One of Jelāl's disciples possessed a slave girl of Roman origin, whom Jelāl had named Siddīqa (after Muhammed's virgin wife 'Ā'isha). Occasionally she had miraculous visions. She used to see aureolas of heavenly light, green, red, and black. Various of the angels used to visit her, and souls of the departed.
Her master was vexed at her being so favoured above himself. Once he was visited by Jelāl, and expressed his chagrin to him on the subject. Jelāl replied: “True! There is a heavenly light resides in the pupils of some eyes. These occasionally mislead a few with visions of beauteous form, with which they fall in love. Others they preserve in chastity, and lead them to their adored Maker. Others, again, they may lead to take delight in exterior objects, so as to cast their eyes on every pretty face they see, while the wife at home is curtained away from her husband. Thus, whenever God opens a way to any one, appearing to him, and showing him glimpses of the hidden world, he is apt to become entranced therewith, and to lose all power of further progress, saying to himself: ‘How greatly in favour am I!’ Others, in short, use every endeavour; but nothing is vouchsafed to them in visions, until they be favoured with a special sight of God Himself, and they be admitted to a near approach unto Him.”
The girl's master was comforted, and bowed to his teacher, whose disciples then broke out into a holy service of psalmody and dancing.
There was once a wise monk in the monastery of Plato, who was on very friendly terms with Jelāl's grandson 'Ārif. He was very aged, and used to be visited by the dervishes of his neighbourhood, to whom he was very polite, and towards whom he exhibited great confidence; so much so that, one day, some of them inquired of him how he had found Jelāl, and what he had thought of him.
The monk replied to them: “What do you know of him, as to who or what he was? I have seen signs and miracles without number worked by him. I became his devoted servant. I had read in the gospel and in the prophets the lives and the works of the saints of old, and I saw that he compassed them all. I therefore had faith in the truth of his reality.
“One day he came here, conferring on me the honour of a visit. For forty days he shut himself up in ecstatic seclusion. When at length he came forth from his privacy, I laid hold of his skirt, and said to him: ‘God, in His holy scripture hath said (Qur'ān xix. 72): “And there is none of you but shall come to it (hellfire).” Now, since it is incontestable that all shall come to the fire of hell, what preference is there in Islām over our faith?’
“For a little time he made no answer. At length, however, he made a sign towards the city, and went away in that direction. I followed after him leisurely. Near the city, we came to a bakehouse, the oven of which was being heated. He now took my black cassock, wrapped it in his own cloak, and threw the bundle into the oven. He then withdrew for a time into a corner, sunk in meditation.
“I saw a great smoke come out of the oven, such that no one had the power of utterance. After that, he said to me: ‘Behold!’ The baker withdrew the bundle from the oven, and assisted the saint to put on his cloak, which had become exquisitely clean; whereas my cassock was, as it were, branded and scorched, so as to fall in pieces. Then he said: ‘Thus shall we enter therein, and thus shall you enter!’
“That self-same moment I made my bow to him and became his disciple.”
The reason why the Mesnevī was written is related to have been the following:—
Husāmu-'d-Dīn learnt that several of the followers of Jelāl were fond of studying the Ilāhī-nāma of Senā'ī, the Hakīm, and the Mantiqu-'t-Tayr of 'Attār, as also the Nasīb-nāma of the latter.
He therefore sought and found an opportunity to propose that Jelāl should indite something in the style of the Ilāhī-nāma, but in the metre of the Mantiqu-'t-Tayr; saying that the circle of friends would then willingly give up all other poetry, and study that alone.
Jelāl immediately produced a portion of the Mesnevī, saying that God had forewarned him of the wishes of the brethren, in consequence of which he had already begun to compose the work. That fragment consisted of the first eighteen couplets of the introductory verses:—
It is of the metre Remel, hexameter contracted: ¯ ˘ ¯ ¯ | ¯ ˘ ¯ ¯ | ¯ ˘ ¯ || ¯ ˘ ¯ ¯ | ¯ ˘ ¯ ¯ | ¯ ˘ ¯ ||
Jelāl frequently mentions Husām as the cause of the work's having been begun and continued. In the fourth book he addresses him in the opening couplet:—
And again the sixth book has for its opening verse the following apostrophe:—
Often they spent whole nights at the task, Jelāl inditing, and Husām writing down his inspirations, chanting it aloud, as he wrote it, with his beautiful voice. Just as the first book was completed, Husām's wife died, and an interval ensued.
Two years thus passed without progress. Husām married again; and in that year, A.H. 662 (A.D. 1263), the second book was commenced. No other interval occurred until the work was brought to a conclusion. The third couplet of the second book mentions Husām in these terms—
The third, fifth, and seventh books have similar addresses to Husām in their opening verses. His name is also mentioned cursorily in the third tale of the first book.
On the death of Jelāl, a party of zealots went in a body to the Perwāna, explaining to him that the new practices of music and dancing, introduced by Jelāl, were innovations altogether contrary to the canonical institutes, and begging him to use his utmost endeavours to suppress them.
The Perwāna called on the learned Mufti of Qonya, Sheykh Sadru-'d-Dīn, and consulted him on the subject. The Mufti's answer was: “Do nothing of the kind. Listen not to such biased suggestions. There is an apostolical saying to this effect: ‘A laudable innovation, introduced by a perfect follower of the prophets, is of the same nature with the customary practices of the prophets themselves.’” The Perwāna resolved, therefore, to do nothing towards suppressing Jelāl's institutions.
A certain great man, who esteemed Jelāl, was nevertheless shocked that he should, with all his learning and piety, sanction the use of music and dancing.
He had occasion to visit Jelāl, who at once addressed him as follows:—“It is an axiom in the sacred canons that a Muslim, if hard pressed, and in danger of death, may eat of carrion and other forbidden food, so that the life of a man be not sacrificed. This rule is admitted and approved by all the authorities of the law. Now, we men of God are exactly in that position of extreme danger to our lives; and from that danger there is no escape, save by song, by music, and by the dance. Otherwise, through the awful majesty of the divine manifestations, the bodies of the saints would melt away as wax, and disappear like snow under the beams of a July sun.”
The personage thus addressed was so struck with the earnestness of Jelāl's manner, and the cogency of his reasoning, that he became convinced, and thenceforward was a defender and upholder of Jelāl's institutions, so that these formed, as it were, the very nourishment of his heart. Many of the learned followed his example, and joined themselves to Jelāl's followers and disciples.
Kālūmān and 'Aynu-'d-Devla were two Roman painters. They were unrivalled in their art of painting portraits and pictures. Both were disciples of Jelāl.
Kālūmān one day narrated that in Constantinople, on a certain tablet, the portraits of the Lady Meryem and of Jesus were painted, in such style as to be matchless. From all parts of the world artists came and tried their best; but none could produce the equal of those two portraits.
‘Aynu-'d-Devla undertook, therefore, to journey to Constantinople, and see this picture. He made himself an inmate of the great church of Constantinople for a whole year, and served the priests thereof in various ways.
One night, then, he spied his opportunity, took the tablet under his arm, and absconded with it.
On reaching Qonya, he paid his respects to Jelāl, who inquired of him where he had been. He narrated to Jelāl all that had occurred with the tablet, which he exhibited.
Jelāl found the picture exceedingly beautiful, and gazed on it long with the utmost pleasure. He then spake as follows:—
“These two beautiful portraits complain of you, saying that you are not a faithful admirer of theirs, but are an untrue lover.” The artist asked: “How?” Jelāl replied: “They say they are not supplied with food and rest. On the contrary, they are kept sleepless every night, and fasting every day. They complain: ‘Aynu-'d-Devla leaves us, sleeps himself all night, and takes his meals by day, never remaining with us to do as we do!’”
The artist remarked: “Food and sleep are to them impossibilities. Neither have they speech, with which to say anything. They are mere lifeless effigies.”
Jelāl now replied: “Thou art a living effigy. Thou hast acquired a knowledge of various arts. Thou art the handiwork of a limner whose hand has framed the universe, the human race, and all things on earth and in heaven. Is it right that thou forsake Him, and enamour thyself of an insignificant lifeless effigy? What profit is there in these portraits? What advantage can accrue to thee from them?”
Touched by these reproaches, the artist vowed repentance of his sin, and professed himself a Muslim.