by Sunil Sharma
I dressed myself up to go see my lover,
but when I saw him, I forgot myself.
You robbed me of everything
when our eyes met.
You made me drink love’s elixir
and I got drunk
when our eyes met.
I was left staring—
you made me an ascetic
when our eyes met.
Fair arms and green bangles
you caught my wrist
when our eyes met.
You became the charming lover—
you left me breathless
when our eyes met.
Khusrau dies for Nizām—
you made me a married woman
when our eyes met.
70 The Mustard Blooms in All the Forests
The mustard blooms in all the forests.
The tesu blooms in my courtyard.
The koels call out from the branches,
and the beauty gets dressed up.
The gardener women come with pots.
The mustard blooms in all the forests.
Planting all kinds of flowers,
they came with their pots
to the door of Nizāmuddīn.
The lover said he would come,
but years have already passed.
The mustard blooms in all the forests.
71 Why Did You Send Me So Far Away?
Why did you send me,
my dearest father,
so far away as a bride?
I am your caged bird,
father,
that flies off when day dawns.
I am your meek cow,
father,
and will go where I am driven.
When my palanquin passed
below the neem,
my brother was stricken.
A palace or two
for my brothers, for me
this place of exile.
My mother- and sister-in-law taunt me,
‘Your father
didn’t even give you a comb.’
When I lifted the curtain
of the palanquin,
I saw a foreign land.
Thus says Amīr Khusrau,
father.
May my marriage last for ages.
72 Wedding Night
Khusrau, I spent my wedding night
awake with my beloved.
My body was mine,
my mind was my beloved’s,
until they blended into one colour.
73 Beauty Sleeps on the Bed
Khusrau is said to have uttered these verses when he heard of the death of his pīr Nizāmuddīn Auliyā.
Beauty sleeps on the bed,
her hair across her face.
Come Khusrau, let’s go home,
night has set over this place.
74 He Visits My Town Once a Year
He visits my town once a year.
He fills my mouth with kisses and nectar.
I spend all my money on him.
Who, girl, your man?
No, a mango.
75 He Stays Up All Night Alone with Me
He stays up all night alone with me
and only leaves at the crack of dawn.
His departure breaks my heart.
Who, girl, your man?
No, an oil lamp.
76 He Always Strikes in the Dead of Night
He always strikes in the dead of night,
taking ornaments from my body
until the sun comes up in the sky.
Who, girl, your man?
No, friend, a thief.
77 Leaping and Bounding He Arrived
Leaping and bounding he arrived
and devoured all that was veiled;
in an instant, he forced his way in.
Who, girl, your man?
No, friend, a monkey.
78 When He Enters My Bedroom Buzzing
When he enters my bedroom buzzing,
he approaches and wakes me up,
as if whispering the mantra of parting.
Who, girl, your man?
No, friend, a mosquito.
NARRATIVE POEMS
79 The Romance of Duval Rānī and Khizr Khān
This is a prose summary with occasional verses of the long masnavī.
Princess Duval Rānī of Gujarat is peerless among the beautiful peacocks of India. Her name in Hindi was ‘Devaldei’, but I changed it to ‘Duval’ because duval is the plural of daulat and all fortunes were gathered in her. Like the story of ‘Lailā–Majnūn’, I will call this work ‘Duval Rānī—Khizr Khān’.
Raja Karan ruled Gujarat from his capital city, Anhilwara. But Sultan ‘Alāuddīn Khaljī, in his third regnal year, sent his brother Ulugh Khān on a campaign to annex the land of Gujarat. Raja Karan escaped the onslaught and sought refuge with Raja Rāmdeo of Deogir. A different fate, however, was in store for his family. Raja Karan’s wife Rānī Kamlādei was taken to Delhi as a captive for the harem of the sultan along with a large booty. Once when the sultan was in a good mood the rānī informed him that she had a daughter, Devaldei, back in Gujarat who would be a suitable consort for his young son, the prince Khizr Khān. The sultan gave his blessings for the union and the wedding preparations were begun. Meanwhile, animosity erupted again between Delhi and Gujarat, and during a second attack on the province by the sultan’s forces, Raja Karan again sought refuge at Deogir, but this time he had to agree to give Devaldei in marriage to Bhilamdeo, Raja Rāmdeo’s son, in return for protection. But as the wedding procession was on its way to Deogir, Devaldei was captured by the sultan’s forces and sent to Delhi, where she was reunited with her mother.
According to the sultan’s wishes a marriage was agreed upon between the eight-year-old Devaldei and ten-year-old Khizr Khān. The queen, Malika Jahān, summoned the young prince and informed him about this arrangement. Talking of such matters in front of his mother embarrassed the young prince, and he left the room, but love had taken root inside him. Duval Rānī was happy too because the prince resembled her brother whom she had left behind in Gujarat and missed so much.
The love, heart’s light, between the two
increased daily like the new moon.
Their game was love. Not a moment
were they apart, free from this sport.
Zulaikhā had a treat in front of her,
but was not sated with her Yūsuf.
And his mood became like someone’s
drinking from Khizr’s limpid spring.
The sultan continued to receive all the reports of their dalliance, but one day, suddenly, both he and the queen decided that his maternal cousin, Alp Khān’s daughter, would be a more suitable bride for the prince. They sent a proposal to the queen’s brother, who duly accepted, and his beautiful daughter was made ready for the union. Upon hearing this all the women of the palace were saddened and tried to prevail upon Malika Jahān to relent because Duval Rānī had become the repose of the prince’s heart. The queen was moved by these pleas and summoned the young couple before the king. But does cruel fate allow two people to be together? Both went back to their own quarters. After a week the moonlike Duval Rānī came before Khizr Khān.
Khizr Khān glanced at her from afar,
stolen sighs escaping from his heart.
Duval Rānī cast glances back at him
and a spark flared into life between them.
They entered into each other’s being
and neither body nor soul could hold them.
This is the course of love:
How sweet it is for two souls
to be smitten in the prime of youth.
Now to reveal the secret with one’s brows,
now to begin to scold with one’s lashes.
To summon the lover with the corner of the eye
and to send him away with an air of disdain.
For one to give life, the other to snatch it,
for one to speak cruelly, the othe
r to be mute.
For one to shed tears of blood all alone,
for the other to laugh in secrecy.
For one to tear his breast in longing,
for the other to see this but not give in.
For one to tell his griefs to a confidant,
for the other to kiss the rival’s feet.
Playfulness on one side, sorrow on the other;
weeping on one side, and laughter on the other.
Love found a place in the heart
even as wisdom fled to the desert.
The two lovers continued to meet and their bodies and souls were sated with each other’s sight. The prince had four helpers in their scheme: three maids, who were constantly in his service, and a slave who was his confidant. Duval Rānī also had four confidantes: three maids and a harem eunuch. How true is the adage that every sorrow must have a confidant.
But when Malika Jahān discovered the secret of the two lovers she was resolved to separate them. She commanded that the young moonlike princess should be secreted off to the Red Palace. As preparations for this were being made the queen had second thoughts about her decision and kept the young princess in her own palace. However, someone had already reported the earlier turn of events to Khizr Khān who fainted upon hearing that his beloved was to be sent away. Wood or stone or even metal feels pain when it is separated from its source. Everyone watched the terrible state of the prince as he rent his clothes and shed tears. A friend counselled him to control his grief for otherwise it would affect everyone in the kingdom. Soon the prince learned of Duval Rānī’s whereabouts and realized that all was not lost. He took comfort and secretly gave a nightingale a message for his beloved: ‘You are innocent and haven’t picked flowers from the garden of the world. Fate never lets two lovers be united, so it is better that we enjoy a few moments happily as friends. Come to me for our separation has been too long. Send a reply for hope is my companion.’ When she received the message she could not contain her joy and was restless. In reply she said to a confidante: ‘Kiss the ground before him in servitude and tell him that when the heavens sift through the fine ambergris night, the prince should come to me like the moon.’ The prince was ecstatic at this reply and was beside himself on the day of their meeting. Under a mountain of misery, he lived with a stone inside his constricted heart, but a madman doesn’t feel that stone—for many miles separate him from forbearance.
The night had bathed the world in the splendour of the sunlike moon. The stars were like new brides clad in silk and engaged in love-play while the world rested in sweet slumber. By chance Malika Jahān had been summoned by the king that night. Duval Rānī’s confidantes were worried that if the queen had found out about the meeting she would have turned against the princess in favour of her niece. The prince was resolved on his assignation and was impatient to see his beloved. On her side the princess was nervous but bravely put a bolster in her bed and covered it with a sheet and stationed a maid to look out for the queen. In the meantime the moon and stars had disappeared behind a cloud and it began to rain and lightning struck nearby. The two lovers met and the fragrance of union was like the scent of flowers.
The soul was unprepared for patience.
The tongue could not utter a single word.
The two stood like newly grown cypresses
and fixed their gazes upon each other.
In that glance two eyes became four,
with one set of pupils giving light to the other.
Two planets joined in one conjunction;
two pearls in a jewel box, separate yet together;
two young peacocks, together with wings clipped;
two rose bushes in one garden
rejoicing in each other’s scent;
two sweet-smelling candles at night,
burning in each other’s heat—
the two lovers face-to-face joined glances,
joined hearts, but kept bodies apart.
But as love’s bewilderment grew stronger
the curbs on lust were trampled underfoot.
Even as their feelings became more ardent and lion-like in ferocity, the prince realized that this was not the right thing to do. Thoughts of honour saved the day. A perfect friendship is the basis for a firm relationship, for a man does not remember his moments of lust—inquire about Shīrīn in Khusrau’s assembly; ask Farhād about his suffering. After two watches of the night had passed, the confidantes urged Duval Rānī to return to the palace. The two lovers parted in deep sorrow. Khizr was like Alexander and returned thirsty for the water of life. But although they separated, they were together in their hearts.
One evening, when Khizr Khān was depressed, he took a stroll in a beautiful garden filled with the best flowers of both Khurasan and India and he was reminded of his love. He addressed a flower:
O flower, I wish I were a plant,
just like you, in a garden,
for you have access there and I don’t—
a flower is allowed in but a tree is not.
That flower is swathed in a hundred veils,
while I must be content with distant fragrance.
Since you are there day and night,
you will be able to deliver my message.
Give greetings from an absent me,
a salaam stained with my heart’s blood.
And if my sweetheart accepts it,
sing this ghazal on my behalf.
Soon after, spies reported to Malika Jahān about the state of affairs between the lovers, and this time she was determined to take care of the situation once and for all. Duval Rānī was ordered to be sent away in confinement to the Red Palace. The prince was at his studies when the news reached him.
He threw his Yūsuf-like form in the dust,
for Zulaikhā’s love he tore open his shirt.
He left his books and writing behind, threw
the pen from his hand and shoes from his feet.
He sprang up barefoot and bareheaded
and ran from school in heedless agitation.
He rushed to the side of his departing beloved, and both shed many tears. Out of grief he shaved his head and gave her a lock of hair telling her that he had become as thin as a hair and she should always think of him. In return she gave him her ring and told him that when he kissed its gemstone he should think of her lips. Tearfully they parted from each other.
The wedding of Khizr Khān and Alp Khān’s daughter took place with great pomp, and Delhi was decorated like a bride for the festive event. Many musicians and dancers displayed their talents at the celebrations and the entire city was filled with mirth.
All were joyful but Khizr Khān dwelled on grief;
his body was there but his heart somewhere else.
He stayed away from his bride, thinking about his beloved and reading the story of Lailā and Majnūn. He lost interest in parties and hunting, and weeping sorrowfully, he would kiss the ring she had given him. On her side she was restless night and day, longing to see him, and rubbed the lock of his hair against her eyes.
One should learn fidelity from a fish:
away from water it’s sure to perish.
When one must burn in love, does it matter
whether the beloved is near or far?
Since the lamp gets its oil from the soul
it burns with it and without it dies out.
Normally, friendship brings satisfaction,
but when love comes sweetness is separation.
One recognizes a friend’s worth at a distance,
but on a full stomach honey tastes like vinegar.
To make plans for union
is not love—it’s just lust.
In the meantime, a friend secretly told Duval Rānī that Khizr Khān had accepted his bride. As if she hadn’t suffered enough, this news was devastating for her. She thought to herself, ‘Is it right that he is drinking wine while I shed tears? If he is a prince, I too have royal virtues. If he has a golden par
asol higher than the moon, I have a black halo around my head. Give back the heart you took away; undo the knot you tied.’ She then sent him a letter of reproach, just as the legendary ‘Azrā did to Vāmiq. She declared:
O faithful and cruel friend—
cruel to me and faithful to another.
You are happy in your celebration,
I grieve in a secluded corner.
You are in a garden with roses,
I am shackled within foul walls.
There you shoot your bow on a hunt
but here the arrow pricks my breast.
Your heart and sweetheart—how are they?
If I am no longer in your heart, how is she?
Although I am but a slave in your palace,
don’t demean me in this lowly way.
Khizr Khān replied to her, addressing every one of her accusations, and described his own abject condition. Even though he had a companion in his bed, he was not drinking pure wine but the dregs. He told her not to taunt him with his kingship for he was a slave before her. However, no lover can match the passion of a Hindu woman who burns herself for her lover. Only her companions knew how Duval Rānī suffered in her prison. She spent the dark nights sobbing until the blood of her tears became henna for her hands. She sent a petition to the sultan, who was known for his justice to his subjects, pleading for succour in the matter. Falling into slumber after praying for help, she saw Khizr Khān in a dream and he told her that she would be reunited with him. This revived her spirits and gave her much hope.
But the lover was also pining away for his beloved, sleepless at night and frustrated.
One who breaks free from love’s fetters
is deserted by wisdom in his affairs.
The brand of love is a strange one,
since the searing of the soul seems gentle.
All the suffering for the sake of love
was born from the heart and also killed by it.
Abandoning his regal pride Khizr Khān supplicated heaven in prayer, invoking the honour of true lovers like Farhād and Majnūn. A voice from the unseen world told him that his suffering was soon to end and he would be with his beloved. He was ecstatic and sent for some minstrels as a diversion. They sang ghazals for him as he anticipated the happy outcome of his love.