angles, another, resembling the arm of a pair of scales; to the land end of the last they attach a weight, and to the river end, a bucket or scoop,54 with which they raise the water. A man stands on the riverside and pulls the end of the crossbeam downward, and the bucket or scoop falls and scoops up the water; then he lets go, the other end descends under its weight, and the bucket or scoop rises and, with the aid of the man, empties into the pit; the water then runs on to the crops and so on, as we have ourselves observed on numerous occasions. The whole assemblage, consisting of the device itself with the pillars, is called abū shādūf, which is derived from shadf, which means “scooping” (gharf). It says in The Blue Ocean and Piebald Canon, shadafa, yashdufu, shadfan means gharafa, yaghrifu, gharfan. As the poet says:
If you see water, scoop (ushduf) carefully,
For that, to the thirsty, more comfortable is and more pleasant!
11.1.7
Thus the poet, because he cleaved to this device and became almost inseparable from it, came to be known by its name, according to the rule of “naming the condition after the position.” Another version has it that his mother gave birth to him next to an abū shādūf and he was therefore named after it, but this is refuted by what has already been said, to the effect that his original name was ʿUjayl. The two versions may be reconciled by saying that after his mother had given birth to him next to the abū shādūf, she took him and placed him in the trough and the calf licked him and he became known as described above. Thus there is no contradiction between the accounts. It is also said that he was so named because he did so much scooping of water with this device—so much, indeed, that it got to the point that anyone who asked after him would be told, “he’s busy shadf-ing” that is, “scooping”; then they added the alif and waw to the word and said shādūf.55 With constant repetition, they have come to think of the crossbeam as though it were the child and the pillars as though they were the father, so that now they call the device “the father of the crossbeam (abū shādūf)”; and they applied the name to the poet himself because he was always next to the device and they identified him with it, and thus it became a proper name by which he was addressed, as already explained. End.
11.1.8
A Silly Debate: What is to be learned from the fact that the bucket or scoop never leaves the beam, which resembles the arm of a pair of scales; and does the latter play the role of father to the former, just as, as pointed out earlier, the two pillars play the role of father to the crossbeam of the shādūf; and is it the case that the bucket or scoop adheres to the beam merely out of necessity and, once disconnected from it, ceases to perform its function; and, as such, may it be said to be attached to it only when needed and not otherwise? We declare: the fatuous response is that the beam cannot dispense with the bucket or the scoop and neither can dispense with the beam, and so together they play the role of child to the beam, and the beam plays the role of father for the reason given, since both of them—the bucket and the scoop—are in a stable relationship with the beam. Now the contention’s straightened out, the silliness shown up for what it’s about.
11.1.9
A Useful Note: the word ab (“father”) is derived from āba, meaning “he returned.”56 Ibn Zurayq,57 God have mercy on him, says in an ode:
He never returns (āba) from one journey but feels an urge
To be on his way again, that only his will can purge.
That is, “he never comes back from one journey but the urge to undertake a second disturbs him.” It is the same with a father, because he is always coming back to his child and missing him and looking about for him. Others say that the word is derived from ubuwwah (“fatherhood”), just as akh (“brother”) is derived from ukhuwwah (“brotherhood”). Says the poet:
A man’s ab from āba derives,
And a man’s akh from ukhuwwah likewise.
The paradigm is āba, yaʾūbu, awban, active participle ābin.58
11.1.10
Ibn Sūdūn59 claims that abū, the construct form of ab, is really a perfect-tense defective verb,60 being originally abūsu (“I would kiss”), and he cites as evidence the verse that says:
“They said, ‘Your sweetie hides his mouth affectedly from view;
What would you attempt, if he should show it?’ Said I, ‘abū …’61
“that is, abūs (‘I would kiss’), the s having been dropped for two reasons, the first being to deceive the listener, this being the proper thing to do in literary opinion and the more conducive to safety from tattletales and nosy parkers, and the second because its numerical value is sixty,62 and sixty kisses, according to some, is excessive.”
These are his words as explicitly stated in his collected works. End.
11.1.11
Personally, I would say that the opinion of such people, as transmitted by Ibn Sūdūn, is invalid, because, once the lover succeeds in winning his beloved, his heart will never be satisfied with sixty or even a hundred kisses, especially if the beloved in question is graceful of form, comely of feature, to his lover obedient, sincere, and compliant, whose genial body has not been denied, and who to his lover has been gathered like a bride, the lover of his beloved being thus fully possessed, the place free of tattletale, nosy parker or other pest. Then for kissing there is no number firm—it knows no bounds nor any term. As the poet says:
“One kiss!” I asked the full moon high in the sky.
“By Him who draped the clouds,”63 he said, “I will comply!”
But when we met with none about,
I reckoned wrong and lost all count!
11.1.12
And I myself said on the same theme:64
I saw upon his cheek a stippled mark that beauty held—
He whom an earring had made yet sweeter to behold.
“I want a kiss,” I said. Said he, “When we’re alone!”
And on that “stipulation” I kissed a thousandfold!
—unless the place be unsuitable for a lover and the object of his adoration, in that there’s a fear of tattletales or of observation, in which case any hugging and kissing will depend on how comfortable the lover feels—as to whether it be quite a lot or almost completely missing—though there are a few who have, in this regard, no doubt or fear and will kiss their loved ones in front of anyone who’s there, and, even though the latter turn and flee, chase after him relentlessly. As the poet says:
Would that you’d seen me and my darling
When, like a deer, he from me fled
And ran away, and I gave chase;
Would you’d seen us when after hot pursuit he said,
“Will you not leave me be?” and I said, “No!”
And he, “What would you of me?” and I, “You know!”
And he then stayed aloof and shyly turned his back,
And proudly turned, not to me, but away—
For then I almost kissed him, right in front of everyone.
Ah, would I now could do what then I should have done!
11.1.13
An amusing story has it that Abū Nuwās was one day walking in the streets of Baghdad when he saw a beautiful youth and kissed him in front of everyone. He and the youth were brought before the judge Yaḥyā ibn Aktham, and the youth brought charges against Abū Nuwās. After bowing his head in silence