TANSEN

Tansen, the singer, in great Akbar’s Court Won great renown; through the Badshahi Fort His voice rang like the sound of silver bells And Akbar ravished heard. The story tells How the King praised him, gave him many a gem, Called him chief jewel in his diadem. One day the singer sang the Song of Fire, The Deepak Râg, and burning like a pyre His body burst into consuming flame. To cure his burning heart a maiden came And sang Malhar, the song of water cold, Till health returned, and comfort as of old. “Mighty thy Teacher must be and divine,” Great Akbar said; “magic indeed is thine, Learnt at his feet.” Then happy Tansen bowed And said, “Beyond the world’s ignoble crowd, Scorning its wealth, remote and far-away He dwells within a cave of Himalay.” “Could I but see him once,” desired the King, “Sit at his feet awhile, and listening Hear his celestial song, I would deny My state and walk in robes of poverty.” Then said Tansen, “As you desire, Huzoor, Indeed ’twere better as a slave and poor To come; for he, lifted above the things Of earth, disdains to sing to earthly kings.” Long was the road, and Akbar as a slave Followed Tansen who rode towards the cave High in the mountains. At the singer’s feet They knelt and prayed with supplication sweet: “Towards thy shrine, lo, we have journeyed long, O Holy Master, bless us with thy song!” Then Ostad, won by their humility, Sang songs of peace and high felicity; The Malkous Raga all ecstatic rang Till birds and beasts, enchanted as he sang, Gathered to hear. O’er Akbar’s dreaming soul He felt the waves of heavenly rapture roll, But, as he turned to speak his words of praise, Ostad had vanished from his wondering gaze. “Tell me, Tansen, what theme this is that holds The soul enchanted, and the heart enfolds In high delight”; and, when he knew the name, “Tell me,” again he said, “could you the same Theme sing to lure my heart to paths untrod?” “Ah no, to thee I sing; he sings to God.” Inayat Khan.

The high ambition of the drop of rain Is to be merged in the unfettered sea; My sorrow when it passed all bounds of pain, Changing, became itself the remedy. Behold how great is my humility! Under your cruel yoke I suffered sore; Now I no longer feel thy tyranny, I hunger for the pain that then I bore. Why did the fragrance of the flowers outflow If not to breathe with benediction sweet Across her path? Why did the soft wind blow If not to kiss the ground before her feet? Ghalib.

How difficult is the thorny way of strife That man hath stumbled in since time began! And in the tangled business of this life How difficult to play the part of man! When she decrees there should exist no more My humble cottage, through its broken walls, And cruelly drifting in the open door, The frozen rain of desolation falls. O mad Desire, why dost thou flame and burn And bear my soul further and further yet To the Belovéd? Then, why dost thou turn To bitter disappointment and regret? Such light there gleams from the Belovéd’s face That every eye becomes her worshipper, And every mirror, looking on her grace, Desires to be the frame enclosing her. Unhappy lovers, slaves of cruel chance, In this grim place of slaughter strange indeed Your joy to see unveiled her haughty glance That flashes like the scimitar of Ede. When I had hardly drawn my latest breath, Pardon she asked for killing me. Alas! How soon repentance followed on my death, How quick her unavailing sorrow was! Ghalib.

Thy beauty flashes like a sword Serene and keen and merciless; But great as is thy cruelty, Even greater is thy loveliness. It is the gift of God to thee, This beauty rare and exquisite; Why dost thou hide it thus from me? I shall not steal nor sully it. And as thy beauty shines, in Heaven There climbs upon its path of fire The star that lights my rival’s way, And with it mounts his heart’s desire. Even in thy house is jealousy, Thy youth demands the lover’s praise Over thy beauty, which itself Is jealous of thy gracious ways. I died with joy when winningly I heard the Well-Beloved call— Zahir, where is my beauty gone? Thou must have robbed me after all. Zahir.

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 caravanserai 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.