MEETING WITH THE INDIAN POET BARTARI-HARI
| The houris in their palaces and pavilions | |
| my lament provoked to supreme ardour; | 3080 |
| one here put forth her head from her tent, | |
| another there peeped out from her chamber and gazed; | |
| to every heart in eternal Paradise | |
| I gave of the pain and sorrow of yon terrestrial globe. | |
| A smile played on the lips of my holy guide | 3085 |
| and he said: ‘ magician of Indian stock, | |
| behold now that Indian minstrel | |
| the grace of whose gaze converts the dew to pearls. | |
| a broiderer of subtleties, his name is Bartari, | |
| his nature generous as the clouds of Azar; | 3090 |
| from the meadow he plucks only the new-sprung buds. | |
| Your melody has drawn him towards us, | |
| a king who, with a song sublime, | |
| even in poverty dwells in lofty exaltation; | |
| with his delicate thought he designs images of beauty, | 3095 |
| a whole world of meaning hidden in two words. | |
| He is intimate with the workshop of life, | |
| he is Jamshid, his poetry Jamshid’s Cup.’ | |
| We rose in reverence for his art | |
| and prepared suitably to engage with him. | 3100 |
Zinda-Rud
| You who have wttered heart-delighting subtleties, |
| through whose discourse the East knows all mysteries, |
| say. whence comes the fire into poetry? |
| Does it come from the Self, or from God? |
Bartari-Hari
| None knows where the poet is in this world; | 3105 |
| his melody springs from the high notes and the low. | |
| That burning heart which he has in his breast | |
| finds not repose even before God. | |
| Our soul’s delight is in questing; | |
| poetry’s fire is of the station of desire. | 3110 |
| You who are drunk with wine pressed from the vine of words, | |
| if you should ever attain to this rank. | |
| with two verses in this world of stone and brick | |
| one can ravish the hearts of the houris of Paradise. |
Zinda-Rud
| I have seen the Indians twisting this way and that; | 3115 |
| it is time you told the secret of God unveiled. |
Bartari-Hari
| These. frail gods are but of stone and brick; | |
| there is One more lofty, far from temple and church. | |
| Prostration without the joy of action is dry and useless; | |
| life is all action, whether fair or foul. | 3120 |
| I will tell you plainly a word not known to every one— | |
| happy is the man who has written it on his heart’s tablet. | |
| This world you behold is not the handiwork of God, | |
| the wheel is yours, and the thread spun on your spindle. | |
| Prostrate yourself before the Law of action’s reward, | 3125 |
| for from action are born Hell, Purgatory and Paradise. |