Chirping Bird and the Hunter

“'Sweetheart!' called a mother to her beloved daughter, 'Why are you feeding birdseed to the cat?'

'I have to,' her daughter replied. 'That’s where my canary is,'" the Moon started to tell a story, after greeting with Basmalah and Salaam.

"And it was said," the Moon carried on, "one day, a beautiful bird was chirping happily on a branch when, all of a sudden, she felt a heavy cloud pressing her down to the ground. A cunning huntsman had managed to trap the stunning little bird in a net. Flapping around, she was unable to free herself from the man's snare. Quickly she assessed her dire situation and came up with a clever solution. She pleaded with her captor, 'O great hunter, you must have captured many impressive beasts in your time and feasted on innumerable cows, sheep, and other delicious animals. Yet none of them seem to have appeased your hunger. Let me assure you that neither will my tiny body with its minuscule amount of flesh. Allow me to offer you three stories and three pieces of advice that are far more valuable than my worth as simple prey.'

The hunter was unsure of the bird's intention and whether he could trust her. The little bird felt his uncertainty and was quick to add, 'I assure you that you will reap infinite riches using these three precious bits of advice. I will give you the first counsel while still in your grip, and if you like it, then I will tell you the second one from the roof of your hut. The third and most important one I will impart to you from that tree,' she said as she pointed with her beak toward a nearby poplar.

The hunter was still not convinced but reluctantly agreed as he saw that, truly, the little bird was not enough to feed even one member of his large family. The bird, still in the man's grip, told him her first story:

'A young man was in trouble. He faced a dire problem that was consuming his life, making him miserable company for everyone he knew. Hard as he tried, he couldn't figure out how to free himself from the web that he had, through his own behavior, spun and entangled himself in. He took endless walks and spent hours on end in different teashops and coffee houses, engaging with strangers, seeking advice. Despite his efforts, however, his problem seemed unsolvable.

One day, he entered a particular coffee house for the first time and saw an older man sitting quietly in a corner. He recognized him immediately but didn't approach him right away. Instead, he sat at a table where he could keep the man's profile in view. He studied the older man with interest, remembering him as highly intelligent and a fair judge of character. After a few long minutes, he mustered his courage and walked over to the man's table, asking if he could sit down for just a minute. The man looked up from his book but did not seem very pleased at this interruption. He nevertheless nodded, and the young man quickly sat down and immediately posed his query. The older man was taken aback at the younger one's candor and shook his head thoughtfully.

'My good man, you must seek the advice of someone else, someone who's your friend. I'm your staunch enemy and will only misguide you. Why would you want my advice? You need a compassionate ear, one who only wants the best for you. You can be certain that you've no need for any words of advice I may have!' he suggested honestly. 'If you were sitting in the midst of fire but had a friend with you, you'd think you were in a rose garden! And if you were in the middle of the most heavenly garden but were in the company of enemies, you'd feel like you were at the epicenter of a bonfire! So go on and find a counselor who's your true friend.'

The older man had spoken his truth, hoping that his advice had not fallen on deaf ears and that he would be left alone in peace now.

'I am well aware of your feelings toward me, sir,' admitted the younger man. 'But I'm also aware that you're a highly intelligent person and would never commit a wrong deed. You would, therefore, never advise another person to do so either; that's why I trust your judgment far above my own or any friend's.'

Actually, the hunter was reluctant to listen to the bird's story, so he asked her to immediately continue with the second story. So, she told the story,

The size of a turban in the old days was indicative of a man's valor and stature in his society. In one small town, there was a middle-aged teacher who didn't have a bean to his name and went hungry most days, but he was too proud to admit his destitution to his associates. He regularly collected scraps from fabric shops, discarded wads of cotton, and cut-off pieces of people's unwanted cloaks, stuffing them into his modest turban to make it look more substantial. With time, his old and dirty turban came to resemble a sultan's silk headdress, fooling everyone in school and buying him much respect in town.

His students never thought for a moment that their revered master was not who he pretended to be, and the townsfolk didn't have a clue that when they bowed to his apparent opulence in the street, they were honoring an imposter. Only he knew that his good reputation was based on false pretenses—that, in fact, it was nothing but a big lie.

One early morning before sunrise, the teacher left his home and began his daily walk to school, preparing the morning lesson in his head. Unbeknown to him, a lowly thief was hiding behind a pillar around the corner, waiting for his chance. As soon as he caught site of the oversized, ornate headdress of the teacher, he thought that his opportune moment had arrived. It was well known among thieves that people of means generally hid their money and jewels in their turbans to keep them out of plain sight.

The thief waited patiently, confident that he could easily overcome the scrawny man coming his way and eagerly anticipated his moment of victory. As the teacher approached, in the blink of an eye the thief knocked the turban off his head, picked it up swiftly, and ran off with it. The teacher was confused at first and couldn't gain his bearings, but soon he realized what had happened and then chased after the thief.

'You good-for-nothing!' he screamed after him. 'Look inside that turban first before you rejoice! You'll soon find out what you've achieved! Nothing! There's absolutely nothing worthwhile inside!' he loudly confessed.

The thief stopped running and pulled the turban apart to find that indeed nothing was inside but useless pieces of discarded cloth. He threw the whole lot onto the ground, losing his temper and cursing both the teacher and his sorry luck.'

The hunter chuckled, but as if mockingly. Impatient, he asked for a third story. The bird said,

'There is a town called Qazvin in central Persia where it was customary for wrestlers to tattoo parts of their bodies. One day, a man, who was not in fact a wrestler but who wished to pretend that he was brave and mighty, went to a tattoo artist who worked in the public bathhouse. He asked the artist to create a beautiful design on his arm that befitted his courage.

'What kind of design would you prefer?' asked the artist.

'A fierce lion, what else? My zodiac sign is the mighty Leo, so make sure you use the darkest blue you ever tattooed on anyone!' said the man arrogantly.

The tattoo artist took out his ink and pins and set to work. It only took a couple of piercings before the man couldn't bear the burning pain of the needle, and he snapped, 'Which part of the lion are you tattooing?'

'I've started with the tail, sir.'

'Leave it; leave the tail alone and start elsewhere,' agonized the fake wrestler.

The artist went back to work, but as soon as he pierced the man's arm again the man began to scream in pain, 'Which part are you painting now?'

'The lion's ear,' reported the artist.

'Leave it; leave the ear alone and start elsewhere!' screeched the man, tears in his eyes.

The artist huffed and puffed but didn't say a word, going back to his work. Once again the fake wrestler began to scream, 'What are you doing? Which part are you tattooing now?'

'The belly of the lion, sir,' said the artist with disdain.

'Oh my God, this is unbelievable! Leave the belly alone, it's much too painful!' the man whined, unable to bear the burning pain. 'Why should a beautiful lion need a belly at all?'

The tattoo artist was at his wit's end. Totally exasperated, he threw his tools to the ground and stepped away from his client.

What kind of a lion tattoo doesn't have a tail, an ear, or a belly? God has not created such a lion!” he snapped. 'Get out of my sight and don't ever dare show your face at my parlor again!'

Before the fake wrestler could even begin to complain, the tattoo artist grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and threw him out of the bathhouse into the cold winter air outside.

Then the bird, still in the man's grip, offered her first suggestion:

'My first advice to you, my good sir, is to never believe the impossible from anyone.'

The hunter kept his word and released the little bird, who flew to the rooftop.

'The second advice is to never regret the past. When something is in the past, it's never coming back.'

The man, waiting to hear the third piece of advice, watched the bird as she flew to the top of the tree.

'Inside my stomach, there's a rare pearl that weighs a hundred grams!' she said nonchalantly. 'You've lost your only chance of ever owning it! Obviously, it wasn't meant for you; otherwise, you could have fed your entire family for the rest of their days.'

As the hunter heard these words, he began to wail and sob like a woman in labor.

'Didn't I tell you to never regret the past?' the bird rebuked him. 'Are you deaf, or did you simply not hear me? My other advice was to never believe the impossible. How could a pearl weighing a hundred grams be in my tiny body when I don't even weigh ten grams myself?'

The man pulled himself together and wiped the tears in his eyes, and sheepishly asked the bird for her third piece of advice.

'You've got to be mad to ask me for more!' exclaimed the bird. 'Why would I impart a third secret when I've seen how poorly you've put the other two to use?'

She prepared to fly away, but before she did she called back to her captor, 'To impart advice to the foolish is like trying to grow crops in a salt field!'

The hunter, who seemed to be easily immersed in his feelings, only looked at the bird that flown away, floating freely in the sky.

Then the Moon summed up with, "And Allah knows best." Afterwards she took her leave while singing,

I'm like a bird, I'll only fly away

I don't know where my soul is, I don't know where my home is *)

Citations & Reference:
- Maryam Mafi (trans.), The Book of Rumi: 105 Stories and Fables that Illumine, Delight and Inform, 2018, Hampton Roads
*) "I'm like a Bird" written by Nelly Furtado

Bahasa