Layla and Majnun Read Online Free

require as a dowry, I shall give you — and much more besides. I am not a man to stand on ceremony: I have come here as a customer, and you, if you know what is good for you — and I have no doubt that you do — will state your price clearly and sell me what I want. You stand to make great gains if you move now: tomorrow may be too late.’

     
    His anxiety for his son had made the old Sayyid more audacious than usual in his approach and manner of speaking, but what had been said could not be unsaid. Layla’s father, a proud man at the best of times, nodded slowly and replied, ‘You speak well, my friend, and your words are weighty enough. But you cannot change what has been decreed by Fate with words alone. Did you really imagine that I would be moved to accept your request by the force of your rhetoric? Did you really think that I would not see beneath the surface of your eloquence? What you have shown me is attractive enough, but that which lies under the cover, the very thing that would give my enemies happiness, you fail to mention! Yes, indeed, your son is a prince of men, a veritable idol of love — from a distance. And from a distance he would be welcome even in the family of the Caliph himself. But we all know better than that, don’t we? Do you think I am so cut off from the world that news from the outside does not reach me? Do you not realise that the story of your son’s madness is known throughout the land? And did you really believe that I would take a madman for a son-in-law? For I swear by God that he is mad, and a madman is no husband for my daughter.
    ‘Thus, my dear friend, I must ask you to leave. My advice is this: pray to our Lord that your son be cured of his illness. Until he is cured, I will hear no more talk of love or marriage between him and my daughter. I hope, dear friend, that I have made myself clear.’
    The old Sayyid had no option but to withdraw his request and depart. Defeat did not sit easily with him,and the words spoken by Layla’s father had stung him like a swarm of bees, yet what else could he do but give in? And so he returned to Majnun, silent and empty-handed.

Chapter 7
    H aving failed to win Layla for his son, the old Sayyid enlisted the aid of his son’s friends in one last attempt to make his son see reason with words of advice and good counsel.
    His friends took Majnun to one side and gently remonstrated with him. ‘Why only Layla?’ they said. ‘There are many girls in your own tribe who are every bit as desirable as Layla: sweet-scented, tulip-cheeked beauties with lips like rosebuds and eyes like narcissi —beauties who are perhaps even more attractive than the one who has stolen your heart! Why, we know of hundreds of such sweet maidens — you have only to take your pick! Come now, instead of torturing your poor heart and turning it into a shrine for the one you cannot have, find someone who will comfort it and fillit with joy! Choose a mate from your own tribe, a companion for life who will be worthy of you. Forget Layla. Let her go!’
    Majnun knew that his friends meant well, but when all was said and done they had no idea how intense the fire of his love for Layla really was: those who have never experienced such pain cannot understand it, let alone counsel against it. Indeed, instead of extinguishing the flames, their words served merely to fan them, and by the time they had finished advising him, the conflagration was blazing more fiercely than before.
    Majnun’s despair was now deeper than it had ever been. There was nothing anyone could say to console him; there was nothing anyone could do to ease his pain, a pain that had darkened his days and turned his world to perpetual night. He could neither eat nor sleep: most of the time he would wander around in a daze, occasionally becoming conscious enough of his pain to pummel his face with his fists and tear his robes. Majnun was homeless, an exile from the land of happiness and an inconsolable