In the previous post, Majniun sent a message to Leila but accompanied the letter carrier all night long addling to his message.

When the letter-carrier entered the house of Laila’s parents he saw Laila and said to her, ‘I had to make a great effort to speak with you. Your lover Majnun, who is a lover without compare in all the world, gave me a message for you, and he continued to speak with me throughout the journey and has walked as far as this town with the camel.’ She said, ‘For heavens sake! Poor Majnun! I wonder what will become of him.’ She asked her old nurse, ‘What becomes of a person who has walked a hundred miles without a break?’ The nurse said rashly, ‘Such a person must die.’ Laila said, ‘Is there any remedy?’ She said, ‘He must drink some rainwater collected for a year past and from that water a snake must drink, and then his feet must be tied and he must be hung up in the air with his head down for a very long time. That might save his life.’ Laila said, ‘Oh, but how difficult it is to obtain!’ God, who Himself is love, was the guide of Majnun, therefore everything came to Majnun as was best for him. ‘Verily love is the healer of its own wounds.’

The next morning Laila put her food aside, and sent it secretly, by a maid whom she took into her confidence, with a message to tell Majnun that she longed to see him as much as he to see her, the difference being only of chains. As soon as she had an opportunity, she said, she would come at once.

The maid went to the ruined mosque, and saw two people sitting there, one who seemed self-absorbed, unaware of his surroundings, and the other a fat, robust man. She thought that Laila could not possibly love a person like this dreamy one whom she herself would not have cared to love. But in order to make sure, she asked which of them was named Majnun. The mind of Majnun was deeply sunk in his thought and far away from her words, but this man, who was out of work, was rather glad to see the dinner-basket in her hand, and said, ‘For whom are you looking?’ She said, ‘I am asked to give this to Majnun. Are you Majnun?’ He readily stretched out his hands to take the basket, and said, ‘I am the one for whom you have brought it,’ and spoke a word or two with her in jest, and she was delighted.

On the maid’s return Laila asked, ‘Did you give it to him?’ She said, ‘Yes, I did.’ Laila then sent to Majnun every day the larger part of her meals, which was received every day by this man, who was very glad to have it while out of work. Laila one day asked her maid, ‘You never tell me what he says and how he eats.’ She said, ‘He says that he sends very many thanks to you and he appreciates it very much, and he is a pleasant-spoken man. You must not worry for one moment. He is getting fatter every day.’ Laila said, ‘But my Majnun has never been fat, and has never had a tendency to become fat, and he is too deep in his thought to say pleasant things to anyone. He is too sad to speak.’ Laila at once suspected that the dinner might have been handed to the wrong person. She said, ‘Is anybody else there?’ The maid said, ‘Yes, there is another person sitting there also, but he seems to be beside himself. He never notices who comes or who goes, nor does he hear a word said by anybody there. He cannot possibly be the man that you love.’ Laila said, ‘I think he must be the man. Alas, if you have all this time given the food to the wrong person! Well, to make sure, today take on the plate a knife instead of food and say to that one whom you gave the food, ‘For Laila a few drops of your blood are needed, to cure her of an illness.”

When the maid next went to the mosque the man as usual came most eagerly to take his meal, and seeing the knife was surprised. The maid told him that a few drops of his blood were needed to cure Laila. He said, ‘No, certainly I am not Majnun. There is Majnun. Ask him for it.’ The maid foolishly went to him and said to him aloud, ‘Laila wants a few drops of your blood to cure her.’ Majnun most readily took the knife in his hand and said, ‘How fortunate am I that my blood may be of some use to my Laila. This is nothing, even if my life were to become a sacrifice for her cure, I would consider myself most fortunate to give it.’ ‘Whatever the lover did for the beloved, it could never be too much.’ He gashed his arm in several places, but the starvation of months had left no blood, nothing but skin and bone. When a great many places had been cut hardly one drop of blood came out. He said, ‘That is what is left. You may take that.’ ‘Love means pain, but the lover alone is above all pain.’

To be continued…