But even though I read and re-read these scriptures I’d much rather read Ghalib, Faiz and Iqbal.
We know very little about each other’s faiths and scriptures and this is unfortunate. I think it’s important—one should try and read as much as possible from the different scriptures. Especially in a country like ours, made up of so many different people of different faiths. Also a country where there’s so much intolerance, so much rigidness where religion is concerned— what with the Hindu fundoos doing ‘shudhi karans’ and Musalmaan fundoos going on about ‘tablighi jamaat’.
If I had to choose a religion to follow, it would be Jainism. It comes closest to agnosticism and the code of ethics to which, as a rationalist, I subscribe. The word ‘jain’ is derived from ‘jina’, one who has conquered himself. In the seventies, when I was editor of The Illustrated Weekly, I wrote to the chief ministers of all the states that if they imposed a blanket ban on shikar in their states, in honour of Jain Mahavira, I would give them all the publicity they wanted. Eight chief ministers responded to my appeal and banned killing for sport.
I don’t judge any religion by its founders or what they stood for or their message, but by how it is being actually practised. How its followers its believers behave. What impresses me about Islam is the very dedication of its followers, and it’s amazing how the religion had spread—from Arabs sweeping through Central Asia right up to Spain . . . and they were far ahead of the Europeans in every field, be it the arts, sciences, technology. But look at the plight of Islam now. Now there is a focus on only trivial non-issues—whether the hijab or burkha should be worn . . . The real issues, the important things, seem to have bee forgotten— the need for education and learning, the empowerment of women, as laid down in the Quran, in the Hadith. The two most popular verses of the Quran that appear in Muslim mausoleums, including the Taj Mahal, are Sura Yaseen (which festoons the entrance gate) and Ayat-ul-Kursi, the verse of the throne. Of the two, Ayat-ul-Kursi is the more popular. One of my favourite lines of the Hadith, and one that I firmly believe in and practise in my daily life is La tasabuddhara, Hoo wallahoo (Don’t waste time, time is God).
We know very little about what the Sufis had to offer. Contrary to some biased historical reports that suggest that millions of Indians converted to Islam because of the Muslim invaders, the reality is that it was the Sufis that held sway. They reached out to the people without making any demands or imposing their views. In fact, they reached out to people from different faiths, cutting across class and caste. This is what drew thousands close to Islam. Sufism also had an impact on the saints of the indigenous Bhakti Movement in northern India—saints like Kabir, Namdev, Tukaram, Guru Nanak and other Sikh gurus. No better evidence is to be found of the phenomenon than the inclusion of their hymns in the Guru Granth Sahib, compiled by the fifth Sikh guru Guru Arjan Dev. Even the foundation stone of the Harmandar Sahib in Amritsar was laid by Sufi saint Mian Mir of the Qadriya silsila.
Guru Nanak equated truth with God: Sachon orey sabh ko; upar sach achar (Truth above all; above truth truthful conduct).
As a child I learnt my first prayer from my grandmother. I must have been around four years old and we were still living in Hadali. I was scared of the dark and ghosts. So she taught me this prayer; they are lines of Guru Arjan:
Tati vao na lagai, parbrahm sharanai
Chaugird hamarey Ram kar dukh lagey na bhai
No ill winds touch those the great Lord protects
Lord Rama has drawn his protective circle around you; no sorrows can touch you now.
Giving is very important in Sikhism. In fact, almost every religion lays emphasis on the act of giving as part of religious obligation and it should be practised without any expectations of gratitude. My parents always gave one tenth of their earnings to the family trust.
The tradition of giving one-tenth of one’s earnings (dasvandh) is as old as Sikhism. Guru Nanak exhorted his followers:
Aklee sahib seviae
Aklee paiye maan;
Aklee parh ke bujhai
Aklee keejey daan
Use your brains to serve God, and earn respect;
Use your brains to read, understand, and give in charity.
And again:
Ghall khai keihh hutthan deh;
Nanak raah pachhaaney sheh
Earn by efforts and with your hands
Give some of it away,
Nanak, such people have found the true way.
Guru after Guru lauded the need to give a part of one’s earnings to the needy till it becomes a motto: Kirat karo, naam japo, vand chhako (Work, take the name of God, and share your earnings with others). Sikhs have spent and given to charity but there seems to be a pattern: Building new gurdwaras is the first priority; schools and hospitals are the second and third. The order needs be reversed. The good thing is that a village gurdwara is not only a place of worship. It is also a community centre and a place for re-affirming bonds of faith.
Sikhs are the richest minority community in the country today—there are highly prosperous farmers, leading industrial houses, princely families, the SGPC (Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee) has crores—yet it’s unfortunate that illiteracy amongst the Sikhs is 30 per cent. There are high levels of crime and violence in the community and the rate of female foeticide is shamefully high. I have tried to reach out and make a difference through my writings.
Hinduism thrives mostly on legends, on past glories. According to Hindus they are ‘peace loving’ people but let them ask the Muslims and the Christians of this country how peace loving they actually are. One can’t forget that it was Hindus who killed Christians in Kandhamal and it was Hindus who butchered Muslims in Gujarat. They should spend time reading and understanding what their scriptures say. Like this beautiful, powerful line from the Gita, for instance: Karmanye vadhikar astey ma phaleshu kadachana (It is in your powers to act but not desire the fruits of your action).
Some of the most beautiful lines of verse are from the Bible:
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
The same was in the beginning with God.
All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made.
In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.
St John, I: 1-5
Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not love, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.
And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not love, I am nothing.
And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not love, it profiteth me nothing.
I Corinthians, 13: 1-3
And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.
St John, 8: 32
The Bible, translated from Hebrew and Greek, has been polished with every generation, by a succession of scholars. Both the Old Testament and the New Testament have passages of linguistic excellence which have become an integral part of European languages spoken today. Among the many that most Christians know by heart is the Sermon on the Mount, found in the Gospel of St Matthew, usually known as the Beatitudes or Blessings. ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they who thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled. Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. Blessed are they who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and say all manners of evil against you falsely, for my sake.’
Note the utterly simple language shorn of literary conceits. The stren
gth of the sermon— and of most sacred verse or holy text—lies in its simplicity and directness. The message goes straight into the readers’ hearts and stays there forever. The word ‘blessed’ in this context, does not mean one who is blessed with good luck, but one who is in need of solace. One should keep in mind that the message of the sermon is different from that of the Ten Commandments which spell out a code of conduct on what we should or should not do— don’t lie, don’t steal, don’t usurp another’s property, don’t commit adultery and so on. The sermon, on the other hand, is an assurance that those who suffer will, by God’s grace, be comforted.
I have always believed in learning from other faiths and have taken great pleasure in visiting places of worship: temples, mosques, churches, both historic and modern. One of the most spectacular and arresting sights I’ve ever been witness to is at Haridwar. For hours I have sat on the banks of the river and watched the diyas and boats and flowers and the aarti taking place. It is truly unforgettable. The other place that is special is the Golden Temple. It has the most calming, serene atmosphere you can ever imagine. The moment you enter the premises you feel it.
On Urdu
Maangey Allah se bas itni dua hai Rashid
Main jo Urdu mein vaseeyat likhoon beta parh le
All Rashid asks of Allah is just one small gift
If I write my will in Urdu, may my son be able to read it.
When I was studying in Delhi’s Modern School I was the only student in my class who had opted for Urdu. The rest had taken Hindi. So, being his only student, I got close to the Urdu teacher Maulana Shafiuddin Nayyar. He was an excellent man and that certainly made a difference. He wrote poetry and encouraged my interest in Urdu verse. Years later, in Lahore, it was Manzur Qadir who revived my interest in Urdu and Urdu poetry. Once, on a sea voyage back from England, he made me translate Iqbal right till he got off at Karachi. My interest in the language was rekindled when I was in Bombay. It was at the insistence of the Zakarias that I’d translated Iqbal’s ‘Shikwa’ and ‘Jawab-e-Shikwa’. I often went to Ali Sardar Jafri for help if I was stuck. I dedicated my collection Celebrating the Best of Urdu Poetry to Fatma and Rafiq Zakaria.
Today, Urdu is dying a slow death in the land where it was born and where it flourished. Hardly anyone opts for Urdu as a subject in schools and colleges. Apart from Kashmir, where Urdu is taught from the primary to the post-graduate levels, it is the second or third language in the rest of the country. Over time it has come to be known as the language of the Muslims, which is far from the truth. It was always meant to be the language of the masses— branding it as the language of the Muslims is communal propaganda. And this is destroying the language further. Even Muslim families these days prefer their children to learn Hindi or the language of the region in which they live. Knowledge of Urdu cannot ensure getting jobs either in the government or in private business houses, while knowing English, Hindi or a regional language does.
The language evolved over the years, and was influenced by several languages: Turkish, Arabic and Persian (as spoken by the soldiers in the invading armies) together with local languages like Hindi, Sanskrit, Braj—languages spoken by the general population and also by the soldiers and staff with the Mughal rulers. Urdu was a mixture of all these, a connecting language. The very word ‘Urdu’ means ‘camp’. Initially, the well-known poets of the Mughal era had preferred to stick to Persian and had little to do with this language of the masses. They soon realized that in order to reach the masses and have any kind of influence it would have to be Urdu.
Urdu poetry is filled with imagery from Arabic and Persian art and literature. The most popular are the nightingale or bulbul’s lament for the unresponsive rose; moths flocking to the candle flame only to incinerate themselves; Majnu’s never-ending quest for his beloved Laila, and Farhaad hacking rock-cliffs to get to his Shirin. Almost all Urdu verse is overwhelmingly romantic, and there’s a morbid obsession with the passage of time—the decline of youth, old age and, ultimately, death. A mood of despair runs through much of Urdu poetry. But there is also plenty of wit and humour. Later poets used Urdu poetry as a means of social reform, to denounce bigotry and religious hatred.
It seems surprising that while most Urdu poets were and are Muslims, to whom wine is haraam, forbidden, they wrote more on the joys of drinking than on any other subject. Some, like Ghalib, Sahir and Faiz were even heavy drinkers. Urdu poetry is full of references to the maikhana, tavern, and the saqi, wine server. However, there is no historical evidence of maikhanas in any city—there were wine shops where liquor could be bought and consumed alone, in exclusively male gatherings or in salons of courtesans. A lot of Urdu poetry is addressed to courtesans. A lot of it is also addressed to rosy-cheeked, round-bottomed boys, who on occasion were the wine servers.
Saqi gayi bahaar dil mein rahi havas
Tu minnaton se jam de aur main kahoon ki ‘bas!’
O saqi, gone is the spring of youth
Remains but one regret in this heart of mine:
Had you but pressed the goblet to my hand
Had I but said, ‘Enough!’
Zauq jo madarsey ke bigdey huey hain mullah
Unko maikhaney mein le aao sanvar jaengey
The mullahs who’ve been ruined by the madrassas, O Zauq
Bring them to the tavern, they’ll be all right again.
It’s only in Bollywood that Urdu is alive today. And that’s because of ghazals. Several filmmakers still resort to them—not to further the cause of the language—to add to their films’ charm. People also use Urdu verse and shairs to impress—they insert them in their speeches, in their debate sessions in Parliament. It’s all very well to use a smattering of Urdu verse but what’s really crucial is that if we continue to neglect the language this way—to take it off the school and college curriculum—it will soon be dead.
These lines of Khurshid Afsar Bisrani describe its plight:
Ab Urdu kya hai ek kothey kee tawaif hai
Mazaa har ek leta hai mohabbat kam karte hai
What is Urdu now but a whore in a whorehouse
Everyone has fun with her, very few love her.
Destiny, Luck, and Faith in Humbug
I don’t believe in destiny and I’m not superstitious. But I do think there’s something to be said for chance or luck and coincidence. I’m lucky, scribbling away . . . I sweat, but there’s an element of luck: whatever I write gets published.
I find the belief in Feng Shui, Vaastu, numerology and other such practices laughable. But—I don’t know what you’d call this—while working on my book of translations of the hymns of Guru Nanak, I was in Tokyo and woke up quite often in the middle of the night to start work. I felt the hand of the Guru on my shoulder. Maybe it was some sort of make- believe, but whatever it was it gave me comfort and I worked on.
Though I have always been completely put off by religious rituals, once during a severe emotional crisis—when I was having trouble in my marriage—I found solace sitting through the entire night in a gurdwara, the Bangla Sahib. It gave me emotional strength.
As a child, and even much later, I had a terrible phobia of ghosts. While growing up, servants told us stories about ghosts and bhoots and I was petrified. When I was very young I had seen two close relatives die in front of me. I saw my grandfather Sujan Singh’s death in Mian Channu. He kept gasping and asking for more medicines. Then he opened his mouth wide as if to yawn, gasped and collapsed on his pillow. My grandmother began wailing loudly, chanting the hymn of death. I was horrified and terrified at the sight of my parents, uncles and relations sobbing like children. Servants told me that they had seen my grandfather’s spirit fly out of the room like a puff of smoke and disappear in the sky.
Even more gruesome was watching my aunt, my uncle Ujjal Singh’s first wife, die. This was also in Mian Channu. She was expecting her second child. I accompanied my mother who was sent to look after her during her confinement. The foetus had died in her womb and her body
had turned septic. Every evening when her bed was brought into the courtyard she had hallucinations. It was whispered that she had brought upon evil on herself by plucking a lemon off a tree in the garden after sunset. It was common belief that anyone who did so was possessed by a witch who could only be rid of by exorcism. Prayer books and a kirpan were placed under her pillow. Nothing helped. The daayan continued to possess her. One afternoon she had terrible convulsions. Her eyes turned till only the whites could be seen. She bit her tongue till blood flowed from her mouth. She died in great agony. Since her own son Narinder was away, I had to light her funeral pyre. I have never understood why children of my age were exposed to such ghastly scenes. Even today I have the fear of ghosts.
There’s a legend behind our family’s prosperity. Apparently, a peer sahib blessed our family in Hadali. My grandfather had helped out a peer sahib, Shaida Peer and he’d blessed us. It is said that one year when it rained heavily on the Salt Range, flood waters swept down the rocky ridge carrying with it a Muslim man named Shaida Peer who had climbed on to the thatched roof of his hut. By the time he had floated down to Hadali, he had nothing on him except his loincloth. My grandfather Sujan Singh gave him clothes, made a hut for him near the Muslim graveyard and sent him food. Shaida Peer blessed him, saying, ‘I will give your two sons the keys of Delhi and Lahore. They will prosper.’ And prosper they did—my father as a building contractor in Delhi; his younger brother Ujjal Singh as one of pre- Partition Punjab’s biggest landowners. He later became a Member of the Legislative Assembly and, after Independence, finance minister of Punjab and later its Governor. He ended his career as Governor of Tamil Nadu.
We, as a nation, are superstitious, and though I’m not, you will find Islamic emblems, ayats and suraas all over my house. They are all gifts that I have received over the years. And from Iran I’d got my granddaughter Naina a taveez with the Ayat-ul-Kursi inscribed on it—somebody had presented it to me on my visit there. Many Muslims wear the Ayat-ul-Kursi on their amulets. I have the verse inscribed in bidri and silver on my wall. I got a gold medallion from Tehran which my daughter Mala and then her daughter wore as pendants on their necklaces while taking their exams. I’d like to think it brought them luck.
Absolute Khushwant Page 8