شکوہ

Why should I be destructive and remain reckless of betterment? Think not of the future; remain occupied in today’s problems? Should I hear nightingale’s wails, and remain completely silent? O companion! Am I some flower so that I may remain silent? The strength of my poetry is encouraging to me. Woe be to me! My remonstrance is against God!

It is true that we are famous in the methods of obeisance; but we are relating our story of pain out of compulsion. Though a silent orchestra, we are full of complaint; if the wailing comes to lips we are excusable. O God! Listen to the remonstrance also from the faithful; listen to some complaint also from the one accustomed to praise you.

Though Thy Eternal Essence had existed since eternity; the flower existed in the garden but fragrance had not dispersed. Justice is a condition, O Lord of Universal Benevolence; how could flower’s fragrance spread if zephyr did not exist? This problem’s solution was the source of satisfaction to us; otherwise was the Holy Prophet’s ummah insane?

The scene of Thy world was strange before us; stones were adored somewhere, trees were worshipped somewhere. The eyes of man were accustomed to tangible forms. How could they be amenable to accept the Unseen God? Doth Thou know who ever told Thy beads? The strength of the Muslim’s arm completed Thy task!

Saljuqs were living here and the Turanis also; The Chinese in China and in Iran the Sasanis also. The Greeks were also living in the same habitation; in the same world were the Jews and the Christians also But who raised the sword in Thy name? Who reclaimed the despoiled world in Thy name?

We alone were the marshals of Thy troops! We were fighting now on land and now in the oceans. Some times we were calling adhans in the Europe’s cathedrals; and sometimes in the scorching African deserts. We never cared for the grandeur of monarchs; we recited the Kalimah under the shade of swords.

If we lived we lived for the calamities of wars; if we died we died for the grandeur of Thy name. We did not wield the sword for our kingdoms; did we roam about the world fearlessly for wealth? If our nation had been greedy of worldly wealth; why would we have been idol breakers instead of idol sellers (This alludes to Sultan Mahmood of Ghazni and his very favourite slave, Ayaz)?

Once firmly standing in the battle we were immovable; even lions in the battle against us would be in flight. We were enraged if some one rebelled against Thee; not to talk of sword we were fighting against canons. We impressed Tawhid’s picture on every heart; we conveyed this message even under the dagger.

Tell us Thou, by whom was uprooted the gate of Khaibar; by whom was conquered the city which was Qaisar’s? By whom were the images of created gods destroyed? By whom were the armies of infidels slaughtered? By whom was the fire temple of Iran extinguished? By whom was the story of Yazd’an restored to life?

Which nation did become Thy seeker exclusively? And became embroiled in wars’ calamities for Thee? Whose world-conquering sword did world-ruler become? By whose Takbir did Thy world enlightened become? Through whose fear idols did perpetually remain alarmed? Falling on their faces saying ‘Huwa Allah O Ahad

If the time of prayer right during the battle fell, Hijaz’ nation in prostration facing the Ka’abah fell. Both Mahmud and Ayaz in the same row stood; none as the slave and none as the master stood. The slave and the master, the poor and the rich all became one! On arrival in Thy Audience all were reduced to one!

We continuously wandered all over the world; we wandered like the wine-cup with Tawhid’s wine. We wandered with Thy Message in the mountains, in the deserts; and doth Thou know whether we ever returned unsuccessful? What of the deserts! We did not spare even oceans! We galloped our horses in the dark ocean!

We effaced falsehood from the earth’s surface: We freed the human race from bonds of slavery. We filled Thy Ka’bah with our foreheads; we put Thy Qura’an to our hearts. Still Thou complaineth that we are lacking fealty; if we are lacking fealty Thou also art not generous.

There are other ummahs, among them are sinners also; there are modest people and arrogant ones also. Among them are slothful, indolent as well as clever people; there are also hundreds who are disgusted with Thy name. Thy Graces descend on the other people’s abodes; lightning strikes only the poor Muslims’ abodes.

The idols in temples say ‘the Muslims are gone’; they are glad that the Ka’bah’s sentinels are gone. From the world’s stage the Hudi singers are gone; they, with the Qura’an in their arm pits, are gone. Infidelity is mocking, hast Thou some feeling or not? Dost Thou have any regard for Thy own Tawhid or not?

We do not complain that their treasures are full; who are not in possession of even basic social graces. Outrageous that, infidels are rewarded with Houris and palaces; and the poor Muslims are placated with only promise of Houris. We have been deprived of the former graces and favors; what is the matter, we are deprived of the former honors?

Why is the material wealth rare among Muslims? Thy omnipotence is boundless and inestimable. With Thy Will the desert’s bosom would produce bubbles; the desert’s rambler can be facing flood of mirage’s waves. Others’ sarcasm, disgrace and poverty is our lot; is abjection the reward for loving Thee?

Now, this world is the lover of others; for us it is only an imaginary world. We have departed, others have taken over the world; do not complain now that devoid of Tawhid has become the world. We live with the object of spreading Thy fame in the world; can the wine-cup exist if the cup-bearer does not live?

Thy assemblage is gone, and Thy lovers are also gone; the night’s sighs and the dawn’s wailings are gone. They had loved Thee, they are gone with their rewards; they had hardly settled down and they were turned out. The Lovers came but with tomorrow’s promise were sent away; now seek them with Thy beautiful face’s lamp every way!

Lailah’s pathos is the same, and Qais’ bosom is the same; in the Najd’s wilderness and mountains the deer’s running is the same. The Love’s heart is the same, the Beauty’s magic is the same; the Ummah of the Holy Prophet is the same, Thou art the same. Why then this displeasure without reason is? Why then this displeasure for Thy Lovers is?

Did we forsake Thee, did we forsake the Arabian Holy Prophet? Did we adopt idol sculpture, did we idol breaking forsake? Did we forsake Love, and did we forsake the madness of Love? Did we forsake the customs of Salman and Uwais of Qura’an (R.A.)? We have the Takbir’s fire suppressed in our hearts; we are living the life of Bilal the Negro!

Granted that Love has lost its former elegance also; we may have lost treading the path of Love also. We may have lost the restless heart like the compass also; and we may have lost the observance of fidelity’s rules also. Thou art changing friendship between us and others; it is difficult to say but Thou art also unfaithful!

Thou perfected the Din on the peak of Faran; Thou captivated the hearts of thousands in a moment. Thou consumed the produce of Love with fire; Thou burned the congregation with Thy face’s fire. Why are not our breasts filled with Love’s sparks now? We are the same Lovers, dost Thou not remember now?

The noise of Lovers’ chains in the Najd’s Valley has disappeared; Qais has no more remained longing for the litter’s sight. Those old ambitions, we, as well as the heart have disappeared; the house is destroyed as Thou art not present in the house. O that happy day when Thou with elegance will come back; when Thou unveiled to our congregation will come back.

Others are sitting at the stream bank in the rose garden; listening to the cuckoo’s call with wine-cup in their hand. In the garden on a side far from the riotous crowd are sitting: Thy lovers are also patiently wanting for a Hoo! Again endow Thy moths with longing for burning themselves; give the command for consumption in Love to the old lightning.

The wandering nation is riding again towards Hijaz; the taste of flight has carried the unfledged nightingale. The fragrance of humility is restless in every flower bud; just start the music, orchestra is seeking the plectrum. Songs are restless to come out of the strings; Toor is impatient for burning in the same fire.

Make easy the difficulties of the blessed Ummah; place the poor ant shoulder to shoulder to Sulaiman. Make the invaluable produce of Love accessible again; change the idolatrous Muslims of India into Muslims again. A stream of blood drips from the frustrations mine; wailing palpitates in the wounded breast of mine!

اب توہمارے دل سے آرزووَں اور تمناؤں کا لہو بہہ نکلا ہے اور نشتروں بھرے سینے میں نالے بیتاب ہو رہے ہیں ۔

The rose’ fragrance took garden’s secret outside the garden; outrageous that flowers themselves are informers against the garden. The spring is over, broken is the orchestra of the garden; flown away from branches are the songsters of the garden. Only a nightingale is left which is singing still; in its breast overflows the flood of songs still.

Turtle-doves from the juniper’s branches are gone also; flower petals dropping from the flower are scattered also. The garden’s old beautiful walk-ways are gone also; the branches became bare of the cover of leaves also. But his nature remained free of the season’s restrictions; would somebody in the garden understand his complaint!

There is no pleasure in dying and no taste in living is; if there is any pleasure it in bearing this affliction is. Many a virtue is restless in my mirror! Many an effulgence is fluttering in my breast! But there is none in this garden to see them; there are no poppies with Love’s stain on their breasts.

May hearts open up with the song of this lonely nightingale; may the sleeping hearts wake up with this very Bang-i-Dara. May the hearts come to life again with a new covenant; may the hearts be thirsty again for this same old wine. My alembic may be from Ajam, but my wine is from Hijaz; the song may be Indian but my tune is from Hijaz.