Majaz The Urdu Poet ~ 01

event type	writings
date & time	1940s--50s?
location	unknown
language	Hindi
see also	timeline : Osho Timeline ~ year unknown
online text

notes

Title of event is taken from published English translation in Sw Ageh Bharti's book Beloved Osho, ch 7. The original Hindi title is unknown.

synopsis

This is the English translation as presented in 'Beloved Osho (2012) pp. 115 - 120 :

7. Majaz - The Urdu Poet

(Who is in the Mad House today)

I do not know Urdu but Urdu songs and Urdu poetry cause a flutter, a storm, in my breath. My introduction with Urdu poets is through Hindi only but I have a feeling of appreciation and love for them and my endeavor always is to have an access to their voice through their poetry. Once, during a night journey one of my friends recited a few lines from Majaz's poetry and it was here that my introduction with that great poet began. In spite of myself I have not been able to forget those lines-they still echo in my heart. To the youth of the country, Majaz said:

"Your youth is the treasure and the trust of entire world,

Sow the seeds of roses where there are thorns.

Every one has sucked the blood of the poor,

O youth, you produce wine from the blood of the rich.

Even if you suffer bloodshed,

Have no laments.

From this soil, let the roses blossom;

Bring about the revolution now,

Do not wait for others to bring it".

After going through this, Majaz started getting into my veins, my head, and my heart. His unforgetable lines were always on my lips. I do not quite remember how, why and when I would hum his poems - in the dead of night, on the road and anywhere. Gradually, I found that I was getting intoxicated. I have not seen him personally but I can vividly see him through his songs in my mind's eye.

"The heart is illumined by the presence of the beloved,

They pretend to be drunk

But it is not wine - it is poison, they have taken.

They wish to turn every thorn into a bud

But the irony is they themselves nurture a thorn in their heart"

I started liking Majaz more and more and by and by I started forgetting that I had not even seen him I And, when the other day I visited the 'Gujarati library' I was suddenly taken aback. There was an article in "Naya Samaj" that bore the news that Majaz had gone off his mind- mad! My vision dimmed and the bookshelves became invisible to me.... All the words and letters got jumbled up before the eyes and I found that I could remember only these four words: "Majaz has gone mad". I got up and came out. I felt that someone very close to me, very dear to me is in the prison-cell of Ranchi.

My eyes were moist with tears and I found myself shedding silent tears. For long many hours the sound of my own footwear was audible on the lonely roads where a passer - by would rarely ever cross the path. My physical body walked on the silent path in a state of slumber but I found my soul wandering around that unknown, imprisoned being behind the bars in an asylum in Ranchi.

The words "Majaz has gone mad" kept echoing repeatedly in my heart and then I remembered that I had not been able even to have a sight of that frail and frolic - loving poet. Then, would I go to Ranchi to see the mad poet? No, no. I refuse to accept him as an insane being. I will surely go to see him when he gets well. Majaz is a revolutionary poet. The country beckons him to come forward and fill the horizon with his impassioned songs:

"My heart is burning

And tongue is tied,

How shall I tell you what capitalism is?

It is that storm on the path of whose strong wind

Is the hut of the poor.

It is that lightening in whose path is the farmer's crops,

It sucks the blood out of the body

Of the field-worker!

In its hands, it carries the lamp of etiquette

Nevertheless, such cunningness is itself the sucker of human blood!

It is more dangerous than death itself,

It robs the innocents on the way,

And sings the holy songs in the holy places!"

* * * * *

"Always it sucks the blood from the bones

And rides on the chariot,

The Society screames

When it turns the side,

Congratulation friends! Its cup is full now,

Raise the storm

Foundation of the house is weak".

The full name of Majaz is Israrulhaq 'Majaz'. The collection of his poems has been published under title 'Aahang', the poet has introduced himself thus:

"What is life?

It is the sin of the first man

And since there is life

I am a defaulter"

* * * * *

"I hate atheism

And am angry at religion too;

I am a pouncing fire

I am a sword in action!"

* * * * *

In his voice can be heard the vigor of the fire, the passion of a storm and he tries to delineate them all together in his songs. Majaz is the poet of the gust of the nation. He had bid the British whose white lips were crimson with their blood to quit this poverty-ridden land.

"O intruders! Now run away

There's no way left,

The death is hovering over your head,

Your pockets are full of gold coins,

But the pockets of this nation are empty,

It is befitting to leave away,

Look! A vessel is puffing ashore!"

Not that Majaz's life was bereft of passionate moments of love. In his heart also there swings colorful picture of some one...However; he has been suppressing his desires in the helplessness and constraints of the country. His breath also had been maddened by the soft trinkets and when Beauty itself was eager to manifest itself, what else could he do?

"The passion of a lover

is bad named, in vain,

The Beauty itself is eager

To manifest."

And, he felt drawn towards an unknown power losing control over his feelings and was submerged in its magic world. He desired to reach his beloved; the gusts of storms and tempests could not restrain him; yet when he failed to reach her, his songs found flow in these words:

"Neither the storms

Nor the tempests can stop me,

Yet I fail to reach the abode of my beloved"

* * * * *

"In the state of forgetfulness

Her name touches my lips,

If you ask who my beloved is

I cannot tell;

I am so helpless

That I find myself incapable of sending

Even a message to my beloved,

As the attendants of the harem

Have created boundaries

Which is hard to cross without being an offender".

* * * * *

Who is his ladylove? The poet is silent on this but if you ask him what she is like, he breaks his silence and pours his thoughts somewhat like this :

"Top to bottom, head to heel,

She is frail, gracious and delicate;

She is my life, my religion, my paradise."

The poet is convinced that none would know where his love is. She is his own paradise and none has an access to that haven of bliss. Whenever he has felt depressed, he has sunk into oceans of dejection, and drowned with the feelings of unfathomable, overwhelming sadness, her love has always given him solace, courage and immense peace. The poet writes:

"My love has been faithful

And has tested my faithfulness,

. She gave me her love

And I have been the light of her eyes."

* * * * *

"Whenever my love has discerned shreds of anxiety on

my face

She gave solace to my soul

And cleared my worries"

* * * * *

"No one is capable enough to trace her,

And none can approach her inaccessible place of living"

When his (Majaz's) beautiful poems haunt me I get lost into them. But then, when I am awakened to reality, the thought that Majaz is behind the bars far away in a prison- house in Ranchi, I feel saddened. I hear the sound of his voice and my silent eyes wander in search of the day when he would return to be with us and bestow light by his luminous songs to our darkened souls.

I am convinced he will return and give light to us. It is true that Majaz will not be with those who have lost sanity, for thousands of people are waiting for his passionate songs. He shall return with doubled vigor; he is bound to come and once again his voice shall echo in every nook and corner of the country with pride.