A Thousand Yearnings

by Ralph Russell

  saaqi ba jalva, dushman e eemaan o aagahi

  ba naghma rahzan e tamkeen o hosh hai

  ya shab ko dekhte thhe ki har gosha e bisaat

  daaman e baaghbaan o kaf e gul farosh hai

  lutf e khiram e saaqi o zauq e sada e chang

  ye jannat e nigaah, vo firdaus e gosh hai

  ya subh dam jo dekhiye aakar to bazm mein

  ne vo saroor o soor na josh o kharosh hai

  daagh e firaaq e suhbat e shab ki jali hui

  ik shama rah gai hai, so vo bhi khamosh hai

  The mystic lover of his Divine Beloved is guided by his strong instinctive sense of what is right. Ghalib says, since God knows all the secrets of His servants’ hearts, genuine regret for sin is enough:

  What wonder if His mercy should accept in expiation

  The shame that will not let me ask forgiveness for my sins.

  rahmat agar qabool kare, kya baeed hai

  sharmindagi se uzr na karna gunaah ka

  Mir believes:

  Your heart will guide you on the path of love

  This is your guide, your Prophet and your God.

  tareeq e ishq mein hai rahnuma dil

  payambar dil hai, qibla dil, khuda dil

  He reminds his listeners of the words with which Muslims begin any serious undertaking—‘In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful’:

  It is God’s mercy that we sinners speak of;

  Fasting and prayer are never mentioned here.

  hum muznibon mein sirf karam se hai guftagu

  mazkoor o zikr yahaan nahin saum o salvaat ka

  He is so confident that ‘sinning’ is right that he calls upon the orthodox to ‘sin’ too—for instance inviting them to drink wine—and suggests that the rainy season, a time of great delight after the intense heat of the preceding months, is an especially appropriate time:

  Come on out, recluse! Leave your cell and see the green plants growing

  And black clouds sent from Mecca swaying high above the taverns.

  tu bhi ribaat e kuhn se soofi, sair ko chal tuk sabze ki

  abr e siya qibla se aakar jhoom pada maikhaanon par

  Come to the tavern, recluse, now, for joy has left the mosque.

  The rain falls, and the breeze blows soft, and all your body glows.

  kah soofi chal maikhaane mein, lutf nahin ab masjid mein

  abr hai baaraan, baad narmak, rang badan mein jhamka hai

  Do people lead the holy life when clouds sway overhead?

  In days like these, ascetic, you should see if you can sin.

  taa’at koi kare hai jab abr zor jhoome?

  gar ho sake to zaahid is vaqt mein gunah kar

  And he recalls the joys that sin has brought him:

  What days those were!—when I would drink and climb up to the tavern roof

  And fall asleep, the white sheet of the moonlight over me.

  kya lutf tha ki maikade ki pusht e baam par

  sote thhe mast chaadar e mahtaab taan kar

  Ghalib, as he often does, goes further than Mir. He not only values his sins, but feels a deep regret that life has not afforded him the possibility of sinning much more than he has:

  The urge to sin should match the scale of yearning in my heart.

  The seven seas would do no more than wet my garment’s hem.

  baqadr e hasrat e dil chaahiye zauq e ma’aasi bhi

  bharoon yak gosha i daaman gar aab e haft darya ho

  There is an echo here of a verse of Dard, which has become proverbial:

  Shaikh, if my cloak is wet that does not mean I should be censured;

  Angels could make ablution with the water wrung from it.

  tar-daamani pe shaikh hamaari na jaaiyo

  daaman nichod dein to farishte vuzu karein

  —but Ghalib has taken the image further. He pictures sin as a vast ocean and wishes that it could have been even bigger:

  Sin’s ocean was not vast enough; it dried right up

  And still my garment’s hem was barely damp with it.

  darya e muaasi tunak-aabi se hua khushk

  mera sar e daaman bhi abhi tar na hua tha

  It calls to mind the number of scars of thwarted yearnings

  So do not ask me, God, to count the number of my sins.

  aata hai daagh e hasrat e dil ka shumaar yaad

  mujh se mire gunaah ka hisaab e khuda na maang

  Note too how I regret the sins that I could not commit

  O Lord, if you would punish me for these committed sins.

  naa-karda gunaahon ki bhi hasrat ki mile daad

  ya rab, agar in karda gunaahon ki saza hai

  * Saki: The cup-bearer, traditionally a beautiful young man, who serves the assembled company with wine.

  The Humanist Values of the Ghazal

  As might be expected, this generous spirit also finds expression in a passionate humanism, and a belief in the equal value of all humankind—and this too brought them into conflict with orthodox views. The poets derive their view from the Islamic belief that when God created Adam He exalted him (and through him all humankind) above the angels and commanded the angels to prostrate themselves before him. Satan refused to do so and was cursed and banished forever from God’s presence.* All human beings are, in the common Muslim phrase, ashraf ul makhluqat—the best of created things. But orthodox Islam tended to equate ‘humankind’ with ‘Muslim humankind’; not so the poets. For them God had granted to all the descendants of Adam the same exalted status.

  This assumed a special significance in India, where Muslims were a minority and the overwhelming majority of their fellow Indians were Hindus—and thus, in the language of the orthodox, ‘infidels’ and ‘idolators’. Urdu poets consistently challenge this narrow Islamic orthodoxy, and often used Hindu imagery in a positive way, to make their point more powerfully.

  Mir asserts that all true lovers of God, no matter under what name they worship Him, and in what kind of building, are equally favoured in God’s eyes:

  What does it mean to me? Call me ‘believer’, call me ‘infidel’.

  I seek His threshold, be it in the temple or the mosque.

  kis ko kahte hain nahin main jaanta islaam o kufr

  dair ho ya kaaba matlab mujh ko tere dar se hai

  He links the Kaba (the building in Mecca which is the focus of the Muslim pilgrimage) and Somnath (the site of one of the most famous of Hindu temples) as equally capable of inspiring religious devotion:

  It is the power of His beauty fills the world with light,

  Be it the Kaba’s candle or the lamp that lights Somnath.

  uss ke farogh e husn se jhamke hai sab mein noor

  shama e haram ho ya ki daya Somnath ka

  To orthodox Muslims, the worship of idols is anathema; but Mir—in common with the mystics—uses idolatry as a symbol of a truer devotion to God than that of orthodox ritual. For an idol is a symbol of beauty, and beauty is the manifestation of God. So Mir says:

  True Musalman am I, for to these idols

  I pledge my love.‘There is no god but God.’

  hain musalmaan—un buton se humein

  ishq hai—la illaah ilaillaah

  ‘There is no god but God’ are the first words of the Muslim profession of faith. There could not be a more forceful way of asserting that God and ‘these idols’—that is, God and beauty—are one and indivisible.

  The very men who thought it blasphemy to worship idols

  Sit now before the mosque and put the caste mark on their brow.

  jo kufr jaante thhe ishq e butaan ko, vo hi

  masjid ke aage aakhir qashqah lagaa ke baithe

  The bond of love is all—Islam and unbelief are nothing:

  Take rosary and sacred cord and wear them on your neck.

  maqsood dard e dil hai—na islaam hai na kufr

  phir har gale mein subha o zunnar kyon na ho?

  The rosary here is the symbol of Islam, while the zunnar, translated here as ‘s
acred cord’, is a very comprehensive symbol. In an Indian context it first suggests the sacred thread worn by the high-caste Hindu, but it is also used for the cord worn by Eastern Christians and Zoroastrians. Ghalib too uses these images:

  Put on the sacred thread, and break the hundred-beaded rosary.

  The traveller takes the path he sees to be the even one.

  zunnar baandh subha e sad daana tod daal

  rah-rau chale hai raah ko hamvaar dekh kar

  (The beads of the rosary are like hills over which the fingers have to pass, whereas they pass smoothly and evenly over the thread.)

  The sense of solidarity with all humankind is often expressed in verses which raise no questions about their religious beliefs or lack of them. The Urdu poets follow the creed of the great fourteenth-century Persian poet Hafiz who declared:

  Do not distress your fellow men, and do what else you will

  For in my Holy Law there is no other sin but this.

  In a similar vein, another unidentified Persian poet wrote:

  Drink wine and burn the Holy Book, and set fire to the Kaba

  Dwell in the idol temple—but don’t harm your fellow men.

  Here Mir virtually incorporates Hafiz’s words:

  Go to the mosque; stand knocking at the door—

  Live all your days with drunkards in their den—

  Do anything you want to do, my friend,

  But do not seek to harm your fellow men.

  dar e masjid pe halq e zan ho tum

  ki raho baith khaana e khummaar

  ji mein aave so keejiyo pyaare

  ek hona na darpai e aazaar

  He stresses his oneness with all his fellows:

  I heard the lamentation of the prisoner in his cage—

  It was my heart that ached, and I that was held captive there.

  ji khainch gaya aseer e qafas ke fughaan ke or

  thhi chot apne dil ko giriftaar hum hue

  What do you need to render what is due?

  Nor wealth nor learning enters into it.

  haq ko dene ko chaahiye hai kya?

  yahan na asbaab ne hunar hai shart

  He dismisses with contempt those who think they can be near to God without feeling anything for humankind:

  They cannot feel the grief that wounds His servant’s heart,

  Yet every worthless fellow here ‘communes with God’.

  bande ke dard e dil ko koi nahin pahunchta

  har ek be-haqeeqat yahaan hai khuda raseeda

  * For the commonly accepted Muslim telling of the story of the creation, see pp. 124.

  God and Humankind

  The conviction of human greatness is so strong that it raises questions about the behaviour of God himself. If God so honoured Adam at his creation, why does He now humiliate Adam’s descendants?

  Mir writes:

  What have the angels got to do with man?

  The highest rank belongs to him alone.

  aadmi se malak ko kya nisbat?

  shaan arfa hai Mir, insaan ki

  Ghalib is particularly insistent. He writes:

  Today we are abased. Why so? For yesterday You would not brook

  The insolence the angel showed towards our majesty.

  hain aaj kyon zaleel? ki kal tak na thi pasand

  gustaakhi e farishta hamaari janaab mein

  And why is man judged merely on the record presented by the recording angels and given no right to have anyone speak in his defence?

  The angels write, and we are seized. Where is the justice there?

  Did we have no one present when they wrote their record down?

  pakde jaate hain farishton ke likhe par naa-haq

  aadmi koi hamaara dam e tahreer bhi tha?

  Why does God, when it is His will that determines everything, falsely allege that man is free to act as he chooses? Mir writes:

  You call us free? You slander us unjustly.

  Your will is done—and we must take the blame.

  naa-haq hum majbooron par ye tuhmat hai mukhtaari ki

  chaahte hain so aap karein hain hum ko abas badnaam kiya

  All that we ‘free’ men do is under duress

  Mind that you do not force us to speak out!

  munh na hum jabrion ka khulvao

  kehne ko ikhtiyaar sa hai kuchh

  Ghalib, speaking in some sense as the spokesman of humankind, demands of God that He treat him with proper respect:

  We serve You; yet our independent self-respect is such

  We shall at once turn back if we should find the Kaba closed.

  bandagi mein bhi vo aazaada o khud-been hain ki hum

  ulte phir aae dar e kaaba agar vaa na hua

  There are verses which hint pretty clearly that though man was God’s creation, he has potentialities greater than any which God himself has been able to comprehend.

  Mir writes:

  Such as we are, God fashioned us close to His heart’s desire:

  If we had been what we had wished, what might we not have been!

  ab aise hain ki saane ki mizaaj oopar baham pahunche

  jo khaatir khvaah apne hum hue hota to kya hota!

  Oh God, what sort of men are they who love to be Thy servants?

  I would have been beset with shame even had I been God.

  illahi kaise hote hain jinhein hai bandagi khvaahish?

  humein to sharm daamangeer hoti hai khuda hote

  And Ghalib, in the same vein,

  He gave me both the worlds and told Himself,‘He is content.’

  And I, tongue-tied with shame, had not the heart to ask for more.

  donon jahaan de ke vo samjhe ye khush raha

  yan aa pari ye sharm ki takraar kya karein

  Would that I could have looked out from an even greater height

  Would that I had my dwelling place above the throne of God.

  manzar ik bulandi par aur hum bana sakte

  arsh se udhar hota kaash ke makaan apna

  He uses a story of Musa (Moses) asking God to show Himself to him. God said that Musa could not look upon him, but might look at the mountain, Tur. ‘If it abide in its place then shall thou see Me.’ But God’s radiance reduced the great mountain to dust and Musa fell down in a swoon. But I, says Ghalib, could have sustained Your revelation:

  You should have let Your radiance fall on me, not on the Mount of Tur

  One pours wine in the measure that the drinker can contain.

  girni thhi hum pe barq e tajalli na toor par

  dete hain baada zarf e qadah khvaar dekh kar

  Even the very purpose of creation is challenged. If man was destined to the misery he has had to suffer, why did God need to create him? Mir asks Him:

  My eyelids opened, and I saw what none should have to see;

  I slept in non-existence: why did You awaken me?

  aankhein khulin to dekha jo kuchh na dekhna tha

  khvaab e adam se hum ko kaahe ke taeen jagaaya

  Or why, as Ghalib asks Him with impudent humour, did He not equip him better to withstand it all?

  When, Lord, you fated me to bear such grief

  You should have given me more hearts than one.

  meri qismat mein gham gar itna tha

  dil bhi, ya rab, kayi diye hote

  Why did God create things which charm man’s senses, distracting his attention and making him forget that they are only manifestations of God?

  When all is You, and nought exists but You

  Tell me, O Lord, why all this turmoil too?

  These fair-faced women, with their coquetries,

  Their glances, airs and graces, what are these?

  Why the sweet perfume of their coiling tresses?

  Why the collyrium that adorns their eyes?

  jab ki tujh bin nahin koi maujood

  phir ye hangaama, e khuda, kya hai?

  ye pari-chehra log kaise hain?

  ghamza o ishva o ada kya hai?

  shikan e zulf e anbareen kyon hai?<
br />
  nigah e chashm e surma sa kya hai?

  And why, he asks himself, did God create me?

  When nothing was, then God was there; had nothing been, God would have been.

  My being has defeated me. Had I not been, what would have been?

  na tha kuchh to khuda tha, kuchh na hota to khuda hota

  duboya mujh ko hone ne, na hota main to kya hota?

  (almost suggesting that but for the act of creation, he and God would have been indistinguishable.)

  Whatever the answers to these far-reaching questions may be, it seems best to leave God to his own devices and expect nothing from Him—and certainly to ask nothing more from Him than He has already granted. Ghalib jokes:

  If you would solve your problems, prayer’s enchantment does not work

  O Lord, accept my supplication: Long may Khizar live!

  hareef e matlab e mushkil nahin fasoon e nayaaz

  dua qabool ho ya rab ki umr e khizar daraaz!

  (God had already granted Khizar eternal life!)*

  But it is certain that one has to search further than traditional forms suggest:

  The object of my worship lies beyond perception’s reach.

  For men who see, the Kaba is a compass, nothing more.

  hai pare sarhad e idraak se apna masjood

  qible ko ahl e nazar qibla-numa kehte hain

  People who follow the path of love, in all its senses, are told by people of ‘good sense’ that they are mad. Mir here represents himself as having heeded their advice, but now regretting it:

  Good sense has come to fetter me. Before that

  I knew the joy of life, for I was mad.

  khiradmandi hui zanjeer varna

  guzarti khoob thi deevaanepan mein

  * For the story of the Water of Life see p. 132.

  The Poet in Society

  Themes of love in this wide-ranging sense predominate in the ghazal, but they are far from being its only subject. Any thought that can be encapsulated in a single couplet can find its place in the ghazal, so its range is practically unlimited.

  Both Mir and Ghalib were self-conscious about their role as poets in society. A century apart, they both lived in Delhi for the greater part of their lives, experienced traumatic changes in the city they loved, and were deeply distressed by the conditions of the age.

  In 1701, when Aurangzeb, the last great Mughal Emperor, died, the empire had been at its greatest extent, covering all but the extreme south of the subcontinent. As its capital, Delhi was then, in Percival Spear’s words,‘the largest and most renowned city...of all the East, from Constantinople to Canton’. But after 1707 its decline was catastrophic. In 1739, when Mir was in his teens, the Iranian king Nadir Shah invaded from the north-west, crushingly defeated the Mughal armies, occupied Delhi, massacred something like 20,000 of its inhabitants and stripped it of all its great accumulated wealth—so great that on his return to Iran he remitted for three years the revenue of his whole kingdom. The Empire, and Delhi, never recovered; and until the British established their control over Delhi in 1803, increasing anarchy and lawlessness prevailed.