Chapter Five: On Contentment with Fate

One night I burned the oil of thought, lighting the lamp of eloquence. A scattered talker heard my words and found no path but to say 'well done.' But he laced it with a kind of malice, the sort that forces a cry of pain. He said: his thought is sharp, his judgment high in this manner of piety, empty talk, and advice, but not in wielding brick and club and heavy mace; that art is sealed off, left to other men. He does not know that I have no taste for war, or else my room for speech would not be narrow. I could draw the blade of my tongue and strike through a whole world of speech with my pen. Come then, let us clash in this manner, and make a stone the pillow for the enemy's head. Good fortune comes by the Judge's grace, not in the grip and arm of the strong. When the high heavens grant no wealth, it is not caught by sheer manliness. No harm comes to the ant from its weakness, nor do lions eat by claw and force alone. Since you cannot raise a hand against the skies, you must make peace with how they turn. If a long life is written for you, no snake will sting you, no sword, no lion. But if no share of life is left to you, even the healing balm will kill you like poison. When Rustam had eaten his last portion of days, didn't Shaghad wipe him from existence?

In Isfahan I once had a friend, a warrior, bold and sharp as a rogue. His hand and dagger were always stained with blood; the enemy's heart roasted on his fire like meat on a spit. I never saw a day he didn't strap on his quiver, when fire didn't fly from his steel arrowhead. A brave man with a grip strong as a bull; even lions trembled at the sight of him. When challenged, he loosed his arrows so well that he could pierce each one, one by one, dead center. No thorn ever sank into clay the way his arrowhead sank through paired shields. He struck a warrior's skull with the brick so hard that helmet and head fused into one. In battle he was a sparrow on the day of the locust: killing a man or a sparrow was all the same to him. Had he charged at Fereydun himself, he'd have given him no chance to draw a blade. By his crushing grip he brought leopards down, sinking his claws into the brains of lions. If he seized the war belt of any fighter, he'd tear him up though he were a mountain rooted in place. He'd strike an armored man like a battle-axe, cleaving through the rider and into the saddle. In courage and in humanity alike, no one ever heard of a second man like him in the world. He never let me out of his sight for a moment, for he kept the company of honest, upright souls. Then travel suddenly tore me from that land, for my time to live there had run out. Fate carried me from Iraq to Syria, and I found the stay in that pure soil pleasant. In short, I lingered there a while, through hardship and ease, through hope and fear. At last my cup of Syria was full, and longing drew me back toward home. Fate arranged it so that once again my road ran through Iraq. One night I sank into thought, and that skilled friend of mine crossed my mind. It reopened the old wound in me, for I had shared salt and bread with that man. So I went to Isfahan to see him, seeking him out with love and longing. But I found the young man aged by the turning of the world: his poplar-red youth withered pale, his bow slack. His head white as a snow-capped mountain, and from that snow of age the water of tears ran down his face. The heavens had laid a strong hand on him and twisted the arm of his manhood back. The world had driven the pride out of his head, bending the head of weakness down to his knee. I said to him, 'You who once seized lions, what has worn you down like an old fox?' He laughed and said, 'On the day of battle with the Tatars, I finally drove that fighting spirit out of my head. I saw the ground bristling with spears like a reed-bed, and the banners rising in it like flames. I raised the dust of battle like smoke, but when fortune is absent, what good is daring? I am the one who, when I charged, could lift a ring off a hand with the tip of my lance. But when my star gave me no help, they circled me the way a stone is set in a ring. I counted flight the wiser course, for only a fool sharpens his fist against fate. What use my helmet and my mail, when my bright star refused to aid me? When the key of victory is not in your hand, you cannot break open triumph by brute strength. A host that fells leopards, strong as elephants, men clad in iron down to their horses' hooves. The moment we saw the army's dust, we made our shirts of mail and our caps of helmets. We spurred our Arab horses on like storm clouds and poured down our polished blades like rain. The two armies crashed together from ambush; you'd have thought the sky had struck the earth. With arrows falling like hail, a storm of death rose up in every corner. To hunt the fierce lions eager for the fray, the lasso opened its dragon's jaws. The earth turned to a dark sky with dust, and in it the flash of sword and helmet gleamed like stars. When the enemy's horsemen overtook us, on foot we wove shield into shield. We split hairs with arrow and lance-point, but when fortune failed, we turned our faces to flee. What strength can a man's straining fist bring, when the arm of divine favor lends no aid? It was not that the heroes' swords were dull; it was that fate had turned fierce against us. No one came out of that battle from our ranks except with his war-coat soaked in blood. Like a hundred grains gathered in one ear of grain, we fell, each grain scattered to its own corner. Helplessly we surrendered to one another, like a fish caught on the hook while still in its armor. The arrow of others could not pierce even silk, though I had sworn my arrows could stitch through an anvil. When fortune had turned its face from us, a shield was nothing before the arrow of fate. Now hear a stranger truth than this: without luck, all effort isn't worth two barleycorns.'

In Ardabil there was a man of iron grip who could drive an arrow clean through an elephant. A fighter in a felt coat came out to face him, a young man burning for the world, hungry for battle. He charged into the fray like Bahram Gur, a lasso of raw hide slung across his shoulder. When the man of Ardabil saw the ragged felt coat, he strung his bow and drew the string to his ear. He struck him with fifty poplar arrows, yet not a single shaft went through the felt. The felt-clad fighter closed in like the champion Sam, caught him in the loop of his lasso and hauled him off. He dragged him to the camp and in his tent tied his hands to his neck like a murderous thief. That night he could not sleep for shame and wounded pride; at dawn a servant in the tent spoke up. You, who can pierce iron with your arrows, how did you end up the felt-wearer's captive? I heard him answer, weeping tears of blood: don't you know that no one lives past the day death is due? I am the man who, in the art of thrust and blow, could teach even Rustam the ways of war. While the arm of my fortune was strong, a thick elephant hide seemed no more than felt to me. Now that luck no longer fills my grip, felt before my arrow is as tough as an elephant. On death's appointed day a spear tears through armor, but before that day it won't pierce even a shirt. The man with death's sword of doom at his back stands naked, however many layers his armor has. But if luck stands with him and fate has his back, you couldn't kill him with a cleaver, even bare. The wise man's efforts win no reprieve from death, and the fool does not die from eating badly.

One night a Kurd couldn't sleep for the pain in his side. A doctor lived nearby, and he said: With a stomach like his, stuffed on grape leaves, I'd be amazed if he makes it through the night. A Tatar's arrowhead lodged in the chest is easier to bear than the weight of food that won't agree with you. If a single bite twists your gut into knots, a fool's whole life can come to nothing. As fate would have it, the doctor died that very night. Forty years have passed, and the Kurd is still alive.

A villager's donkey died, so he stuck its head up high on a vine in his garden. A well-traveled old man passed by and, smiling, said this to the keeper of the field: Don't imagine, my son, that this donkey will keep the evil eye away from your crops. It couldn't keep a stick off its own head and ears, and so it died helpless and wounded. What can a doctor do for someone's pain when that poor soul is bound to die of it anyway?

I heard that a poor man dropped a gold coin, and the wretch searched hard to find it. In the end he gave up in despair, and someone else, without even looking, found it. The pen wrote out our fortune and misfortune while we were still in the womb. It isn't strength that earns a person's daily bread; in fact the strongest often have the least. Many a clever schemer has died in hardship, while the helpless one walked away with the prize.

An old man beat his son with a stick. The boy cried, 'Father, don't beat me, I've done nothing wrong.' 'When other people wrong me, I can come to you and weep. But when you are the one who wrongs me, what am I to do?' So, you who have any sense, cry out to the Judge for help, not in complaint against the Judge himself.

A man of high fortune, named Bakhtiar, was powerful and rich in wealth. His house stood in a street of beggars, and his gold was measured out like grain by the bushel. When a poor man sees the rich living in ease, his heart burns even more with the ache of need. One night a woman picked a fight with her husband when he came home empty handed. She said, 'No one is as luckless and poor as you; like a red wasp, all you have is this sting.' 'Learn some manhood from the neighbors, for in the end I am not some worthless woman.' 'Others have gold and silver, property and fine clothes; why aren't you fortunate like them?' The pure hearted man in his woolen cloak let out a cry, like a drum booming from an empty belly. He said, 'I have no power over anything; do not struggle against the fist of fate.' 'It was never left to my own choice to make myself a man of fortune.'

An old dervish in the land of Kish said something wise to his ugly wife: Since the hand of fate made your face plain, don't smear rouge on an ugly face. Who ever won good fortune by force? Can kohl make a blind eye see? Good deeds don't come from those of rotten stock; you can't teach dogs to sew. All the philosophers of Greece and Rome could never make honey out of a bitter thorn tree. A wild beast can't become a decent person; try to train it and your effort is wasted. You can wipe the rust from a mirror, but you can't make a mirror out of stone. No effort makes a rose bloom on a willow branch, and no bath turns a dark-skinned man white. Since the arrow of fate cannot be turned back, the servant has no shield but acceptance.

A vulture boasted to a kite: 'No one has sharper eyes than mine.' The kite said, 'Don't let that pass so easily. Come, show me what you can spot across the plain.' They say the vulture gazed down from a height as far as a full day's journey below. He said, 'I see, believe me if you will, a single grain of wheat lying on the ground.' The kite could not contain his wonder, and together they dropped down from the sky. When the vulture swooped upon the grain, a long snare tightened around his leg. He never guessed that eating that one grain meant fate would fling its trap around his neck. Not every shell holds a pearl, and not every arrow finds its mark. The kite said, 'What good was seeing that grain when you couldn't see your enemy's trap?' They say he answered, his neck in the snare: 'Caution is no use against destiny.' When death reached out to shed his blood, fate itself sealed his keen, far-seeing eyes. In waters whose shore can never be seen, a swimmer's pride will do him no good.

What a fine thing the apprentice weaver said, as he wove figures of the phoenix, the elephant, and the giraffe: No design comes from my hands except the pattern my master sets from above. Whether your situation turns out good or bad, it is the hand of destiny that traces the design. There is a hidden kind of idolatry in saying, 'This man wronged me and that man hurt me.' If the Lord of command grants you sight, you will no longer see the faces of this man or that as the cause. I cannot believe that if a servant falls silent, God will strike his daily bread from the ledger. May the Maker of the world open the way for you, for if He shuts it, who can open it again?

The young camel said to its mother: 'After all this walking, finally lie down and rest a while.' She said: 'If the reins were in my own hands, you would never have seen me hauling loads in the caravan.' Fate carries the ship wherever it wills, even if the captain tears his clothes in despair. Saadi, do not fix your eyes on anyone's hand for charity, for the only giver is God alone. If you worship the truth, this one door is enough, for if He drives you away, no one else will call you in. If He crowns you, lift up your head; if not, then scratch the head of hopelessness.

Worship is good only with sincere intention; otherwise, what comes of an empty shell with no kernel inside? Whether it is a pagan's belt or a holy man's robe, what use is it if you wear it just to impress the crowd? I told you: don't parade your manly virtue; once you have shown you are a man, don't turn out a coward. Show yourself only as much as you truly are; the one who was something and never flaunted it feels no shame. For once the borrowed finery is stripped from his head, only a worn old garment is left on his back. If you are short, don't strap on stilts just to look tall in the eyes of children. Copper coated with silver can be passed off on someone who doesn't know better. My dear, don't gild a worthless coin; the wise money-changer won't take it as anything. The gilded are thrown into the fire, and then it shows whether they are copper or gold. Do you know what Baba Kuhi said to a man who stayed awake all night for the sake of his reputation? Go, my son, and struggle for sincerity, for you can never truly escape people's eyes by any trick. Those who admire what you do have so far seen only your outer surface. What worth does a slave with a face like an angel have, if beneath his robe his body is diseased? You cannot slip into paradise by deceit, for the veil will be pulled back from your ugly face.

I heard of a child, too young to be bound by the rule, who fasted, and with a hundred hardships dragged himself to noon. No tutor took him to school that day; the worship of such a small child seemed a great thing to everyone. His father kissed his eyes, his mother his head, and they showered almonds and coins over him. But once half the day had passed, the fire of hunger began to burn in his stomach. He said to himself: if I eat a few bites, how would my father or mother know the secret? Since the boy kept his eyes on his father and family, he ate in secret and paraded the fast in public. Who would know, when you feel no bond to God, if you stood in prayer without having washed? So this old man is more foolish than that ignorant child, for he keeps up his devotions just for other people. That prayer is a key to the door of hell, the one you stretch out long only in the eyes of the crowd. If your road runs anywhere but toward God, they will fling your prayer mat into the fire.

I heard that an evil-doer fell from a ladder and gave up his life in that very instant. His son wept for a few days, then went back to sitting with his friends. In a dream he saw his father and asked how things were: how did you fare with the resurrection, the reckoning, and the questioning? He said, my son, do not make me tell the tale: I fell straight into hell from that ladder. A good nature, plain and without pretense, is better than a fine reputation with rot inside. To me, a highwayman who robs at night is better than a corrupt man dressed in a saint's clothes. The man who wears himself out serving people's approval, what reward will God give him on Judgment Day? My son, do not expect wages from Amr when you are working in Zeid's house. I will not say anyone can reach the Beloved on this road, except the one whose face is turned toward Him. Walk the straight road so you reach your destination; you are not even on the road, and so you fall behind. You are like the ox at the oil press whose eyes are covered: running all day, yet at night it is right where it started. If someone turns his face away from the prayer niche, the whole town will testify to his disbelief. But you too have your back to the true direction in prayer, if your face is not truly turned toward God in need. Nurture a tree whose roots are firm, for one day it will bear fruit. If the root of sincerity is not planted in your soil, no one is more deprived of its fruit than you. Whoever scatters seed on bare stone will not gather a single grain at harvest time. Do not put your trust in the honor of hypocrisy, for beneath that water lies mud. If inwardly I am wicked and worthless, what good is a show of respectability on the surface? It is easy to stitch a dervish robe for show and pretense, but can you sell it to God? How can people know who is beneath the garment? Only the Writer knows what is written in the book. What weight can a sack full of wind carry where the scales are justice and the court is truth? The hypocrite who displayed so much piety was examined, and his sack held nothing at all. People make the outer cloth finer than the lining, since the lining is hidden and the outside is seen. The great ones had no care for others' eyes; that is why their lining was of silk. But if you want your fame spread through the land, wear a fine outer garment, though inside be only stuffing. Bayazid did not say it as a joke: I feel safer from the disbeliever than from my own disciple. Those who are sultans and kings of kings are, one and all, beggars at this threshold. The man of true meaning sets no hope on a beggar; you should not clutch at a hand already fallen. It is better, if you carry a pearl within, to close upon yourself like an oyster shell. Since your face of worship is turned toward God, it is fine even if the angel Gabriel does not see you. Saadi's counsel is enough for you, my son, if you take it to heart like a father's advice. If you will not hear our words today, may you not be filled with regret tomorrow. From now on you must find yourself an adviser; I do not know what will become of you after I am gone.