These words sufficiently interest Yúsuf to ask, "Who is this bedeswoman?" and eventually to win an interview for the poor "Unpitied, forgotten, disgraced woman." Yúsuf does not proceed to moralise; but he does not dispense with frigid formalities beyond calling her Zulaikha and offering, in a studied kind of way, to do anything for her that she may desire. Zulaikha asks for beauty, youth, and the power to win his love. Yúsuf grants her first two wishes, and the decrepit old woman is changed into the ravishingly beautiful Zulaikha of eighteen. But Yúsuf,[8] cold even now, in silence turns in prayer to Heaven, and takes Gabriel's word rather than his own conviction that he is doing well to marry her at last.
Here the late Mr. Ralph Griffith's translation of Yúsuf and Zulaikha ends, and the curious and farseeing might be pardoned for conjecturing an unhappy marriage under these remarkably one-sided circumstances. But in the original the poem does not end here. For the advantage of optimistic believers in marriage, I may add that these two people had an almost unending honeymoon. Remarkable as it may appear, Zulaikha actually became religious, for which altogether wonderful and unexpected event the now kindly Yúsuf built her a most beautiful House of Prayer. The canto entitled "The Longed-for Death" is a little disconcerting, perhaps, but we may reasonably suppose that Yúsuf became religious too, and was not in any way uncomplimentary to his beautiful bride. His death was well arranged, and he was shortly joined by the soul of Zulaikha.
This, then, is & brief sketch of Yúsuf and Zulaikha. Like Salámán and Absál it is intended to reveal the beauty of the Beloved; that He can be only approached after much purification, when the physical form ceases to blind the soul's outlook, and only when we realise that passion is an idol that must be broken, and Love the pure Light that shines alone from Him.
V. THE "BAHÁRISTÁN," OR "ABODE OF SPRING"
The Baháristán, or "Abode of Spring," is admitted by Jámí to be an imitation of Sa'di's Gulistán, or "Rose Garden." The idea of arranging a book of verse and prose into a series of "Gardens" was a very beautiful one. Two other books compiled on similar lines are Sa'di's Bústán, or "Orchard," and the Nigaristán, or "Picture Gallery," by Mu'in-uddin Jawini, which appeared in 1334 A.D. Sir Edwin Arnold's With Sa'di in a Garden gives the Westerner some idea of the beauty of Eastern gardens, and this particular garden is rendered all the more delectable because it holds a greater beauty than the loveliest garden, the Taj Mahal itself. Sir Edwin transfers Persian poetry to an Indian garden, which is not very dissimilar to the beautiful gardens of Shiraz. Professor A. V. Williams Jackson[9] describes the Bagh-i-Takht, "Garden of the Throne," thus: "Terrace rises above terrace, and fountain, channel, and stream pour their waters in cascades over slabs of marble into reservoirs faced with stone—the walks bordered with cypress and orange trees." It would be interesting to know if the terraces in any way corresponded with the idea of naming and numbering the "Gardens" in Jámí's Baháristán. A beautiful mosque, a bower of roses, running water; might not these things alone have suggested to the poet's mind "The pavilion of Excellency, Love, and Laughter?"
The Baháristán has a distinct interest apart from its literary merit. It appears to have been written by Jámí for the instruction of his "darling and beloved son Ziá-uddin-Yúsuf." The poet-father goes on to say, "That young boys and inexperienced youths become very disheartened and unhappy when they receive instruction in idiomatic expressions they are not accustomed to." Although Jámí allowed his son to read the Gulistán, he evidently thought the last word had not yet been written in the interests of instructing the young, and thus conceived the idea of writing the Baháristán.
One is so apt to see printed requests in the public gardens of England that it seems a little ironical to come across the following in the literary "Gardens" of Jámí: "It is requested that the promenaders in these gardens—which contain no thorns to give offence, nor rubbish displayed for interested purposes,—walking through them with sympathetic steps and looking at them carefully, will bestow their good wishes, and rejoice with praise the gardener who has spent much trouble and great exertions in planning and cultivating these gardens." In regard to the statement that the Gardens "contain no Thorns to give offence," I, for one, must beg to differ. One ugly weed there is which the gardener would have done well to destroy in his otherwise very beautiful garden.
The Baháristán is divided into eight "Gardens." The First deals with the sayings and doings of the saintly, wise, and those "who occupy the chief seats in the pavilion of Excellency." The Second with philosophical subtleties. The Third with Justice, Equity, Government, and Administration, and in general "to show the wisdom of Sultáns." The Fourth with Liberality and Generosity. The Fifth with Love. The Sixth with "Blowing of the zephyrs of wit, and the breezes of jocular sallies, which cause the buds of the lips to laugh and the flowers of the hearts; to bloom." The Seventh with a selection from the work of Persian poets. The Eighth, and last, with animal stories.
[1] See Preface to Lives of the Mystics. By Nassan Lees. Calcutta, 1859.