by Mir
Rahguzar ban gaye the
Jahanzad, Baghad ki khaab goon raat
Vo rood-e Dajla ka saahil
Vo kashti, vo mallah ki band aankhen
Kisi khasta-jaan, ranj-bar koozagar ke liye
Ek hi raat vo kahrbaa thi
Ke jis se abhi tak hai paiwast us ka wajood,
Us ki jaan, us ka paikar
Magar ek hi raat ka zauq darya ki vo lehr nikla
Hasan Koozagar jis mein dooba to ubhra nahin hai!
Jahanzad, is daur mein roz, har roz
Vo sokhta bakht aa kar
Mujhe dekhti chaak par paa-ba-gil, sar-ba-zaanu
To shaanon se mujh ko hilaati . . .
(wahi chaak jo saal-haa saal jeene ka tanhaa sahaara raha tha!)
Vo shaanon se mujh ko hilaati:
‘Hasan Koozagar, hosh mein aa
Hasan apne veeran ghar par nazar kar
Ye bachchon ke tannoor kyon-kar bharenge?
Hasan, ai mohabbat ke mare,
Mohabbat ameeron ki baazi
Hasan apne deevar-o-dar par nazar kar’
Mere kaan mein ye nawa-e hazeen yoon thi jaise
Kisi doobte shakhs ko zer-e gardaab koi pukaare!
Vo askhon ke ambaar phoolon ke ambaar thhe, haan
Magar main, Hasan Koozagar, shehr-e auhaam ke un
Kharaabon ka mahjoor tha jis
Mein koi sadaa, koi jumbish
Kisi murgh-e parran ka saaya
Kisi zindagi ka nishaan tak nahin tha!
Jahanzad, main aaj teri gali mein
Yahaan, raat ki sard-goon teergi mein
Tere dar ke aage khada hoon
Sar-o-mu pareshaan
Dareeche se vo qaaf ki si tilismi nigaahen
Mujhe aaj phir jhaankti hain
Zamaana, Jahanzad, vo chaak hai jis pe meena-o-jam-o-subu
Aur faanoos-o-guldaan
Ke maanind bante bigadte hain insaan
Main insaan hoon lekin
Ye nau saal jo gham ke qaalib mein guzre!
Hasan Koozagar aaj ek tauda-e khaak hai jis
Mein nam ka asar tak nahin hai
Jahanzad, bazaar mein subha attar Yusuf
Ki dukkan par teri aankhen
Phir ek baar kuchh keh gayi hain
Un aankhon ki taabinda shokhi
Se uthi hai phir tauda-e khaak mein nam ki halki si larzish
Yahi shaayad is khaak ko gil bana de!
Tamanna ki wus’at ki kis ko khabar hai, Jahanzad, lekin
Tu chaahe to ban jaoon main phir
Wahi koozagar jis ke kooze
Thhe har kaakh-o-ku aur har shehr-o-qariya ki naazish
Thhe jin se ameer-o-gada ke masaakin darakhshaan
Tamanna ki wus’at ki kis ko khabar hai, Jahanzad, lekin
Tu chahe to main phir palat jaoon un apne mehjoor koozon ki jaanib
Gil-o-la ke sookhe taghaaron ki jaanib
Ma’eeshat ke, izhaar-e fan ke sahaaron ki jaanib
Ke main us gil-o-la se, us rang-o-raughan
Se phir vo sharaare nikaaloon
Ke jin se dilon ke kharaabe hon roshan!
Hasan the potter
Jahanzad, in the street below, just ahead of your house
I stand with heart aflame, Hasan the potter.
In the morning I saw you in the shop of that old perfumer, Yousuf
And your eyes had the same passion
The desire for which committed me to nine years of madness.
Jahanzad, nine years of insanity!
That was the time when I
Cast not another look at my spurned pots
Those pots, statues enslaved by my creative whip
Lifeless creations of clay, colour and grease
They would speak in whispers
‘Where is Hasan the potter?
He has distanced himself from us, from his labour, and
Like gods, he has become invisible.’
Jahanzad, those nine years happened to me
Like time happens to ruins, to buried cities
The dust in the flowerpots
Whose fragrance once enamoured me
Lay under stones
Goblet and cup and chandelier and lantern and vase
The artefacts through which I expressed my existence, my art
Lay broken
Me, myself, Hasan the potter, immobile as a tree
A dusty face in front of the wheel, head bowed
Lay there like a sad deity
And with the clay and the nothingness of doubts, I made pots of empty dreams.
Jahanzad, nine years ago,
You were innocent, but I’m sure you knew
That I, Hasan the potter, had seen
In your bright eyes, like the mystical mountain of Caucasus
Such heat, such passion
That my body and soul had become
The wayfarers of clouds and the moon.
Remember Jahanzad, that dreamy Baghdad night
The banks of the Tigris
The boat, the closed eyes of the boatman
I tell you that for a tired, disheartened potter
That one night was such a maelstrom
That even now, his being, his life, his body
Remain associated with them
But the passion of one night turned into such a tidal wave
That Hasan the potter, once he went under, has not surfaced yet.
Jahanzad, in those days, every day
That unlucky wife of mine would come
Find me on the wheel immobile, bowed of head
(The same wheel that had been our sole means of support for years)
And she would shake me by the shoulder
Gently she would shake me
‘Hasan the potter, regain your senses
Hasan, cast a glance at your ruined house
How will the ovens of the children be filled?
O love-struck Hasan
Love is for the rich
Hasan, look around at your own hovel!’
To my ears, that sorrowful voice was akin
To someone calling a drowning man in a whirlpool
Those tears were light like flowers but
I, Hasan the potter, had been banished to that city of illusions
Where no sound, no movement
No shadow of a bird overhead
No sign of life remained!
Jahanzad, I am now in your street
In this cold darkness of the night
I stand again before your house
Hair tousled, mouth agape
From the window, those Caucasus-like magical eyes
Once again gaze at me
The world, Jahanzad, is a wheel where
Like goblets and glasses and vases, humans are built and broken
I am a human too
But these nine years I have spent in a funk of grief
Have turned Hasan the potter into a clod of earth
That does not harbour even a sign of moisture.
Jahanzad, in the market, at the shop of the old perfumer Yousuf
Your eyes have spoken to me again
And out of their beauty has emerged
A hint of moisture that may turn this clod of earth into clay again.
Who is aware of the limits of passion, Jahanzad, but
If you wish, I can again become that potter
Whose creations were the pride of palace and hovel
Of city and village
Which adorned the houses of rich and poor alike.
Who is aware of the limits of passion, Jahanzad, but
If you wish, I will return to my deserted pots
Those flowerpots filled with clay and nothingness
Toward the joy of creation and its display
That from that clay and nothingness, that colour and grease,
I produce again such sparks
That would light up the ruins of many a heart!
Faiz
If there ever was a ‘Mount Rushmore’ of Urdu poetry, Faiz’s face would be under serious contention for being carved in granite. Like Ghalib and Iqbal, Faiz Ahmed Faiz (1911–84) has been written about, translated and commented upon relentlessly. The official website of Faiz1 contains audio files, and anyone looking to find a great collection of Faiz poems being sung, performed, declaimed and celebrated would do well to search for the poet’s work on YouTube, and then proceed to knock themselves out in delight. Faiz’s work has been well translated by V.G. Kiernan in a pleasing format that includes the poem in Urdu script, its transliteration and two forms of translation.2
Faiz was a Ghalibian, a Gandhian and a Marxist rolled into one. His poetry was infused with an unsurpassed lyricality, but spoke evocatively and urgently against regimes of exploitation. He was an early member of the Progressive Writers’ Association, and formed a Punjab chapter in 1936. He wrote poems against colonialism, and after Independence/Partition, settled in Lahore. He was among the Pakistanis who travelled to India in 1948 to attend Gandhi’s funeral. His activism in the labour movement irked the right-wing elements in the Pakistani state, especially Ayub Khan. Months after Khan’s elevation to the position of commander-in-chief of the Pakistan Army in 1951, Faiz and several of his colleagues were imprisoned under trumped-up conspiracy charges. He was incarcerated for four years, during which he wrote some of his finest poetry.3 Even after his release, he was subject to surveillance and harassment, and spent a lot of years in quasi-exile in the Soviet Union and the Middle East where his poetry developed a truly international ethos. He won the Lenin Peace Prize in 1962, and things came full circle when the Government of Pakistan eventually awarded him its highest civilian honour, the Nishan-e Imtiaz (posthumously in 1990).
During his incarceration, Faiz’s poetry exhibited a strong metaphorical connection with the trope of qafas (cage) and the relationship of the prisoner with the saba (breeze). His poems abounded with Sufi metaphors; for example, he incorporated Mansoor Hallaj’s famous declaration ‘An-al Haq’ (‘I am God’) as a political cry in his nazm ‘Hum dekhenge’ (‘We will see’; incidentally that particular nazm became the anthem of Pakistanis struggling for democratic rights and civil liberties under Zia-ul Haq; Iqbal Bano’s magical rendition of the poem at the height of Zia’s powers is a joy to hear).
In this volume, I have translated four of Faiz’s poems, all of which have been extremely well performed by a number of well-known artistes.4
1Aaj bazaar mein paa-bajaulaan chalo
Aaj bazaar mein paa-bajaulaan chalo
Chashm-e nam, jaan-e shoreeda kaafi nahin
Tohmat-e ishq-posheeda kaafi nahin
Aaj bazaar mein paa-bajaulaan chalo
Dast-afshan chalo, mast-o-raqsaan chalo
Khaak bar-sar chalo, khoon ba-damaan chalo
Raah takta hai sab shahr-e janaan chalo
Aaj bazaar mein paa-bajaulaan chalo
Haakim-e shahr bhi, majmaa-e aam bhi
Teer-e ilzaam bhi, sang-e dushnaam bhi
Subh-e nashaad bhi, roz-e nakaam bhi
Aaj bazaar mein paa-bajaulaan chalo
In ka dum-saaz apne siva kaun hai?
Shahr-e jaanan mein ab baa-safaa kaun hai?
Dast-e qaatil ke shaayaan raha kaun hai?
Rakht-e dil baandh lo, dil figaaro chalo
Phir hameen qatl ho aayen yaaro chalo.
Aaj bazaar mein paa-bajaulaan chalo.
Come in shackles to the marketplace
Come in shackles to the marketplace
The teary eye is not enough
Nor is the accusation of concealed love
Come in shackles to the marketplace
With hands held high, swaying and dancing, come
Walk with sand in your hair and blood on your shirtfront
The city of our beloved beckons, come
Come in shackles to the marketplace
The ruler of the city awaits, as does the multitude
The arrow of slander and the stone of invective awaits too
The forlorn morning too, and the unfulfilled day
Come in shackles to the marketplace
Who is their champion save us?
In the city of our beloved, is there anyone left pure?
Who is ready for the executioner’s sword?
Pack up your hearts’ belongings, O broken-hearted ones
Let it be us again who are murdered, friends
Come in shackles to the marketplace.
2Tum aaye ho na shab-e intezaar guzri hai
Tum aaye ho na shab-e intezaar guzri hai
Talaash mein hai sahar, baar baar guzri hai
Junoon mein jitni bhi guzri, bakaar guzri hai
Agarche dil pe kharaabi hazaar guzri hai
Hui hai hazrat-e naaseh se guftagu jis shab
Vo shab zaroor sar-e ku-e yaar guzri hai
Vo baat saare fasaane mein jis ka zikr na tha
Vo baat un ko bahut na-gavaar guzri hai
Na gul khile hain, na unse mile, na mai pi hai
Ajeeb rang mein ab ke bahaar guzri hai
Chaman mein ghaarat-e gulcheen se jaane kya guzri
Qafas se aaj saba beqaraar guzri hai
Neither you came, nor did this night of waiting cease
Neither you came, nor did this night of waiting cease
The impatient morning has come and gone many times
The time spent in passion, was spent well
Even though the heart suffered its share of pain
Every night that the well-wisher advised me to desist
That night I spent at my lover’s lane
That matter which was never mentioned in the story
Was the one to which my love took the greatest offence
Neither roses bloomed, nor was my love met, nor wine drunk
In such a strange way this spring has been squandered
I wonder what havoc the gardener wreaked on the garden
For the zephyr has passed through my cage rather agitated.5
3Subh-e aazadi
Ye dagh dagh ujaala, ye shab-gazeeda sahar
Vo intezaar tha jis ka, ye vo sahar to nahin
Ye vo sahar to nahin jis ki aarzoo le kar
Chale thhe yaar, ke mil jaayegi kahin na kahin
Falak ke dasht mein taaron ki aakhri manzil
Kahin to hoga shab-e sust-mauj ka sahil
Kahin to jaa ke rukega safina-e gham-e dil
Jawaan lahu ki pur-asraar shah-raahon se
Chale jo yaar to daaman pe kitne haath pade
Dayaar-e husn ki be-sabr khwaab-gaahon se
Pukarti rahin baahen, badan bulaate rahe
Bahut azeez thi lekin rukh-e sahar ki lagan
Bahut qareen tha haseenaan-e noor ka daaman
Subuk subuk thi tamanna, dabi dabi thi thakan
Suna hai ho bhi chuka hai firaaq-e zulmat-o-noor
Suna hai ho bhi chuka hai visaal-e manzil-o-gaam
Badal chuka hai bahut ahl-e dard kaa dastoor
Nishaat-e vasl halaal aur azaab-e hijr haraam
Jigar ki aag, nazar ki umang, dil ki jalan
Kisi pe chaara-e hijran ka kuchh asar hi nahin
Kahaan se aayi nigaar-e saba, kidhar ko gayi?
Abhi chiragh-e sar-e rah ko kuchh khabar hi nahin
Abhi giraani-e shab mein kami nahin aayi
Najaat-e deeda-o-dil ki
ghadi nahin aayi
Chale chalo, ke vo manzil abhi nahin aayi
The dawn of freedom
This pockmarked light, this night-inflected morning
This is not the dawn that we had awaited
Truly this is not the awaited dawn
That we friends had dreamed, sought, and in search set out.
The last harbour of the stars in the wasteland of the skies
Somewhere, there had to be a bank on this slow river of the night
Where the boat of the wounded heart could find ground
When we comrades walked on the tumultuous highways of young blood
So many hands clutched at our shirts to stall us
On the roads of beauty lay impatient boudoirs
Where embraces awaited, and bodies called out
But the face of the dawn was too beloved
The laps of the luminous beauties were too limited
And we went on, with bated passion, and muted exhaustion
And now they tell us that darkness and light have been separated
That journey and destination have finally been united
The experiences of the pain-afflicted are now transformed
Such that the joy of meeting is now legal and the pain of separation banned.
But is that true?
For the fire in my gut, the longing of my eyes, and the pain in my heart
Do not show any signs of being cured of parting
Where did the painted morn come from, where did it go?
The lamp at the highway has no news of it
The abatement of the darkness is not here yet
The deliverance awaited by eyes and hearts is not here yet
Keep moving, for the destination is not here yet.
4Mujh se pehli si mohabbat, meri mehboob na maang
Mujh se pehli si mohabbat, meri mehboob na maang
Main ne samjha thha ke tu hai to darakhshaan hai hayaat
Tera gham hai to gham-e dahr ka jhagda kya hai
Teri soorat se hai aalam mein bahaaron ko sabaat
Teri aankhon ke siva duniya mein rakhhaa kya hai
Tu jo mil jaaye to taqdeer nigoon ho jaaye
Yoon na thha, main ne faqat chaaha thhaa yoon ho jaaye
Aur bhi dukh hain zamaane mein mohabbat ke siva
Raahaten aur bhi hain vasl ki raahat ke siva