The Republic of Rumi: A Novel of Reality
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The Republic of Rumi: a Novel of Reality

Chapter 80


By Khurram Ali Shafique

Life appears to be like a harp. Each string is an instrument in itself, each note more piercing than the other. The human being, planets, Gabriel and houri are all one family of fire and light. A mirror has been placed in front of the soul and the sense of wonder mingles with faith. The past and the future stand together before a present morning.

God is there with all His mysteries and looking at Himself through the Poet’s eyes. Servant and Master are lying in wait on one another, each impatiently yearning to behold the other. The Poet becomes lost in the secrets of Creation.

“O Creator!” He starts. “Does this world suite you where humans are preyed upon by moneylenders, tyrants, mullahs and false saints? O Lord! It is a stain upon your name!”

The Voice of Beauty

The Voice of Beauty answers him. “The pen of destiny wrote whatever We chose from the good and the bad,” it says. “Do you know the meaning of life? To live means to create through Our power. To create is to search for the Beloved. Whoever does not possess the power to create is in Our sight a non-believer.

“A nation is a thousand eyes seeing together. Do not underestimate this unity of vision, which is an epiphany of the unity of God. A nation acquires power when it is intoxicated by this unity. It does not need a body, since its spirit exists through association. Attain this unity of vision, so that you may possess authority in the world.”

“Why am I in the bonds of destiny?” The Poet asks. “Why are You immortal while I die?”

“You have been in the world of dimensions,” the Voice replies. “Anyone contained in dimensions dies within them. Advance your self if you seek life. Drown the world’s dimensions in your self and then you shall behold who I am and who you are, how you died in the world and how you lived!”

The Divine Majesty

“I have seen the revolution of Russia and Germany, the tumult in the Muslim World and the contriving of West and East,” the Poet says. “Please show me their destinies too!”

The Earth appears. Its sky is drowned in a light of crimson dawn. Epiphanies break in the Poet’s soul. He falls senseless.

Just as he is losing consciousness, he hears an ardent and flaming melody. It is the epiphany of Divine Majesty rising from the heart of the universe.

Abandon the East and be not spellbound by the West,
For all this ancient and new is utterly worthless.
That signet‑ring which you gambled away to Ahrimans
Was something that could not be pledged even to the trustworthy Gabriel.
Life is the ornament of company and guards itself,
Travel alone yet go with all, you who are of the caravan.
You have come forth brighter than the sun that illumines all,
So live, that you may irradiate every particle.
Alexander, Darius, Qubad and Chosroes have all departed—
Like a blade of grass fallen in the path of the wind.
The tavern is earning a bad name because your cup is so slender,
Seize a tumbler, drink with discretion, and so be gone!

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Iqbal has an interview with God, sees the destiny of the world and faints.
Persian text

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