Story 14

I once had a friend. We had traveled together for years, shared our bread, and built countless bonds of companionship. In the end, over some small gain, he saw fit to wound me, and the friendship ended. Yet on both sides an attachment remained, so much so that one day I heard two lines of my own verse being recited in a gathering: When my beloved arrives with that sweet, salty smile, she rubs still more salt into the wounds of the lovesick. If only a lock of her hair could fall into my hand, the way a generous person's sleeve falls into the grasp of the poor. The company of dervishes praised not the elegance of these words but the goodness of their own character. My friend too had joined in that praise, and had mourned the loss of our old companionship and confessed his mistake. I realized that on his side too there was a desire to reconcile. So I sent these lines, and we made peace: Wasn't there once a vow and loyalty between us? You wronged me, and you broke your word. I gave my whole heart to you, turning it away from the world; I never knew you would turn away so soon. If you still have any wish for peace, come back, for you will be more welcome than you ever were.