M1:1570 — گر فراق بنده از بدبندگی‌ست / چون تو با بد، بد کنی پس فرق چیست؟

Translation: If the servant's separation is due to ill-servitude, Then if You, too, treat ill with ill, what is the difference (between us)?

Meaning: This verse poses a bold, rhetorical question to God: If the servant's estrangement is a consequence of their misdeeds, then what distinguishes the Divine from the human if God, too, reciprocates badness with badness? It challenges the very notion of divine retribution by appealing to God's inherent perfection and grace.

This verse is a jewel of Rumi's restless, audacious love, erupting spontaneously amidst the tale of the Parrot and the Merchant. It suddenly bursts forth from the depths of his being, a cry from the heart of one who dwells in the realm of ʿishq (love). Here, he tears through the veil of convention, addressing his eternal Beloved directly. He momentarily forgets the entire narrative, diving instead into his own inner world; this is the 'fiery whale' that, once it opens its mouth, reveals hidden secrets.

I have often stated that Rumi, even when he appears to complain, is not complaining about human 'ill-servitude' (badbandagī) but rather posing a question to the very essence of the Beloved. With utmost daring, born of profound attachment, he puts God on a lover's trial. He asks: If my separation from You is due to my failings, then where is Your boundless 'grace and generosity' (faḍl o karam) that responds to Your servant's sin with benevolence? Are You, too, to respond to 'bad with bad' like any ordinary servant? This question, in truth, is a self-explication of the essence of ʿishq, which transcends the boundaries of religious law and reason, expecting from God something 'beyond justice'—an expectation that can only originate from 'absolute compassion.'

Indeed, this utterance of Rumi is not his 'lament' (mātam), but a hidden joy within the sorrow of separation. It is that 'green sorrow' from which dance and delight ultimately emerge. Here, instead of 'dissimulation' (taqiyya), he turns to 'explicit declaration' (taṣrīḥ), a sign of a lover's 'state' (ḥāl) that cannot conceal itself. This kind of question is not merely a conventional complaint; it is the very essence of trust in the Beloved's 'grace and wrath.' Your 'fire' (nār) is more delightful than the sound of the chang, and Your 'cruelty' (jafā) is better than comfort. This is where Rumi says, 'I am truly a lover of Your grace and Your wrath / How wondrous, I am a lover of these two opposites.'

In contrast to Hafez, who sometimes speaks of the 'crookedness of the world' and the 'need for a new world,' making his complaint somewhat 'external,' Rumi's complaint is always 'internal' and 'amorous.' His complaint is about 'separation' (judāʾī), which is rooted in the very essence of existence, not about 'worldly tribulations' or 'the tyranny of fate.' This 'separation,' moreover, is not a feeling of 'loneliness' (tanhāʾī) as discussed in existentialist philosophies, but rather 'estrangement' (firāq) from that always-present Beloved; a separation that is itself 'part of the path' and leads to 'reunion.' This question, ultimately, is not aimed at finding a logical answer, but at deepening the 'connection' and 'restless longing' of the lover.

Key takeaways

• Rumi restlessly and audaciously challenges the Divine essence in a lover's trial.
• This verse exemplifies how love transcends reason and religious law, expecting 'beyond justice' from the Beloved.
• Rumi's spontaneous shifts into his inner spiritual world are a hallmark of his Masnavi and poetry.
• Rumi's 'amorous complaint' is of the 'green sorrow' type, implicitly a joy and trust in the Beloved's grace and wrath.
• For Rumi, separation is from an ever-present Companion, not an existential loneliness from an 'absent God'.