How that saint demanded of the king to be alone with the handmaiden for the purpose of discovering her malady.
He said: “O king, make the house empty; send away both kinsfolk and strangers.
Let no one listen in the entrance-halls, that I may ask certain things of this handmaiden.”
The house was left empty, and not one inhabitant (remained): nobody save the physician and that sick girl.
Very gently he said (to her), “Where is thy native town? for the treatment suitable to the people of each town is separate.
And in that town who is related to thee? With what hast thou kinship and affinity?”
He laid his hand on her pulse and put questions, one by one, about the injustice of Heaven.
When a thorn darts into any one's foot, he sets his foot upon his knee,
And keeps searching for its head with the point of a needle, and if he does not find it, he keeps moistening it (the place) with his lip.
A thorn in the foot is so hard to find: how (then) is it with a thorn in the heart? Answer (that)!
If every base fellow had seen the thorn in the heart, when would sorrows gain the upper hand over any one?
Somebody sticks a thorn under a donkey's tail: the donkey does not know how to get rid of it: he starts jumping.
He jumps, and the thorn strikes more firmly (pierces deeper): it needs an intelligent person to extract a thorn.
In order to get rid of the thorn, the donkey from irritation and pain went on kicking and dealing blows in a hundred places,
(But) that thorn-removing physician was an expert: putting his hand on one spot after another, he tested (it).
He inquired of the girl concerning her friends, by way of narrative,
And she disclosed to the physician (many) circumstances touching her home and (former) masters and fellow-townsmen.
He listened to her story (while) he continued to observe her pulse and its beating,
So that at whosoever's name her pulse should begin to throb, (he might know that) that person is the object of her soul's desire in the world.
He counted up the friends in her native town; then he mentioned another town by name.
He said: “When you went forth from your own town, in which town did you live mostly?”
She mentioned the name of a certain town and from that too she passed on (to speak of another, and meanwhile) there was no change in the colour of her face or in her pulse.
Masters and towns, one by one, she told of, and about dwelling-place and bread and salt.
She told stories of many a town and many a house, (and still) no vein of her quivered nor did her cheek grow pale.
Her pulse remained in its normal state, unimpaired, till he asked about Samarcand, the (city) sweet as candy.
(Thereat) her pulse jumped and her face went red and pale (by turns), for she had been parted from a man of Samarcand, a goldsmith.
When the physician found out this secret from the sick (girl), he discerned the source of that grief and woe.
He said: “Which is his quarter in passing (through the town)?” “Sar-i Pul (Bridgehead),” she replied, “and Ghátafar street.”
Said he: “I know what your illness is and I will at once display the arts of magic in delivering you.
Be glad and care-free and have no fear, for I will do to you that which rain does to the meadow.
I will be anxious for you, be not you anxious: I am kinder to you than a hundred fathers.
Beware! tell not this secret to any one, not though the king should make much inquiry from you.
When your heart becomes the grave of your secret, that desire of yours will be gained more quickly.”
The Prophet said that any one who hides his inmost thought will soon attain to the object of his desire.
When seeds are hidden in the earth, their inward secret becomes the verdure of the garden.
If gold and silver were not hidden, how would they get nourishment (grow and ripen) in the mine?
The promises and soothing words of the physician made the sick (girl) safe (free) from fear.
There are true promises, grateful to the heart; there are false promises, fraught with disquietude.
The promise of the noble is current (sterling) coin; the promise of the unworthy becomes anguish of soul.
