Hali nishaat-e naghma-o mai dhoondte ho ab
Aai ho waqt-e sub’h rahe raat bhar kahaan
1
My quest keeps me alert: where’s the best—here or there?
Let’s see where the chase comes to an end—here or there
The rounds of drink at early night aren’t cared for much
See, where I see the morn, if I do, here or there
God! Let this intimacy reach a happy end
She knew me well, earlier as well—here or there
It needs a lifetime to endure the stings of love
Tell me where lie the pleasures of pain—here or there
Enough of telling the tales of journey’s woe but
Where is the reply to my message, here or there?
The wild heart stays away from all the world
Where has this vagrant heart found a home, here or there?
What makes me sad is not this, surely something else
With millions around, there’s none like you—here or there
The prayer to forsake love cannot be answered
With a heart unwilling, it would not reach—here or there
Hali! You look for pleasures of wine and music now
You came at the dawn, but whither all night—here or there?
2
Kuchh hansi khel sambhalnaa gham-e hijraan mein naheen
Chaak dil mein hai mere jo ke garebaan mein naheen
Kis tarha us ki lagaawat ko banaawat samjhoon
Khat mein likkhaa hai wo alqaab jo unwaan mein naheen
Dee hai waa’iz ne kin aadaab ki takleef na poochh
Aise uljhaao teri kaakul-e pechaan mein naheen
Beqaraari thee sub ummeed-e mulaqaat ke saath
Ab wo agli si daraazi shab-e hijraan mein naheen
Hali-i zaar ko kehte hain ke hai shaahid baaz
Ye to aasaar kuchh us mard-e musalmaan mein naheen
2
Bearing the pangs of parting is no joke, not the least
The heart is ripped apart, but the robes, not the least
Her care is real, no pretence, no, of course, not
Her manners tell me, not the contents, not the least
Don’t ask how stringent the preacher’s sermons are
But no such traps in your tresses, not the least
My eager heart’s hope for our union keeps me alive
Now the night of parting is not that long, not the least
Poor Hali is blamed to be all the sweethearts’ throb
But is that a faith-keeper’s way? No, not the least
17
Shad Azimabadi
Shad Azimabadi (1846–1927) was born Syed Ali Mohammad in Azimabad, now Patna. He received traditional education rather early in his life and learnt Urdu, Persian and Arabic. This was followed by his own studies of Islam and other religions which turned him into a liberal humanist. Although Shad hailed from an affluent family, he cared less for riches, and even lesser for the sources of his future sustenance. Following the general practice of poets in the making, he too received counselling on his poetry from several master craftsmen. As he emerged as a poet of remarkable merit and a sound scholar, he earned the title of Khan Bahadur from the British government, with a monthly stipend of a thousand rupees.
Shad was essentially a poet of the ghazal tradition. He was no philosopher; nor did he have a taste for stereotypical themes. He distinguished himself because of his refreshing ideas and novel ways of expression. He engaged with issues in ethics, philosophy and mysticism, as he deliberated on the unity of God. Following Mir Babar Ali Anis, the celebrated poet of marsiya, or the elegy, he also practised this form. A full-time poet and writer, Shad has left behind a formidable oeuvre. Some of his most important works include a biography titled Hayaat-e Faryaad, a historical tract titled Nawa-i Watan, his collected poems in Kulliyaat-e Shad and Maikhana-i Ilhaam, and an account of marsiya poets, titled Fikr-e Baleegh.
1
Aseer-e jism hoon, miyaad-e qaid laamaaloom
Ye kis gunaah ki paadaash hai, Khuda maaloom
Teri gali to mujhe yun bhi khainchti hai bahut
Dar asl hai meri mitti kahaan ki kya maaloom
Dua karoon na karoon soch hai yehi ke tujhe
Dua ke qabl mere dil ka mudd’aa maaloom
Suni hikaayat-e hasti to darmiyaan se suni
Na ibtidaa ki khabar hai, na intihaa maaloom
Talab karein bhi to kya shai talab karein ai Shad
Hamein ko aap naheen apna mudd’aa maaloom
1
I’m my body’s prisoner, how long my term, I do not know
What’s my sin, what sentence, God knows, I do not know
I do not know why your lane beckons me so much
What’s my soil, where’s my root, I do not know
Whether I pray, or I don’t, I wish you knew
What’s my heart’s prayer for you, I do not know
I joined the tale of life but only midway
Where it begins, where it ends, I do not know
Shad! What shall I ask for, if I ever do
What’s my will, what’s my wish, I do not know
2
Dhoondoge hamein mulkon mulkon, milne ke naheen naayaab hain hum
Tabeer hai jis ki hasrat-o gham, ai ham nafaso wo khwaab hain hum
Ai dard bataa kuchh too hi bataa, ab tak ye mu’amma hul na hua
Hum mein hai dil-e betaab nihaan, ya aap dil-e betaab hain hum
Main hairat-o hasrat ka maara, khaamosh khadaa hoon saahil pe
Daryaa-i muhabbat kehta hai, aa kuchh bhi naheen paayaab hain hum
Ho jaai bakhedaa paak kaheen paas apne bulaa lein behtar hai
Ab dard-e judaayi se un ki ai aah bahut betaab hain hum
Lakhon hi musaafir chalte hain, manzil pe pahunchte hain do ek
Ai ahl-e zamaana qadr karo, nayaab naheen kamyaab hain hum
Murghan-e qafas ko phulon ne ai Shad, ye kehla bheja hai
Aa jaao jo tum ko aana ho, aise mein abhi shaadaab hain hum
2
You would not find me wherever you go, rare indeed I am
My dreams take to pain and pining, such a poor dream I am
Pain, dear pain, tell me now this mystery remains a mystery yet:
In me lies a restive heart, or a restive heart in me I am
Amazed and forlorn, I stand silent on the river’s bank
Love’s river calls me in: come in, a shallow bed I am
Better if the pain is over; better if she calls me now
The pangs of parting have taken a toll, so ravaged I am
Millions move to reach the goal; only a few get there at last
Value me, my dear ones; I’m not extinct, but rare I am
Shad! The blossoms have sent a message to the birds encaged:
‘Come on if you may, even now a bubbly blossom I am!’
18
Hasrat Mohani
Hasrat Mohani (1875–1951) is the nom de plume of Syed Fazlul Hasan. He was born in Mohan, a qasba in Uttar Pradesh. After receiving his early education at home, he moved to Aligarh Muslim University from where he graduated. Hasrat realized that his forte lay both in poetry and politics, which he nursed with care and commitment. He was a nonconformist; neither a favourite of the Congress Party nor of the Muslim League, although he enjoyed a position of prestige in the Communist Party of India. He is said to have been the first champion and proclaimant of complete independence of India. He passionately worked to achieve this professed goal and was even imprisoned for his views on British rule in India and the British intervention in Egypt. He is comprehensively identified as a poet, prose writer, journalist and freedom fighter.
Hasrat was essentially a ghazal poet, who appropriated a frank and disarming idiom to reconfigure romantic love. In spite of his reservations about the ghazal, he nursed the form and proclaimed his allegiance to it. He critically appraised and drew upon the Urdu and Persian poetic traditions. His political poetry is yet
another aspect where he remains almost unparalleled in acquiring an identity of his own. Hasrat was not a poet of philosophical orientation but of lighter emotions and lyric grace. He often developed narrative and dramatic strains in his ghazals, a quality that distinguished him, and brought him closer to Momin. Hasrat founded a monthly journal, Urdu-i Mo’alla, through which he curated and circulated the contemporary literary taste. He left behind his poetical works which were collected in thirteen volumes. Other works include his biographical notes on poets entitled Tazkirat-us Shuaraa, a discourse on the fine points of poetry called Nukaat-e Sukhan, his experiences in imprisonment put together in Mushahidaat-e Zindaan and a commentary on the poetry of Asadullah Khan Ghalib.
1
Hai mashq-e sukhan jaari chakki ki mushaqqat bhi
Ek turfa tamaasha hai Hasrat ki tabeeyat bhi
Jo chaahe sazaa de lo tum aur bhi khul khelo
Per hum se qasam le lo ke ho jo shikaayat bhi
Dushwaar hai rindon per inkaar-e karam yaksar
Ai saqi-i jaan parwar kuchh lutf-o-inaayat bhi
Dil bas ke hai deewaana us husn-e gulaabi ka
Rangeen hai usee roo se shaayed gham-e furqat bhi
Khud ishq ki gushtaakhi sab tujh ko sikha degi
Ai husn-e hayaa parwar shokhi bhi sharaarat bhi
Barsaat ke aate hi tauba na rahee baaqi
Baadal jo nazar aai badli meri neeyat bhi
Usshaq ke dil nazuk us shokh ki khoo nazuk
Nazuk usi nisbat se hai kaar-e muhabbat bhi
Rakhte hain mere dil per kyun tuhmat-e betaabi
Yaan nala-i muztar ki jab mujh mein ho qoowat bhi
Ai shauq ki bebaaki wo kya teri khwaahish thi
Jis per unhein ghussa hai inkaar bhi hairat bhi
Hain sad-o Safi shaair ya Shauq-o Wafa, Hasrat
Phir Zaamin-o Mahshar hain Iqbal bhi Wahshat bhi
1
He writes his verse, he grinds the stone too
That’s your Hasrat, that’s a rare sight too
Punish as you wish, some more if you want
I take a vow; wouldn’t say a word to you
It’s hard for drinkers to deny a favour
Life sustaining Saqi, be compassionate too
This heart is wild for that pink love of mine
But parting from her is colourful too
Love’s ways will teach you, my coy mistress!
How to pretend, how to be naughty too
With rains, I could not sustain my abstinence
Looking at the clouds, my intentions changed too
Lovers have delicate hearts; so has she
That’s how love’s affair is delicate too
Why blame my heart for her impatience?
Do I have the nerve to tell my tale too?
Fearless craving! What did you crave for indeed!
That makes her angry, spurning, surprised too
Shad, Shafi are poets; Shauq, Wafa and Hasrat too
Zaamin, Mahshar also there, Iqbal and Wahshat too
2
Tujh se paas-e wafaa zaraa na hua
Hum se phir bhi tera gilaa na hua
Aise bigde ke phir jafaa bhi na kee
Dushmani ka bhi haq adaa na hua
Kuchh ajab cheez hai wo chashm-e siyah
Teer jis ka kabhi khataa na hua
Tum jafaa kaar the karam na kiya
Main wafaadaar tha khafaa na hua
Haif hai us ki baadshaahi per
Tere kooche ka jo gadaa na hua
Chhid gaee jab Jamaal-e yaar ki baat
Khatm taa der silsilaa na hua
Qaana-i ranj-e ishq tha Hasrat
Aish-e dunya se aashnaa na hua
2
You cared for love less and less
I couldn’t complain of that stress
So angry, but not disloyal
Enmity’s due, I did not press
How magical! Those black eyes
They shoot so straight, nonetheless
You were unfaithful, unkind
I wasn’t sad, sincere no less
Many a shame on his royalty
Your lane who did not caress
When they talked of her magic
Their talking was just endless
Content with love’s pain, Hasrat
The world’s pleasures, he knew so less
19
Mohammad Iqbal
Mohammad Iqbal (1877–1938), a descendant of a Kashmiri Brahmin family that had embraced Islam in the seventeenth century, was born and settled in Sialkot. After a traditional education in Arabic, Persian and Urdu, he was exposed to a liberal education that defined the contours of his thought and his poetry during the entire period of his life. Beginning his educational career at the Scottish Mission School, he went on to acquire his masters degree in philosophy, before joining Trinity College, Dublin, and later earning the degree of Bar-at-Law. He furthered his education by getting a doctorate degree from Germany on The Development of Metaphysics in Persia. He worked in different capacities at different points of time—he taught philosophy, practised law, got involved in politics and also attended the second Round Table Conference. Even while he favoured the idea of the creation of Pakistan and is venerated there as the national poet, he wrote the famous patriotic song ‘Saare jahaan se achha Hindostan hamaaraa’ that celebrates the greatness of India. King George V knighted him after which he was known as Sir Mohammad Iqbal.
Iqbal wrote both in Persian and Urdu, and is often regarded as the poet-philosopher of the East who addressed the Muslim ummah, believed in the philosophy of wahdat-ul wujood, or unity of being, and propounded the philosophy of khudi, or selfhood, which called for self-realization and the discovery of the hidden talent with love and perseverance. Beyond that lay the stages of complete submission and forgetfulness which, he thought, was the ultimate stage of khudi. Iqbal dreamt of the ‘complete man’ and entered into a metaphoric dialogue with the divine. His poetry emerged as a remarkable site where social commentary and art coalesced, as he reconfigured major poetic devices like the metaphor, renewed the use of myth and symbolism to revisit history, philosophy and the Islamic faith to develop his individual vision. He has left behind his collections of poems, Asraar-e Khudi, Rumooz-e Bekhudi, Baang-e Daraa, Baal-e Jibreel, Payaam-e Mashriq, Zaboor-e Ajm, Javed Naama, Zarb-e Kaleem, and Armaghaan-e Hijaz, apart from his lectures collected in English as The Reconstruction of Religious Thought in Islam, and other works on the Eastern world-view.
Sitaaron se aage jahaan aur bhee hain
Abhi ishq ke imtihaan aur bhee hain
Tahi zindagi se naheen ye fizaaein
Yahaan saikadon karwaan aur bhee hain
Qanaa’at na kar aalam-e rang-o boo per
Chaman aur bhi aashiyaan aur bhee hain
Agar kho gaya ik nasheman to gham kyaa
Maqaamaat-e aah-o fughaan aur bhee hain
Tu shaheen hai parwaaz hai kaam tera
Tere saamne aasmaan aur bhee hain
Isee roz-o shab mein ulajh kar na rah jaa
Ke tere zamaan-o makaan aur bhee hain
Gaye din ke tanhaa tha mein anjuman mein
Yahaan ab mere raazdaan aur bhee hain
1
Beyond the stars, many a world
Before love is proved, many a test
The space, not shorn of blessings
Moving about, many a caravan
No end to the world of glamour
Many a garden, many a nest
Why worry, if an abode is lost
For my laments, many a space
You, a falcon, for you a flight
Many a sky, many a cloud
Don’t be snared by days and nights
You’ve many a time, many a place
No more a stranger, here and now
I’ve many a keeper, many a kin
2
Agar kaj rau hain anjum aasmaan teraa hai ya meraa
Mujhe fikr-e jahaan kyun ho jahaan teraa h
ai ya meraa
Agar hangaama-hai shauq se hai laamakaan khaali
Khataa kis ki hai ya Rub! Laamakaan teraa hai ya meraa
Use subh-e azal inkaar ki jur’at huee kyunkar
Mujhe maloom kya, wo raazdaan teraa hai ya meraa
Muhammad bhi tera, Jibreel bhi, Qur‘an bhi teraa
Magar ye harf-e shireen tarjumaan teraa hai ya meraa
Usee kaukab ki taabani se hai teraa jahaan raushan
Zawaal-e Aadam-e khaaki ziyaan teraa hai ya meraa
2
If the stars waver, whose sky is that? Yours or mine?
Why should I worry, whose world is this? Yours or mine?
If the sphere is devoid of all its hum and buzz
Whose fault, my God? Whose sphere is that? Yours or mine?
How could he get courage to deny the first dawn?
How do I know, whose confidante is he? Yours or mine?
Muhammad yours, Gabriel yours, yours the Holy Book
But those sweet words? Whose intents are those? Yours or mine?
That shining star keeps your world aglow for ever
Whose loss, the fall of the earthly Adam? Yours or mine?
20
Fani Badayuni
Fani Badayuni (1879–1941) is the nom de plume of Shaukat Ali Khan, who was born in Badayun, Uttar Pradesh. His ancestors had migrated to India from Kabul during the reign of Shah Alam II, and enjoyed a high status with a huge estate to their credit. Following his education in traditional disciplines and languages, Fani studied law but did not find it interesting enough to pursue as a career. Although his father had advised him to keep away from poetry that was merely imaginative and unproductive, he continued his affair with the muse in secrecy and wrote both in Persian and Urdu. Later, he migrated to Hyderabad, took up an appointment as a teacher but could not continue with it for long. He died there, unhappy and disappointed with life generally. Genuine and warm at heart, he lived with his uncompromising pride and preferred suffering to mindless submission.
Mystical contemplation and romantic despair are the two major markers of Fani’s experiential capital. His perception of the tragic distinguished him as a philosopher of pain, and his perception of the artistic defined him as a poet. His poetry is replete with pain and pining, which he expressed with remarkable sincerity. His personal disappointments had brought him closer to the understanding of suffering in life. He did not believe in the notion of art for life’s sake, as he laid greater emphasis on poetry as a serious literary vocation. He was very conscious of the tools and techniques of poetry, and was given wholly to crafting his poetry as an example of high art. His poetry is marked also for its conversational idiom and dialogic nature. Fani made his place in the literary canon slowly and painfully, just as he found his own life passing rather slowly and painfully. The several volumes of his poetry have been collected together in Kulliyaat-e Fani.