Published: 12:53 AM, 23 May 2026
Salek
Kazi Nazrul Islam
With this morning’s dawn, an unknown dervish has appeared in the city. Like the churning of the ocean, a "trend-driven" clamor has risen among the people on the streets, the wharves, the fields—everywhere outside. Yet, the harems of the secluded women, who remain untouched even by the sun, are as silent and still as they always are, tucked away from the chaotic "mumble-jumble" of the world’s noise. Outside, the clamor has risen; inside, the heartbeats race.
A single question is on everyone’s lips: "Who is he? By whose sudden arrival has the heraldic song of the dawn birds at daybreak twisted and trembled with the joy of the Agamani-Bhairavi and Bibhas melodies?"
Boys, girls, and the elderly have all rushed down the same path, huddling together to catch a glimpse of the dervish. Yet, there is no end to the sight. It is as if Dushasana is relentlessly pulling at the veil of some Draupadi before the wide, wonder-struck eyes of the world, and the fabric just keeps growing! It has no beginning, no end. Oh, there exists such a deity in the unseen who does not violate the dignity of the secret!
The dervish speaks not a word—he is utterly silent.
Many plead to be initiated as his disciples; the dervish remains elusive. To the one who simply will not let go, he says, "Go, change your clothes!" That person discards their soiled clothes and returns wearing a pair of robes in the "aristocratic style." The dervish only laughs and laughs; he says nothing.
The city’s Kazi (judge) heard everything. He began to plead persistently at the dervish’s door. No matter how much the dervish tried to ignore him, the Kazi remained doggedly persistent. The dervish realized that the situation was becoming like the proverb: "I want to leave the blanket, but the blanket won't leave me." A faint line of a weary, kind smile flickered on his face.
[B]
The dervish said, "Listen, Kazi Saheb, can you do exactly what I tell you?"
Kazi exclaimed with a flourish, "Yes, Master, your servant is ready!"
The dervish laughed and then said, "Look, tomorrow is Friday. The King of the land is coming here. During the prayer, he will ask you to lead the congregation as the Imam. Can you do one thing at that time?" The Kazi cried out, "Of course, Master, of course! What must I do?"
The dervish said, "You must carry two bottles of wine tucked under your two armpits. Then, as soon as the prayer begins, you shall shatter those two bottles of wine right upon the prayer mat."
Kazi's face turned blue. Trembling, he said, "Master, then you will surely be rid of me, for immediately after that, my head will be severed from my torso—but what will become of my salvation?"
The dervish replied, "You have granted 'salvation' from worldly suffering to many; for once, you must see to your own salvation!"
Kazi returned home. He thought, "Come what may, tomorrow I shall take two bottles of wine to the mosque. Surely the dervish knows more than I!"
[C]
The King has arrived. With him are the army, the ministers, and the officials. The Friday prayer is underway. The Kazi Saheb has become the "Imam" (the leader). A moment later, two bottles of country liquor slipped from Kazi's armpits! It goes without saying that those bottles shattered with a loud crash, filling the mosque with such a foul stench that everyone agreed in unison: a drunkard like this Kazi had never existed in the universe, nor would there ever be. There is forgiveness for the one who drinks wine, but for the one whom wine "eats," there is neither forgiveness nor escape.
A council was held: what punishment should be given to this audaciously bold drunkard? Everyone in the assembly, except the Vizier, said, "What is there to judge, Your Majesty? Let him be impaled!" The Minister stood up and said, "May it please your Majesty to forgive this servant’s insolence! In my view, the death penalty is not a fitting punishment for a sinner such as he. The greatest punishment would be to strip him of his rank and title and confiscate all his property. If he dies, the matter ends there. But the lifelong shame and reproach he will endure will burn him bit by bit, tensed and agonizing." The King and the entire assembly roared, "That is better!"
A madman, passing by like parched grain drifting in the wind, was muttering to himself, "This shame and reproach are but sandalwood paste! They do not burn anything, brother; they only bring soothe."
[D]
When the Kazi Saheb stood at the corner of a dark alley, humiliated and insulted by the King’s court, having lost everything, even the street dogs wept at his misery! "When the elephant is stuck in the mud, even the bat kicks it." When he was the city’s Kazi, he had perhaps punished some in the name of justice; they, seizing the moment, rained blows upon him and let him know that days do not remain the same for anyone. And those whom he had punished unjustly took their revenge so cruelly that death by impalement would have been preferable.
Amidst all this shame and reproach, whose tender consolation suddenly touched him, like the deep, compassionate touch of a beloved on the forehead of one burning with fever? Kazi Saheb clutched his dry, skeletal chest and wept, "O God, thus You have drowned all my pride in my own tears!"
"O Dervish, where are you? On what distant shore?"
Then, that evening, crawling with great difficulty on his chest like a reptile, when the Kazi Saheb reached the dervish’s abode along his desired path, his eyelids were heavy with the spell of a peaceful, affectionate sleep. Yet, he cried out one last time with all his soul, "Dervish, initiate me! I have come, and there is no more time!"
In the sliding notes of the Purabi raga, in the meeting of evening and twilight, a tremor of pain passed by, but no one noticed.
A calm, cool lap informed him, "Here I am, my son! Come, now your soiled garments and your soiled pride have been washed clean in the water of your tears!"
The dervish struck the strings of his Surbahar and sang:
"Sajjaada rañgeen kun garat peere mugaan goyad,
Ke saalek be-khabar nabud ze raah-o-rasm-e-manzil-ha."
("Stain the prayer mat with wine if the Master tells you so!
For the Guide is not unaware of the ways and customs of the destination.")
Like a motherless girl driven away by a stepmother, a heavy black cloud made everything hazy and then dark over a face moist with tears and wounded pride.
The Kazi Saheb gathered the last of his life’s strength and asked in a broken voice, "Who? O companion of the road! Who are you?"
Nothing was heard for a long time. Along the silent banks of the river, a pained and solemn echo vibrated: "Who-are-you?"
Crossing the ferry, a very faint voice trembled and said: "The Drunkard Hafiz!”
Translated by Alamgir Mohammad
