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Saadi writes:
I was once in the Great Mosque of Damascus, engaged in discussion with a group of scholars, when a young man entered and said,
“Is there anyone here who understands Persian?”
They all pointed to me.
“What is it?” I asked.
He said,
“There’s an old man, one hundred and fifty years of age, on his deathbed. He’s speaking in Persian, and we cannot understand him.
If you would be kind enough to come, perhaps he is leaving a will.”
I went to his bedside, and heard him whispering:
I thought I might take one more breath with ease —
alas, the path of breath is closed.
I thought to taste a little more of life’s feast —
alas, they said, ‘Enough.’
I translated his words for the Syrians, who were astonished — not only by the man’s great age, but by his longing still for this fleeting world.
I asked, “How do you feel in this state?”
He sighed and said:
Have you not seen the pain of one
whose tooth is pulled from his mouth?
Then imagine what it feels like
when the soul is torn from the body.
I said, “Cast away the thought of death. Do not let fear dominate your nature. The philosophers of Greece have said: even when the body is healthy, one cannot rely on life — and even when the illness is severe, it doesn’t always mean death.
If you wish, I can call a physician to treat you.”
The old man lifted his eyes, smiled faintly, and said:
The clever doctor will clap his hands in despair,
when he sees his patient fallen and lost.
The lord still paints the walls of his palace —
while the foundation crumbles beneath him.
And Saadi adds:
An old man moaned in his death throes,
while his wife rubbed sandalwood upon his feet.
But when the balance of nature breaks,
neither remedy nor prayer avails.