Page 37 - The Book of Rumi

The Old Harp Player

ifted musicians were a great rarity in the old days, but it was during the
Greign of the famous Caliph Omar that a certain competent harp player
earned himself a fi ne reputation. Spectators loved his voice, the melodious
sound of his instrument, and his entertaining presence, and thus they paid
him handsomely every time he played.
The years passed quickly; the musician aged, and his voice lost its sweet
timbre. People no longer appreciated him, and the more he tried to sing,
the more his voice sounded like the braying of a donkey. People would
shoo him away, and by the time he turned seventy, he was impoverished and
unemployable. Eventually he came to the end of his tether and at long last
turned to God:
“My Allah, You’ve granted me a long life but I’ve been guilty! I never
appreciated Your kindness, yet You never turned Your back on me and always
provided me with my daily bread. But now, I’m old and feeble and no longer
have a beautiful voice. In fact, my singing revolts people when not so long ago
they couldn’t get enough of it. I promise You that as of today I will only play
and sing for You, my Beloved, and nobody else!” He sighed and, wishing for a
little privacy, began to walk toward the town cemetery.
He found the graveyard empty as he walked silently, swerving between
gravestones, until he fi nally chose a spot to sit down. Making himself as com-
fortable as possible, he began to play his harp to his heart’s content until he
was utterly exhausted and eventually fell asleep. He dreamed that he was in
a lush meadow and that his soul’s wings fully opened, carrying him lightly
toward the sun. He wished from the bottom of his heart that he could stay
fl oating in the air forever; but fate would not have it, as his time on earth was
not yet up. At that very same moment, Caliph Omar, who was in his palace,
uncharacteristically fell asleep in the middle of the day and had a dream in
which God instructed him as follows:

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