and God’s representative,’ and his rank becomes the highest attainable by the human race, even as God Most High has said, ‘He gives Wisdom to whom He will, and whoever is given Wisdom has been given a great blessing.’ His spirit, after its separation from the body, becomes fit to enjoy everlasting happiness, eternal bounty and to become receptive of God’s grace. Now this is the current view of Wisdom. When the ‘great and wise men of subtle understanding, with whose honoured persons the face of the earth is now adorned,’ reflected on the perfecting of the human soul and its future destiny and examined the practices and opinions of the famous men of former times they soon formulated a complete and categorical denial of all those beliefs. They say: ‘It has been revealed to us that the rational soul is a thing of no consideration, that its continuation absolutely depends on the continuation of the body and that its destruction is involved in the destruction of the body.’ They further say: ‘What is asserted by the Prophets as to its having perfections and defects and as to its sub-sisting and continuing in itself after its separation from the body is impossible, as is also the Resurrection. Life consists in the balance of the elements comprising the body and when this is decomposed its owner becomes forever extinct and finished. What is intended by the joys of Paradise and the torments of Hell must be in this world, as the poet says: He to whom they give, gets his whole lot here: Consequently our leaders of thought are entirely unconcerned with such matters as the Resurrection, future punishment, nearness to or remoteness from God, the Divine approval or wrath, perfection and imperfection and the like; and the result of this conviction is that they spend every day of their life in satisfying their lusts and pursuing their pleasures, saying: You, result of seven planets and the elements four, And they often have inscribed this following ruba’i on their fathers’ tomb-stones: No mansions lie beyond this earth and sea; And it’s for this reason that in their eyes attacks on men’s lives and property and honour seem insignificant and of small account: To such one a cup of wine coloured like fire, We applaud these, our great and favoured guides to whom matters through the cultivation of the reasoning powers, remained hidden for several thousand years and have been made plain by yours truly without much trouble. COPYRIGHT © PAUL SMITH 2000, 2004. back to OBEYD ZAKANI: THE DERVISH JOKER ... __________________________________________________ HAFIZ: THE ORACLE A selection WHAT WILL BE He whose desire for Your cheek’s down so sweet, will be, When like the tulip I rise out from the dust of the grave, Perfect jewel: for You, how long my eye’s pupil joined May the shelter of Your long hair lengthen over my head, Water is flowing from the root of every eyelash of mine: Come out from screen for a moment like my heart does, You turn Your eyes away from Hafiz because of pride: INTERPRETATION: To be a true friend or lover you must have courage, consistency and faithfulness. Only the Friend or loved One can ease the pain of separation. Inwardly, separation does not exist, never has; remember this for time is passing and the truth is not easily won, being independent of what we think or do. FROM THE EAST When from the east the cup of sun, the wine in the bowl, comes out; A soft scented breeze spreads curls of the hyacinth over rose’s head, O heart, don’t expect anything from turning of sky’s inverted bowl: The anguish of the night of separation no history has written down; If like the Prophet Noah you are patient in the deluge of suffering, One cannot by only one’s own effort reach to the jewel of desires: If by tomb of Hafiz the breeze of Your grace should happen to pass, INTERPRETATION : When the Truth of Love reveals itself many find it irresistible, it is so beautiful. The world offers nothing but worry and disappointments. The pain of separation is impossible to communicate. Patience is the great key and only a true Guide knows where the door-way is. God’s Grace works miracles. BOLD THIEF Our heart has no need of garden when it of Your face a trace has: Our head does not bend down low to bow of anyone’s eyebrow: I’m tormented because of the violet, for it boasts it has Your curls; How can destination be reached in the wilderness in a dark night, It’s right if candle of the morning and myself went out together, Walk into the garden and then consider the throne of the rose; It is right that in the garden I weep like the clouds of January: By the light of Your face, all night long Your hair takes my heart: The sick and sad heart of Hafiz is longing for the lesson of love: INTERPRETATION: For a lonely lover, the loved One is sufficient. Be careful of jealousy and when the going is difficult remember the Friend. Self-sacrifice is the lover’s religion and slavery is the practise. Separ-ation causes envy, be careful. Remembrance eases the pain of love and the heart gives up attachments to the world of illusion. THE LOVER’S CONDITION If a cup of wine, never heart’s grief from our memory will take, If reason does not lower its anchor into the sea of intoxication, What a pity, the sky played a treacherous game with everyone: My sick heart drags me out into the meadow for the reason that Way is through Land of Darkness but where’s Khizer the guide? I am love’s physician: drink the wine; for this helpful concoction Hafiz burned away and no one told his condition to the Beloved; INTERPRETATION: You are frightened that you will pass away before the love you desire is given to you. Unless the mind gives way to the heart, love will never come. Forget the world, it’s an illusion, trickery. Take a new road: be daring, perhaps a light in the dark will guide you. Love is the remedy for your condition. Love. COPYRIGHT © PAUL SMITH 1986, 2000. back to HAFIZ - THE ORACLE ... ______________________________________ DIVAN OF SADI A selection of his Ghazals Once upon a time my mad soul in garden was wandering. suddenly nightingale poured out its song, rose burst into You whose love is in our hearts, seal on our lips, whose Since I promised You, I have broken promises to others: So long as the thorn of Your Love’s pain clings to my shirt That one who’s ruined because of such agony as this must If seeking You we‘ve to suffer it doesn’t matter, for when Let every arrow in Your quiver strike my wounded heart: Whoever looks on the Beloved with the bow-like eyebrows They say "O Sadi, don’t talk so much of that One’s love!" *** It was in season of rapturous joy I met that flirtatious Sweetheart! Tonight when the festivities of seekers is lit by Your face’s candle, Dear One, last night You drank wine, Your eyes told me that: A lovely face and a beautiful voice, both have a distinctive charm: Your listless eyes and Your eyebrows shoot darts into the soul: It would be a shame to repress such a passion for that One: Shiraz has become full of turmoil from mischief from Your eyes: I’m like a small bird with wings that are tied, and so I’m sitting "O Sadi, you bird of such a quick wit, I’ve subtly caught you: *** Do not keep talking about China and Greece to me, At the moment that One is brought into my mind, Suffering grief is what has fallen to me in the world, Dates are sweet, but hand is too short to reach palm: I don’t know a single devotee in the city who is proof Nothing I have ever seen can equal that One’s face: I do not want to live without that One and not with: O friends, close up your eyes to this physical world, Though the world may see this One’s outward form, I’m so burnt up that I can’t be seen by the uninitiated: Whether You give Your heart or take my life, devotion From this enterprise Sadi can’t win safety for his life: If like iron this lover cannot bear the heat of the fire, *** I have neither the ability to win the Beloved, I regard every cruelty that comes to me from Whether I had one heart or a thousand, I’d I keep this wasted body of mine thin like a hair I, having undergone grief love entails, regard Due to You I’m drowned in waters of my eyes: You have stolen my heart and still are silent: If You should continue to be abusive to Sadi, *** It is so strange that I burn fiercely in Your absence: Every moment I am burning with such a fiery flame I was completely consumed, though I didn’t confess Be merciful, for I am one who is totally distracted: All lovers enjoy ease and comfort in Your company: People say to me, "Sadi, stop all of your lamenting!" *** I made vows again and again in love not to be falling, I didn’t want to tell the story of my love: what to do? I reached a rosebush, saw no scope left for patience: Let Time roll up the carpet of my life, but I’ve not yet That one who is advising me to be practising patience I swear by Your eyes that as You’ve not left my sight I never used to count days expecting union with You, What animosity exists that Your nature hasn’t tried? At first I fled in fear from Your trap like a wild beast; Who was it told You Sadi was ‘no man’ to be a lover? Copyright© Paul Smith 2004 ______________________________ HAFIZ OF SHIRAZ: THE NOVEL BIOGRAPHY A selection from Book One: THE EARLY YEARS Hail Shiraz: city situated on a site beyond compare, A hundred praises to our stream called Ruknabad; From between the districts of Jafarabad and Musalla, Come to Shiraz and ask for the Holy Spirit’s Grace, Who here, would make a mention of Egypt’s candy O breeze of the East, what news have you to pass on For God’s sake do not wake me up from this dream, Hafiz, when you’re frightened of separation, why not
*** In the Name of God, my name is Muhammad Gulandam and it was my fortunate destiny, my kismet, to be a pupil then a friend of my teacher, Khwaja Shams-ud-din Mohammed, who is now famous throughout the known world as ‘Hafiz of Shiraz’. It was I who collected his poems together into one book, his Divan, at the insistence of him and his and my teacher and friend Khwaja Haji Kivam. This story that I’m about to tell you began in the beginning of the last century, the fourteenth century after the birth of Jesus the Christ in the Christian calendar: we call it the eighth century in the Islamic calendar or after the heija or flight of Mohammed the Prophet. In many ways it could be this century or possibly the next or in four centuries or in seven centuries time. The rich are still becoming richer and the poor, poorer. Dictators still seek power and kill and maim and imprison innocent people to obtain it. Most monarchs, or whoever is ruling, over-tax the common people and grow fat, as do their relatives and courtiers. Many of the priests and clergy splutter forth from their pulpits to the masses and in their private lives hypocritically take no notice of their own words and seek power in the Name of the Lord through their fearful influence at Court and with the Law. As it is said, ‘A false lamp gives no light’. Meanwhile, lovers love and drunkards drink and minstrels sing and poets create and life goes on unchanged. But is that so? No, I don’t think it is. Something is different now, because of Hafiz and others such as him. But really, there is only one Hafiz. Ah, he was and is, unique. His songs are still singing in my ears and heart, as though it was yesterday. Let me tell you his story as it was told to me by himself, his friend the minstrel Hajji Ahmed, Khwaja Kivam, Obeyd, Khaju, Nabat, the poet-princess Jahan and the others so very dear to him and of course, what I remember myself. Let me take you back through my memory and a secret journal I kept, back nearly seventy years to 627/1327. I am old now but, the himma, the power of my heart, my creative imagination, as Ibn ‘Arabi calls it, is still fresh and clear. I met Hafiz when I was eighteen and he was twenty-four. It all comes back. Ah, how I still love that man so much, his small and ugly body, his sparkling wit, his infectious laugh, his eyes: ah, his burning, glorious eyes. His songs, ghazals, his poems. Ah, Shiraz. Shiraz, turquoise and golden domes of its hundreds of mosques gleaming in the early morning light as I look out through this window. Shiraz, famous for its gardens, wine, poets and beautiful women. Almost miracul-ously, we Shirazis were spared the atrocities and genocide that the Mongols had committed in most of our country. The depth of depravity and cruelty of the Mongols towards us Persians has probably not been equaled in all of known history. Some historians claim that Shiraz was built from the ruins of Persepolis, and others state that it was founded by the Arabs at the time of the Muslim conquest. Other traditions claim that Shiraz was built on the site of a city named Fars or Pars (which became the name for our province, Parsa becoming ‘Persia’) and was named after Fars who was the son of Masus, the son of Shem who was Noah’s son. Incidentally, Noah the great Spiritual Master, is known to have been a vintner and after his great boat landed on that mountain called Ararat in the nearby land of the Turks he brought his family here and planted the grape-vines he brought with himÉ some say he founded our fair city almost ten-thousand years ago and Shiraz has become famous for the grape that bears its name. In our history Noah was called Yima (Jamshid). The three wise men or Zoroastrian Perfect Masters (Qutubs or Magi) are said to have set off from Shiraz to go to Bethlehem to recognize the Christ (Rasool). Persepolis was built some thousand or more years ago near Shiraz, dedicated to the Spiritual Master Zoroaster who settled here some eight thousand years ago, although some say less than two-thousand years ago but they confuse him with the last priest that bore his name. By my old eyes, Shiraz is still such a beautiful city, known for its variety of markets, being on the trade route from Europe to the Far East. All of the agricultural pro-duce of Fars comes to our capital, which is a bustling, lively city. Our grains, vegetables, fish, fruit, honey and of course wine are known all over Persia and elsewhere. Each market and bazaar has its own specialty, and craft and art flourished in Shiraz before Hafiz’s time as it does now. The gold and silverware and the beaut-iful books with their fine miniatures are bought by rich patrons for their libraries and palaces from Shiraz’s workshops and this has been so for as long as I can remember. During this time that Hafiz lived there was a change in the art of miniature painting in Shiraz due to a new way of looking at the world that he brought and because of a master-painter friend of his who I will later tell you about, that led to the great masterpieces are now appearing here and in Tabriz and Herat and elsewhere. Shiraz is also an important centre for the buying and selling of Persian carpets and cotton goods, cotton being grown in the valley. Because our city is a cosmopolitan centre on the silk-road many merchants pass through here from all the known world bringing not only merchandise but also news of those distant, fascinating lands. Shiraz and its outer villages are about twenty miles in circumference with a population of about 200,000 souls with the population in the central city behind the walls being nearly 60,000 and the area there about five miles in circumference. It is a cosmopolitan city with diverse peoples arriving constantly from all over the country and from foreign places. We Shirazis speak many languages apart from Persian: Turkish, Lori, Arabic and Hebrew. Ibn Battuta the traveller from Tangiers, whose book Rihla or ‘Travels’ is now in my library and who Hafiz and I met and befriended, passed through Shiraz twice during our lifetimes and described our blessed city as follows, "Shiraz is a densely populated town, well built and admirably planned, well-known and has a high place among cities. It possesses pleasant gardens and far-reaching streams, fine streets and excellent markets. Each trade has its own bazaar. Its inhabitants are handsome and clean in their dress. In the whole East there is no city that approaches Damascus in beauty of bazaars, orchards and rivers and in the handsome figures of its inhabitants, but Shiraz. It is on a plain surrounded by gardens and orchards and intersected by five rivers, one of which is the stream known as Ruknabad, whose water is very sweet and excellent to drink, very cold in summer and warm in winter and gushes out of a fountain on the lower slope of a hill called al-Qulai’a. The principal mosque of Shiraz, which is called the ‘old mosque’ is one of the largest of mosques in area and most beautiful in construction. Its courtyard occupies a wide expanse paved with marble and is washed down every night during the summer heats. The leading inhabitants of the city assemble in this mosque every night and pray the sunset and night prayers in it. On its northern side is a gate leading to the fruit market which is one of the most admirable of bazaars and to which I for my part would give the preference over the bazaar of the Courier Gate at Damascus. "The people of Shiraz are distinguished by piety, sound religion and purity of manners, especially the women. These wear boots and when out of doors are swathed in mantles and head-veils, so that no part of them is to be seen and they are noted for their charitable alms and their liberality. One of their strange customs is that they meet in the principal mosque every Monday, Thursday and Fridays to listen to the preacher, sometimes one or two thousand of them, carrying fans in their hands with which they fan themselves on account of the great heat. I have never seen in any land an assembly of women in such numbers." Hamd Allah Mustaufi wrote in his book Nuzhat al-Qulab in 739/1340 about Shiraz as it was when Hafiz was twenty and I was fourteen: "The city of Shiraz has seventeen quarters and nine gates, the city is extrem-ely pleasant to live in but its streets are very filthy, hence it is impossible for any one to go about in these streets and not be defiled. The climate is temperate and here all trades may be followed. At most times sweet-smelling herbs are available and are sold in the market. The water is from underground channels called qanats and the best is from the conduit of Ruknabad, but the biggest qanat is called Qalat Bandar that runs under the tomb of the poet Sadi, which never needs repair. During the spring floods the rivers rush down from Mount Darak and passing outside the town flows off into Mahaluyah Lake. The crops are of medium produce and very often go up to famine prices. Of fruits, the grapes known as mithqali are excellent. The population are lean and brown-skinned; they are Sunnis of the Shafi’ite sect; some few being Hanafites and there are also Shi’ahs. Further there are many great sayyids of noble lineage here who hold the Traditions of the Prophet and as traditionalists they are for the most part excellently esteemed. The people of Shiraz are much addicted to holy poverty and they are of strict orthodoxy, so that they are content to do but little trade. Hence there are many poor folk, though they refrain from begging, and do not fail to practice some means of livelihood, while the wealthy folk are mostly foreigners. Hence few Shirazis are very wealthy, and most of the people strive after good works and in piety and obedience to the Almighty have attained a high degree of godliness. Never is this city devoid of saintly persons, for which reason it was also called the Tower of Saints: but indeed, at the present day, it should rather be called the Robbers’ Haunt by reason of the lack of justice and bold greediness that is too common here. The revenues of the city go to the Treasury, and at the present time they amount to 450,000 dinars." The nine gates mentioned by him are the Istakhr on the north side, the Darak Musa on the west opposite the Darak Mountain; the Bayda Gate on the west that adjoins the Murdestan quarter; the Kazerun Gate at the south west corner in the direction of the city of Kazerun and in the Kazerun quarter; the Salam Gate on the southern side opposite the cemetery of al-Salam; the Fasa Gate in the south-east; the Now or New Gate on the east side in the quarter of the same name which also contained the New Garden; the Dowlat Gate on the north-eastern side in the Bagh-e-Now quarter, named after Sheikh Doulat who was a warrior killed in battle during the Arab conquest, and lastly the nearby Sa’dat Gate. As for the past seven hundred years Shiraz had been ruled over by non-Shirazis and in the past two hundred by those of Turkish or Mongol origin we had accepted the idea that they were born to rule over us and the ruler of Shiraz, Mahmud Shah as we shall soon see, though not Turkish himself had a Turkish wife Tashi Khatun who was greatly loved and influential in her own right endowing many public buildings including a college and often paid her respects at the tomb of the Spiritual Master Ibn Khafif known as Shaikh-e-Kabir who was credited with having brought Sufism to Shiraz four hundred years ago. An understanding of the multi-layered and interlocking and often conflicting structure of Shirazi society over the past century is essential to the understanding of the story I am about to unveil. On top, as we have already mentioned, was the ruler and although he was in power he usually did not directly control the everyday goings-on of our city. All of that was designated to officials such as the minister for police, tax-collection, bazaar regulators, who were appointed by the prime minister. The prime minister’s life was often shortened if he antagonized in some way his master or if the king was deposed as will often be tragically seen in the following pages. As the king and his prime minister’s power and responsibility usually covered much of Fars and not just Shiraz, it was necessary that the chief-judge become an important head of this ruling class who acted in the king’s name but was also understood to be the representative of the ordinary citizen and thus was the bridge that could be crossed in either direction as we shall often see in the life of Shiraz’s much beloved Majd al-Din who saved us all on two occasions and like succeeding chief-judges were sent on important peace missions to other rulers by their kings. Even the nobles of the city would pay them daily visits to judge family matters. The ruler and the chief-judge could criticize each other but rarely did, as each was greatly dependent on the other. The group that was most powerful and influential amongst the nobles was the fourteen hundred sayyids or descendants of the Prophet who received from the government yearly stipends. These were the Alavis, whose large family could trace themselves back to Mohammed’s son-in-law Ali, but even so were of the Sunni faith even though there were a small number of Shi’ah in Shiraz and the tomb of Ahmad Musa, the brother of the eighth Imam of the Shi’ites was respected and visited by most Shirazis no matter their religion. The Shirazi sayyids controlled much wealth in the city and did so by endowments of colleges and individuals and events. Such wealth and power also meant they were somewhat independent from the ruler and their ruler, their naqib, like the chief-judge wielded much power upwards and downwards. Apart from the ruler, chief-judge and naqib, the various trade guilds leaders and neighbourhood groups were of much importance in how the city functioned. The king had to have the support of such organizations leaders or bosses who had the responsibility to keep order in the bazaars and seventeen quarters and if the city was under siege they oversaw the battlements and security of all the gates. These bosses tried to control the street ruffians, young so-called ‘heroes’ and gangs that were potential mobs that could be for or against the rulers. Under these chiefs were the common workers who could easily join the mobs in the street if the occasion arose and the ruler was hated. Some were ridiculed by the nobles and called drunken rogues and reprobate-outsiders (rindan), ruffians and no-hopers but such young men saw themselves as heroes (pahlawan), and believed in the lore of chivalry and their groups welcomed and fed and housed strangers and gave protection to the weak and vulnerable when violent times befell the city. Hafiz always identified himself with the rindan but Hafiz’s rindan belief was more about an inner philosophy of rejection of the outer forms of hypocritical society and religious dogma and rituals and a freedom to reject reason in favour of love and divine-intoxication. Apart from the chief-judges, leaders of the sayyids and the bosses of the guilds and neighbourhoods there was another group who wielded great power although they were not appointed by the ruler. These were the shaikhs and their families. The shaikhs were the head-preachers and Sufi leaders, such as the evil and powerful black-magician Shaikh Ali Kolah who claimed he could control the jinn, and was a deep and dangerous thorn in Hafiz’s and all our sides for over thirty years. Shiraz during the 8th/14th century contained more than five hundred mosques and colleges (madrasses) and Sufi retreats and other religious foundations endowed by the aristocratic, wealthy, old, established families who were as a social group the most powerful and of whom the Baghnovi, Fali-Sirafi, Alavi-Mohhamadis, Arabsh-Hoseini, Bozghash, Mosalahi Beiza’i, Salmani, Ruzbehan and Zarkub families were the most influential, occasionally marrying into each-other (but often only with in-laws, as with the Alavi-Mohammadis who were sayyids), and holding many of the positions of chief-judges, judges, preachers, scholars, historians, Sufi masters and teachers. Our famous chief-judge Majd al-Din who was revered by all us Shirazis and saved our city a number of times was from the Fali-Sirafi family. Most of Shiraz’s religious establishment came from these fifteen or more noble families. At the time that I will begin our story, when Hafiz is seven years old, Shiraz for some time has been under the benign administration of Sharaf al-Din Mahmud Shah Inju, who is said to be a descendant of the Court poet and mystic Ansari of Herat. Mahmud Shah was appointed by Amir Chupan Salduz the chief-commander of the ruler of all Persia, the son of the Mongol khan (king) Uljaitu who had ruled from the majestic capital he built called Sultaniyeh near Zanjan south-east of Tabriz, Sultan Abu Said Bahador. He succeeded his father Uljaitu in 717/1317 at the age of twelve. Mahmud Shah was sent to Shiraz as the tax agent to administrator all the personal holdings of the sultan, and because of his mastership in this control of the finances of Fars he received a fortune for himself of an income each year of at least a million dinars. He had become independent and powerful in Fars with the exception of some of the mountains and plains of the province where robber bands still raped, murdered, looted and plundered. As the years passed and the young king became embroiled in a power struggle and intrigues at Court, the taxes that were supposed to come from Shiraz (the second richest city in his kingdom) dwindled. Mahmud Shah seized the opportunity and used the taxes to protect the city by building many large brickworks with tall towers that are still used as lookouts. The bricks of rammed-earth were baked then carried to rebuild the tall, thick wall that had been constructed over 300 years earlier that surrounds our city and is of 12,500 paces He also cleared the moat that had been added at the turn of the century. He dropped some of the many taxes and helped the city’s poor and the poets and artists and because of his generosity he and his family are greatly loved by our people. Mahmud Shah had returned to Sultaniyeh the newly built Mongol capital near Tabriz and left the governorship of the province of Fars to his three oldest sons Jalal al-Din Masud Shah, Ghiyath al-Din Kaikhosrau and Shams al-Din Mohammad. Kaikhosrau, the second eldest son was put in charge of Shiraz in 726/1326. Let us now return to a year later, 727/1327. Within this year the Turks will capture Nicea, in Europe the English king Edward the second will be killed by his wife and her lover. In Italy the marvelous painter Giotto passes away as does in France the German mystic Meister Eckhart who stated this profound truth ‘God exists because I exist and I exist because God exists’. In India the cruel king Mohammad ibn Tughluq shoots a poor blind man from a cannon and has a cripple’s limbs torn off because they are unable to follow his command to vacate Delhi and move to his new capital at Daulatabad, five hundred miles away. And on this particular day Hafiz is seven years old and his life is about to be changed forever. *** Hey, here Winebringer, circulate, offer the cup this way, Finally breeze sent muskpod’s scent from that forehead: Can wayfarers stay happy and secure in Beloved’s house With wine dye your prayer-mat if the Master commands, The dark night and terrifying wave and fierce whirlpool: By acting upon my own desires, I ruined my reputation: Hafiz, if you desire the Divine Presence do not be absent: *** The sun is slowly rising behind the hills, less than two hours walk from this city of Shiraz. The golden light moves down the hillside then across the plain and slowly reaches the city. The light from the sun creeps over the fields outside the walls of the city and reaches the stream, Ruknabad! As the small, ugly-looking boy frantically runs, on either side of the street the sun hits the walls and fronts of the dilapidated mud-brick houses and run-down shops of the Yazdi quarter. The cry of the muezzin from the minaret above one of the turquoise and golden-domed mosques in the distance calls the faithful to prayer. He looks down over this fabled city with the sun creeping over its great wall, along its seventeen quarters, its streets and alleyways, across its numerous rooftops, gardens and orchards and sees the small boy, coal-dust smudged over his tear-stained face and covering most of his clothes, running through the narrow backstreets where some Shirazis already bend in prayer, or open windows and yawn and stretch and look down at him, fascinated by his mad dash, so early in the morning. A large, swarthy-faced man finishes washing his neck on a rickety balcony and throws water from the bowl and the running boy looks up and is hit full in the face which causes him to tumble head-over-heels and come to an undignified halt. Two older boys wrestling outside the door of a tumbling down house stop and look across and laugh with some malice. They pick themselves up and run in the direction of the sorry-looking eight year-old, who on seeing their blurred shapes coming in his direction, pulls himself to his feet and scampers off again. The older boys look up ahead at their prey’s racing backside and find the sight quite comical, they point and laugh. Now and then with an anxious glance back in their direction the desperate boy is certainly not amused! He scampers past donkeys, countless tethered horses, camels, goats, cats racing for cover, barking dogs, flying chickens and people look down and across in amusement, or amazement or disgust, or sleepily try to wake up. From the roof of a building a crow looks down on the running trio, caws twice, then soars into the sky and hovers, then follows them scrambling through the streets and finally the crow descends. On some of the rooftops and small gardens women now hang out washing and on one a girl tugs at the hem of her mother’s dress and points frantically down at them dashing past. The crow perches on the top of a cypress and looks down into the street at the front of the attar’s shop selling fruit and small containers of perfume, as a man with a greying beard and his son of about fifteen years begin to place fruit in boxes arranged out the front. The bird swoops down and plucks a grape from a box as the boy runs out and shouts, but with a smile on his face, an interesting face. "Hey you! You didn’t have to steal that! You could’ve asked!" He grins up as the bird. From inside his father calls out to him. "What is it Mahmud?" "Nothing father, just another hungry creature of God!" He shakes his head and then looks into the street and is flabbergasted as the two shrieking boys rush past chasing the, by now, terrified-looking, shabbily-dressed, ugly little boy. "Oiy! You two! Leave that kid alone! Oiy!" As the chase continues the streets get wider and the houses larger as they race across the small bridge over an open qanat and from a balcony of a mansion a young, very pretty girl about six years old looks down. She is fascinated by what she is seeing as she chews on a thin stick of sugarcane. From inside the house her mother calls out. "Upon my head Nabat, remember, no sugar before breakfast!" Nabat frowns, then giggles. The cawing crow looks down at the scene and blinks a yellow, glassy eye amazed at what the morning has already brought forthÉ and still so early! The bird flies off following the running threesome towards a small garden-park. The crow soars down towards the trees as the sun’s light now speeds over the tops of most of them. It lands on a branch and looks at the two older boys now lying exhausted and gasping for breath. The now-distraught, small puffing boy is soon afterwards banging on the door of a medium-sized house when finally a fat, bearded, self-important looking man in his forties opens the door and stares down disdainfully at this dirty, sobbing child. "You! My God, look at you, Shams-ud-din! What are you doing waking me up so early in the morning, you stupid, filthy boy? My sister Ulya should teach you some manners!" "Uncle. My name is now Hafiz, as I’ve told you so often before! Uncle, it’s father, Baha-ud-din, he’s so sick! Mother told me to run to you to get a doctor for him, we don’t have the money anymore, you must help! I, ahhh!" He collapses from exhaustion. "By my soul how embarrassing: still, no one much about at this hour. I’ll have to do as she asks, but first I’ll have to get her ugly little wretch inside." He bends over, holds his nose with one hand and with the other grabs hold of Hafiz’s shirt and looks up and down the street then drags him inside calling out. "Haroun! Where are you, you good-for-nothing, get up and go and fetch the doctor and tell him to ride immediately to my poor sister’s house! Haroun! Get up!" *** Baha-ud-din is near death now. The doctor shakes his head at Hafiz’s mother who turns to her three sons and her brother Sadi and drops down beside her husband and sobs on his chest as he coughs then whispers. "My two big boys, almost grown men, you will have to go to my relatives in Isfahan, I have written to them, they will give you apprenticeships, you will have a life, I’m not worried about you. It is you my dear wife, my Ulya, my Shams-ud-din, my little memorizer, my ‘Hafiz’ that I worry about. Come here son, come here my special boy." Hafiz throws himself into his father’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. "Ah, do not be frightened of separation my boy, without separation there is no union, always remember that. You have a great gift my little ‘Hafiz’: in a few more years you will have memorized the whole of the Koran which took me many years, but don’t stop there, study hard and keep writing those poems of yours, I like them, and where I am going I’ll be listening for them. Now, you must be the man of the house from now on and look after your sweet mother here. Sadi! I’ve something to ask of you. I know we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye but I know your sister here and our son will be welcomed into your home when I’m gone, which will be very soon now. It is all His will. Do not refuse the request of a dying man! " Sadi wipes a tear from his eye and nods his agreement as Baha-ud-din coughs, then continues. "Ah, now I can go to meet God in peace. My family, destiny has dealt us a heavy blow but perhaps from all this suffering we will all come closer to the Almighty, perhaps, ahhhh, my time has come!" He breathes his last as he clutches the hands of his sobbing wife and small son, and now his other sons are on the floor weeping as outside the howling of a dog can be heard and nearby, the cawing of a crow. Copyright © Paul Smith 2005 back to HAFIZ OF SHIRAZ: THE NOVEL BIOGRAPHY ...
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