Bird Parliament by Farid ud-Din Attar pdf download

Bird Parliament
by Farid ud-Din Attar
translated by Edward FitzGerald

Bird Parliament

Once on a time from all the Circles seven 1
Between the stedfast Earth and rolling Heaven
THE BIRDS, of all Note, Plumage, and Degree,
That float in Air, and roost upon the Tree;
And they that from the Waters snatch their Meat,
And they that scour the Desert with long Feet;

Birds of all Natures, known or not to Man,
Flock’d from all Quarters into full Divan,
On no less solemn business than to find
Or choose, a Sultan Khalif of their kind, 10
For whom, if never theirs, or lost, they pined.
The Snake had his, ’twas said; and so the Beast
His Lion-lord: and Man had his, at least:

And that the Birds, who nearest were the Skies,
And went apparell’d in its Angel Dyes.
Should be without—under no better Law
Than that which lost all other in the Maw—
Disperst without a Bond of Union—nay,
Or meeting to make each the other’s Prey—
This was the Grievance—this the solemn Thing 20
On which the scatter’d Commonwealth of Wing,
From all the four Winds, flying like to Cloud
That met and blacken’d Heav’n, and Thunder-loud
With Sound of whirring Wings and Beaks that clash’d
Down like a Torrent on the Desert dash’d:

Till by Degrees, the Hubbub and Pell-mell
Into some Order and Precedence fell,
And, Proclamation made of Silence, each
In special Accent, but in general Speech
That all should understand, as seem’d him best, 30
The Congregation of all Wings addrest.
And first, with Heart so full as from his Eyes
Ran weeping, up rose Tajidar the Wise;
The mystic Mark upon whose Bosom show’d
That He alone of all the Birds THE ROAD
Had travell’d: and the Crown upon his Head
Had reach’d the Goal; and He stood forth and said:

‘O Birds, by what Authority divine
I speak you know by His authentic Sign,
And Name, emblazon’d on my Breast and Bill: 40
Whose Counsel I assist at, and fulfil:
At His Behest I measured as he plann’d
The Spaces of the Air and Sea and Land;
I gauged the secret sources of the Springs
From Cloud to Fish: the Shadow of my Wings
Dream’d over sleeping Deluge: piloted
The Blast that bore Sulayman’s Throne: and led
The Cloud of Birds that canopied his Head;

Whose Word I brought to Balkis: and I shared
The Counsel that with Asaf he prepared. 50
And now you want a Khalif: and I know
Him, and his whereabout, and How to go:

And go alone I could, and plead your cause
Alone for all: but, by the eternal laws,
Yourselves by Toil and Travel of your own
Must for your old Delinquency atone.
Were you indeed not blinded by the Curse
Of Self-exile, that still grows worse and worse,
Yourselves would know that, though you see him not,
He is with you this Moment, on this Spot, 60
Your Lord through all Forgetfulness and Crime,
Here, There, and Everywhere, and through all Time.
But as a Father, whom some wayward Child
By sinful Self-will has unreconciled,
Waits till the sullen Reprobate at cost
Of long Repentance should regain the Lost;

Therefore, yourselves to see as you are seen,
Yourselves must bridge the Gulf you made between
By such a Search and Travel to be gone
Up to the mighty mountain Kaf, whereon 70
Hinges the World, and round about whose Knees
Into one Ocean mingle the Sev’n Seas;

In whose impenetrable Forest-folds
Of Light and Dark “Symurgh” his Presence holds;
Not to be reach’d, if to be reach’d at all
But by a Road the stoutest might apal;
Of Travel not of Days or Months, but Years—
Life-long perhaps: of Dangers, Doubts, and Fears
As yet unheard of: Sweat of Blood and Brain
Interminable—often all in vain—80
And, if successful, no Return again:

A Road whose very Preparation scared
The Traveller who yet must be prepared.
Who then this Travel to Result would bring
Needs both a Lion’s Heart beneath the Wing,
And even more, a Spirit purified
Of Worldly Passion, Malice, Lust, and Pride:
Yea, ev’n of Worldly Wisdom, which grows dim
And dark, the nearer it approaches Him,
Who to the Spirit’s Eye alone reveal’d, 90
By sacrifice of Wisdom’s self unseal’d;

Without which none who reach the Place could bear
To look upon the Glory dwelling there.’
One Night from out the swarming City Gate
Stept holy Bajazyd, to meditate
Alone amid the breathing Fields that lay
In solitary Silence leagues away,
Beneath a Moon and Stars as bright as Day.
And the Saint wondering such a Temple were,
And so lit up, and scarce one worshipper, 100
A voice from Heav’n amid the stillness said:

‘The Royal Road is not for all to tread,
Nor is the Royal Palace for the Rout,
Who, even if they reach it, are shut out.
The Blaze that from my Harim window breaks
With fright the Rabble of the Roadside takes;
And ev’n of those that at my Portal din,
Thousands may knock for one that enters in.’
Thus spoke the Tajidar: and the wing’d Crowd,
That underneath his Word in Silence bow’d, 110
Clapp’d Acclamation: and their Hearts and Eyes
Were kindled by the Firebrand of the Wise.
They felt their Degradation: they believed
The word that told them how to be retrieved,
And in that glorious Consummation won
Forgot the Cost at which it must be done.
‘They only long’d to follow: they would go
Whither he led, through Flood, or Fire, or Snow’—
So cried the Multitude. But some there were
Who listen’d with a cold disdainful air, 120
Content with what they were, or grudging Cost
Of Time or Travel that might all be lost;

These, one by one, came forward, and preferr’d
Unwise Objection: which the wiser Word
Shot with direct Reproof, or subtly round
With Argument and Allegory wound.
The Pheasant first would know by what pretence
The Tajidar to that pre-eminence
Was raised—a Bird, but for his lofty Crest
(And such the Pheasant had) like all the Rest—130
Who answer’d—’By no Virtue of my own
Sulayman chose me, but by His alone:

Not by the Gold and Silver of my Sighs
Made mine, but the free Largess of his Eyes.
Behold the Grace of Allah comes and goes
As to Itself is good: and no one knows
Which way it turns: in that mysterious Court
Not he most finds who furthest travels for’t.
For one may crawl upon his knees Life-long,
And yet may never reach, or all go wrong: 140
Another just arriving at the Place
He toil’d for, and—the Door shut in his Face:
Whereas Another, scarcely gone a Stride,
And suddenly—Behold he is Inside!—
But though the Runner win not, he that stands,
No Thorn will turn to Roses in his Hands:

Each one must do his best and all endure,
And all endeavour, hoping but not sure.
Heav’n its own Umpire is; its Bidding do,
And Thou perchance shalt be Sulayman’s too.’