AN INDIAN KING

As Mahmoud's army moved through India,
They chanced to take an old king prisoner
Who learned to Moslem faith at Mahmoud's court
And counted this world and next as nought.
Alone, a hermit in a ragged tent,
He lived for prayer, an earnest penitent,
His face bathed day and night in scalding tears-
At last the news of this reached Mahmoud's ears.
He summoned him and said: "I'll give you
A hundred kingdoms and their revenue;
It's not for you to weep, you are a king;
I promise to return you everything!"
To this the Indian king replied: "My lord,
It's not my kingdom conquered by your sword
That makes me weep, but thoughts of Judgement Day;
For at the resurrection God will say
'O faithless wretch, you had no thoughts of Me
Till you were crushed by Mahmoud's cavalry-
It took an army's might to change your mind,
And till you stood defenceless you were blind-
Does this make you My friend or enemy?
How long did I treat you with loyality
And in return endure your thankless hate?
Is this the friendship that you advocate?'
If God says this, what answer can I give
To contradict the damning narrative?
Young man, if you could understand my fears
You'd know the reason for an old man's tears."
Learn from these faithful words, and if your heart
Holds faith like this, prepare now to depart;
But if your heart is faithless, give up now,
Forget our struggles and renounce your vow;
The faithless have no place on any page
Within the volume of our pilgrimage.

                                             ATTAR