Of the many languages of India, Urdu (Hindustani) is the most widely known, especially in Upper India. Both as a written and a spoken language it has a reputation throughout Asia for elegance and expressiveness. Until the time of Muhammad Shah, Indian poetry was written in Persian. But that monarch, who mounted the throne of Delhi in 1719, greatly desired to make Urdu the vogue, and under his patronage and approval, Hatim, one of his ministers, and Wali of the Deccan, wrote Diwans in Urdu. This patronage of poets was continued by his successors, and exists indeed to the present day; and the cultivation of Urdu poetry has always been encouraged at the many Courts of India. Some of the Indian Rulers are themselves poets, and find their duty and pleasure in rewarding with gifts and pensions the literary men whose works they admire. The Court of Hyderabad has for long had a circle of poets: the late Nizam was himself eminent as a writer of verse. The Maharaja-Gaekwar of Baroda is a generous patron of literary men, and the present Rulers of lesser States such as Patiala, Nabha, Tonk, and Rampur, are deeply interested in the cultivation of poetry in their Dominions.
In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries many towns in India had extensive and flourishing literary coteries, and it is from the poets Of that period that this handful of verses is gathered. The Mushaira - a poetical concourse, wherein rival poets meet to try their skill in a tournament of verse - is still an institution in India. Delhi, Agra, Lucknow, Lahore, Cawnpore, Allahabad, Benares, Calcutta, and Hyderabad, have all been, and some still are, nests of singing birds. Of the extent of Urdu literature some idea may be gained from the fact that a History of it written about 1870 gives the names of some three thousand authors, and that Tazkiras or anthologies containing selections from many poets are very numerous.
The poetry is very varied and of great interest. It includes moral verses and counsels, sometimes in intermingled verse and prose; heroic poems telling the old tales of the loves of Khusru and Shirin, of Yusuf and Zuleika, of Majnun and Leila, and the romances of chivalry; elegies on the deaths of Hasan and Hussein, and of various monarchs; devotional poems in praise of Muhammad and the Imams; eulogies of the reigning Ruler or other patron or protector of the poor; satires upon men and institutions, sometimes upon Nature herself, specially upon such phenomena as heat, cold, inundations and pestilence; descriptive verse relating to the seasons and the months, the flowers and the trees. Above all there is a great wealth of love poetry, both secular and mystic, where, in impassioned ghazals or odes, the union of man with God is celebrated under various allegories, as the bee and the lotus, the nightingale and the rose, the moth and the flame.
AMIR
I
Thou, Sorrow, wilt keep and wilt cherish the memory of me
Long after my death,
For thou dwelt at my heart, and my blood nourished thee,
Thou wert warmed by my breath.
My heart has disgraced me by clamour and wailing for years
And tossing in pain,
Mine eyes lost their honour by shedding these torrents of tears
Like fast-falling rain.
O Wind of Disaster, destroy not the home of my heart
With the blasts of thine ire,
For there I have kindled to burn in a chamber apart
My Lamp of Desire.
II
Had I control o'er her, the dear Tormentor,
Then might I rest;
I cannot govern her, nor can I master
The heart within my breast.
I cast myself upon the ground in anguish
Wounded and sore,
Yet longed to have two hearts that she might pierce them,
That I might suffer more.
Utterly from her heart hath she erased me,
No marks remain,
So there shall be no grave from which my ashes
May greet her steps again.
O cruel One, when once your glances smote me,
Why turn your head?
It were more merciful to let their arrows
Pierce me and strike me dead.
No tomb, Amir, could give my dust oblivion,
No rest was there:
And when they told her I had died of sorrow,
She did not know - nor care.
III
This Life is less than shadows; if thou yearn
To know and find the God thou worshippest,
From all the varying shows of being turn
To that true Life which is unmanifest.
Beware, O travellers, dangerous is Life's Way
With lures that call, illusion that deceives,
For set to snare the voyagers that stray
Are fortresses of robbers, lairs of thieves.
The seer's eyes look on the cup of wine
And say - We need no more thy drunkenness;
An exaltation that is more divine,
Another inspiration, we possess.
O praise not peacock youth; it flits away
And leaves us but the ashes of regret,
A disappointed heart, a memory,
An empty foolish pride that lingers yet.
Upon the path, Amir, we journey far,
Weary the road where mankind wandereth;
O tell me, does it lead through Life's bazar,
Or is it the dread gate and house of Death?
IV
Here can my heart no longer rest;
It tells my happy destiny,
Towards Medina lies my quest,
The Holy Prophet summons me.
I should not marvel if for flight
Upon my shoulders wings should start,
My body is so gay and light
With this new gladness in my heart.
My weary patience nears its end;
Unresting heart, that yearns and loves,
Convey me far to meet my friend
Within Medina's garden groves.
My spirit shall not faint nor tire,
Although by many tender bands
My country holds me, I desire
The journey through the desert sands.
By day and night forever now
I burn in Love's hot furnace breath,
Although there gather on my brow
The cold and heavy sweats of death.
And ever in my home in Hind
At dawn's first light, at evenfall,
I hear upon the desert wind
The Prophet of Arabia call.
V
The light is in mine eyes,
Within my heart I feel Thy joy arise,
From gate to inmost shrine
This palace of my soul is utterly Thine.
O longing seeking eyes,
He comes to you in many a varied guise,
If Him you cannot find
The shame be yours, O eyes that are so blind.
I as His mirror glow
Bearing His image in my heart, and know
That glowing clear in His
The image of my heart reflected is.
O drink the Wine of Love,
And in the Assembly of Enlightened move,
Let not the darkness dim
Fall like a curtain 'twixt thy soul and Him.
Who gives away his soul
Forgets his petty self and wins the whole,
Losing himself outright
He finds himself in the Eternal Light.
Crazy art thou, Amir,
To wait before His gate in hope and fear;
For never in thy pain
Shall He yield up thy ravished heart again.
VI
How can I dare profess
I am the lover whom Thou dost prefer!
Thou art the essence of all loveliness,
And I Thy very humblest worshipper.
Upon the Judgment Day
So sweet Thy mercy shall to sinners prove,
That envying them even the Saints shall say -
Would we were sinners thus to know Thy love!
When in the quest for Thee
The heart shall seek among the pious throng,
Thy voice shall call - If Thou desirest me
Among the sinners I have dwelt for long.
At the great Reckoning
Mighty the wicked who before Thy throne
Shall come for judgment; little can I bring,
No store of good nor evil deeds I own.
Among the thorns am I
A thorn, among the roses am a rose,
Friend among friends in love and amity,
Foe among foes.
VII
I shall not try to flee the sword of Death,
Nor fearing it a watchful vigil keep,
It will be nothing but a sigh, a breath,
A turning on the other side to sleep.
Through all the close entanglements of earth
My spirit shaking off its bonds shall fare
And pass, and rise in new unfettered birth,
Escaping from this labyrinth of care.
Within the mortal caravan-serai
No rest and no abiding place I know,
I linger here for but a fleeting day,
And at the morrow's summoning I go.
What are these bonds that try to shackle me?
Through all their intricate chains my way I find,
I travel like a wandering melody
That floats untamed, untaken, on the wind.
From an unsympathetic world I flee
To you, your love and fellowship I crave,
O Singers dead, Sauda and Mushafi,
I lay my song as tribute on your grave.
AMIR: Amir Minai of Rampur or Munshi Ameer Ahmad Minai (1828 - 1900 ) one of the best poets of the latest period: a great mystical poet: his Qasidahs for Muhammad are sung by devotees: Court poet of Rampur: travelled to Mecca and Medina, and, after the death of his patron, Nawab Kalbe Ali Khan, came to Hyderabad on hearing of the Nizam's fame and interest in poetry: rival of Dagh, by whose side he lies buried in Hyderabad.
