The Taste of Words: An Introduction to Urdu Poetry
Page 11
Aazadi ke parcham ke tale
The war for freedom
This war is the war for freedom
Fought under the banner of freedom
The war for all Indians
The labourers and the farmers
The lovers of freedom
The farmers and the labourers
This war is the war for freedom
Under the banner of freedom
The whole world is ours
The East and the West, the North and the South
We Europeans, we Americans
We Chinese soldiers of our homeland
We, the red soldiers, the crushers of tyranny
Torsos like the furnace, bodies like steel
This war is the war for freedom
Under the banner of freedom
Behold, the red dawn arrives
Of freedom, of freedom
It sings the flower-red song
Of freedom, of freedom
Look, the banner waves in the sky
Of freedom, of freedom
This war is the war for freedom
Fought under the banner of freedom.
Majaz
Is mehfil-e kaif-o-masti mein, is anjuman-e irfani mein
Sab jaam-bakaf baithe hi rahe, hum pi bhi gaye, chhalka bhi gaye
In this celebratory gathering, in the company of wisdom
Everyone kept holding his glass; I drank my fill, even spilled some.
Asrar-ul Haq Majaz (1909–55) emerged in the heady academic atmosphere of Aligarh in the 1930s, and was quite the rock star in university circles. Flamboyantly dedicating his poetry to social change, he never could renounce his innate romanticism. The resultant output was truly an exemplar of the best offerings of progressive Urdu poetry. Majaz’s spirited critique of patriarchy made him quite the cynosure of rebel Muslim female eyes. His poems critiquing the institution of purdah (for instance, ‘koi aur shai hai, ye ismat nahin hai’; ‘whatever it is, this is not virtue’) are a very significant part of his poetry, as are his existential verses, presaging the anomie and loneliness that emerge from the hegemony of industrial capital. Majaz’s early death has also added a layer of youthfulness to his mystique.
I have translated three poems here. The first is an excerpt from a lyrical tribute to a train, hardly the most romantic of subjects until it fell into Majaz’s deft hands.1 To Majaz, a train was the ultimate symbol of progressive modernity, all steel and straight lines, cutting purposively through nature. The second is Majaz’s despairing depiction of urban alienation, which is perhaps his best-known poem and also appeared as a song in the 1948 film Thokar. The third, ‘Khwab-e Sahar’(‘Dream of Dawn’), is a remarkable repudiation of religiosity that showcases the emerging rejection of spirituality by progressive poets and casts religion as a barrier to human progress and emancipation. It was written in 1936; one can only estimate the reception it would have garnered in present times.
1Raat aur rail2
Phir chali hai rail, istayshan se lehraati hui
Neem shab ki khamushi mein zer-e lab gaati hui
Daalti behis chattaanon par hiqaarat ki nazar
Koh par hansti, falak ko aankh dikhlaati hui
Daaman-e taariki-e shab ki udaati dhajjiyaan
Qasr-e zulmat par musalsal teer barsaati hui
Zad mein koi cheez aa jaaye to us ko pees kar
Irteqaa-e zindagi ke raaz batlaati hui
Al-gharaz, badhti chali jaati hai, be khauf-o-khatar
Shaayar-e aatish-nafas ka khoon khaulaati hui
The night and the train
Once again, the train jauntily leaves the station
Breaking the silence of the night with its whispered song.
Casting scornful glances on the placid cliffs
Laughing at mountains, making eyes at the sky.
Tearing the black fabric of the night into smithereens
Shooting constant arrows of sparks at the palace of darkness.
Crushing anything that comes in its way
Revealing the secrets of the evolution of life.
Ultimately it flies, fearlessly,
Roiling the blood of the fire-souled poet.
2Aawara
Shahr ki raat aur main naashaad-o-naakaara phirun
Jagmagaati jaagti sadkon pe aawara phirun
Ghair ki basti hai, kab tak darbadar maraa phirun
Ai gham-e dil kya karun, ai vahshat-e dil, kya karun
Jhilmilaate qumqumon ki raah mein zanjeer si
Raat ke hathon mein din ki mohini tasveer si
Mere seene par magar dahki hui shamsheer si
Ai gham-e dil kya karun, ai vahshat-e dil, kya karun
Ye roopahli chhaon, ye aakash par taaron ka jaal
Jaise Sufi ka tasavvur, jaise aashiq ka khayaal
Aah lekin kaun jaane, kaun samjhe ji ka haal
Ai gham-e dil kya karun, ai vahshat-e dil, kya karun
Phir vo toota ek sitara, phir vo chhooti phuljhadi
Jaane kiski god mein aayi hai moti ki ladi
Hook si seene mein uthi, chot si dil par padi
Ai gham-e dil kya karun, ai vahshat-e dil, kya karun
Raat hans hans kar ye kehti hai ke maikhaane mein chal
Phir kisi Shahnaz-e la’ala rukh ke kaashaane mein chal
Ye nahin mumkin to phir ai dost, veerane mein chal
Ai gham-e dil kya karun, ai vahshat-e dil, kya karun
Har taraf bikhri hui rangeeniyan ra’anaaiyan
Har qadam par ishraten leti hui angdaaiyan
Badh rahi hai god phailaye hue rusvaaiyan
Ai gham-e dil kya karun, ai vahshat-e dil, kya karun
Raaste mein ruk ke dam le loon meri aadat nahin
Laut kar vaapas chalaa jaoon, meri fitrat nahin
Aur koi ham-navaa mil jaaye ye qismat nahin
Ai gham-e dil kya karun, ai vahshat-e dil, kya karun
Muntazir hai ek toofan-e balaa mere liye
Ab bhi jaane kitne darwaaze hain vaa mere liye
Par museebat hai mera ahd-e vafaa mere liye
Ai gham-e dil kya karun, ai vahshat-e dil, kya karun
Jee mein aata hai ke ab ahd-e vafaa bhi tod doon
Un ko paa sakta hoon main, ye aasra bhi tod doon
Haan, munaasib hai ke zanjeer-e vafaa bhi tod doon
Ai gham-e dil kya karun, ai vahshat-e dil, kya karun
Ek mahal ki aad se niklaa vo peela maahtab
Jaise mulla ka amaama, jaise baniye ki kitab
Jaise muflis ki javaani, jaise bevaa ka shabab
Ai gham-e dil kya karun, ai vahshat-e dil, kya karun
Dil mein ek shola bhadak utha hai, aakhir kya karoon
Mera paimana chhalak utha hai, aakhir kya karoon
Zakhm seene ka mehak utha hai, aakhir kya karoon
Ai gham-e dil kya karun, ai vahshat-e dil, kya karun
Jee mein aata hai, ye murda chand taare noch loon
Is kinaare noch loon, aur us kinaare noch loon
Ek do ka zikr kya, saare ke saare noch loon
Ai gham-e dil kya karun, ai vahshat-e dil, kya karun
Muflisi, aur ye manaazir hain nazar ke saamne
Saikdon sultan-o-jaabir hain nazar ke samne
Saikdon Changez-o-Nadir hain nazar ke saamne
Ai gham-e dil kya karun, ai vahshat-e dil, kya karun
Le ke ek Changez ke haathon se khanjar tod doon
Taj par us ke damakta hai jo patthar tod doon
Koi tode ya na tode, main hi badh kar tod doon
Ai gham-e dil kya karun, ai vahshat-e dil, kya karun
Badh ke is Indarsabha ka saaz-o-saaman phoonk doon
Is ka gulshan phoonk doon, us ka shabistan phoonk doon
Takht-e sultan kya, main saara qasr-e sultan phoonk doon
Ai gham-e dil kya karun, ai vahshat-e dil, kya karun
Vagabond
Night has fallen in the city, and I, unhappy and defeated
Roam, a vagabond on dazzling, awake streets
It is not my neighbourhood, how long can I loiter thus?
Anguished heart, desperate heart, what should I do?
In the glittering sky, the streetlights seem linked in a chain
The bosom of the night holds the image of a beautiful day
But the lights fall on my heart like the flash of a scimitar
Anguished heart, desperate heart, what should I do?
These beautiful shadows, this net of stars on the sky
Like a Sufi’s contemplation, a poet’s thought
But ah, who is to know, to understand, a soul’s plight?
Anguished heart, desperate heart, what should I do?
There falls a shooting star, like a sparkler
A string of pearls fell in somebody’s lap, perhaps?
Desolation rises in my chest, hitting the heart like a blow
Anguished heart, desperate heart, what should I do?
The night laughs gaily, and invites me to a tavern
‘Or come then, to the boudoir of a rose-cheeked beauty
If not, then join me, my friend, among the ruins’
Anguished heart, desperate heart, what should I do?
Bright colours and lovely images lie scattered
At every step, joys beckon languorously
But look here, sorrows and defeats also proffer their laps
Anguished heart, desperate heart, what should I do?
To stop and rest on the way is not my habit
To admit defeat and return is not in my nature
But to find a companion, alas, is not my fate
Anguished heart, desperate heart, what should I do?
A storm of misfortune lies, ready to waylay me
And though several open doors still beckon me
An old promise of fealty holds me back, like a curse
Anguished heart, desperate heart, what should I do?
Sometimes I wonder: should I break those foolish vows?
Should I even surrender the hope that love will be rewarded?
It is possible, is it not, that I could break this feeble chain?
Anguished heart, desperate heart, what should I do?
From behind a palace, emerges the yellow moon
Like a mullah’s turban, like a moneylender’s ledger
Like a poor man’s youth, a widow’s beauty
Anguished heart, desperate heart, what should I do?
My heart burns like a flame, what should I do?
The cup of my patience brims over, what should I do?
The wound in my chest is fragrant, what should I do?
Anguished heart, desperate heart, what should I do?
I want to pluck this dead moon, these dead stars from the sky
Pluck them from this end of the horizon and from that corner
What is one or two, I want to pluck them all out
Anguished heart, desperate heart, what should I do?
These beautiful sights mock my helpless poverty
Hundreds of wealthy kings profane my gaze
Hundreds of Chengizes, hundreds of Nadirs to behold3
Anguished heart, desperate heart, what should I do?
Ah that I could break every sword in the hands of every Chengiz
Pull out the diadem from his crown and break it too
Why wait for anyone else, let me break it myself
Anguished heart, desperate heart, what should I do?
Walk into the Indrasabha4 and burn it to the ground,
Burn down their garden, and burn down their bedchamber!
Not just the crown, I should burn the entire palace!
Anguished heart, desperate heart, what should I do?
3Khwab-e sahar
Mahr sadiyon se chamakta hi raha aflaak par
Raat hi taari rahi insaan ke idraak par
Aql ke maidaan mein zulmat ka dera hi raha
Dil mein taareeki, dimaghon mein andhera hi raha
Ik na ik mazhab ki sai khaam bhi hoti rahi
Ahl-e dil par barish-e ilhaam bhi hoti rahi
Masjidon mein maulvi khutbe sunaate hi rahe
Mandiron mein barahman ashlok gaate hi rahe
Aadmi minnat kash-e arbaab-e irfaan hi raha
Dard-e insani magar mahroom-e darmaan hi raha
Ik na ik dar par jabeen-e shauq ghisti hi rahi
Aadmiyat zulm ki chakki mein pisti hi rahi
Rahbari jaari rahi, paighambari jaari rahi
Deen ke parde mein jang-o-zargari jaari rahi
Ye musalsal aafaten, ye yoorishen, ye qatl-e aam
Aadmi kab tak rahe auham-e batil ka ghulam
Zahn-e insani ne ab auhaam ke zulmaat mein
Zindagi ki sakht toofani andheri raat mein
Kuchh nahin to kam se kam khwab-e sahar dekha to hai
Jis taraf dekha na tha ab tak, udhar dekha to hai
The dream of dawn
The sun did shine as bright as always in the firmament
Yet over the human mind the dark did not relent
Darkness pitched its opaque camp amid the fields of mind
Lightlessness now ruled the hearts, intellect was rendered blind
By turns, a different religion established its reign
And its wisdom fell upon believers just like rain
Maulvis made fiery speeches in mosques at all times
While in temples, the Brahmins chanted their holy rhymes
Humanity continued its leaders to beseech
A cure for its angst, alas, remained out of its reach
Foreheads bent at holy thresholds, supplicants stayed prone
Yet humans remained crushed by tyrannical grindstones
Pious leaders preached and the prophetic game prospered
War and accumulation, in religion’s name prospered
These continuous calamities, massacres, assaults
Should humans remain enslaved in superstition’s vaults?
In these black and stormy days of false faith and belief
In this dark night of life, humanity craves relief
If nothing else, we have at least dared to dream of dawn
That which we’d never glimpsed, to that place our gaze has gone.
N.M. Rashid
Raja Nazar Mohammed Janjua (1910–75) preferred to be known as Noon Meem Rashid. He will also be known as a true exponent of the modernist craft and a master of Urdu free verse. He published four volumes of poetry, each with a wonderful title. They were Maavra (Beyond), Iran mein Ajnabi (A Stranger in Iran), La Musawi Insan (Nothingness = Human) and Guman ka Mumkin (The Possibility of Doubt).
Rashid worked for the United Nations, lived in England, and willed that his body be cremated. These disparate demographic details offer glimpses of the life of a modernist. In his poetry, he was especially contemptuous of the ghazal, choosing to free his words from rhyme, metre, linearity and social commentary. His poems dredge up from the subconscious a vibrant spectrum of individual ideas—quite unique in their time, but often imitated later by a growing army of acolytes.
Rashid’s poems do not lend themselves to easy interpretation, and I would not recommend them to the neophyte reader without some serious handholding.1 The poem I have translated below is the first part of an extended poem (Rashid wrote it in four discrete parts; each can be read on its own, or as part of a series). The story in brief involves an Iraqi potter named Hasan, who falls madly in love with a mysterious beauty called Ja
hanzad. Hasan’s passion induces in him a nine-year period of insanity that causes him to become distant from his craft. In a moment of relative lucidity, he encounters Jahanzad again, and unapologetic about his affliction, suggests that he may become the potter of old again, but only if his love is requited. It is a strange story of desire and creativity, of sanity and madness, and also represents the best traditions of the Urdu aazad nazm (free verse poem), where relaxing the strictures of rhyme and metre do not absolve the poet of the imperatives of rhythm.
Hasan koozagar
Jahanzad, neeche gali mein tere dar ke aage
Ye main sokhta sar, Hasan Koozagar hoon!
Tujhe subha bazaar mein boodhe attar Yusuf
Ki dukkan par main ne dekha
To teri nigaahon mein vo taabnaaki
Thhi main jin ki hasrat mein nau saal deevana phirta raha hoon
Jahanzad, nau saal deevana phirta raha hoon!
Ye woh daur tha jis me main ne
Kabhi apne ranjoor koozon ki jaanib
Palat kar na dekha . . .
Woh kooze, mere dast-e chabuk ke putle
Gil-o-rang-o-raughan ki makhlooq-e bejaan
Woh sargoshion mein ye kehte:
‘Hasan Koozagar ab kahan hai?
Woh hum se, khud apne amal se
Khudawand ban kar khudaaon ki manind hai rooy-e gardaan!’
Jahanzad, nau saal ka daur yoon mujh pe guzra
Ke jaise kisi shehr-e madfoon par waqt guzre.
Taghaaron mein mitti
Kabhi jis ki khushboo se waarafta hota tha main Sang-basta padi thi
Suraahi-o-meena-o-jam-o-suboo aur faanoos-o-guldaan
Meri hech-maya ma’eeshat ke, izhaar-e fan ke sahaare Shikasta pade the.
Main khud, main Hasan Koozagar, pa-ba gil, khaak bar-sar, barahna
Sar-e chaak zhooleeda-moonh, sar ba-zaanu
Kisi gham-zada devta ki tarah waaheme ke
Gil-o-la se khaabon ke sayyal kooze banata raha tha
Jahanzad, nau saal pehle
Tu naadan thi lekin tujhe ye khabar thi
Ke main ne, Hasan Koozagar ne
Teri qaaf ki si ufaq taab aankhon mein dekhi hai vo taabnaaki
Ke jis se mere jism-o-jaan, abr-o-mahtaab ka