The Taste of Words: An Introduction to Urdu Poetry
Page 16
With difficulty, a word becomes a word
A word is a wound of the heart
A word is a garden of flowers
A word is a good deed, a blessing
A word is a curse, an epithet too
A word is the petal of a rose
And a sword of tyranny too
A word comes from God as well
A word is the mother of a book
The one who speaks can become a prophet
And a word can be a sword’s cut too.
Mother-in-law:
Look, she called me a sword’s cut
Look, she called me a cracked beam
Look, she called me a corpse’s bier
Look, she called me a jute rug thrown on trash
Look, she called me a battered mug
Look, she called me a broken bamboo stick
Do you think I am a crushing tool, wench?
Do you think I am crushed chilli powder, wench?
Do you think I am an asthmatic’s wheeze, wench?
Do you think I am a broken cylinder, wench?
Let my man come home, I will have your back broken
I will have your grave built today, just watch
So many die, why don’t you die too, wench?
Contract diarrhoea, and shit and vomit to death, wench!
I should smear you with crushed chillies, wench
I will beg all the saints for your death
I will fry sweetmeats when you die
I will make desserts with confectioner’s sugar
I will break four coconuts
I will be at peace at last
Like a dry branch that has suddenly flowered.
Daughter-in-law (tearing up):
I hold the dignity of the family dear
I hold our pride in my closed fist
The reputation of this house is our concern
Otherwise, I too harbour a tongue in my mouth
My education prevents me from replying
And stops me from escalating this conflict.
Habib Jalib
Habib Jalib (1928–93), the Marxist–Leninist troubadour of Pakistan—a thorn in the flesh of every dictator, and a beacon of hope for the oppressed—was best known for his open mocking of Zia-ul Haq (playing with his name ‘Zia’, which means light, and contrasting it with the word zulmat, meaning darkness):
Zulmat ko ‘Zia’, sarsar ko saba, bande ko khuda kya likhna? Kya likhna?
Patthar ko gohar, deewaar ko dar, jugnu ko diyaa kya likhna? Kya likhna?
Why write that darkness is light, that a rustle is the breeze,
That a human is God? Why?
Why call a stone a jewel, a wall a door, or call a firefly a lamp? Why?
His reward for such verses was long spells in jail under every possible dictator imaginable. His defiant verse must be read by imagining its context—that of a poet who was fully aware of the consequences of each public performance; and that of a person who had been incarcerated in brutal conditions, and would, after being released, immediately call attention to the oppressiveness of his interlocutors, and ready himself for another period in prison.
A longish documentary containing Jalib’s interviews and a few performances are available in the public domain on YouTube. The documentary showcases his personal bravery, and contains the poems I have translated below. Also, a very competent translation of ten of Jalib’s poems—of which I would highly recommend ‘Maulaana’—can also be found online.1 The second poem I have included here contains Jalib’s avowal that his repudiation of traditional romantic themes is a personal choice: note the penultimate sher where he privileges the ‘dahr ke gham’ (the pain of the world) over ‘sarv qaamat ki javaani’ (the beauty of youth).
1Dastoor
Deep jis ka mahallat hi mein jale
Chand logon ki khushiyon ko le kar chale
Vo jo saaye mein har maslehat ke pale
Aise dastoor ko, subh-e benoor ko
Main nahin maanta! Main nahin jaanta.
Main bhi kharij nahin takhta-e daar se
Main bhi Mansoor hoon, keh do aghyaar se
Kyon daraate ho zindaan ki deewaar se
Zulm ki baat ko, jahl ki raat ho
Main nahin maanta! Main nahin jaanta.
Tum kaho phool shaaqon pe khilne lage
Tum kaho jaam rindon ko milne lage
Tum kaho chaak seenon ke silne lage
Is khule jhoot ko zehn ki loot ko
Main nahin maanta! Main nahin jaanta.
Tum ne loota hai sadiyon hamaara sukoon
Ab na hum par chalega tumhara fusoon
Charagar dardmandon ke bante ho kyon
Tum nahin chaaragar, log mane magar
Main nahin maanta! Main nahin jaanta.
I do not abide!
That which lights lamps only in palaces
That which caters to the whims of elite classes
That flourishes in the shadow of all compromises
Such a system, such a light-starved dawn
I do not agree with! I do not abide!
I am not to be excluded from the scaffold
I am Mansoor2 too, let the outsiders know
And how dare you scare me with talk of dungeons
This talk of tyranny, this ignorance dark as night
I do not agree with! I do not abide!
You tell me that flowers are blooming on trees
You tell me that the thirsty have found wine at taverns
You tell me that the tattered robes are now stitched
This open lie, this robbery of the senses
I do not agree with! I do not abide!
You have robbed us of our peace for centuries
But your spell has now been broken finally
Do not pretend to be the healer of wounds
You are no physician, others may believe you so, but
I do not agree! I do not abide!
2Aur sab bhool gaye
Aur sab bhool gaye, harf-e sadaaqat likhna
Reh gaya kaam hamaara hi baghaavat likhna
Laakh kahte rahen zulmat ko na zulmat likhna
Hum ne seekha hi nahin pyaare ba-ijaazat likhna
Na sile ki na sitaish ki tamanna hum ko3
Haq mein logon ke hamaari to hai aadat likhna
Hum ne jo bhool ke bhi shah ka qaseeda na likha
Shaayad aayaa isi khoobi ki badaulat likhna
Us se badh kar meri tehseen bhalaa kya hogi
Padh ke naakhush hain mera saaheb-e sarvat likhna
Dahr ke gham se hua rabt to hum bhool gaye
Sarv qaamat ki javaani ko qayaamat likhna
Kuchh bhi kahte hain kahein shah ke masaahib, Jalib
Rang rakhna yahi apna isi soorat likhna
Others forgot
All others forgot to defend the word of truth, alas
To write of revolution, I was left alone at last
‘Do not write that nights are dark,’ they warned me in their fear
But I never sought to write with permission, my dear
[Like Ghalib] I crave no reward nor desire praise
But in support of the downtrodden, my voice I raise
Not even by oversight sang I an ode to the king
Perhaps this adds rhythm to my poems when I sing
What greater acclamation could this poet hope for?
Than that my writings annoyed those that were in power
I admit that I forgot amid this stark oppression
To write of youthful beauty, and call it devastation
Jalib, the king’s courtiers are free to say what they feel
None can hide the crimson colour my poems reveal.4
>
Mustafa Zaidi
Inhi pathharon pe chal kar agar aa sako to aao
Mere ghar ke raaste mein koi kahkashaan nahi hai
If you wish to come, you must take the stony road
The stars do not light up the way to my abode.
Mustafa Zaidi (1930–70) died young, and the circumstances of his death were lurid, involving extramarital liaisons, a suicide pact with a lover who survived, and dark accusations of murder. Rather unfortunately, these issues have tended to overshadow discussions about his considerable talent. Zaidi should have been seen as one of the stalwarts of the progressive movement in Pakistan in the 1960s, but his due has mostly eluded him, partly because of the rather colourful posthumous publicity that enveloped him.
Zaidi’s first book, Raushni, was published when he was merely nineteen years old, and still in India. He moved to Pakistan in the early 1950s, and after a brief stint in academia, went on to become a senior civil servant. His career ended badly when he was dismissed during Yahya Khan’s purge of 303 bureaucrats in 1970. His death shortly after led to the murder trial of his paramour, which assumed the status of a media circus. During that time, several literary journals brought out special issues on his work. Eventually, his Kulliyaat (complete works) was published in the mid 1970s, which also included some of the most superlative praise of his work by Faiz, Firaaq and Josh.1
I have chosen to translate two brief works. The first is a ghazal that has been sung by Abida Parveen, among others, while the second is an excerpt from his luminous poem ‘Koh-e Nida’ (hat tip to my friend Jaffar Naqvi for introducing me to this poem, and to Zaidi). The imagery of the Koh-e Nida is from the Arabian folk tale of Hatim Tai in which a mountain called out to people, who upon entering it were consumed by it. Written at the tail end of Zaidi’s life, this poem has been interpreted by many as a poetic suicide note, where Zaidi sees the world as a beckoning killer mountain.
1Aandhi chali
Aandhi chali to naqsh-e kaf-e paa nahin mila
Dil jis se mil gaya vo dobaraa nahin mila
Aavaaz ko to kaun samajhta ke door door
Khaamoshiyon ka dard-shanasaa nahin mila
Hum anjuman mein sab ki taraf dekhte rahe
Apni tarah se koi akela nahin mila
Kachche ghade ne jeet li naddi chadhi hui
Mazboot kashtiyon ko kinara nahin mila
The storm
So intense was the storm, even footprints were wiped out
To lose those I desired—that’s been my fate throughout
Who could have recognized that voice, no one had the gift
That could feel the painful cadence of a silent shout
I locked eyes with everyone in that public soirée
Alas I found none as lonely as me, without a doubt
The clay pitcher survived the swells of flooded rivers
It reached the shore, while the storm shattered ships strong and stout.
2Koh-e Nida
Ayyohan-naas chalo koh-e nida ki jaanib
Kab tak aashufta-sari hogi naye naamon se
Thhak chuke honge kharabaat ke hangaamon se
Har taraf ek hi andaz mein din dhalte hain
Log har shehr mein saaye ki tarah chalte hain
Ajnabi khauf ko seenon mein chhupaae hue log
Apne aaseb ke taaboot uthaaye hue log
Zaat ke karb mein bazaar ki rusvaai mein
Tum bhi shamil ho is anboh ki tanhaai mein
Tum bhi ek baadiya paimaa ho khala ki jaanib
Ayyohan-naas chalo koh-e nida ki jaanib
Raat bhar jaagte rehte hain dukaanon ke charaagh
Dil vo sunsaan jazeera, ke bujha rehta hai
Lekin is band jazeere hi ke ek goshe mein
Zaat ka baab-e tilismaat khula rehta hai
Apni hi zaat mein pasti ke khandar milte hain
Apni hi zaat mein ek koh-e nida rehta hai
Sirf us koh ke daaman mein mayassar hai najaat
Aadmi varna anaasir mein ghira rehta hai
Aur phir in se bhi ghabra ke uthaata hai nazar
Apne mazhab ki taraf, apne khuda ki jaanib
Ayyohan-naas chalo koh-e nida ki jaanib
The calling mountain
My fellow humans, let’s go answer the mountain’s call.
How long will we use new names to conceal our distress?
You too must be tired of this misfortune and stress
Everywhere the new day brings similar tired woes
In each city folk move strangely like zombie shadows
In their hearts they conceal strange fears camouflaged as cares
Demons disguised as idols, this strange multitude bears
Private pains of existence, the market’s public shame
Don’t you judge this crowd, you too have played this lonely game
Like barren promises, into this void let us fall
My fellow humans, let’s go answer the mountain’s call.
The bright lamps of shops stay lit all night, garish and stark
The heart, though, is that silent island that remains dark
But in every corner of this island, near and far
The magic door of selfhood remains open, ajar
In our self, we see lowly ruins of hurt and pain
In our own self we see the cursed beckoning mountain
In that mountain’s caves—that is where our salvation lies
Else humans stay trapped in webs of relations and ties
And fearful of those too, they slowly raise up their eyes
They summon their God, enveloped in religious thrall
My fellow humans let’s go answer the mountain’s call.
Ahmed Faraz
Ahmed Faraz (1931–2008) wrote such exquisite Urdu ghazals that it is almost impossible to believe that he was not a native speaker but rather a Pashtoon who grew up speaking Hindko. Like Jalib, he too suffered incarceration and exile under the Zia-ul Haq regime, but continued to write critically about the regime. Unlike Jalib’s plebeian verses though, Faraz favoured highly stylized language in his compositions.
In a rehabilitation of sorts, Faraz was feted in his later years, and even awarded the prestigious Hilal-e Imtiaz by the government in 2004. However, in 2006, in protest against Pervez Musharraf’s anti-democratic policies, Faraz returned the award, and died in 2008, unheralded by institutional awards but with a unique place in the hearts of Pakistanis, Urdu-lovers and lovers of freedom of expression everywhere. The public domain contains many of his performances, including the famous ‘Mohaasara’ (‘Siege’), written in direct defiance of Zia-ul Haq.1 The poem describes a besieged individual under attack from a powerful army, which sends him an invitation to surrender, to which he predictably responds defiantly.
The first ghazal2 I have translated here (a traditional poem, but one for which he got some flak from conservatives for a direct reference to nudity) stands in stark contrast to the heartbreaking lyricism of Faraz’s best-known ghazal, ‘Ranjish hi sahi’3. I include that ghazal along with two more snippets from Faraz’s poetry.
1Sunaa hai
Sunaa hai log use aankh bhar ke dekhte hain
So uske shahr mein kuchh din thahar ke dekhte hain
Sunaa hai rabt hai us ko kharaab haalon se
So apne aap ko barbaad kar ke dekhte hain
Sunaa hai us ko bhi hai sher-o-shaayiri se sharaf
So hum bhi mojize apne hunar ke dekhte hain
Sunaa hai bole so baton se phool jhadte hain
Ye baat hai to chalo, baat kar ke dekhte hain
Sunaa hai us ke shabistaan se muttasil hai bahisht
Makeen udhar ke bhi jalve idhar ke dekhte hain
Kise naseeb ke be-pairahan use dekhen
Kabhi kabhi dar-o-deevar ghar ke dekht
e hain
Ab us ke shahr mein thehren, ke kooch kar jaayen
Faraz aao, sitaare safar ke dekhte hain
It has been said
My love is the cynosure of eyes, everyone says
Why not stay in this city for just a few more days?
They say that the bereft receive his consideration
Let us destroy ourselves in this anticipation
It has been said that good poetry is close to his heart
So let us try to showcase miracles of our art
They say when my lover speaks, flowers fall from their stalks
Let us speak then, and see what transpires in our talks
Across from my lover’s bedroom, they say heaven lies
Dwellers of the other side this way have cast their eyes
Who is fortunate enough to see my lover nude?
Only his walls and roof, that too rarely, we conclude
Should we stay in my lover’s city, or should we pass?
Let us leave that decision to the stars, dear Faraz.
2Chand naadaan, Chand deevane
Raat ke jaan-gudaaz zulmat mein
Azm ki mashaalen jalaaye hue
Dil mein le kar baghaawaton ke sharaar
Vahshaton ke muheeb saaye mein
Sar-bakaf, jaan-ba lab, nigaah-ba qasr
Surkh-o-khooni alam uthhaaye hue
Badh rahe hain junoon ke aalam mein
Chand naadaan, chand deevane
A few passionate novices
In the murderous darkness
Having lit the torches of their determination
Carrying sparks of rebellion in their hearts
In the intimidating shadows of danger
Heads high, lives in the balance, and eyes on the palace
Carrying red, bloodstained banners
They march with frenzy
A few passionate novices.
3Ranjish hi sahi
Ranjish hi sahi, dil hi dukhaane ke liye aa