Nur-addín 'Abd-alrahmán Jámí was born in Jám[1] the 23rd of Sha'bán,
817, A.H. (Nov. 7, 1414 A.D.), and died at Herát the 18th of Muharram,
898 A.H. (NOV. 9, 1492 A.D.). Dr. Hermann Ethé gives Khasjird, near
Jám, as the birthplace of the poet; but as Jámí himself refers more
than once to the fact of Jám being his birthplace, we must give the
poet the benefit of the doubt and I trust to his good memory in the
matter. The fact that Jám and Khasjird are in close proximity I has
probably given rise to confusion in the matter. It will be evident that
the poet took his name from the first-mentioned town.
In 822 A.H. Khwájah Mohammad Pársá happened to pass through the little
town of Jám, _en route_ for Hijàz. A great concourse of people came out
to do the holy man honour, and among them was the little boy, Jámí, and
his father. A pretty story is told of how Jámí's father seated his son
in front of Khwájah's litter. I do not think the little fellow laughed
very much, as most boys would have done on such a joyous occasion,
because Jámí, writing on his impression of that day sixty years after,
tells us that "The pure refulgence of his (Mohammad Pársá's) beaming
countenance is even now, as then, clearly visible to me, and my heart
still feels the joy I experienced from that happy meeting. I firmly
believe that that bond of union, friendship, confidence, and love,
which subsequently bound the great body of pious spirits to this humble
creature, is wholly due to the fortunate influence of his glance, and
most devoutly do I trust that the auspiciousness of this union may
cause me to be ranked among the number of his friends." Jámí seems to
have had much faith in the contact with holy men, and he attached much
importance to a certain Shaikh who took him on his knee as a child.
This very estimable reverence for holy men and holy things must ever
remain as one of the poet's finest characteristics. We can, however,
never say of Jámí that he was a man of wide sympathy. He was kind and
generous towards the poor and needy; but he lamentably failed where,
perhaps, he should have shone most, namely, among the literary men of
his own period. He too frequently displayed a fighting spirit, where
tolerance and a willingness to admit of another point of view would
have shown to greater advantage.
Jámí commenced his education at Herát. He strongly objected to the
disciplinary methods of instruction, was not studious as a boy, and
preferred games rather than the study of books. But he was naturally
clever, naturally quick at absorbing knowledge with a minimum of
labour. It is said of him that he used to snatch a book from one of his
fellow students while on his way to school and excel them all when they
were examined in class.
Jámí soon left his instructor Mullá Junaid and became a pupil of
Khwájah 'Alí al-Samarqandi. Jámí was so brilliant a scholar that
after forty lessons further instruction from his master was quite
unnecessary. After attending a series of lectures by Qazí Rúm, at
Samarqand, he succeeded in getting the best of an argument with the
learned professor who had given the lectures. It might have been
expected that the defeat of an older man of letters than Jámí would
have produced ill-feeling; but quite the contrary was the case.
Qazí Rúm, before a large assembly, described Jámí thus: "Since the
building of this city, no one equal, in sharpness of intellects and
power of using them, to young Jámí, has ever crossed the Oxus and
entered Samarqand." This was high praise indeed; but though it awakens
our admiration, the fact that he dispensed with "home-work" while
at school, scanned his lessons while walking past the rose-gardens,
bettered his instructor in an argument, and in every way shone as a
most clever young man, because he simply could not help being anything
else, makes him not one whit dearer to our hearts if we expect from him
something more than cleverness. Jámí had not that greatness of soul
whereby to counteract the deterrent effect his conspicuous success
might have upon him. In these early days of too youthful recognition we
find Jámí infected with that disease commonly known as "swelled head,"
from which the poet never recovered. We see him too often as a little
tin-god denying, with the exception of his father, all indebtedness to
others for his noteworthy erudition--an absurd attitude for any one
to take. He remarks: "I have found no master with whom I have read,
superior to myself. On the contrary I have invariably found that,
in argument, I could defeat them all. I acknowledge, therefore, the
obligations of a pupil to his master to none of them; for if I am the
pupil of any one, it is of my father who taught me the language." This
blatantly conceited attitude is both disappointing and surprising
when we remember first, that Jámí was a professed Súfí, the follower
of a teaching the tenets of which are the abandonment of self and the
knowledge of God only. Second, that Jámí had a very decided sense of
humour, strongly in evidence in the "Sixth Garden" of his _Baháristán_,
so delightfully entitled: "Blowing of the zephyrs of wit and the
breezes of jocular sallies, which cause the buds of the lips to laugh
and the flowers of the hearts to bloom." From these two things alone we
might have expected a finer and nobler character. We must be, however,
content with the life of a great literary egoist, abandon sentiment,
and remember only that he has left to posterity the most polished of
Persian poetry.
Jámí's acceptance of Súfíism was brought about through a vision in
which S'ad al-Dín appeared to him and said: "Go, O child! and wait
on one who is indispensable to you." As this message was delivered
by a spirit Jámí appears to have taken no objection to the word
"indispensable"; but on the contrary, obeyed the command and went to
S'ad al-Dín for spiritual instruction. Under this holy man Jámí lived
the life of a rigid ascetic. So devoutly and so strenuously did Jámí
perform his penances that when S'ad al-Dín thought fit to lessen them
and allow Jámí to mix with society again, the poet found that he had
lost his power of eloquence, for which he had been so justly famed,
and it was some considerable time before he regained his position as a
great master of rhetoric.
I have already said that Jámí showed a very strong liking for holy
and pious men. Particularly might be mentioned Shams al-Dín Mohammad
Asad and 'Ubaid Ullah Ahrár. The last mentioned alludes to Jámí as
the "flood of light," and to himself as the "small lamp." But Jámí,
nevertheless, was not very optimistic in his views regarding other
people. "Alas," said he, "I can find no seekers after _Truth_. Seekers
there are, but they are seekers of their own prosperity."
It was while making a pilgrimage to Mecca that Jámí suffered
considerably from the mutilation of a passage from his _Silsilah
al-Dhahab_, a passage purposely borrowed from Qazí Azád. The mutilation
was performed by N'imat-i Haidarí, a native of Jám, who had accompanied
Jámí to Baghdad, had quarrelled, and left the little band and some
Moslims of another order. The partially suppressed passage was shown to
some of the Shí'a as the work of Jámí. The poet and his followers met
with a heated dispute from the people of Baghdad. Finally a meeting was
called in the Madrassah of the town. A large number of excited people
attended. The Hanafi and Sháfi'í churches were represented, and in
front of their respective representatives sat the Governor. When the
_Silsilah al-Dhahab_ was perused the piece of deception was discovered,
namely, that the beginning and end had been suppressed, and a passage
added likely to offend the people of Baghdad. Peace was once more
restored. Jámí, however, felt justified in punishing the originators
of the plot. N'imat-i Haidarí had his moustache very unceremoniously
cut off, and was commanded to forfeit a pious garb with the crushing
remark: "It will be necessary for you to recommend yourself to some
holy man of the day, who, peradventure, may yet put you on the right
way." This man's brother, who had also offended, was forced to wear
a fool's cap and to ride on an ass with his head facing the animal's
tail, amid the none too complimentary remarks of the Baghdad people.
Although Jámí, in spite of the incident mentioned above, remained in
Baghdad four months, he never forgot the insult, and expressed himself
bitterly on the subject in some of his poetry.
We then find our poet continuing his journey to Mecca, and both on his
way to the holy city of Islam and upon his return therefrom, he met
with cordial receptions from the people, who came out to do him honour.
On one occasion, however, while Jámí stayed at Aleppo the Sultán of Rúm
sent a messenger with a present of five thousand pieces of gold if Jámí
would consent to visit Constantinople. The messenger came to Damascus
only to find that Jámí had recently vacated it. The poet, hearing of
the Sultán of Rúm's intentions, and wishing to avoid his munificence,
took his departure to Tabríz. At this town Hasan Beg, the Governor of
Kurdistan, made repeated overtures to try and persuade the poet to
reside in his capital. But Jámí, making the excuse that he wished to
visit his aged mother, journeyed to Khorasan. Fate, however, ordained
honours and showers of gold for the none too grateful or needy Jámí,
and at Khorasan he was again the recipient of many costly presents.
Jámí, probably wearied with the continual adulation which he had
everywhere received, now retired from public life. At this juncture
little is recorded of him, and here we must leave him with one anecdote
which will serve to show his ready wit: "You (_i.e._ God) so occupy my
whole thoughts and vision, that whatsoever comes into view from afar
appears to me to be You." "What," said a sharp contemporary, "if a
jackass were to come into view?" "It would appear to me to be _you_!"
was Jámí's prompt reply.