We heard the sounds of the bells during our stay, so much so that their blind man, the bell-ringer, sang. One night, in conversation with some witty companions, I composed a piece with three meanings. The first is the argument that there is no harm in the beautiful nature inclining towards appreciating beautiful things with a sense of detachment. I composed several elegant examples for this, and in it I said: I yearn for every beautiful thing, * and I do not fear my yearning. And I have no doubt in love, * rather, my characteristic is detachment.

The second is the intoxication of love, meaning the beloved's eyes, and their exclusion from wine, their comfort. And I composed in this meaning: I said, "The cup is in his hand," * and the essence of the letters is to take his hardness. My love is the purity of my gaze in his beauties, * and my upbringing is from the meanings of the magic of his eyes.

The third is the effect on the soul from the striking of bells, if the one striking the bell is witty and does it well. And I recited the poet's saying in this meaning: A witty man striking the bell, I said to him, * "Who taught the gazelle to strike the bells?" And I said to my soul, "Which strike pains you more? * The striking of the bells, or the striking of the dice?" And I added some verses of the same kind, and the discussion of their meaning is a kind of wordplay with answers to some grammatical riddles, and so on. This is not the place to elaborate on that. Then we set out from this city on the twentieth day of our journey. To our right, we passed Mount Al-Nar and went beyond it. On the twenty-fourth, we passed the city of Tayli, which is called Buli in Turkish, and they call it Kho, meaning "Mila Fankas," etc. A wind arose in front of the ship from the intended direction, causing it to veer off course because of the wind. And some of them said: