Friday, March 21, 2008

Shikwa-----The Complaint (Allama Iqbal)

About the nazm: Widely believed to be Iqbal's magnum-opus, Shikwa is the complaint of a broken and conquered Muslim race towards their Lord and Master. Written during the darkest period of Islam's existence till now, Shikwa, along with it's sequel Jawab-e-Shikwa, firmly established Iqbal as the greatest Islamic thinker of the Twentieth century.

Why should I suffer loss, why should i shun interest
Why should'nt I think of the future and lament over the past
Why should i hear these cries of agony and remain mute
Friend, am I inanimate that I remain unmoved?

My speech is my power and indeed I'll say...
It's you, Oh Allah, against whom a complaint I shall make!

(Knows not all the world, our nature is to praise (you)
Yet, feeling constrained for once,
for one small complaint to make,
here we are at Your door, repressed,
like an unstruck lute!)

It was a different scene till the Ummah came
The people worshipped stones, trees and men alive,
How then could God they recognise,
till the Sword of the Muslim made them wise!)

In this world, they dwelled, the Seljuks and the Turanis
The Chinese, the Sassanids, the Greeks and the Nasraanis (Christians)

But who was it who picked up the sword in your cause?
Who set things right and announced your name to the world?

It was we indeed who were the only warriors,
we fought over the deserts, we battled past rivers,
we proclaimed the A'dhan from the churches of Europe
and from the deserts of the Sahel,

The pomp of the Emperors was never what we sought
The Shade of the Swords was where our world lay

We werent moved if we stopped to fight,
even the Lions of the field sought an escape from our sight
If the ka'fir stood against you, we were there to set him right,
What are swords, even the cannons held for us no fright!

The unity of Godhead was what we all proclaimed,
Never mind whether we did it through swords or debates

Who indeed had torn the door of Khaybar?
Conquered the City of the Caesar?
Destroyed the worshippers of mortals?
Decimated the Armies of the Kuffars?

Who then had extinguished the flames of the Zoroastrians?
And re-established the name of the true God..

If the Adha'an was sounded during the tumult of war,
we stopped, and bowed towards Mecca afar,
in one row stood the Ruler and the slave,
All were equal in front of Your Grace

We lived to fight for you, we died to make you great
desired not power or pelf, wielded the sword for Yourself,
Had we wanted gold or riches, we would've sold; not broken the idols' face..

Who banished untruth from the world? Ended man's bondage?
Embraced the Holy word? To the Ka'baa paid homage?
And yet You dub as Godless?
If we are Godless, (then) You too are heartless!!

What justice is this then?
The Ka'fir gets all--wealth, women and wine.
And the Muslim sweet words, privations and piety!
Gone are the days indeed,
when sweet with us were your ways!

There are Nations galore,
People of sin, humility and fame,
slothful, forgetful and learned,
some even resentful of Your name,
Your blessings they all command,
Lightning strikes the hapless Musalman!

The idols laugh and say:
"Muslims have deserted;
Ka'baa's watchmen on camels gone;
with Qur'an under the arm they bolted."
Know You not how infidels scoff,
and make us the world's laughing stock?

The world is now for others:
for us its, but only a memory,
We leave it, but tell us not,
"The People are no more godly."
We wanted your name to revive,
but without the wine server can the cup survive?



(Abridged)


The late Ustad Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan had sung the whole nazm in a single sitting. The first part is given below. The other parts can be seen from the links provided alongside the main video









Sunday, March 2, 2008

Patta Patta Boota Boota (The leaves and the buds)----Mir Taqi "Mir"

About the Poet: Mir Taqi "Mir" (d:1820) was born in Agra. He migrated to the Mughal capital of Delhi (Shahjahanabad) in his childhood and remained there till the depredations of Nadir Shah and Ahmed Shah Abdaali forced him to flee to Lucknow, where he spent the rest of his days. Like Ghalib, who followed him some decades later, Mir too had a deep love for Delhi. The separation from this beloved city of his, coupled with the deaths of his wife, son and daughter in quick succession, was responsible for the hauntingly sad poetry of Mir. Indeed, he is even today widely acknowledged to be the author of some of the finest verses of pathos.

Mir was the creator of Urdu poetry as we know it today. Remarkable for his use of simple Urdu words, his works are easily understood and retain their freshness even today. He was held in deep reverence by later shaayars and Ghalib himself commented that Mir was the original master of verse.

Patta patta boota boota
(The buds and the leaves...)
haal hamara jaane hai (know of my misery!)

Jane na jane gul hi na jaane (Alas! Its only the flower that professes ignorance...)
baagh to saara jaane hai (while the whole garden is agog with tales of my pain)

Chaaragari bimaar ye dil ki (A remedy for this weak heart...)
Rasm-e-shahr-e-husn nahi (is not to be found in the city of beauty..)

Warna dilbar-e-nadaan bhi (Had it been so, even my ignorant dearest...)
is dard ka chaara jaane hai (could have calmed this agony of my self...)

The Doordarshan serial, Mirza Ghalib, had a charming rendition of this by Vinod Sehgal: