Forty Rules of Love(75)

“Are you all right? You look pale,” said Rumi.

I forced myself to smile, but the burden of what I was planning to say next weighed heavily on my shoulders. My voice came out a bit cranky and less forceful than I intended. “Not really. I am very thirsty, and there is nothing in this house to quench my thirst.”

“Would you like me to ask Kerra what she can do about it?” Rumi asked.

“No, because what I need is not in the kitchen. It is in the tavern. I am in the mood to get drunk, you see.”

I pretended not to notice the shadow of incomprehension that crossed Rumi’s face, and I continued. “Instead of going to the kitchen for water, would you go to the tavern for wine?”

“You mean, you want me to get you wine?” Rumi asked, pronouncing the last word cautiously, as if afraid of breaking it.

“That’s right. I’d so much appreciate it if you would get us some wine. Two bottles would be enough, one for you, one for me. But do me a favor, please. When you go to the tavern, don’t just simply get the bottles and come back. Stay there for a while. Talk to the people. I’ll be waiting here for you. No need to rush.”

Rumi gave me a look that was half irritated, half bewildered. I recalled the face of the novice in Baghdad who had wanted to accompany me but cared too much about his reputation to take the plunge. His concern for the opinions of others had held him back. Now I wondered if his reputation was going to hold Rumi back, too.

But to my great relief, Rumi stood up and nodded.

“I have never been to a tavern before and have never consumed wine. I don’t think drinking is the right thing to do. But I trust you fully, because I trust the love between us. There must be a reason you have asked me to do such a thing. I need to find out what that reason is. I’ll go and bring us wine.”

With that, he said good-bye and walked out.

As soon as he was out of the room, I fell to the ground in a state of profound ecstasy. Grabbing the amber rosary Rumi had left behind, I thanked God over and over again for giving me a true companion and prayed that his beautiful soul would never sober up from the drunkenness of Divine Love.





PART FOUR


Fire





THE THINGS THAT DAMAGE, DEVASTATE, AND DESTROY





Suleiman the Drunk





KONYA, FEBRUARY 1246

Beguiled by wine, I have had many crazy delusions when drunk, but seeing the great Rumi enter the tavern door was really wild, even for me. I pinched myself, but the vision didn’t vanish.

“Hey, Hristos, what did you serve me, man?” I yelled. “That last bottle of wine must have been some mighty booze. You’d never guess what I’m hallucinating right now.”

“Hush, you idiot,” whispered someone from behind me.

I looked around to see who was trying to quiet me and was stunned to find every man in the tavern, including Hristos, gawking at the door. The whole place had plunged into an eerie silence, and even the tavern dog, Saqui, seemed perplexed as he lay with his floppy ears glued to the floor. The Persian rug merchant stopped singing those awful melodies he called songs. Instead he swayed on his feet, holding his chin up with the overstated seriousness of a drunk who was trying to appear to be otherwise.

It was Hristos who broke the silence. “Welcome to my tavern, Mawlana,” he said, his voice dripping with politeness. “It is an honor to see you under this roof. How may I help you?”

I blinked repeatedly as it finally dawned on me that it really was Rumi standing there.

“Thank you,” Rumi said with a large but flat smile. “I’d like to get some wine.”

Poor Hristos was so surprised to hear this that his jaw dropped. When he could move again, he ushered Rumi to the first available table, which happened to be next to mine!

“Selamun aleykum,” Rumi greeted me as soon as he sat down.

I greeted him back and uttered a few pleasantries, but I am not sure the words came out right. With his tranquil expression, expensive robe, and elegant dark brown caftan, Rumi looked totally out of place.

I leaned forward and, dropping my voice to a whisper, said, “Would it be terribly rude if I ask what a man like you is doing here?”

“I’m going through a Sufi trial,” Rumi said, winking at me as if we were best friends. “I’ve been sent here by Shams so that I could have my reputation ruined.”

“And is that a good thing?” I asked.

Rumi laughed. “Well, it depends on how you look at it. Sometimes it is necessary to destroy all attachments in order to win over your ego. If we are too attached to our family, our position in society, even our local school or mosque, to the extent that they stand in the way of union   with God, we need to tear those attachments down.”