The Forty Rules of Love: a novel of Rumi

Husam the Student
KONYA, FEBRUARY 1246
Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, we were all sitting on the floor in the classroom when the door opened and
in walked Shams of Tabriz. Everyone was stunned. Having heard so many bad and bizarre things about
him, mostly from our teacher, I, too, couldn’t help but cringe upon seeing him in our classroom in the
flesh. He, however, seemed relaxed and friendly. After greeting us all, he said he had come to have a
word with Sheikh Yassin.
“Our teacher doesn’t like to have strangers in the classroom. Perhaps you should talk to him some other
time,” I said, hoping to avoid a nasty encounter.
“Thanks for your concern, young man, but sometimes nasty encounters are not only inevitable, they are
necessary,” Shams answered, as if he had read my thoughts. “Don’t you worry, though. It won’t take too
long.”
Irshad, sitting next to me, muttered between clenched teeth, “Look at his nerve! He is the devil
incarnate.”
I nodded, though I wasn’t sure Shams looked like the devil to me. Set against him as I was, I couldn’t
help liking his forthrightness and audacity.
A few minutes later, Sheikh Yassin entered through the door, his brow furrowed in contemplation. He
had taken no more than a few steps inside when he stopped and blinked distractedly in the direction of the
uninvited visitor.
“What is this man doing here? Why did you let him in?”
My friends and I exchanged shocked glances and frightened whispers, but before anyone could muster
the courage to say anything, Shams blurted out that he had been in the neighborhood and had decided to
visit the one person in Konya who hated him most!
I heard several students cough tautly and saw Irshad draw in a sharp breath. The tension between the
two men was so thick that the air in the classroom could be cut with a knife.
“I don’t know what you are doing here, but I have better things to do than talk to you,” Sheikh Yassin
reprimanded. “Now, why don’t you take your leave, so that we can get on with our studies?”
“You say you won’t talk to me, but you have been talking about me,” Shams remarked. “You have
constantly spoken ill of me and Rumi, and of all the mystics along the Sufi path.”
Sheikh Yassin sniffed through his big, bony nose and narrowed his mouth to a pout, as if he had
something sour on his tongue. “As I said, I have nothing to talk with you about. I already know what I need
to know. I have my opinions.”
Shams now turned to us with a swift, sardonic glance. “A man with many opinions but no questions!
There’s something so wrong with that.”
“Really?” Sheikh Yassin looked amused and animated. “Then why don’t we ask the students which of
the two they’d rather be: the wise man who knows the answers or the perplexed man who has nothing but
questions?”
All of my friends sided with Sheikh Yassin, but I sensed that many did so less out of sincere agreement
than to get favors from the teacher. I chose to remain silent.
“One who thinks he has all the answers is the most ignorant,” Shams said with a dismissive shrug, and
turned to our teacher. “But since you are so good with answers, may I ask you a question?”
That was when I started to worry about where this conversation was heading. But there was nothing I

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could do to prevent the escalating tension.
“Since you claim I am the devil’s servant, could you kindly tell us what exactly your notion of Sheitan
is?” asked Shams.
“Certainly,” Sheikh Yassin said, never missing an opportunity to preach. “Our religion, which is the
last and the best of Abrahamic religions, tells us it was Sheitan who caused Adam and Eve to be expelled
from heaven. As the children of fallen parents, we all need to be alert, because Sheitan comes in many
forms. Sometimes he comes in the form of a gambler who invites us to gamble, sometimes a beautiful
young woman who tries to seduce us.… Sheitan can come in the least expected forms, like that of a
wandering dervish.”
As if expecting this remark, Shams smiled knowingly. “I see what you mean. It must be a huge relief,
and an easy way out, to think the devil is always outside of us.”
“What do you mean?” Sheikh Yassin asked.
“Well, if Sheitan is as wicked and indomitable as you are saying he is, then we human beings have no
reason to blame ourselves for our wrongdoings. Whatever good happens we’ll attribute to God, and all
the bad things in life we’ll simply attribute to Sheitan. In either case we’ll be exempt from all criticism
and self-examination. How easy that is!”
Still talking, Shams started to pace the room, his voice rising with each word. “But let’s for one
moment imagine there is no Sheitan. No demons waiting to burn us in scorching cauldrons. All these
bloodcurdling images were designed to show us something, but then they became clichés and lost their
original message.”
“And what might that message be?” Sheikh Yassin asked wearily, crossing his arms on his chest.
“Ah, so you do have questions after all,” Shams said. “The message is that the torment a person can
inflict upon himself is endless. Hell is inside us, and so is heaven. The Qur’an says human beings are the
most dignified. We are higher than the highest, but also lower than the lowest. If we could grasp the full
meaning of this, we would stop looking for Sheitan outside and instead focus on ourselves. What we need
is sincere self-examination. Not being on the watch for the faults of others.”
“You go and examine yourself, and inshallah someday you will redeem yourself,” Sheikh Yassin
answered, “but a proper scholar has to keep an eye on his community.”
“Then allow me to tell you a story,” Shams said, with such graciousness that we couldn’t be sure
whether he was sincere or mocking.
And here is what he told us: