Jo shir-khar hain Hindostan ke laqht-e-jigar
Yeh ma ke doodh se likkha hai un ke siine par
Talab fuzool hai kante ki phool ke badle
Na lein bahisht bhi hum Home Rule ke badle
1 Written in 1917.
The Song of the Homeland
Brij Narain Chakbast
The land of Hind is higher in rank than the highest skies
All because of the light of hope brought forth by Home Rule1
This hopehas been nurtured by Mrs Besant2
I am a mendicant of this land and this is my song
It’s futile to wish for the thorn instead of the flower
We shall not accept even paradise instead of Home Rule
We shall bring the ashes of patriotic martyrs
And we shall wear it as surma in our eyes
We shall bear all manner of hardship for our poor Mother
And we shall give thimessage of fidelity to the people
It’s futile to wish for the thorn instead of the flower
We shall not accept even paradise instead of Home Rule
For us chains and fetters are like ornaments
Gandhi has worn them as a badge of commitment
We have understood that we have to endure suffering
But will only speak that which has to be said
It’s futile to wish for the thorn instead of the flower
We shall not accept even paradise instead of Home Rule
If those who wish to make us wear chains were to do so
We shall happily inhabit the cells of prison houses
And if the sentries at the prison gates were to fall asleep
We shall rouse them from slumber with our song
It’s futile to wish for the thorn instead of the flower
We shall not accept even paradise instead of Home Rule
The oblivious are pleased they have silenced our tongue
Let them see the blood racing through our veins
The heart’s anguish will remain a fellow traveller
And from our pyre this call will be heard
It’s futile to wish for the thorn instead of the flower
We shall not accept even paradise instead of Home Rule
This is the prayer of the broken and destitute of this homeland
And this is the passion of the toddlers and young alike
The leaders who are teaching us to die for our love
We swear by the white hair on their head
It’s futile to wish for the thorn instead of the flower
We shall not accept even paradise instead of Home Rule
This is the message of the koel in the garden
And the waters of the Ganga that flow ceaselessly
This is the news brought by the crescent of Eid
This is the call of the waters gushing down the Himalayas
It’s futile to wish for the thorn instead of the flower
We shall not accept even paradise instead of Home Rule
The nations that have settled their habitations on love
Have greater regard for their homeland than a wife’s love for her man
The infants of Hindustan who are her darling children
Have this written on their breasts with their mother’s milk
It’s futile to wish for the thorn instead of the flower
We shall not accept even paradise instead of Home Rule
1 Inspired by the Irish Home Rule Movement of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, several nationalist leaders banded together in 1916 under the leadership of Annie Besant to voice a demand for self-governance and obtain the status of a dominion within the British Empire as enjoyed by Australia, Canada, South Africa, New Zealand, and New Foundland at the time. While it enjoyed considerable popularity for some years, its growth and activity were stalled by the rise of Mahatma Gandhi, his satyagraha and Civil Disobedience Movement demanding complete independence.
2 British socialist, theosophist, women’s rights activist, writer and orator Annie Besant nee Wood (1847-1933) was an ardent supporter of Irish and Indian self-rule. In 1907, she became president of the Theosophical Society, Madras, and some years later, she joined the Indian National Congress. During the War years, echoing the Irish nationalist slogan, Besant had declared, ‘England’s need is India’s opportunity.’
Montagu Reforms1
Hasrat Mohani
Kis darja fareib se hai mamlu
Tajwees reform-e Montagu
Mashhoor zamana hai mussalam
Dastoor ke hisb-e zeil pahlu
Qanoon pe ikhtiyar kaamil
Amaal pe zor, zar pe qabu
Inn mein se jab na ho eik ki bhi
Gul hai reform mein kahin bu
Kaaghaz ke samjhiye phool inn ko
Jinn mein nahin naam ko bhi khushbu
Madras ke doctor ka yeh qaul
Kis darja hai dil pazeer o naiku
Maqsood hai sirf yeh ke taa-jung
Hum sab rahein sirf ai ‘tagapu’
Ai Hindi saada dil khabardar
Hargiz na chale tujh pe jadu
Kya paayega khaak phir jab inse
Iss waqt bhi kuchh na le saka tu
1 In the face of growing demand from Indians for the colonial government to provide greater autonomy and self-rule in return for the assistance India had rendered in the war effort, the British government agreed to introduce some reforms in a phased manner. Edwin Samuel Montagu, who became Secretary of State for India in June 1917, put before the British Cabinet a proposed statement regarding his intention to work towards the gradual development of free institutions in India with the ultimate view of self-governance. The reforms, known as the Montagu–Chelmsford Reforms or Mont-Ford Reforms, were named after Montagu and Lord Chelmsford, the Viceroy of India between 1916 and 1921.
Montagu Reforms
Hasrat Mohani
How replete with deception it is
This scheme of reform by Montagu
In the whole wide world it is known
That these aspects of the Constitution spell
Complete control over legislation
Force over actions, power over money
When there’s not even a whiff of these
In this flower of reform
Then consider them merely paper flowers
With not a trace of fragrance
The Doctor from Madras1 believes
How pleasing and good was this plan
To keep us busy till the end of the war
O simple people of Hind beware
Don’t let this spell work on you
If you couldn’t take anything from them2 now
You’re not likely to get anything at all
1 Dr S. Subramania Iyer (1842-1924) was an Indian lawyer, jurist and freedom fighter who, along with Annie Besant, founded the Home Rule Movement. He served as the first Indian Chief Justice of the Madras High Court before retiring in 1907. He wrote a letter to the American President Woodrow Wilson in 1917 seeking American intervention in gaining freedom for India from British rule.
2 Meaning the British.
Shikast-e Zindaan ka Khwaab
Josh Malihabadi
Kya Hind ka zindaan kaanp raha hai guunj rahi hain takbiren
Uktae hain shayad kuchh qaidi aur torh rahe hain zanjiren
Divaron ke niche aa aa kar yuun jama hue hain zindani
Sinon mein talatum bijli ka ankhon mein jhalakti shamshiren
Bhukon ki nazar mein bijli hai topon ke dahane thande hain
Taqdir ke lab ko jumbish hai dam torh rahi hain tadbiren
Ankhon mein gada ki surkhi hai be-noor hai chehra sultan ka
Takhrib ne parcham khola hai sajde mein parhi hain taamiren
Kya un ko khabar thhi zer-o-zabar rakhte thhe jo ruh-e-millat ko
Ublenge zamin se mar-e-siyah barsengi falak se shamshiren
Kya un ko khabar thhi sinon se jo khuun churaya karte thhe
Ik
roz isi be-rangi se jhalkeingi hazaron taswiren
Kya unko khabar thhi honton par jo quft lagaya karte thhe
Ik roze is khamoshi se tapkeingi dehakti taqrirein
Sambhlo ki woh zindaan guunj utha jhapto ki woh qaidi chhut gae
Uttho ki woh baithin diwaren daudo ki woh tuuti zanjiren
The Dream of a Defeated Prison
Josh Malihabadi
How the prison of Hind is trembling and the cries of God’s greatness are echoing
Perhaps some prisoners have got fed up and are breaking their chains
The prisoners have gathered beneath the walls of the prisons with
A storm of thunder in their breasts and swords reflected in the eyes
The hungry carry thunder in their glances and the maws of canons are cold
The lips of fate tremble and all strategies are proving to be useless
Eyes have the redness of a beggar’s and the Sultan’s face is pallid
Devastation has unfurled its flag and all magnificent edifices lie in prostration
Little did the keepers of the community know how topsy turvy the world would get
One day black serpents would spit forth from the land and swords would rain down from the skies
Little did those who stole blood from the breasts know
One day a thousand pictures would be revealed from this colourlessness
Little did those who put locks on their lips know
One day rousing speeches would drip down from this silence
Beware, for that prison is resounding, pounce for that prisoner has escaped
Rise for those walls have fallen, run for those chains have broken
From the Kulliyat1
Akbar Allahabadi
Cheezein woh hain jo banein Europe mein
Baat woh hai jo Pioneer mein chhapey
Europe mein hai jo jung ki quwwat barhi huwi
Lekin fuzoon hai uss se tijarat barhi huwi
Mumkin nahin laga sakein woh tope har jagah
Dekho magar Pears ka hai soap har jagah
1 This is a fragment from a long rambling poem in Akbar Allahabadi’s Kulliyat, Vol II, p.62-63.
A Fragment from the Collected Works
Akbar Allahabadi
Real goods are those that are made in Europe
Real matter is that which is printed in the Pioneer
Though Europe has great capability to do war
Greater still is her power to do business
They cannot install a canon everywhere
But the soap made by Pears is everywhere
Tasveer-e Dard1
Muhammad Iqbal
Rulata hai tira nazara ai Hindostan mujh ko
Ki ibrat-khez hai tera fasana sab fasanon mein
Diya rona mujhe aisa ki sab kuchh de diya goya
Likha khalk-e-azal ne mujh ko tere nauha-khvanon mein
Nishan-e-barg-e-gul tak bhi na chhod us baaġh mein gulchin
Tiri qismat se razm-araiyan hain baġhbanon mein
Chhupa kar astin mein bijliyan rakkhi hain gardun ne
Anadil baaġh ke ġhafil na baithen ashiyanon mein
Watan ki fikr kar nadan musibat aane vaali hai
Tiri barbadiyon ke mashvare hain asmanon mein
Zara dekh us ko jo kuchh ho raha hai hone vaala hai
Dhara kya hai bhala ahd-e-kuhan ki dastanon mein
Na samjhoge to mit jaoge ai Hindostan vaalo
Tumhari dastan tak bhi na hogi dastanon mein
1 This is an extract from the much longer poem of the same title.
A Picture of Pain
Muhammad Iqbal
The sight of you makes me cry, O Hindustan
For your tale is most admonishing among all tales
The tears you have given are all you have bequeathed
The pen of destiny has placed me among those who mourn you
O gardener do not leave even a trace of rose petals in this garden
By your misfortune preparations are afoot for war in many gardens
The sky has concealed many a thunderbolt in its sleeves
Let the nightingales in the garden not slumber in their nests
Worry for your homeland, O innocents, trouble is brewing
The portents of the disaster awaiting you are written in the skies
Look, watch what is happening, see what is about to happen
There’s nothing to be gained from the stories of past glories
If you still don’t understand you will be erased O people of Hindustan
Even your tales will be removed from the annals of world history
Angrezi Zehn ki Tezi
Ahmaq Phaphoondvi1
Kis tarah bapa hoon hungame aapas mein ho kyun kar khunaraizi
Hai khatam inhein schemon main angrezi zehn ki sab tezi
Ye qatl-o khoon ye jung-o jadal, ye zor-o sitam ye bajuz-o hasad
Baquii hii raheinge mulk mein sab, baqui hai agar raj angrezi
Gulzar-e-watan ik banjar hai ya khaak hai ab ya sar sar hai
Kya phool yahan aur kaise phool kya shadabi kya zarkhezi
Har su hai bapa hangama-e khoon, har simt hai dheir ik lashon ka
Ed Dyer O’ Dyer2 ke dam se qayam hai nishan-e changezi
Shuddhi3 hai kahin tableegh4 kahin naqoos kahin takbir5 kahin
Yeh beech na ho to mushkil hai dam bhar ke liye raj angrezi
1 His real name was Hakim Muhammad Mustafa Khan ‘Maddah’.
2 Sir Michael Francis O’Dwyer(18641940) was Lieutenant Governor of Punjab from 1912 to1919. Punjab was on the boil even before the Jallianwala Bagh massacre of 1919.
3 Shuddhi refers to the socio-political movement derived from the ancient rite of shuddhikaran or purification, started by the Arya Samaj, its founder Swami Dayanand Saraswati and his followers like Swami Shraddhanand. The latter also worked on sangathan or consolidation aspect of Hinduism, in North India, especially Punjab, from the early 1900s.
4 Tableegh refers to the practice of spreading the Islamic faith through proselytising.
5 Naara-e-Takbir refers to the call of Allah hu Akbar, meaning God is Great.
The Cleverness of the English Mind
Ahmaq Phaphoondvi
Look at the turmoil and the bloodshed among our people
This murder ’n mayhem, wars ’n battles, cruelties ’n malice
The country’s garden is barren, with nothing but dust and desolation
There are no flowers here nor any freshness or fertility
There is bloodshed in every direction and piles of corpses
Tyrants like Dyer and O’Dwyer rule in the manner of Changez
Shuddhi and Tableegh movements here, conch and calls there
Had these not been in our midst the British Rule would have been difficult
Azaadi ka Bigul
Zafar Ali Khan
Badli hai zamane ki hawa tum bhi badal jao
Haath aa nahi sakta hai waqt kya sambhal jao
Harkat magar is darja rahe khoon mein ke mausam
Gar baraf ke saanche mein bhi daale to pighal jaaye
Mehnat ke balaakhez samandar ke nahangon
Sarmaya ki machhli ko samocha hi nigal jao
Azadi-e kaamil ka alam haath mein le kar
Maidan mein bajate huwe imaan ka bigul jao
Bartania ki meiz se kuchh reze gire hain
Ai toadiyon chunne tum innhe peet ke bal jao
The Bugle of Freedom
Zafar Ali Khan
The world has changed, so must you
Beware, for the time past won’t return
But the heat and flow of your blood must be so
That it should melt even a mould of ice
The monsters in the calamitous sea of hard work
Should swallow up entirely the fish of wealth
Holding aloft the flag of complete freedom
Go forth playing the bugle of belief
Some crumbs have fallen from the table of Britannia
O Toadies, go crawling on your bellies to pick them
Shukriya Europe
Agha Hashar Kashmiri
Ai zameen-e Europe, ai muqraz-e pairahan nawaz
Ai hareef-e Asia, ai shola-e German nawaz
Chaara sazi teri buniyad afgan kashana hai
Tere dam se duniya aaj eik maatam khana hai
Aik hasrat za se chashm-e hurriyat namnak hai
Khoon chaka roodad aqwaam gareban chaak hai
Sirf tasneef-e sitam hai falsafa dani teri
Aadmiyat soz hai tehzeeb-e haiwani teri
Azmat-e daireena naala hai tere bartao se
Dhul gaya husn-e qadamat khoon ke chhirhkao se
Jalwagah shaukat-e mashriq ko soona kar diya
Jannat-e duniya ko dozakh ka namuna kar diya
Utth raha hai shor gham khakistar paamaal se
Keh raha hai Asia ro kar zaban-e haal se
Bar mazar-e ma ghariban ne chiraghe ne gule
Ne pare parwane sozo ne sada-e bulbule
Thank You Europe
Agha Hashar Kashmiri
O earth of Europe, O cherisher of outer raiments
O rival of Asia, O lover of the spark in the harvest
Your idea of healing is throwing out everything
Because of you the world is a place of mourning
The eyes of freedom are damp with the tears of longing
The tale is blood-drenched and people are destitute
Your philosophy is contained in your Book of Oppression
Humanity is the passion of your civilised barbarity
Ancient greatness laments your recent behaviour
Your old beauty has been washed away by splashes of blood
You have turned the dignified theatre of the east into a wilderness
You have turned heaven on earth into a model of hell
A shout is rising from the dust of the downtrodden
Asia is crying out and telling the world at large
On my poor grave there are neither lamps nor flowers