Layla and Majnun (7 page)

M
ajnun was unable to suppress his anger for long, and they had not travelled far before he turned to Nowfal and began to shout, ‘Do you call yourself a friend? You nurtured my hopes and made them strong like a tree, and now you fell that tree with your own axe. The spoils of victory were yours for the taking. Layla was as good as yours, and thus mine: why did you let her go? Why promise to help me, then turn against me?

‘I was like a man dying of thirst: you led me to the banks of the Euphrates and then, before I could drink, you pulled me away and led me back to the scorching heat of the waterless desert wastes! You led me to the table, but you would not let me eat! Why, if you never intended to let me have my treasure, did you show it to
me in the first place?’

Majnun tugged at the reins of his horse and, without taking his leave, galloped off across the sands and into the wilderness. Soon he had disappeared from sight, leaving Nowfal and his men to scratch their heads in amazement.

A few days after Nowfal had returned to his own land, he formed a search party and went to look for his friend. He was, after all, devoted to Majnun. He wanted to find his friend, to comfort him and tell him how much he loved him, and to reassure him that it had never been his intention to hurt him.

But of Majnun there was no trace. It was as if he had disappeared completely from the face of the earth. It was as if his name had been erased from the book of life. Gradually, Nowfal came to the painful conclusion that he had lost his friend for ever.

H
aving left Nowfal, Majnun was like a motherless child. He mounted his horse and galloped off deep into the desert, the wind his only companion now. In a voice cracked by grief, he sang to himself of Nowfal’s infidelity, recounting his fate to the abandoned camp-fires and deserted caravanserais as he went.

Suddenly, he saw something moving in the distance; as he approached he saw that it was two gazelles, caught in a trap. And there was a hunter standing above them, his dagger drawn, ready for the kill. Majnun felt the anger rise in his chest.

‘Let those poor beasts alone!’ he cried. ‘I am a stranger to these parts and so I am your guest here; it is not fitting for a host to refuse the request of those who call on him! Now, remove the nooses from their necks
and set them free! Is there not room enough in this world for all of God’s creatures? What is their crime, that you are ready to slaughter them? Look how elegant they are, how beautifully they have been created! Do they not remind you of spring itself? Do their soulful eyes not remind you of the eyes of your beloved?

‘Let them go! Leave them alone to live in peace! Their necks are too fine to suffer the blows of your sword; their breasts and thighs were not created to fill your pot; their backs, which have never carried any load, are surely not destined for the fire! Let them go, I beg you!’

The hunter stood back, astonished. Never in his life had he heard a plea for clemency so impassioned, so noble. Still shaking his head in disbelief, he said, ‘Well, what can I say? I understand your point of view and I agree with you.

‘But I am a poor man; were it not for my poverty, I would never stoop to slaughtering God’s creatures. But this is the first catch I have had in two months. I have a wife and several small mouths to feed. Am I to sacrifice the well-being of my family for the freedom of a few animals?’

Majnun dismounted and, with not so much as a word, handed the reins of his horse to the hunter. Perplexed by Majnun’s behaviour, but more than happy with the exchange, the hunter rode off, leaving Majnun to untie the fettered gazelles. Tenderly he took them out of the trap, stroked their necks and kissed their eyes, saying:

Invoking God’s blessings on the animals, he released them and watched as they trotted off across the sands. Then he continued on his way, only at a much slower pace this time, bent almost double by the weight of his grief and his few possessions.

The sun beat him mercilessly about the head with her burning stick, while the sand roasted his feet. His skin was scorched, his brain seemed to be on the boil, his feet were blistered and shredded by thorns, but he carried on unperturbed. He carried on until the night threw its indigo cloak over the earth, and the moon, borrowing the sun’s light, became a huge all-seeing eye in the sky above. Only then did he rest.

Panting and groaning, he crept into a cave and made a bed with his old shawl for a blanket and a rock for a pillow. Then he lay down and, struggling for sleep, he read awhile from the book of his own life, the pages of which were blacker than night itself.

A
s morning unfurled her banner of light and the sun scorched a hole in night’s coal-black veil, the sleep demons unchained Majnun’s mind and returned it to him, allowing him to wake.

Rubbing his eyes, he emerged from the cave and continued on his way, composing his odes and his quatrains and singing them aloud to himself and the desert.

Towards evening, Majnun came across another hunter. The man had trapped a stag in a snare and was just about to slit its throat.

His blood set to boil, Majnun ran towards the hunter and screamed, ‘You monster of a tyrant! You shameful oppressor of the weak and the defenceless! Let this creature go so that it may spend what is left of its life in peace!

‘Have you no thought for this poor creature’s companion? For its offspring, waiting for their father to return? What would the poor hind say if she could speak? She would curse you; she would ask God to make you suffer as you have made her companion suffer.

‘Does the distress of those you torture mean nothing to you? Put yourself in the stag’s place; imagine yourself as the victim in the snare and the stag as the hunter, about to kill you. What would you feel, then?’

‘I do not kill for the sake of killing,’ said the hunter, lowering his dagger. ‘I kill in order to survive, in order to put food on the table. If you wish, I am ready to sell the stag to you.’

Majnun had neither money nor jewellery, but he did have the few things that Nowfal had given him. He took them out of his bag and handed them to the hunter, who was quite satisfied with the exchange. Stuffing them into his sack, he patted the stag on the back, smiled at Majnun and set off over the dunes.  

When the hunter had gone, Majnun went over to the stag and began to stroke it gently, like a father caressing his child. Then he began to whisper into its ear:  

‘You are like me, separated from the one you love. Never mind, for your sorrows are over. Now you can return to her and sleep in her shadow, where you belong. And if, as you return to your beloved, you should encounter mine on the way, give her this message from me:

With these words, Majnun untied the stag and set it free. Then he watched it as it hurried off into the distance, anxious to rejoin its mate.

High above, the caravan of night had returned from its travels; in the eastern sky, the moon emerged from the darkness and began to bathe the desert in its hypnotic silver light. Majnun looked up to the sky like a bird with injured wings, unable to fly. Then he stared at the stars and, with tears in his eyes, pondered his fate.

D
awn cast its ochre light over the indigo dome of night, while the sun, awakened from its slumber, painted fresh red roses on the horizon.

But Majnun, wearied by grief and the pain of separation, resembled a flower in autumn, its sepals withered, its petals yellow and fading and set to fall.

When the sun reached its zenith and began to roast him, Majnun was relieved to find a small, palm-fringed oasis with a bubbling stream where he could rest awhile. Water and trees and shade! This place, thought Majnun, is a small part of Heaven fallen down to earth!

He drank from the cool, sweet stream until his thirst subsided; then he lay down on the velvet-soft carpet of grass in the shade of the palms. Within minutes he had drifted into a deep, sweet sleep. Slowly his cares dissolved, his worries melted away,
and he began to dream.

When he woke, the sun was already sinking low in the west. How long had he been asleep? It had seemed but minutes, yet the fading light and the approaching cold told a different tale.

As he pondered the mysteries of sleep, trying to work out how so much time could have passed unnoticed, Majnun was suddenly gripped by the feeling that he was not alone, that someone or something had been watching him as he lay sleeping. Surely he must be mistaken — after all, he thought, apart from me there is no living thing for miles around.

And then he saw it. High up among the leaves of the topmost branch of the palm in whose shade he had been sleeping, a dark shadow arrested his gaze. There, motionless in the greenery, sat a huge, coal-black raven, its eyes glittering like diamonds.

He, too, has donned his mourning robes, thought Majnun. Like me, he has taken to the wilderness to be alone with his grief. Majnun cleared his throat and called out to the bird, ‘Hey, you with the black cloak! Whom do you mourn? Why do you wear the colours of night in the full light of day? Tell me, are you grieving on my account?’  

Starting at this sudden cry, the bird hopped on to another branch, its lamp-like eyes fixed on Majnun. Majnun continued, ‘If you, like me, are one of those whose hearts have been torn in two by love, why do you shun me? Or maybe you are dressed in black because you are a preacher, ready to mount the pulpit in order to deliver your sermon. Is that it?

‘Then again, it could be that you are a Negro guard, here to watch my every move. If that be the case, why are you afraid? Perhaps I am a King and you are the knight sent to protect me.

‘Whatever you are, listen well: if, while you are on the wing, you should meet the one I love, tell her this from me.’

And Majnun began to recite:

As Majnun came to the end of his verse, the raven hopped further and further away to the tip of the branch. Then, with a frenzied flapping of wings, he took off from the crown of the palm and soared away. Soon he had vanished from sight, swallowed up by the encroaching blackness of night.

The day was done; the night had come. Bats wheeled and swooped as twilight faded and darkness swelled. Soon the sky was darker than a raven’s coat; indeed, the night itself was like a raven, ink-black and foreboding. And as the monstrous bird of night spread its wings across the heavens, diamond-like eyes stared down once more at Majnun — now he saw not a single
pair but a hundred thousand, large and small, near and far, shining in cold splendour above his head. To escape their gaze, Majnun covered his face with his hands.

Then, he sat down and wept.

T
he morning light was like a sharp knife, cutting through the veil of night. Slowly the old earth found new life again, born afresh like a vast flower emerging from the bud.

Majnun rushed onwards, his feet scarcely touching the ground. It was as though he had suddenly sprouted wings and could fly; he was like a moth that dances through the darkness towards the flame it wishes to make its own. But Majnun was aflame before he had reached the candle of his desires; his separation from Layla was a pain that he could no longer bear; it was a fire that had consumed his very being.

The nearer he came to his goal, the more intoxicated his soul became with Layla’s scent, the more distinctly his ears seemed to hear her voice, the more clearly his eyes perceived her image in everything
he saw — in the mountains, the valleys, the rocks, the shifting sands.

Before long, he had become so fatigued that he was forced to stop for rest. Within minutes, he felt as though he was a corpse now resurrected: with every breath, every sigh, he felt the life force stream back into his tired limbs.

He had not been resting long when he saw two figures approaching. A man, chained and bound, his emaciated body clad in filthy rags and his hair and beard dishevelled, was being dragged along by a woman. The wretched captive was clearly out of his mind; every now and then the woman would yank his chains and beat him with her stick, hurrying him along like some worn-out beast of burden, causing him to yell out in distress.

Deeply shocked at the spectacle, Majnun ran forward to the couple and made a grab for the woman’s stick. ‘For pity’s sake,’ he cried, ‘leave the poor wretch be! What has he done to deserve such inhumane treatment? He may be crazy, he may be a criminal, but whatever he is, he is still a human being and you have no right to punish him in this manner.’

The woman replied, ‘Do you really want to know the truth? Then listen well. This man is not crazy; nor is he a criminal. I am a poor widow and he is a dervish, a “fool of God”, and both of us have suffered great hardship. We are both of us ready to do anything that will make money enough to put a crust of bread on our table.

‘And so I parade him around in chains; that way,
everyone thinks that he is mad. People take pity on us — on him for being mad, and on me for having to bear so heavy a burden — and they give us money out of the goodness of their hearts. Whatever we earn, we split between us.’

Majnun sank to his knees in the dust and began to plead with her: ‘For the love of God, take the chains from this poor man’s hands and feet and put them on me, for I should be tied up, not he! You see, I am truly mad!

‘Yes, I am one of those unfortunate wretches whose minds have been destroyed by love. Tie me up and take me with you! Parade me in chains instead of him and everything that you earn shall be yours to keep; money does not interest me in the least.’

The woman did not need to think twice about Majnun’s offer. Ripping the chains from the hands and feet of the dervish, she tied Majnun up in his place. Taking their leave of the dervish, the woman yanked on Majnun’s chains and dragged him away, a happy smile on her lips. Majnun, for his part, was overjoyed, and every blow of the woman’s stick upon his bare back was like a lover’s caress.

The woman and her new prisoner moved from oasis to oasis, stopping at each tent they passed. Majnun would sit in the dust and recite his love poems, each dedicated to Layla, pummelling his face with his fist or dancing around like a drunken bear while the woman beat him with her stick.

At one particular oasis, at the edge of the stream, Majnun saw a tent which seemed familiar to him.
Edging towards it, he saw to his astonishment that it was Layla’s tent.

Suddenly his eyes burst like spring clouds, sending showers of tears down his cheeks. He sank to the ground, pounded his head against the hard earth and cried out, ‘Why did you leave me? Why did you leave me alone and share nothing with me but your grief?

‘Look what has become of me! I am doing penance because I made you and your people suffer at the hands of Nowfal. To atone for my sin, I have given up my freedom and now here I stand, chained and bound, waiting to be punished. I know that I have done wrong, and that the burden of my sin is so great that I will never be forgiven.

‘I am your captive; you must be my judge. Condemn me, if you will; punish me with the severest punishment you can think of.

‘I am to blame for the suffering that you and your people have endured; it is my fault entirely. Do you think I do not know this? Can you not see that this is why I am chained and bound and beaten black and blue? I have confessed to my crime and now I am here in chains to suffer punishment at your hands. So imprison me, torture me, kill me if you must — but do not reject me!

‘While I lived, I lived for your greetings, but they did not reach me. While I lived, I lived for the touch of your hand upon my face, but you were always out of reach. But now — now that my life is over — there is hope!

‘Maybe now, as you kill me with your arrow, you
will look at me! Maybe now you will touch me, if only to bare my neck before you sever my head from my body with your sword! I am not afraid of death: what do I have to fear, if you are my executioner? Why should I tremble if it is your sword that is to cut off my head?

‘My heart is a candle: trim the wick and it will only burn brighter! While I live, all roads to you are blocked, so why should I not embrace death willingly? Come, save yourself from me, and me from myself, and let me rest at your feet in eternal peace and everlasting tranquillity!’

There was nothing more he could say. With a
heartrending
cry he shot up from the ground like an arrow, his face contorted with rage. Like a man possessed by demons he grasped his chains with both hands and, strengthened by some unknown force, tore them from his limbs and tossed them into the sand. Then he ran. He ran away from the old woman, from Layla’s tent, from the oasis, from all human beings, and headed for the mountainous desert wastes of Najd.

One by one his friends and relatives were told: all were saddened by the news, but few of them were surprised. Majnun’s behaviour had been worrying them for some time, but what could they have done? A meeting was held and a party of Majnun’s relatives was sent off to search for him. When eventually they found him, high up in one of his most isolated retreats, they realised that the only thing he remembered was Layla and his love for her; the rest of his past was erased. As soon as they tried to jog his memory by mentioning the
names of friends and relatives, people and places he had known, he would fall silent or close his eyes, as though he was too exhausted to think. All attempts to get through to him, to make him see sense, failed miserably; in the end, his relatives gave up and headed back to the town. Others tried to reach him, but with little success, and in the end even his father and mother had to abandon hope that he would ever return.