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Naqsh faryaadi hai kiski shaukhi-e tehreer ka
Kagazi hai pairahan har paikar-e tasveer ka
Kaay-kaay-e-sakht-janeeha-e tanhai na poochh
Subha karna shaam ka lana hai juu-e-sheer ka
Jazbah-e-bey-ikhtiyaar-e shouk deykha chahiye
Sinah-e shamseer sey baahar hai dum shamsheer ka
Aagahee daam-e shunidan jis qadar chaahey bichhaaye
Mudad aa anka hai apney aalam-e takreer ka
Baski hoon Ghalib aseeri mein bhi aatish zer-e pa
Muu-e aatish-deedah hai halkah meri zanjeer ka.
Naqsh faryadi hai kis ki shokhi-e tahrir ka
kaghazi hai pairahan her paikar-e tasvir ka
Against whose playful writing are the words complainants?
Made of paper is the attire of the countenance of every image.
[naqsh: mark, word; faryadi: pleader, crier; shokh: playful, mischievous; kaghaz: paper; tahrlr. writing; pairahan: attire, clothes; paikar: face, countenance, figure, mould, model, form, portrait, likeliness, an idol-temple; tasvir: forming, fashioning, painting, limning, picture, image, effigy, likeness, sketch, drawing.]
This opening verse of Ghalib's Urdu ghazal divan is critical of God in a rather unusual manner—with an element of surprise! In it, Ghalib alludes to God's neglect and obliviousness towards us. "Whose mischief was it to create this Universe?" the first line asks in a rather perplexed manner. This would have been a straightforward ode to the Lord if in the first verse the poet had not raised the question, "who has done it?" but instead stated, "He did it." This would have been in line with the tradition of making the first verse an ode to the Lord. This is followed by a description of the sheer helplessness of humankind— all that is visible (or corporeal) in the Universe is clad in "paper dress," as if pleading or bowing before the Lord in awe. This construction of "pleading in paper attire" is drawn from an old Persian tradition in which the men would enter the courts of their kings wearing clothing made of paper in order to display their humility. In this sense, Ghalib implies that we stand before God in a similarly humbled (not humble) way. Another literary support to the construction of paper attire comes from the word "candidate," derived from Latin and means someone who is presenting his or her credentials wearing "white" attire.
In Ghalib's own words, this verse illustrates that the existence of man itself is the reason for his sorrow and despair. In the first line, Ghalib talks about the Universe as if it were a thoughtless creation, a careless stroke of a pen, an undesirable graffiti, wherein each "word" of that "graffiti" ponders the purpose for its creation. If the end were sorrow and grievance, then what was the need to create us? In the second line, Ghalib talks about everything in the Universe being "wrapped in paper". This draws a beautiful correlation between God's writing and God's creation of humanity — the humility of paper dress and the humility of the written word (i.e., our being) on the paper (i.e., this world) are in a sense synonymous. (Note: paper is also impermanent; writing on paper as opposed to carving on stone is displayed here as a source of its impermanence.) In the first line, there is a plea to know the cause for this injustice while the second line expresses the extreme insignificance of human existence. (In the Bible there is a famous quote that reads, "God's ways are not our ways", meaning, we cannot understand the sense of this senselessness, this suffering.) It is clear that this verse is more ironic than claiming man's position in the Universe; even while Ghalib questions, "who has done it," he leaves room for us to ponder that perhaps it was God?
kavkav-e sakht jani hai tanhai, na(h) puchh
subh karna sham ka, lana hai ju-e shir ka
Inquire not of my forebearance to the incessant hammering in the loneliness.
Turning night into day is like unearthing a channel of milk.
[kavkav: continuous beating of hard stone with a sharp object; sakht jani hai: ability to bear extreme agony—expressed as surviving the state of extreme commotion and agitation; ju-e shir: channel of milk. (Referring to the legendary lover farhad's digging the channel of milk out of the mountain for King Khusrao, as a condition of having his wife, Shirin. ]
The deeply inflicted pain of being away from the beloved, spending lonely nights without her, is no less formidable than digging out a channel of milk, as the legendary hero, Farhad did. The poet asserts that in the path of love, one has to be just as dedicated, tough, and forbearing. While Farhad did this only once, the poet suffers daily, belittling the efforts of the legendary lover and magnifying the pain of the nights of separation. Here, Ghalib compares the intensity of his passion and desire with the legendary lover, Farhad. In this way, he implies that the severity of his pain is on par with the intensity of the lover's. While the pain of Farhad's work was physical, the poet's agony is mental or spiritual in nature. In both instances, however, extreme resilience is needed to survive. Note how the poet makes a play on words using continuous tapping as if with a sharp object. It is almost like the mountain digger was digging, hardening the heart like a callous by the tapping.
jazb'a(h)-e be ikhtiar-e shauq dekha chahiye
sin'a(h)-e shamshir se bahar hai dam shamshir ka
Worth seeing is the spirit of my uncontrollable desire,
Causing the edge of the sword to unfurl from its sheath.
[dam: breath; dam-e shamshir: edge of sword.]
My desire to sacrifice myself is so intense that the sword edge has come out of its casing. The sword finds me so ripe for sacrifice that it cannot control itself to grant me my wish. The expulsion of breath further symbolizes an expression of extreme desire to act.
agahi dam-e shanidan jis qadar chdhe bichhae
muddaa unqa hai apne 'alam-e taqrir ka
No matter how awareness spreads its nets of hearing,
The meaning is the nonexistent bird in the style of my expression.
[agahi: awareness; dam: net; shanidan: to hear, listen, or attend to; muddaa: whatever is meant; unqa: legendary bird that does not exist (ala Unicorn). ]
No matter how hard one tries to understand Ghalib's verses, they shall remain unfathomable; trying to understand them is like catching a bird that does not exist. The net of reasoning and intelligence cannot catch my thoughts. Ghalib was oft blamed for adducing complex thoughts. He openly admits that it is difficult, even for a genius, to understand the true meaning of his verses.
baske hun Ghalib asiri men bhi atish zer pa
mue atish dida(h) hai halqa(h) meri zanjir ka
Whereas, even in bondage, there is fire under my feet, Ghalib,
The chains that bind me are merely curls of singed hair.
[baske: whereas; atish zer pa: impatient, cinders (fire) under feet; mue atish: heat-damaged hair (not burned), hair, singed, fragile; halqa(h): ring.]
O' Ghalib, even in bondage I am so impassioned that the links of the chain tying me down are like curls of singed, fragile hair. The complexity of the verse depends on "fire" and "singed hair." Having reached my ultimate desire of surrendering to you, I am impatient for the pain of suffering. The heat of my desire and passion has weakened the rings of the chain, allowing me imminent freedom to begin suffering this pain again. The images of fire beneath the feet (an illustration of impatience and passion) and the curls of damaged hair (not burned) so close to "fire" are remarkable. Impatience, bondage, chain-links, fire, singed hair — all parts of a very complex visualization. The personality of the lover who does not long for bondage, who is a free soul, is eloquently expressed here.
By Mirza Ghalib
Translated by: Dr Sarfaraz K. Niazi
