HUMOUR IN RUMI’S GHAZALS

agar ‘aql-e xalâyeq-râ hama bar ham-degar bandi na-yâbad serr-e lo†f-e mâ magar ân jân ke be-g(o)zidam (R. 1424/8)

Jalâl-od-din Rumi (1207-1273/4 AD) is generally regarded as the most outstanding representative of Persian Sufism and his texts are stud- ied predominantly for the sake of their serious though enigmatically worded ‘mystical message’. Consequently, the less solemn layers of his poetry, i.e., the innumerable puns, wordplays and jokes displayed in it, are usually treated as mere embellishments of no particular importance. “Yet, Rumi had also a good sense of humour…” admits Professor Annemarie Schimmel in her monograph1 which thoroughly discusses the whole oeuvre of this 13th century Persian poet. This paper intends to peruse various categories of the obvious humorous devices applied by Rumi in his ghazals collected in the Divân-e Sams-e Tabriz(i)2 in order to show that the playfulness of these poems is one of their non-negligi- ble traits and forms a part of the poet’s communicative strategy. To put it simply, this author’s view is that the chief purpose of Rumi’s poetry was to involve his readers in a linguistic game which tests their intelli- gence and ingenuity by means of verbal and semantic riddles and/or ambiguities and awards the successful ‘decipherers’ of them with the feeling of amused satisfaction. According to the analysis of various forms of humour proposed by Arthur Koestler3, the common pattern underlying all laughter-provoking phenomena is the so-called ‘bisociation’, i.e., ‘the perceiving of a situa- tion in two self-consistent but mutually incompatible frames of reference or associative contexts’ which provokes a ‘delightful mental jolt of a sudden leap from one plane or associative context to another’. While the existence of two simultaneous frames of reference (e.g., two different meanings of a homonym) is a necessary condition, it is not a sufficient one unless this ‘bisociative’ structure is used as a means of expression of

1 A. SCHIMMEL, The Triumphal Sun. A Study of the Works of Jalâloddin Rumi, London / The Hague 1978, p. 56. 2 B. FORUZANFARR, Kolliyât-e Divân-e Sams-e Tabrizi, Tehrân 1363 s/1985. 3 A. KOESTLER, Humour and Wit, in: The New Encylopædia Britannica, (Macropædia 9), 15th ed., Chicago/London etc. 1976, p. 5-11. 84 W. SKALMOWSKI aggressivity towards the object of amusement (when, e.g., in a joke based on a homonym one of its two meanings is derisive of its referent). What Koestler calls the ‘emotional dynamics’ of laughter presupposes a certain level of tension in the observer(s) due to respect, awe or appre- hension which gets suddenly released by realization that the cause of these feelings merits them less than it had appeared before. Thus, a wit- ticism or an amusing situation consists of a sudden degradation of the object of attention occuring in such circumstances that the observer does not feel any sympathy for the victim — otherwise the effect would be pathetic rather than comic. This exclusion of sympathy can be achieved in various ways, starting with making the degradation relatively harm- less (e.g., in friendly teasing) and ending with such an exaggeration of brutality that it overshoots the target and reveals itself as unrealistic (e.g., in a caricature or satire). Extended between these two extremes is a wide spectrum of humour of varying subtlety and ingenuity which defies strict categorization, but which can always be reduced to the basic ingredients of this perceptional mood: the two simultaneous associative contexts and an intention to humiliate. By its very nature the subject of this paper belongs to the category of verbal humour which Koestler subdivides into three general types: (1) pun, (2) comic verse and (3) satire and allegory. In the following several examples from Rumi’s ghazals will be quoted in order to demonstrate that all these three types are easily discernible in them. This presentation is neither exhaustive (the bulk of the material is too great for it) nor fully systematic (the elusiveness of the very notion of “witticism” makes this impossible in a short article), but it seems sufficient for substantiating this author’s claim that the humorous element deliberately introduced into these texts by the poet is an important trait deserving attention in its own right. The three types of verbal humour proposed by Koestler are used in their large sense in this paper. Thus the notion of ‘pun’ is extended onto all kinds of ambiguous and/or unusual single free forms — both seman- tic and grammatical — whose comic intent is to temporarily mislead or mistify the reader in order to demonstrate his/her intellectual inferiority vis à vis the text’s author. The most primitive kind of this type of humour is the verbal pun sensu stricto, i.e., a real or an ad hoc created homonym combining two disparate ideas superficially united by the same phonetic form. It is one of the most popular rhetorical devices of Persian poets and its extensive use in Rumi’s work is as it were natural. HUMOUR IN RUMI’S GHAZALS 85

Thus only one instance of such a verbal joke is quoted here (Ex. 1) for the sake of completeness.

[1] R. 884/13-15 goftam to kisti goft morâd-e goftam man kistam goft morâd-e hama morâd mofta‘elon fâ‘elât rafta bodam maÌv soda pis-e Âât del be-soxon az Òefât con oftâd dâd del o ‘aql o jân mafxar-e az madad-e in se dâd yâft tabriziyân zamâna sedâd ‘I said: “Who are you?”; he said: “The aim [lit. desire(d object)] of everybody”; — I said: “Who am I?”; he said: “The ultimate aim [lit. the aim of the aim]”. “Long-short-short-long, long-short-long-short” [metric pattern of munsarîÌ ma†wî]; I have given up (all) Attributes — (and) they disap- peared in the presence of Essence as soon as the Heart [= Beloved] began to speak. The Glory of the Tabriz-dwellers [= Sams-e Tabriz] offered (me) (His) heart, reason and soul/life — (and) thanks to [lit. with the help of] these three gifts [Pers. se dâd] the (bad) destiny (of mine) came to an end [lit. found an obstacle; Ar.-Pers. sedâd].’

Bayt 3 of the next example contains a pun of a more sophisticated type, namely a neologism nâ-ambar-a (spelling: n-a-n-b-r-h), lit. ‘hav- ing no shelter/shed’ in its second meÒrâ‘. This strange word confuses the reader who had just met the compound nân-xvâra ‘bread-eating’ in the first meÒrâ‘ and thus automatically analyses the unfamiliar form as *nân-bara which has no sense at all. Only after some reflection will the reader eventually find the right solution and smile at the poet’s superior verbal skill.

[2] R 9/1-3 man az kojâ pand az kojâ bâda ân jâm-e jân-afzây-râ bar riz bar be-gardân sâqiyâ jân sâqiyâ bar dast-e man neh jâm-e jân dur az lab-e bigânegân pis âr ay dastgir-e ‘âseqân penhân sâqiyâ nân-i be-deh nân-xvâra-râ ân ân ‘âseq-e nâ-(a)mbara-râ konj-i †âme‘-e bicâra-râ be-xosbân sâqiyâ ‘Not for me moral advice: o cupbearer, bring wine! — pour this life- prolonging cup for the sake of life [or: Soul, i.e., Beloved], o cupbearer! 86 W. SKALMOWSKI

O protector of lovers, put into my hand the life(-giving) cup — serve (it) secretly (and) far away from strangers’ lips, o cupbearer! Give some bread to this poor hungry breadeater — find some place to sleep for this homeless [lit. “shedless”] lover, o cupbearer!’

The two following examples feature unusual morphological forms which constitute obvious distortions of the norm of Classical Persian, but which — being only extravagant extensions of legitimate construc- tions — remain perfectly understandable to the reader. These apparently playful licentiae poeticae may be regarded as grammatical puns which ‘bisociate’ strange acoustic forms with normal syntactic functions. Thus, e.g., Ex. 3 displays a series of normal infinitives augmented with the suf- fix -â which habitually may be used only with the finite forms of certain verbs (e.g., gûy(i-y)â, goft-â ). In our case the source of this pun is the end of the first meÒrâ‘ of the first bayt: fanâ vo mordanâ in which the ad hoc ‘augmented’ infinitive (used as an abstract noun) forms an inter- nal rhyme to the preceding word fanâ. However, since a word in that position (the so-called ‘arû∂-foot) determines the rhyme of the whole ghazal all other infinitives in it had to be put into this unusual form.

[3] R. 49/1 & 4-5 bâ to Ìayât o zendagi bi to fanâ z-ânk(e) to âftâbi vo bi to vo mordanâ bovad fasordanâ (…) pis be-sejda mi sodam past xanda-zanân gosâd lab goft derâz- xamida con sotor gardanâ bin ke ce xvâhi kardanâ bin ke gardan-e derâz karda-yi pamba ce xvâhi kardanâ be-xvâhi xvardanâ ‘(Being) with you (means) life and being alive; (being) without you (means) annihilation and dying — because you are (like) sun(shine) and (thus) (being) without you (means) withering away. I prostrated myself (before Him) bowing down (to the ground) like a camel — He opened (His) mouth (and) said with a smile: “O, impudent one [lit. streching (his) neck]! Look what you are (now) going to do: — (since) you have been impudent (to Me) you will (have to) stuff your mouth [lit. eat] with cot- ton(-wool) [i.e. be silent]!”’

In the following example the ‘grammatical pun’ consists of adding the conditional suffix -i — normally used with praeterite tense only — to HUMOUR IN RUMI’S GHAZALS 87 the enclitic form of the 1st person of the verb ‘to be’ in present tense and thus transforming it into a functional equivalent of the past subjunctive (buda) basam or (be-)budam-i. Here again the reader is at first taken aback, but after a careful reading has to admit that this unusual form per- fectly fulfills the syntactic requirements of the conditional phrases in which it appears.

[4] R. 2493/1-2 &8-9 ru be-nemudam-i be-to gar dida sod-i nesân-e man gar na ke hamagi na jân-am-i bi-nesân-am-i sim-bar-â na man zar(r)-am jouhar-e zar(r) nemudam-i gar na l‘al-lab-â na gouhar-am darun-e kân-am-i (…) gar na ze tir-e gayrat u casm-e fâs-o-‘ayân be-dast-e u bar maÒal- zamâna duxt-i e kamân-am-i az tabriz o Sams-e din ramz-o- ah ce sod-i ke pis-e u man soda kenâyat-ast in tarjomân-am-i ‘I would have shown you my face if I had not exclusively [lit. fully] been a spirit [lit. soul/life] (only) — my mark/sign would have become visible (to you) if I had not been (completely) invisible [lit. without sign]. O, Silverbreasted (One): I am not gold; o, Rubylipped (One): I am not a jewel! — I would have shown (you) (a treasure of) pure gold if I had not been (hidden) in the mine. (…) If He had not closed the eye(s) of (my) destiny (with) the arrows of (His) scorn — I would have (already) been clearly and distinctly in His hand(s) (held firmly) like a bow. This (declaration) is a secret hint and a metaphor (on account of) Tabriz and Sams-e din — o, what would happen if I were (able to) become an interpreter (of this hidden message) for Him!’ The last bayt (maq†a‘) of the above quoted example reminds us that one of the favourite subjects of Rumi’s ghazals consisted of allusions to their deeper layers not easily accessible for everybody. This motif — also exploited in the following Ex. 5 — provided the poet with an opportunity to display his wit in mocking and insulting those addressees (obviously a certain category of his potential readers) who were incapable of grasping all the subtleties of his poems. Examples 5 and 6 may be regarded as a kind of ‘comic verses’ because of their sud- den change of tone at the very last moment; while their mood is elated throughout the ‘main’ text (persuasive in Ex. 5 and panegyrical in Ex. 6) 88 W. SKALMOWSKI their endings unexpectedly become very critical of the addressee. The humorous intent of this criticism is especially well visible in the maq†a‘ of Ex. 6 in which instead of direct abuse the addressee is treated with pointed condescension.

[5] R. 1426/12-14 to har gouhar ke mi bini be-juy ke har Âar(r)a(h) hami guyad ke dor(r)i degar dar vay dar bâ†en dafin dâram to-râ har gouhar-i guyad ma- ke az kân-e Âamir-ast ân ke nur-i sou qâne‘ be- Ìosn-e man dar jabin dâram xamos kardam ke ân hus-i ke ma-jombân gus o maf(a)ribân ke dar yâbad na-dâri tu casm-i hus-bin dâram ‘In every jewel which you are seeing look for another pearl (in its depth) — because every (single) particle (of it) is (constantly) saying: “I have a hidden treasure within me”. Every jewel is saying to you: “Do not miss [lit. don’t deprive your- self of] my (full) beauty — because it is (only) due to the mine/store of (your) Mind/Heart that there is light on my surface [lit. front]!”. (Here) I fell silent because (I have realised that) you do not possess that (kind of) mind that would lead to (any) discovery — (thus) do not flap with your (donkey’s) ear(s) and do not have any illusions (about yourself) [lit. don’t let be cheated (by yourself)] since I have a mind- penetrating eye!’

[6] R. 2772/6-9 ay Òurat-e jân o jân-e Òurat bâzâr-e botân hama sekasti mâ-râ co xayâl-e to bovad bot pas vâjeb gast bot-parasti ‘aql-e do(v)vomi vo nafs-e avval ay âmada bahr-e mâ be-pasti in vahm-e man-ast sarÌ-e to nist to xvad hasti conank(e) hasti ‘O, form of the soul and soul of the form — You have ruined the mar- ket of (other) beauties! Since your (mental) image is an idol for us — idolatry became a necessity (for us). (You have recognized) Reason (as being) secondary and Spirit (as being) primary — o, (wonderful) You (who have deliberately) chosen [lit. come at] lowliness for our sake! This (eulogy) is (only) my fantasy (and) (certainly) not a description of you — (since) yourself you are… like you are.’ HUMOUR IN RUMI’S GHAZALS 89

The delicate criticism of the previous example often makes, however, place for a much more rude treatment of the unsuitable receivers of the ghazal’s message, as may be seen from the two following fragments. The exaggerated wrath of the poems’ narrator allows us to put them into the category of ‘satire’. Incidentally, the maq†a‘ of Ex. 8 explicitly qual- ifies that ghazal as such (hajv).

[7] R 361/6-7 ce guyam bâ to ay naqs-e ce ma‘nâ ganjad andar jân-e mozau(v)ar tang-at? havâ-ye sams-e tabrizi co qods to ân xuk-i ke na-paÂirad farang- ast at ‘What might I tell you, o misfit [lit. falsified/spoiled design] — which meaning(ful message) could find way [lit. place] in(to) your narrow mind [lit. soul]? (My) affection for Sams-e Tabrizi is (sublime) like Paradise/Jeru- salem — (while) you are such a swine that (even) the (pork-eating) Frank/crusader would not accept you!’

[8] R. 2382/1-2 & 9-10 ay boxâr-i-râ tu jân pendâste Ìab(b)a-ye zar(r)-râ to kân pendâsta ay foru-rafta co qârun dar zamin vay zamin-râ âsmân pendâsta (…) mâhtâb-as mi zanad bar kuri- ay to mah-râ ham nehân y-at pendâsta har-ce goftam xvistan-râ gofta am ay to hajv-e digarân pendâsta ‘O, you (who have) (mis)taken a (whiff of) fog for the Soul [=Beloved] — you (who have) (mis)taken a grain of gold for a (whole) mine (of it); O, you (who) have crept [lit. gone] down into the earth like Qarun — o, (you who) have (mis)taken the earth for the sky; (…) His [= the Beloved’s] moonshine radiates [lit. beats] onto your blind- ness (to no avail) — o, you who have taken (even) the (actual) moon for invisible! Everything which I said (above) I have said to yourself… — you (idiot) who have taken it for a satire on others!’ The negative opinion of the narrator about unsuitable readers is amus- ingly expressed in another maq†a‘ (Ex. 9) whose first meÒrâ‘ deplores 90 W. SKALMOWSKI their lack of perspicacity in a relatively innocent way but the second one humiliates them by means of a derisive comparison.

[9] R 3012/15 xâmos bâ morg-e xâk qeÒ(Ò)a-ye bekr ce ‘arÂa koni bar sah-e daryâ ma-gu ‘en(n)ina-yi ‘(Let us be) silent (because our words are useless): do not (ever) describe [lit. tell the story of] the sea to a bird (which lives) on the ground; — what for should one [lit. you] offer a virgin to an impotent king?’

The following example also offers ‘severe criticism’ of persons who have disappointed the narrator. The ghazal is based on the motif of a mocking self-reproach because of the narrator’s excessive confidence in his audience, but the harshest words are, of course, reserved for the unsuitable members of that audience. An amusing surprise — a kind of ‘metrical trap’ — awaits the careful reader of this ghazal in its maq†a‘. The poem’s meter (∞-∞v∞-∞- | v∞-∞v∞- | -∞-∞) which can be defined as xafîf musaddas maxbûn aÒlam4 demands that the first syllable of every meÒrâ‘ in it be long. The second meÒrâ‘ of the last bayt of Ex. 10 begins with the words spelled as: h-m-h ‘(o)-m-r-m which at a first glance appear to represent the very common expression hama-ye ‘omr- am ‘my whole life’, but this reading (which must be scanned as: vvv-∞-∞) disagrees with the metric pattern of the first foot of that line. There are two solutions: either the form h-m-h has to be interpreted as a possible but unusual form of the Arabic loanword hemma(t) ‘ambition, aspira- tion’, or we have to assume that the two short syllables of Pers. hama have been used here as an equivalent of one long syllable. Since both these alternatives are possible the whole expression may be regarded as a prosodic pun of sorts. It could be argued that Rumi had simply com- mitted an error of scanning here but this supposition seems unlikely in view of the fact that he liked to insert into his ghazals explicit metrical patterns (cf. Ex. 1 above and Ex. 11 beneath) — most probably in order to stress the importance of prosody for correct understanding of his poems.

4 L. P. ELWELL-SUTTON, The Persian Metres, Cambridge/London etc. 1976, p. 64. HUMOUR IN RUMI’S GHAZALS 91

[10] R 1752/8-10 ay darigâ(n) ke kân-e nafrin-râ az †ama‘ cand âf(e)rin goftam az xari bud ân na-bod ze xerad ke xar-e mâda-râ takin goftam tauba kardam az-in xa†â goftan hemma ‘omr-am bas ar hamin goftam ‘What a pity that for the sake of courting (unworthy persons) I gave [lit. said] some praise to an (actual) store [lit. mine] of abhorrence; It was (also) due to (my) stupidity [lit. ‘asininity’] (and) not to my rea- son(ability) that I called a she-ass “a racing (steed)”. (Now) I (forever) renounce the telling of such nonsense [lit. mistake] — (may) my life of ambition [or: my whole life] (be regarded as) fin- ished if I (ever should) say (things) of this kind (again)!’

[11] R.1612/13-15 to ma-râ jân-e baqâ-yi ke dehi to ma-râ ganj-e ‘a†â-yi ke nehi jâm-e Ìayât-am nâm-e faqir-am hala bas kon hala bas kon kam ke koh-am man na Òedâ-y-am âvâz-e jaras kon qalam-am man na Òarir-am fa‘elâton fa‘elâton fa‘elâton hama mi guy o ma-zan dam ze fa‘elâton sahansâh-e sahir-am ‘For me you are the (bestower of) eternal life because you give me the life(-restoring) cup — for me you are the unexpected [lit. offered] trea- sure because you apply [lit. put] to me the name ‘(holy) beggar’. Please, stop now (and) make (your) (camel’s) bell silent [in order to meditate] — because I am an (echoing) mountain, not a (ready) voice; (I am) a pen (to write with), not the sound of the (already) writing pen. “Short-short-long-long” [repeated four times = metric pattern of ramal maxbûn] — say everything (correctly) but [lit. and] do not tell (anybody) about (the identity of) my celebrated King!’

The example quoted above not only illustrates the important role of the seemingly gratuitous ‘metrical jingles’ in Rumi’s ghazals but also stresses the necessity of participation of the audience in the process of faithful ‘re-creation’ of the narrator’s words. Ex. (12) repeats this tenet once again and exhorts the addressee to look for instructions on how to understand the intended message in the ‘Word’ itself, i.e., in the actual Rumi’s poems. 92 W. SKALMOWSKI

[12] R 2/15-17 âb-e Ìayât âmad soxon k-âyad jân-râ az-u xâli ma-kon tâ ze ‘elm-e men ladon bar-dehad e‘mâl-hâ bar ahl-e m‘anâ sod soxon- bar ahl Òurat sod soxon-tafÒil-hâ ejmâl-hâ tafÒil-hâ ejmâl-hâ gar s‘er-hâ goftand por por be ke-z Âauq-e s‘ar âxer sotor xvas bud daryâ ze dor(r) mi kasad tarÌâl-hâ ‘The Word which comes from Divine Inspiration [lit. knowledge (acquired) by grace] is [lit. became] the Water of (Eternal) Life — (thus) do not disregard it [lit. do not make (your) mind empty] so that it might give you (proper) instructions! For the discerning persons [lit. men-of-meaning] the Word’s content [lit. abstracts/summaries] is [lit. became] (its) explication — (while) for the superficial ones [lit. men-of-surface] the Word’s explication (is) its content. If one had read/recited [lit. said] poems correctly [lit. full(y)], the sea would (have) become full of pearls — (like it happens) when, because of the demand [lit. taste] for silken cloth, (even) a camel eventually makes with success [lit. well] (difficult) voyages (to China).’ The first hemistich of the last bayt of the example quoted above explicitly states that full comprehension of the ghazal’s fine points (‘pearls’) depends on its correct reading and interpretation by the reader and that this task often demands a prolonged effort. Its second meÒrâ‘ which amusingly illustrates the advantages of patience when overcom- ing difficulties is by itself a good example of such a rhetoric difficulty, since the meaning of this phrase in the Persian original5 and its relevance for the poem’s subject are not evident at a first glance. The same motif of ‘useful suffering’ is formulated still more suc- cinctly in the following maq†a‘:

[13] R. 3060/17 xamos ke ranj berây-e karim berây-e mumen rauÂa-st nâr dar ganj savad ‘oqbâ ‘Enough [lit. (let us be) silent], since for (our) Magnificent (Friend) the toil will lead to [lit. will become] a treasure — (in the same way as) for a believer the (Hell’s) fire at (his) heels is (the way to) Paradise.’

5 The habitual meaning of Ar-Pers. sa‘r is only ‘hair’, but cf. sa‘r-bâf ‘a maker of silk-stuff’; s. F. STEINGASS, A Comprehensive Persian-English Dictionary, London 1892, p.∞∞746. HUMOUR IN RUMI’S GHAZALS 93

The ghazal quoted beneath is not a yet another illustration of humor- ous devices in Rumi’s poetry since (except for the sudden switching to lighter conversational tone in its maq†a‘) it is earnest and even solemn. However, it contains several points which are important for our under- standing of the Divân’s author's view on the function and purpose of his creative activity.

[14] R.938 soxon be-nazd-e soxon-dân ze âsman soxon âmad soxon na bozorgvâr bovad xvâr bovad soxon co nik na-guyi hazâr nist soxon co niku guyi hazâr bovad yaki soxon ze parda berun âyad ke u Òefât-e xodâvand kard(e)gâr ângah-as bini bovad soxon co ruy namâyad xodây xonok kasi ke be-goftâr râz-dâr resk barad bovad ze ‘ars tâ be-Òarâ Âarra Âarra ke dânad ânk(e) be-edrâk ‘ars- guyâ and vâr bovad soxon ze ‘elm-e xodâ vo ‘amal va gar ze mâ †alabi kâr-e kâr-e xodây konad kâr bovad co morgakân-e abâbil laskar-i be-pis-e laskar-e penhân ce s(e)kanand kârzâr bovad co passa-yi sar-e sâh-i barad yaqin savad ke nehân dar selâÌ- ke nemrud-ast dâr bovad co yak-sovâra-ye mah-râ separ senân-e dida-ye aÌmad ce del- do nim savad goÂâr bovad to Òurat-i †alabi z-in soxon ke deham be-dast-e to gar dast-e dast nehi dastyâr bovad ‘For [lit. near] a connoisseur of (words) the Word/Language is (some- thing) magnificent — the Word came from Heaven (and thus) the Word is not a lowly (thing)! If you do not use [lit. speak] the Word correctly [lit. well] it will not become [lit. it is not] a nightingale — (but) if you do use the Word/Lan- guage correctly, one (phrase of it) will (in its meaningfullness) become a thousand. (When) the Word will come out from (its) cover you will realize [lit. see] — that it is the shaper/maker of God’s attributes. When the Word shows (its) face (even) God (Himself) envies it — happy the one who is familiar with (all) the secret(s) of Speech! 94 W. SKALMOWSKI

Everywhere [lit. from Heaven down to Earth] there are innumerable [lit. particle-like] speaking (beings) — (but) who (among them) realizes [lit. knows] that thanks to (his/her) comprehension he/she (potentially) is a heavenly (creature)? Word/Language represents [lit. (comes) from] God’s wisdom while [lit. and] God (merely) acts — and — if you ask me — it (= language) is the very essence of acting [lit. the act of the act of the act]. If (even) the small abâbil-birds [who attacked Abraha’s troops6] (are capable of) destroy(ing) a (whole) army — (then) what means [lit. is] (any) battle (whatsoever) for the (immense) invisible army (of lan- guage)? If (even) a (single) gnat may defeat such a king like Nemrod — (then) it gets evident that in the Invisible (Reality) must reside [lit. is] an (invincible) warrior. If (even) the single (escorting) horseman of the Moon may split a shield in two — (then) how (much more) valiant must be [lit. is] the spearhead of the (still) more eminent (heavenly) Eye [= the Sun; an allu- sion to Sams(-e Tabrizi)]! You demand from these word(s) that you might grasp [lit. put your hand on] the (overall) picture (of their meaning)? — I will deliver (this picture) into your hand provided that it will be the hand of a helpful (ally).’

It is obvious from Rumi’s own words that he ascribed to language a nearly divine status not only in an aesthetic but also, as it were, meta- physical sense as well. According to him the full mastery of all the intri- cacies of language can elevate human beings to a superior level of con- sciousness or even existence (cf. bayts 4 and 5) but, unfortunately, not many language users are aware of this tremendous potentiality. Only prolonged efforts on the part of the readers to penetrate the enigmatic and grammatically complicated ghazal-‘exercises’ can assure real com- munication with the ghazals’s ‘I-person’ and turn them into his ‘friends’ (cf. bayt 10). Expressed in a less poetic way, the purpose of Rumi’s poetry appears to have been didactic in a large sense. His readers were led step by step towards recognizing language as an embodiment of spiritual reality by far superior to the material one and were invited to find in it consolation

6 cf. Sûrat 105/3 in: The Holy Qur’ân, (ed. & tr. YUSUF ALI) Leicester 1975, p.1792. HUMOUR IN RUMI’S GHAZALS 95 or even salvation from the misery of ordinary life7. All means serving this prise de conscience and promoting the enlargement of human intel- lectual horizon (in a nearly Wittgensteinian fashion identified by Rumi with language itself) were welcome and eagerly applied in his vast ‘teaching materials’. The fact that these means also encompassed a large amount of undeniably comic literary effects — briefly analysed in this paper — shows that Rumi correctly regarded the sense of humour as one of the prerequisites of intelligent reception of his very serious philo- sophical message.

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7 On the important role which language plays (according to this author’s hypothesis) in the Sufi poetry and philosophy s. W. SKALMOWSKI, The ‘Seven Valleys’ of ‘A††âr, OLP 23 (1992), p.281-302; ID., Five ghazals of ‘A††âr, ibid. 29 (1998), p. 127-144.