M6:1399 — فقر آن محمود تست ای بی‌سعت / طبع ازو دایم همی ترساندت

Translation: O you who have accepted narrowness, poverty is your Mahmud; but your lower self ever frightens you from it. Meaning: This verse asserts that spiritual poverty or self-emptying, initially perceived as terrifying—much like Sultan Mahmud in the narrative—is in fact a source of true exaltation and perfection, even as one's base nature constantly instills fear of this very path.

Let me begin with an ancient tale that serves as the foundation for this verse. The story is about Sultan Mahmud of Ghazni and a young Hindu slave boy he acquired during his conquests. Mahmud, known for his affections for handsome boys, brought this beautiful youth into his presence, engaging in dalliance and courtship. This particular Hindu boy so captivated the Sultan's heart that Mahmud placed him on his throne, called him his son, and showered him with every conceivable bounty.

One day, the Sultan observed the young slave boy weeping profusely, despite being at the pinnacle of honor and luxury. He asked, “Why do you weep? Has this grandeur become disagreeable to you? You are now more exalted than kings, with ministers and armies arrayed before your throne; what troubles you?” The boy replied, “My tears stem from this: my mother, in our city and land, whenever she wished to threaten or curse me, would say, ‘May you fall into the hands of Mahmud Arsalan (Mahmud the Lion-taker)!’ My father would even admonish my mother for such a cruel curse, saying, ‘Did you find no more potent curse than this? You are killing him with a hundred swords!’ I used to tremble at these conversations, fearing Mahmud as if he were the most hellish of beings, utterly unaware of your true grace and honor. Oh, if only my mother could see me now, on your throne.”

Now, Rumi transforms this narrative into a profound mystical allegory. He declares: “Faqr ān Mahmud-i tost ey bī-saʿat” (Poverty is your Mahmud, O you who have accepted narrowness). Faqr here does not mean worldly destitution, but rather faqr ila-Llah (poverty towards God)—the spiritual emptying of oneself from everything but the Divine, the effacement of the self, the state of selflessness. This “Mahmud,” this spiritual poverty, appears terrifying at first glance, for it demands that we abandon our selves, detach from our possessions and attachments, and relinquish the 'I' and 'we.' Naturally, our ṭabʿ (lower self), our carnal and psychological desires, constantly frightens us away from this Mahmud, much like the mother who, out of misguided ignorance, warned her child away from that which would lead to his perfection. This ṭabʿ invites us into the narrowness of habits, petty attachments, and false comforts, hindering us from existential spaciousness and spiritual ascent. Rumi instructs: “Listen less to this misleading mother of nature.”

If one surrenders to this Mahmud of poverty, then one will weep, not from fear, but from wonder and longing. One will exclaim, “Astonishing! I used to flee from this Mahmud, unaware that he was so kind, so profoundly nurturing, and my very ladder of ascent.” Just as the Hindu boy wept from his past ignorance after experiencing honor, the spiritual seeker, having experienced spiritual poverty, becomes ashamed of their previously veiled and fearful self. Our ṭabʿ, in this journey, is like a mother who nurtures her child, but if the child refuses to leave her lap, that same mother becomes more dangerous than a hundred enemies. The child must separate from the mother of his ṭabʿ to achieve spiritual maturity and transcend the realm of carnal and egoistic desires.

The body (tan) serves a similar function. Rumi likens the body to armor (zereh)—not for ordinary life, but for battle. This armor neither protects from cold nor offers comfort in heat, yet it is essential on the battlefield of spiritual struggle. This flawed body is like an enemy that, though a source of suffering, is necessary for engaging in jihad against attachments. Just as the peacock suffers from the beauty of its feathers (because hunters pursue it for them), Rumi offers a different interpretation: these feathers are necessary so that the peacock can struggle against its attachment to them and emerge victorious. Thus, a bad companion, not for their own sake, but for the practice of patience, is beneficial. In this way, faqr or self-emptying, despite the fear it inspires in our ṭabʿ, ultimately opens the path to perfection and beatitude.

Key takeaways

• Spiritual poverty (self-emptying) initially appears fearsome but is, in truth, a path to exaltation and perfection.
• The lower self (ṭabʿ), like the ignorant mother in the story, mistakenly frightens us away from what is truly beneficial for our spiritual growth, instead luring us with petty attachments.
• To achieve spiritual maturity, one must detach from the 'mother of nature' and transcend carnal and egoistic desires.
• Understanding the truth of faqr evokes tears of remorse and wonder, not fear, upon discovering its inherent kindness and its role as a ladder to ascent.
• The body and lower self, though sources of suffering, are like 'armor' and 'enemies' that are necessary for spiritual struggle, through which our spiritual faculties are strengthened.