In this beautiful little allegory, the meaning of which is so obvious
that Jámí need not have explained it in his Epilogue, we read of the
Shah of Yunan. He was a king ever wisely counselled by a sage who kept
the Tower of Wisdom, and might be therefore reasonably supposed to be a
fit and able personage to have about the king's person. However, this
sage was also a cynic.
One day, after the king had poured forth a very beautiful lament on
his childless marriage, and had concluded by remarking that a son was
"man's prime desire," the keeper of the Tower of Wisdom supplemented
his lord's remarks by describing woman as "A foolish, faithless thing,"
and marriage made miserable by "One little twist of temper." If the
sage succeeded in frightening the king with his tirade on earthly
marriage, he was certainly not successful in quelling the king's desire
for a son. Of course in allegories nothing is impossible, and we are
not at all surprised to find that the king's wish was fulfilled by
magic! The fond father named his son Salámán and chose Absál for his
nurse.
Absál seems to have been delighted with her charge:
As soon as she had opened eyes on him,
She closed those eyes to all the world beside.
By this we might well infer that Absál was a most estimable nurse.
It so happened, however, that her eyes remained closed to everything
else but her charge to such an alarming extent that when Salámán
was fourteen years old she revealed herself, with many subtle,
Zulaikha-like wiles, as his devoted lover.
After the young people had spent a joyous year together, the knowledge
of their attachment came to the ears of the king. That wise ruler
duly admonished his wayward son and suggested hunting in preference
to "dalliance unwise." The sage added his profound wisdom, as was his
wont. These admonitions only resulted in the lovers fleeing the city.
Across desert and sea they went until they came to a most wonderful
island, the island of all earthly delights.
In the meantime the Shah became aware of his son's "Soul-wasting
absence." The much troubled king looked into a mirror, "Reflecting all
the world," and saw the lovers on their beautiful island, "Looking
only in each other's eyes, and r never finding any sorrow there." The
old king, remembering, perhaps, his early days, pitied them at first.
But human pity is usually short-lived. Day after day seeing the same
lovelorn objects in the magic mirror, he grew very angry and decided
to make the lovers' embraces impossible in future. The king succeeded
in casting a spell and also in revealing his face to his son, which
so pricked the young man's conscience that he and Absál left their
beautiful island and returned to their city. But here Salámán was torn
with conflicting thoughts about his beloved Absál. Memories of the
island garden came back to him again. In this melancholy state of mind
the lovers again journeyed forth into the desert, this time to cut down
branches and burn themselves to death. "Hand in hand they sprang into
the fire." While one little hand slipped away from its hold and one
fair body fell among the flames, Salámán remained unscathed.
It was after this sad scene that the sage explained the nature of
Celestial Love, and revealed to Salámán's weary eyes the beautiful
goddess, Zuhrah. Little by little Salámán came to regard his old
earthly love as "The bondage of Absál," a thing merely of the senses,
whereas this new Knowledge, this Love, belonged to the "Harvest of
Eternity." And so this beautiful little poem, to put it as briefly as
possible, tells of the love that binds and fetters and is corruptible,
and of that other Love that is Incorruptible.