Sakhiya Wah Ghar Sabse Nyara, Jaha Puran Purush Humara Jaha Nahi Sukh Dukh Sanch Jhuth Nahi Pap Na Pun Pasara Nahin Din Reyn Chand Nahi Suraj, Bina Jyoti Ujyara
Nahin Tahan Gyan Dhyan Nahin Jap Tap Ved Kiteb Na Bani Karni Dharni Rehni Gehni, Yeh Sub Jahan Hirani
Ghar Nahin Aghar Na Bahar Bhitar, Pind Brahmand Kachu Nahin Panch Tatva Gun Tin Nahin Tahan, Sakhi Shabd Na Tahin
Mul Na Phul Beli Nahin Bija, Bina Braksh Phal Sohe, Oham Soham Ardh Urdh Nahin, Swasa Lekhan Kou Hai
Jahan Purush Tahwan Kachu Nahin, Kahe Kabir Hum Jana Humri Sain Lakhe Jo Koi, Pawe Pad Nirvana
English Translation
Oh Companion That Abode Is Unmatched, Where My Complete Beloved Is.
In that Place There Is No Happiness or Unhappiness, No Truth or Untruth Neither Sin Nor Virtue. There Is No Day or Night, No Moon or Sun, There Is Radiance Without Light.
There Is No Knowledge or Meditation No Repetition of Mantra or Austerities, Neither Speech Coming From Vedas or Books. Doing, Not-Doing, Holding, Leaving All These Are All Lost Too In This Place.
No Home, No Homeless, Neither Outside or Inside, Micro and Macrocosm Are Non-Existent. Five Elemental Constituents and the Trinity Are Both Not There Witnessing Un-struck Shabad Sound is Also Not There.
No Root or Flower, Neither Branch or Seed, Without a Tree Fruits are Adorning, Primordial Om Sound, Breath-Synchronized Soham, This and That – All Are Absent, The Breath Too Unknown
Where the Beloved Is There is Utterly Nothing Says Kabir I Have Come To Realize. Whoever Sees My Indicative Sign Will Accomplish the Goal of Liberation.
In the times when the whole world is going through an era of hatred, intolerance and extremism and Pakistan seems to be synonymous to all these words, what could be a better tribute to Bulleh Shah but to show to the world that there existed a daring secularist on this land almost 250 years ago.
Here I make a feeble attempt to write about Bulleh Shah, from what little I know of him as a secularist :
Bulleh Shah (1680-1757), was a sufi, who lived in the heart of Punjab, in Kasur, as a contemporary of Guru Gobind Singh, a reformer and mystic in his own right. Both of them had to face the wrath of a radical Muslim Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb in their life.
Not very different from the state of our current world, ridden with extremism and hatred towards other faiths , even 250 years ago, the subcontinent was plunged in deep turmoil. But Bulleh Shah, who thought far ahead of his times, dared to challenge the prevailing hatred and religious bigotry.
He lamented:
“Ulte hor zamane aaye, Hun asaan bhed sajjan de paaye. kaa(n) laggad nun maaran lagge, chiriyan jurre khaaye iraqiyan nun chabuk paunde, gade khood khavaye aapneyan vich ulfat naahee, ke-he chaachche taaye piyo putran ittfaak naa kaahee, dheeyan naal naa maaye sachcheyan nun hun milde dhakke, jhoothe kol bahaaye agle jaaye bankaale baithe, pichliyan farash vichaye Bullah jina hukam hazooron andaa, tina nun kaun hataaye.”
“Perverse times have come, I know the mystery of the beloved crows have begun to hunt hawks, and sparrows feed on falcons horses bear the whipping, while donkeys graze on lush green no love is lost between relatives, be they younger or elder uncles There is no accord between fathers and sons, Nor any between mothers and daughters The truthful ones are being pushed about, the tricksters are seated close by The front liners have become wretched, the back benchers sit on carpets Those in tatters have turned into kings, the kings have taken to begging O Bulleh, that which is His command who can alter His decree.”
Despite being a terror that Aurangzeb was, Bulleh Shah audaciously defied him not once but several times :
When Aurangzeb banned the music and dance, declaring it as haram in Islam–Bulleh Shah, following instructions from his teacher, defiantly went from village to village in Punjab, singing and dancing to his Kafis.
As Aurangzeb beheaded Guru Tegh Bahadur, Bulleh Shah dared to call the slain Sikh leader as Ghazi, a religious warrior.
” Kitay Tegh Bahadur Ghazi hay ”
Bulleh Shah hailed the revolutionary spirit of Guru Gobind Singh, calling him a ‘protector’ of those who believed in right to follow their religious belief. He said in a subtle satire:
Nah Karoon Ab Kee,
Nah Karoon Baat Tab Kee.
Gar Na Hotey Guru Gobind Singh,
Sunat Hoti Sab Kee.
I talk about neither yesterday nor tomorrow; I talk about today. Had Gobind Singh not been there, They would all be under Islamic sway.
Hence, mentioning that had the tenth Guru not been there, Auranzeb would’ve forced all to convert to Islam( implying Sunnat as circumcision).
Not only did he oppose the persecution of Sikhs in his times, he also advised Banda Bahadur not to avenge Auranzeb’s cruelty by killing innocent muslims.
Referring to the plight of his times in Punjab, and referring to the apathy of the onlookers, he wrote:
The Mughals quaff the cup of poison. Those with coarse blankets are up. The genteel watch it all in quiet, They have a humble pie to sup. The tide of the times is in spate. The Punjab is in a fearsome state. We have to share the hell of a fate.
(According to KS Duggal here ‘coarse blankets’ is referred to Sikhs) .
Bulleh Shah, in solidarity with Sikhs, is said to have visited a Sikh temple at Makhowal at the time of Guru Tegh Bahahdur. He saw people engrossed in ‘ Kar Seva’ (service to the temple, construction etc), ‘Kirtan’ (the morning singing of prayer) and ‘Langar’ ( the free distribution of meals ) by the devotees. Impressed by their devotion through service, he remarked:
Ett khrikka ( sound of bricks during construction work) Duppar vajje ( sound of dholaki during kirtan) Nale balle chulla (langar). Enhi galin Rabb raji rehanda Nale rehanda Bulleh.
Aurangzeb was arrogant not just to non Muslims, he even did not attempt to hide his hatred towards his own brother Dara Shikoh for following the Shia sect of Islam. And he had heartlessly got GuruTeghBahadur killed in public, in Delhi and also eliminated his brother DaraShikoh for his beliefs.
Bulleh Shah , on the contrary, being a true and fearless secularist, rejected the discrimination between faiths- be Hindu-Muslim -Sikhs or sects- Shia-Sunnis ,and wrote:
Neither Hindu nor Muslim, Sacrificing pride, let us sit together. Neither Sunni nor Shia, Let us walk the road of peace. We are neither hungry nor replete, Neither naked nor covered up. Neither weeping nor laughing, Neither ruined nor settled, We are not sinners or pure and virtuous, What is sin and what is virtue, this I do not know. Says Bulhe Shah, one who attaches his self with the lord. Gives up both hindu and muslim.
While he did not spare those who monopolised their faith:
“Lumpens live in the Hindu temples And sharks in the Sikh shrines. Musclemen live in the Muslim mosques And lovers live in their clime.”
And even dared to compare their clergy to ‘barking dogs’ and ‘crowing roosters’.
Not very different from the current times, wherein ‘secularism’ is still perceived as Ladeeniyat ( atheism)), he too was labelled as an apostate for his secualr stance. To which he taunted:
Bulleh-a aashiq hoyiyon Rabb da, Hoai Malamat Lakh Tenon Kafir Kafir aakhdey, toon aaho aaho aakh A lover of God? They’ll make much fuss; They’ll call you a Kafir You should say -yes, yes.
Learning from Bulleh Shah and Kabirdas, and knowing the history of subcontinent, today I too gather courage to defy Iqbal’s verses :
Juda ho deen siyasat se tou reh jati hai Changezi . When religion is separated from politics, it is reduced to brutality.
I say: Jurey jo deen siyasat se tou ho jata hai Changezi… When religion enjoins politics, it becomes brutal.
If after this you call me a traitor: I should say yes, yes.
P.S. My two penny:
Recently talking to a friend from Bhopal, about extremism in Pakistan, I felt disheartened to know that all she knew Bulleh Shah was that Abida Parveen sang him and that too in the context of his love poetry. And was oblivious to his humanist and secularist stance.
It is so unfortunate that even today, many in India ( besides Punjab) and elsewhere in the world, people who know Kabirdas and Amir Khusrow backwards, have barely heard of Bulleh Shah except in context of his love poetry.
Even my first exposure to Bulleh Shah’s poetry was through the verses…Bulleh ki jana main kaun...that too as a song sung by Rabbi Sher Gill. And I wondered and found the words wierd…not aware of the context. However, after having read some ‘bit’ of his history and his Kafis, it all makes sense now.
What wonders me most is that though in India, we read Kabirdas from grade Six, I never ever heard of Bulleh Shah’s mention in any Indian history text books. What is more unfortunate that even in Pakistan, school text books never taught Bulleh Shah whether in history or in literature.
I still consider Rabbi Sher Gill as the one who let me be familiar with Bulleh Shah’s name, to begin with. Besides many other sources…my special thanks to KSDuggal’s Mystic Muse, Saeen Zahoor for telling stories of Bulleh Shah, the blogs Sufi Poetry, of Raza Rumi ‘s and Syed Ali Abbas Zaidi’s, who I stalked to learn about Bulleh Shah’s poetry and history.
Na maen momin vich maseet aan
Na maen vich kufar diyan reet aan
Na maen paakaan vich paleet aan
Na maen moosa na pharaun.
Bulleh! ki jaana maen kaun
Na maen andar ved kitaab aan,
Na vich bhangaan na sharaab aan
Na vich rindaan masat kharaab aan
Na vich jaagan na vich saun.
Bulleh! ki jaana maen kaun.
Na vich shaadi na ghamnaaki
Na maen vich paleeti paaki
Na maen aabi na maen khaki
Na maen aatish na maen paun
Bulleh!, ki jaana maen kaun
Na maen arabi na lahori
Na maen hindi shehar nagauri
Na hindu na turak peshawri
Na maen rehnda vich nadaun
Bulla, ki jaana maen kaun
Na maen bheth mazhab da paaya
Ne maen aadam havva jaaya
Na maen apna naam dharaaya
Na vich baitthan na vich bhaun
Bulleh , ki jaana maen kaun
Avval aakhir aap nu jaana
Na koi dooja hor pehchaana
Maethon hor na koi siyaana
Bulla! ooh khadda hai kaun
Bulla, ki jaana maen kaun
Not a believer inside the mosque, am I
Nor a pagan disciple of false rites
Not the pure amongst the impure
Neither Moses, nor the Pharoh
Bulleh! to me, I am not known
Not in the holy Vedas, am I
Nor in opium, neither in wine
Not in the drunkard`s craze
Niether awake, nor in a sleeping daze
Bulleh! to me, I am not known
In happiness nor in sorrow, am I
Neither clean, nor a filthy mire
Not from water, nor from earth
Neither fire, nor from air, is my birth
Bulleh! to me, I am not known
Not an Arab, nor Lahori
Neither Hindi, nor Nagauri
Hindu, Turk (Muslim), nor Peshawari
Nor do I live in Nadaun
Bulleh! to me, I am not known
Secrets of religion, I have not known
From Adam and Eve, I am not born
I am not the name I assume
Not in stillness, nor on the move
Bulleh! to me, I am not known
I am the first, I am the last
None other, have I ever known
I am the wisest of them all
Bulleh! do I stand alone?
Rabindranath Tagore was a larger than life personality – poet, philosopher, playwright, novelist, essayist, painter, composer and educator.
He was the first non Europeon to get a Nobel Prize in 1911, which he received as Nobel Prize in Literature for his collection of poems which were initially written in Bengali, but later translated in English by himself.
He is the only person who has the honour of being the lyricist of National Anthems of two countries –namely Jana Gana Mana of India and Shonar Bangla of Bangladesh.
He translated Shakespeare from English to Bengali in his teens. He also translated 100 poems of saint Kabirdas from Hindi to English in 1930s , hence familiarising Kabir as the most read Indian poet to the west in those times.
Rabindranath Tagore, was knighted with the title of ‘Sir’ when he won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1911. However, after the Jallianwala Bagh massacre in 1916, he gave up the knighthood in protest.
He, thrice, refused invitation to visit Canada in protest against the massacre of 376 native Indians in Komagat Maru incident in 1914. However, when he visited Canada at the invitation of National Council of Education to address at the triennial conference, Vancouver he made it a point to make his statement as follows:
“Canada must believe in great ideals. She will have to solve . . . the most difficult of all problems, the race problem.”
Tagore also had the opportunity to interact one on one with another ‘great’ of his times, namely Einstein. Their highly intellectual conversations are documented word to word. An excerpt from the dialogue of one of the three meetings is as follows:
TAGORE: Melody and harmony are like lines and colors in pictures. A simple linear picture may be completely beautiful; the introduction of color may make it vague and insignificant. Yet color may, by combination with lines, create great pictures, so long as it does not smother and destroy their value. EINSTEIN: It is a beautiful comparison; line is also much older than color. It seems that your melody is much richer in structure than ours. Japanese music also seems to be so.
Y B Yeats another Nobel Laureatte oet who later wrote the Introduction of Tagore’s Geetanjili had the chance to read Tagore before he met him. He commented, ” I have carried these manuscripts with me for days, reading it in railway trains, on top of omnibuses, inrestaurants and often had to close it lest some stranger see how much it moved me.”
Gandhi and Tagore’s differences are famous and still debated. While Gandhi started a non cooperation movement against the British, Tagore remarked,” …there was a thin line between nationalism and xenophobia —besides, hatred of the foreigner could later turn into a hatred of Indians different from oneself.”
He was particularly sceptical of the claim that non-co-operation had or would dissolve Hindu-Muslim differences. And ultimately Tagore was proved right on this issue.
The two personalities met only twice, but kept a regular communication through articles and letters. And like two great human beings, they kept high regard for each other, despite differences.
Gandhi remarked: “Gurudev and I early discovered certain differences of outlook between us. Our mutual affection has, however, never suffered by reason 0 f our differences … ”
Another Nobel Peace Laureatte Aun San Su Kyi is another person who derives inspiration from Tagore. And claims her “most precious lesson” had been from Tagore: “If no one answers your call, walk alone.”( the above poem).
Apart from being a eastern mystic, Tagore was a visionary who articulated ideals of humanism, equality and freedom long before the League of Nations or the Universal Declaration of Human Rights of 1948. Tagore was one of the strongest critics of war and colonialism, fascism, and the dangers of narrow-minded nationalism.
In the 1920s, he had already identified racism as the greatest problem in a fast globalizing world.
Perhaps looking at today’s world he was accurate in his prediction, sadly though.
The following is a popular poem written by Rabindranth Tagore. The music for the song was also composed by him.
Jodi Tor Dak Soone Keu Na Asse Tobe Ekla Chalo re Ekla Chalo Ekla Chalo Ekla Chalore
Jodi Keu Katha Na Kai Ore Ore O Abhaga Jodi Sabai Thake Mukh Firae Sabai Kare Bhay Tabe Paran Khule O Tui Mukh Fute Tor Maner Katha Ekla Balo re
Jodi Sabai Fire Jai Ore Ore O Abhaga Jodi Gahan Pathe Jabar Kale Keu Feere Na Chay Tobe Pather Kanta O Tui Rakta Makha Charan Tale Ekla Dalo re
Jodi Alo Na Dhare Ore Ore O Abhaga Jodi Jharr Badale Andhar Rate Duar Deay Ghare Tobe Bajranale Apaan Buker Panjar Jaliey Nieye Ekla Jalo re
English translation: *Touching words*
If they answer not to thy call WALK ALONE,
If they are afraid and cower mutely facing the wall,
O you unfortunate,
open thy mind and SPEAK OUT ALONE.
If they turn away, and desert you when crossing the wilderness,
O you unfortunate,
trample the thorns under thy tread,
and along the blood-lined track TRAVEL ALONE
If they do not hold up the light when the night is troubled with storm,
O you unfortunate,
with the thunder flame of pain ignite thy own heart
and let it BURN ALONE.
My pain, my screams, My success dreams; Thou shall delight, Like the Dame of the Night.
About the author, composer of this song:
Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) was a Poet, Philosopher, Musician, Writer, Educator, and the first Indian Nobel Laureate for Literature (1913). Tagore has been labelled the “King of Poets” for his beautiful and exquisite poetry. In particular Tagore had a deep love and reverence for nature which he was able to express through lyrical poetry.
Tagore was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1913 for his book Gitanjali. W.B.Yeats in particular was deeply impressed with this work and wrote an introduction. With this honour Tagore became famous in both India and the West. In 1915 Tagore was knighted by King George, however Tagore was to return his knighthood in protest of the Amritsar massacre (1919)
Although Tagore stayed out of politics he remained a good friend of Gandhi. In fact it was Tagore who would often persuade Gandhi to give up his fasts in the interest of the nation.
As a writer, Tagore primarily worked in Bengali, but after his success with Gitanjali, he translated many of his other works into English. He wrote over one thousand poems; eight volumes of short stories; almost two dozen plays and play-lets; eight novels; and many books and essays on philosophy, religion, education and social topics.
As well as literature Tagore had a great love of music, in particular Bengali music. He composed more than two thousand songs, both the music and lyrics. Two of them became the national anthems of India and Bangladesh.
Just a minute long poem narrates the decades of pain and suffering of innocent kids who have no reason to bear this.
All your armies ..
all your fighters ..
all your tanks ..
and all your soldiers ..
against a boy ..
holding a stone ..
standing there ..
all alone ..
in his eyes ..
I see the sun ..
in his smile ..
I see the moon ..
and I wonder ..
I only wonder ..
who is weak ? ..
and who is strong ? ..
who is right ? ..
and who is wrong ? ..
and I wish ..
I only wish ..
that the truth ..
has a tongue :
Khusrau was a master of Persian ( which used to be the language of the court) as well as Brij Bhasha ( the language of the common man) .
Zehaal -e Miskeen is a master piece written in both the languages in Persian (bold) and Brij Bhasha (italics). In the first verse, the first line is in Persian, the second in Brij Bhasha, the third in Persian again, and the fourth in Brij Bhasha. In the remaining verses, the first two lines are in Persian, the last two in Brij Bhasha. The poem expresses the agony of separation from the beloved, in both the languages with a superb fusion…which to my understanding signifies how different yet similiar is the expression of the agony of separation amongst the elite ( representing Persian) and the common man ( through Braj Bhasha).
Zehal-e miskin makun taghaful,duraye naina banaye batiyan Ki taab-e hijran nadaram ay jaan,na leho kaahe lagaye chhatiyan.
Do not overlook my misery by blandishing your eyes, and weaving tales; My patience has over-brimmed, O sweetheart, why do you embrace me.
Shaban-e hijran daraz chun zulf wa roz-e waslat cho umr kotah; Sakhi piya ko jo main na dekhun to kaise kaatun andheri ratiyan.
Long like curls in the night of separation, short like life on the day of our union;
My dear, how will I pass the dark dungeon night without your face before.
Yakayak az dil do chashm-e jadoo basad farebam baburd taskin; Kise pari hai jo jaa sunaave piyare pi ko hamaari batiyan.
Suddenly, using a thousand tricks, the enchanting eyes robbed me of my tranquil mind; Who would care to go
and report this matter to my beloved?
Cho sham’a sozan cho zarra hairan hamesha giryan be ishq aan meh; Na neend naina na ang chaina na aap aaven na bhejen patiyan.
Tossed and bewildered, like a flickering candle, I roam about in the fire of love;
Sleepless eyes, restless body, neither comes she, nor any message.
Bahaqq-e roz-e wisal-e dilbar ki daad mara ghareeb Khusrau; Sapet man ke waraaye raakhun jo jaaye paaon piya ke khatiyan.
In honour of the day I meet my beloved who has lured me so long, O Khusrau;
I shall keep my heart suppressed, if ever I get a chance to get to her trick.
Another beautiful rendition of Zehaal-e-Miskin by Warsi brothers:
Recently I grabbed a book called Yadgar-e-Ghalib, by Altaf Hussain Haali in Urdu, and read bits from it. This has rekindled my fancy for him all the more.
Mirza Ghalib the humourist , is awe inspiring. Leave aside his superb poetry , his wit with which he lived and laughed off the troubles of his tough life, reveals a person extremely fascinating to read and know. He was an open book.
No doubt he indulged in various vices which would easily label him as a reckless person. But the honesty with which he admits all his vices and even laughs at himself makes him an adorable scamp and one feels like a shrewd hypocrite in front of him.
Ghalib teaches us what is it to live with a life of stark poverty, tragedy after tragedy of losing one’s progeny seven times, living off without a source of income and still to be able to maintain sanity and humour to enjoy one’s present day. (Although being a woman I hail and salute his wife as an epitome of patience and forebearance.)
Reading through I learnt what a friend he was. He never procrastinated in replying back to the letters. And many of his friends send him letters that were ‘bearing’ i.e. without a stamp, and he postpaid twice the amount to releases those letters from the postman. His silver tongue and the golden pen, won hearts of his friends and critics alike.
He wrote that he wanted to write a language, that whoever reads his letters gets elated. (Yes Mirza you still make us elated by them.)
His letters talked.( Yes one can hear you talking through them, Mirza)
One of them said: “sau kos se ba-zaban-e-qalam baatein kiya karo aur hijr mein visaal ke maze liya karo”
(from hundred of miles talk with the tongue of the pen and enjoy the joy of meeting even when you are separated]).
He joked openly about his being a non-conformist and a sinner. When Ghalib bought a house in Gali Qasim Jaan, he wrote,
‘Masjid ke zer saya ek ghar bana liya hai,
yeh banda kamina, humsaya khuda hai’ (I have made my house on the shadow of the mosque; this wicked fellow is now a neighbour of God).
The mosque he was referring to was the Delhi’s famous Jama Masjid.
During Ramzan somebody asked him if he fasted , and he replied : “ek na rakha.”( I did not keep one.).
On yet another hot day in Ramzan, Mirza was playing chess when a friend, Maulana Arzoo came.
Maulana remarked :“I had read in a Hadith that the devil is imprisoned in the month of Ramzan. But today I doubt the validity of the Hadith.”
Mirza retorted: “Sir, the hadith is absolutely correct. But you be aware that this is that den where the devil is imprisoned.”
Making a serious satire at the gluttony that people indulge during the month of Ramadan he said:
Iftaar-e-saum kii jise kuch dast.gaah ho
us shakhs ko zaroor hai rozaa rakha kare (The one who has the wherewithal to break his fast
that person should indeed keep the fast)
Jis paas roza khol ke khaane ko kuch na ho
roza agar na khaaye to naachaar kya kare (The one who has nothing to break his fast with
what else can he do but be constrained to ‘eat the fast’)
And on being questioned for not fasting he said: Ruza mera eman hay Ghalib! Laiken
Khas Khana wa barf aab kahan say laoon? (Fasting is part of my faith, but from where should I get khus curtains and chill water for it ?).( Correction courtesy Sohail Bhai).
On another occasion, in a letter that he wrote to a friend, in Persian: “These days Maulana Ghalib (God’s mercy be upon him) is in clover [very happy]. A volume of the Dastaan-i-Amir Hamza has come — about 600 pages of it — and a volume of the same size of Bostan-i-Khayal. And there are seventeen bottles of good wine in the pantry. So I read all day and drink all night.
The man who wins such bliss can only wonder What more had Jamshed? What more Alexander?”
Ghalib often bragged about his reputation as a rake. He was once imprisoned for gambling and later narrated the incident with great fancy.
Once, when someone praised the poetry of the pious Sheikh Sahbai, Ghalib immediately retorted: “How can Sahbai be a poet? He has never tasted wine, nor has he ever gambled; he has not been beaten with slippers by lovers, nor has he ever seen the inside of a jail”
When someone poked fun at him for being a drunkard and that a wine-bibbers’ prayers are never answered he said with a laugh, outwitting the person: “My friend, if a man has wine, what else does he need to pray for?”
He did not even spare his ‘economic poverty’ from the wrath of his wit. ( But Mirza, we know you were far richer the many rich then and now) Qarz kii piite the mai lekin samajhte the kih haan
Rang laavegii hamaarii faaqah-mastii ek din
The King, Bahadur Shah Zafar was planning to go for Hajj and Ghalib heard it. He wrote to the King : Ghalib, gar is safar maiN mujhay saath lay chalaiN
Haj ka sawaab nazr karooN ga hazoor ki If he will take me with him on the Pilgrimage
His Majesty may have my share of heavenly reward
He never minced words about his inclination towards practicing the faith.
Jaanataa huun savaab-e-taa’at-o-zahad Par tabiiyat idhar nahiin aatii
(I am aware of the reward of religious deeds in the next life, but I somehow do not get inclined towards them.)
It isn’t that those who live happy, are not sensitive and pained by the troubles that come their way. Like everyman with a mind and a heart , to be hurt by the whips that life lashes at them, Ghalib too felt his share of pain.
He wrote: Sozish e batin ke hain ahbab munkir warna yaan
Dil maheet e girya aur lab aashnaa e khanda hai. (Though my friends give no credence to my inner aches
While my lips are all smile, my heart is but a tearful waste).
Indeed, his wit must have been therapeutic to his own self, but to readers like me it is very addicting.
P.S. I am extremely indebted to Sohail Hashmi bhai, who I know is an expert in Urdu poetry from very young age, has added some other incidents related to the above context:
The house next to a mosque belonged to Kale saheb, a gentleman who was into sufiism and was respected greatly by bahadur shah zafar. In fact the House was given Ghalib on the recommendation of Zafar, Ghalib has refered to the mosque and his house in two other shers
Bhaun paas aankh qibla-e-haajaat Chahiye
Maajid ke zer-e-saayaa kharaabaat chahiye
Dil Khush hua hai Masjid-e-veeraan dekh kar
Meri tarah Khuda ka bhi Khaanaa Kharaab hai
Once during the month of Ramzan, a maulana who was a friend of Ghalib and also a poet went to meet ghalib, ghalib had a a plate of kabaabs in front of him and a glass of Wine besides him.
The maulana said, “Tumhaara roza nahin hai.”
Ghalib said “Hai”
The Maulana asked “Phir yeh sab kya hai”
Ghalib response was, “Roze ko behlaane ka saamaan hai.”
[P.S. His humour on his first love deserves a complete blog in itself, which shall follow later. No his first love wasn’t either ‘women’ or ‘wine’.]
Here’s a translation of some poems by a Sindhi feminist poet Attiya Dawood
A strange woman in the mirror
The strange woman in the mirror, what is she thinking?
I ask her: what is it? She avoids me.
I paint my lips red, she begins to sob.
When I look her in the eyes, she asks me questions
which are even more strange.
Home, husband, children….. I have all that makes up happiness
But I don’t know what she wants.
If Only I knew Nothing
The experienced mind understands everything.
If I keep all my thoughts with me
And put them under lock and key,
Clever eyes come to know everything.
I should put the glasses of ignorance on them.
My sensitive heart
I should refuse ever to consider
All the observations and experiences of the past
Inscribed on my mind
I should wipe it away.
My intelligence becomes a curse for me…
If only I knew nothing.
Holding your hand
I would have continued walking in a dream.
Whatever stories you told me
I would have listened on like a child.
Taking my mind as your kite
You could have given me any direction, any wind
And I would have obeyed.
My intelligence becomes a curse for me…
If only I knew nothing.
A bone-weary truth
Truth is the basis of my creation.
No matter how many times in the name of truth
My being was chopped and cut,
Each time like the amoebae,
Every piece of the portioned-off being
Has become a being by itself.
Whenever I was put on the scaffold in the name of truth
Each time I have taken a new birth,
But this dying and being born every minute
Has made me bone-weary.
I want you, my friend
To take away my being from the cross.
Come in front of me,
Whisper sweet nothings in my ears,
Turn the shackles of hypocrisy
into bangles for my hands,
Love me with such a crushing deceit
That my soul not be able to bear it
And free itself
From my tired being.
About the author: Attiya Dawood is a voice from the goths and villages of rural Sindh. It is a voice of pain and harrowing anguish. As a rural Sindhi woman she finds deprivation everywhere: she faces oppression piled on oppression. As a woman, oppression of women by men, as a Third World woman, oppression and exploitation by the advanced capitalist countries. As a rural woman she is marginalised in favour of the voice of the first person singular – I, but they are not autobiographical the events written about are not necessarilly drawn from her own life. The poems may be considered a form of dramatic monologue in which she assumes the voice and persona of a suffering woman and articulates the anguish arising out of some concrete situation. English translations are by Asif Aslam
I repeat, these two days were like a trip to the world of Bulleh Shah, his life and philosophy in the company of Sain Zahoor.
Having been over awed by his deep mystical eyes, I had to gather some courage to ask him all the valid and invalid questions I had in my mind.
For most of the questions I pounced at him, he bounced the answers back with verses from Bulleh Shah’s poetry .
I began with an inquiry about the details of how his life began as a devotee, and he remarked that it was destined. He had a great passion for singing sufi songs from a young age, despite the opposition from his peasant parents.
It was his ‘famous dream’ of a hand calling him, that took him at the age of 10 from one Sufi shrine to the other all over Pakistan for next 7 years. At last some indications made him realise that the hand was from a Dargah ( shrine) at Uch Sharif. From there he was ordered to go to the Shrine of Bulleh Shah at Kasur, and reside there.
Learning about Bulleh Shah’s life, he said , he was astonished to know how similar he was to Bulleh Shah in terms of his love for music and it’s opposition from his family.
He recalled how he was first noticed by the professor cum TV producer Dildar Bhatti, on the shrine of Lal Hussain and was called to sing on PTV. The first words that were aired were:
Na Kar Bandeya Meri, Meri,
Na Teri Na Meri,
Char Dinan Da Mela, Duniya
Pher Mitti Di Dheri ( Do not indulge in self,
Life is neither yours nor mine.
It’s a 4 day trip and then shall all be a mound of earth.).
He mentioned of the honour he was given as the best folk singer by BBC for the year 2006, an Award in France and a Presidential Award in Pakistan, but what he really takes pride is in how he converted two Japanese boys to follow the path of Sufism and Islam.
He talked of the selflessness one needs to have in devoting one’s life to Sufi singing.
On a question of the purpose of sufi music—he mentioned that music was Sufi’s innovative method to attract common man towards the path of peaceful religion. It served the purpose to diffuse the inter-communal tensions and the hegemony of the orthodox religion that existed in the 16 th or 17th century. He said the music was like a magnet for those who wanted to escape from hatred and were attracted to peace and love. .
He said that even in todays world where there is hatred widespread everywhere, he wishes to contribute for world peace, his bit, through Sufi music, like a drop in the ocean.
Quoting Bulleh Shah he remarked, the eseensce of his life was to spread the message of love:
Masjid Dha Day, Mandir Dha Day
Dha Day Jo Kujh Disda
Par Kissay Da Dil Na Dhawee(n)
Rub Dilaa(n) Wich Wasda
Tear down the Mosque, tear down the temple
Tear down every thing in sight
But don’t (tear down) break anyone’s heart
Because God lives there
While talking, came up the fact that he was unlettered, and when I asked if he did he think that education would bring more awareness and openness in the minds of those who spread hatred he remarked:
Parrh Parrh Aalim Faazil Hoya
Kaddi Apney Aap noo Parrheya hi nahin
Jaa Jaa Warda Mandir Maseetaan
Kaddi Mun Apney Vich tun Wardeya ee Nahin
Reading books over and over you want to be a learned man
but you never study your innerself.
You run to enter mosques and temples
but you never enter into your innerself.
He took out a paper from his pocket remarking, “This is my ‘parhai’ ( literacy)”, and he tried to read some meaning out of those pictures. It was beyond me, perhaps because I was illiterate in that language.
On asking about his travels he said that his music has take him to over to 35 countries explaining it simply as “ 5 passports have been filled up with with stamps and visas for different countries.”
I asked him of the place that he liked to visit the most?
He remarked with a diplomatic smile: “Chal Way Bullehya Chal O’thay Chaliyay
Jithay Saaray Annay
Na Koi Saadee Zaat PichHanay
Tay Na Koi Saanu Mannay “
O’ Bulleh Shah let’s go there
Where everyone is blind
Where no one recognizes our caste (or race, or family name)
And where no one believes in us
I asked: “Is really any such place on Earth? “
He retorted: “Why do you need a place on land, if your heart is that place, where you do not differentiate ? Is it not enough ?”
As the time passed and my audacity to ask him personal questions increased, an informal Sain Zahoor with a great sense of humour emerged out too.
While talking to him, I could not meet his gaze. I was staring at his ektara, which he calls tumba.
He remarked: “I think you like my tumba more.”
It was embarrassing, but I retorted without a second thought “Yes, I like it a lot”.
And so he offered to teach me how to hold and play it. It was his idea to click a picture with the tumba in my hand.
We talked about his family and his sons, two of whom were part of the orchestra and the third one sings independently.
I was keen to know about his wife, and asked him if he took his wife with him on the tours.
He just smiled and nodded a ‘No’. “Doesn’t she get angry on your frequent trips and you don’t take her”, I complained.
He smiled and said : “ I have learnt from Bulleh Shah, how to appease her.” “How? ” was my obviously inquisitive question.
He narrated with a naughty sparkle in his eyes: “ I sing to her: ‘Bas kar ji hun bas kar ji,
Ik baat asan naal has kar ji.’
and my old lady smiles.
I found the verses very intriguing, so he offered to narrate the whole poem, which indeed was beautiful. And I share the first stanza here… Bas kar ji hun bas kar ji,
Ik baat asan naal has kar ji.
Tuseen dil mere vich vasde ho,
aiven saathon duur kyon nasde ho.
Naale ghat jaadu dil khasde ho,
hun kit val jaaso nas kar ji.
Bas kar ji hun bas kar ji, Enough! Now enough!
Smile! Speak to me!
You inhabit my heart.
What is the use of running away?
Using magic, you pulled my heart toward you.
Whom do you run toward now?
Enough! Now enough!
I couldn’t help ask: “Did Bulleh Shah also appease his wife by this poetry?.” “No he was never married, but he loved his Master Inayat Qadri like a woman loves her beloved.”
And he narrated the interesting story of how Bulleh Shah has once faultered in front of his master by being ‘snobbish’ referring himself as ‘Syed Bulleh”. The master felt offended and disowned Bulleh Shah as a disciple. And his master had set extremely high standards for his disciple, he would not agree to any easy means of appeasement.
Since Bulleh Shah knew appeasing his beloved was no easy task, he dressed himself like a woman, adorned the nath (nose ring), wore ghungroo( ankle bells) and hid behind a veil. “Why did he have to become a woman?” I asked.
He said “He wanted to show his master that he had given up all his masculine ego and acted like a helpless woman.”
Bulleh Shah sang and danced in front of his master, till the master’s heart melted . He recognised, this extreme devotion could be from none other than BullehShah, so he asked : “Are you Bulleh?”
From behind the veil came the reply: “No master, I am Bhullah( the defaulter).”
He narrated the words which Bulleh Shah used during the appeasement: Tere ishaq nachaya kar ke thia thia
Tere ishaq ne dira mere ander kita
Bhar ke zehar piala, main taan aape pita
jhabde bohrin we tabiba, nahin taan main mar gai a
Compelled by love, I dance, I dance. This love has set up camp inside me.
I Physician, come back! my life is ebbing away.
It is I who filled the cup with this poison and drank it. Come back right away, else I will surely die. Compelled by love, I dance, I dance.
As the time for the group came to pack up and leave for the Hotel, I joked: “Sain, are you taking back my tumba?”
He smiled and said: “Come to Pakistan, I will give you an identical one, but the condition is that you will have to learn to play it.”
He did not give me the ektara, but the time he gave to answer my unending questions and the interest with which he offered to answer my queries about him, his poetry and Bulleh Shah, I shall chesrish for rest of my life.
Ektara will remain as mine in the memories and the pictures, for sure 🙂
Life is really simple, but we insist on making it complicated. ~Confucius
I had read this quote very many times, but had never realised the real essence of it until I met Sain Zahoor.
Little did I know that the two days of my interaction with him would be like a refresher course on Bulleh Shah and would make me so enamoured by his simplicity that all starstudded concerts or hi fi music orchestras, would appear meaningless.
It was the annual RBC Mosaic Festival 2011, in Mississauga. I was given the task to look after the VIP lounge for the artists and other VIPs. I skimmed through the likely VIP list—just one name was enough for me to feel elated–Sain Zahoor. The excited preteen in me actually waited with impatience the moment when I would interact with him.
He arrived on the Gala opening of the festival with his entourage of four modest men. Instantly all the designer clad guests, the ministers, the VVIPS lost their shimmer. All heads turned to see this barely five feet few inches tall, clad in shimmery robe, black turban, a bunch of turquoises and agates around his neck. The aura of his simplicity was mesmerising. His eyes had a mystical depth and serenity in them.
The next evening, before the performance, he walked on the stage, modestly with folded hands, amidst a roar of applause from the spectators, who had come to watch him, sing live, from far flung locales of Ontario.
He began, most humbly, “ I am neither an artist nor a star, I am a faqir (devotee) like my master, Hazrat Hazur Baba Bulleh Shah and I sing to please Allah and to spread the message of peace.”
The instrument he held was the simplest that a musical instrument could be- with a single string, and hence the name Ektara.His ektara is uniquely festooned with mutlicolored tassels of wool, which remind of the memories of back home. And not to forget, he had adorned a bunch of ghungroos ( ankle bells) , which jingled during his whirling and swinging during the performance.
His orchestra, exemplifying simplicity, comprised of four of the most basic instruments —a chimta ( metal tong), a dholak (a desi double headed hand drum) a table( a set of two drums) and a harmonium( a desi accordion). One could hardly believe before he began that this brief ensemble of ‘desi’ instruments would be more than enough to wreck a havoc on the psyches of the listeners.
Needless to say of Bulleh Shah’s poetry that flowed through his intense voice, simply pouring magic into the air. No sooner had he begun that the listeners were transcended into the heights of ecstasy.
As remarked by one of my friends who drove 2 hours to listen to him, “It appears more of a mystical call, than a mere singing of a sufi song.”
We all lost our sense of time, song after song, a span of three hours seemed to have flown in three moments. The magnetised audience did not let him stop. Nor did one notice any fatigue in his voice or spirit, and he went on.
Sain Zahoor’s reverence to his master Baba Bulleh Shah was glaringly obvious through the life he brings to the verses and also by the effort he takes each time to refer to him with a complete “Hazrat Hazur Baba Bulleh Shah.”
With so much of love and devotion, why would he not have that aura and mysticism in his eyes, I told myself.
[To those who do not know him: Sain Zahoor or Saeen Zahur Ahmad is a Sufi singer from Pakistan. He spent his life singing in the Sufi shrines, and had not cut a record until 2006, when he was nominated for the BBC World Music awards based on word of mouth. He emerged as the “best BBC voice of the year 2006”]
Contd…Part 2
Sain Zahoor – BBC 2006 World Music Award – Allah Hoo
Blind to Bounds 
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