AMONG MYSTICS - JALALUDDIN RUMI

Professor Coleman Barks who teaches poetry in the University of Georgia (US) is today regarded as the authority on the poetry of Jelaluddin Rumi (1201-1273). When starting on his translations Barks thought it wise to seek the guidance of the best-known Sufi teacher of the time, Bawa Muhaijudeen of Iran. As he introduced himself, his mentor asked him what his name meant. Barks told him. Whereupon Bawa started howling like a dog and then laughed.

The professor was not in the least offended because he knew that childlike behaviour is part of Sufi character. Howling is both an expression of pain and a cry for help. Rumi had written “the grief you cry out from draws you towards union; your pure sadness that wants help is the secret cup. Listen to the moan of a dog for its master, the whining, is the connection. There are love dogs no one knows the name of. Give your life to be one of them.”

I confess I am as out of my depth with this kind of dogma as I am with the writings of our own mystics, the Bhaktas. However, I persisted in my reading of Rumi for two reasons. The Essential Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks and John Moyne, was gifted to me by a close friend, Samia Moosa, an attractive Afghan lady who spends her time equally between Kabul and California. I wanted to know what was so great about Jelaluddin Rumi after whom a cult of dancing dervishes has been established.

I was fully rewarded. There are gems of wisdom strewn in a lot of tales, some as bawdy as lowly-minded people like me read with relish. There is one about two young ladies who wanted to copulate with donkeys. One was wise enough to design a contraption that prevented the donkey going full tilt; the other was foolish enough to go the whole hog with fatal consequences. I was left guessing about the lesson the learned Rumi was trying to convey.

More interesting was of a young, handsome army commander who was ordered by the Caliph of Egypt to capture a ravishing beauty from the harem of the Mosul ruler. The commander succeeded, but on his way back decided to taste the girl’s beauty. While he was at it, a lion attacked his stables. He rose from his pleasures, drew his scimitar, went out naked with his member erect, slew the lion and resumed love-making. He presented the beauty to his master. The Caliph was not up to the task and had to give up half-way. Being a wise man he presented the girl to his commander.

Once again, though I enjoyed reading the tale, I was unable to decide on the moral Rumi wanted to convey. Perhaps it was that only the brave deserve the fair. When Rumi died in December 1273, representatives of every major religion came to his funeral. On his death bed, he proclaimed: “I go into the Muslim mosque and the Jewish synagogue and the Christian church and I see one altar.” I am determined to read this book till wisdom dawns on me.