[Reader-list] Rasul Mir-The poet of Bubbling Love,by Dr.R L Bhat

[rashneek kher]

* *  Tha-rah tha-rah chham ma-rah sha-yad
 shar meh ji-gu-rook drav-nai
 Khosh yi-von nunda-bon, ve-si-yae
*  Myon dil-bar aav nai
**

I am all ashake, I may die/my heart's wish has seen no fulfillment/that
lovely, pleasing, my heart throb/he hasn't come, ah Dear!*

Rasul Mir, that skilled decanter of love, has a raging controversy shrouding
his age. The local traditions recorded in 1940's of by Ab Ahad Azad, spoke
of a death in his prime. Folk history has it that, Mahmood Gani predicted
his youthful death (Amis Chhi jan-h-margi handi koder). His poetry, its
fervent youthfulness, its vibrant tenor, its tone of hearty yearning, its
pristine emotions, all point to a poet, untouched by the cares of decaying
age. Rasul Mir was said to have been alive in 1855 AD when Mahmood Gani
passed away and died a few years before-Maqbool Shah Kralawari (d.1874).
Accordingly his demise was reckoned between 1867-1870). Rasul Mir was thus
said to have lived between 1820s and 1870s. Mr. Teng in his Kuliyati Rasul
Mir, refers to a document, in revenue records at Anantnag, which bears the
signature of Rasul Mir, as Nambardar and is dated 5th of April 1889. On this
basis, Rasool may have lived into the last decade of 19th century.That is as
close to factual certainity as researches have gotten to.

For the rest, there is his poetic legacy, and, ah again oral traditions.
Oral traditions say, Rasul Mir was tall, handsome fair complexioned person,
and sported moustaches that tapered far into the face. He was graceful,
fashionable fellow, with a youthful heart that throbbed with love, love, and
lots of love.*
  Yi chho Rasul Mir Shahabad Doo-rey
 Tami chho trov-mut lo-la du-kaan
 Yi-vu aash-qow che-vu tor-re tor-rey
 Mai chho moor-rey la-la-vun naar.**
**

This is Rasul Mir, at Shahabad, Doru. He has opened a love-kiosk. Come ye
lovers, drink free cup. Love's fire burns me deep
*

Love, is the waft and whoop, the craft and creed of Rasul Mir(He lived love,
sang love, and lives for his love-ful passion). Love, the first strings of
human heart that present the whole universe as an undulating poem. Love is
the creed, beloved is the god and lyrics rush forth in bubbling streams to
worship the deity. Singing, sighing and singing again they cascade over the
expanses of life, in undating it in its fervor.*
  Ze-h posha tu-l-i maeni aashq-a mas-jid
 husn imam ta-th
 Tsa-ae bae-ng-i shu-baan mokh-ta-e da-ae
 Ch-e-i yous-faen-i chae-lee**
**

My Loves' mosque, is an edifice of just two petals, Love is the preist
there, Ye pearly one art the caller there, Ye, who hath the Yousef's grace.
Mir's beloved is grace personi fied Zeh posha tu-l (two petals, mere) the
being of his, object of love, is characteristic of Rasul Mir's' dainty love.
*

Love, flowers, passion and fragrance, the eternal inciters of life and
beauty, are a recurring motiff in his poetry.*
  Posha mal chham posh-a tu-l dda-ae lo-lo
 Rinda posh-a-mal gin-da-ney dra-yi lo-lo*
*

My beloved (Posh-a-mal) is but two and a half petals; lo, the gay love goes
out to frolic.**

Ga-ts-ta ve-si-yeh an-tan asta lo-lo
He-ai mai kaer-i-mus poshan dasta lo-lo
*

*Go ye my friend, fetch my lover here, A Jasmine, I have woven garlands for
him**

Veer-nag-h ba nae-rai aa-ga-yey
Achwal-ki posh shae-re la-ga-yey
Vach-a-manz-a-lis ma-nz rachh-a-th dachh. mooriyey
Va-lai kastur-re-yey, paer mai tra-v neer-i-yey
**

Veer-nag, I'll go to usher thee,/Thy brow I'll deck in flowers of
Acha-bal/Yeh, vine I'll twins thee to my breast/come ye kasturi, don't roam
the meadows free*

The weaving green of vast meadows, the dancing hues of wild flowers, the
crystal springs singing their purity out, the free birds singing ditties to
the air: Kashmir is land that is made for love, passion, a life lived
through the heart. It is a wonder that this land had to mouth through
painful centuries of love-less self-denials, monastic seclusion, dark
corners of incisive introspection which is called the path of realization,
or sufism.

The Kashmiri literature, (as much of it as is available) opens with Lalla.
Lalleshwari was a saint, who saw the world as a beast's burden. Lalla lived
in the turbulence that was the beginning of Muslim Rule in Kashmir. Nund
Reshi followed her, in her footsteps, in a slightly different direction, he
was a preacher, who preached the new religion and won converts. His was a
Muslim enthusiast living with Buddhist monastic principles, with the zeal of
early Buddhist proselytizers, with similar end and results. That was the
14th century, the first Muslim century of Kashmir. Love, was an abhorrence.
Faith was all, the beginning, the continuance, the end of life. Except for
the interregnum of Buddh-shah, the reigns were harsh 'Jehads', against the
populace or rival lords. Life was a persecution, living a hard duty, if not
a curse. The language, the idiom, the thought and idea all were being
transformed to correspond to alien ideals. It was a turbulence where you
held your body in two hands, and heart kept pumping frantically under
sweeping waves of adrenaline induced by terror. Poetry if any, was a
recluse, hidden behind drab walls. Else, it was employed to trans-create
Persian fables into heavy persionised Kashmiri for the benefit of converts
to firm them in their new faith. Heart was out, for hearts sing free.
Kashmir lay in double bonds. The fanatic zealots were out to stifles any
free cries. The despots were prowling to cage gay voices.

It took two centuries to breed Habba Khatoon. Habba was swiftly carried to
the chak palace. Akbar's taking over released her from there, to sing over
the saffron fields of Pompor, yearning for her lover, who could not have
been Yousef Shahi Chak. A century after Habba came Mahmood Gani. Gani was
prolific, too prolific. He introduced Kashmiri to Persian verse-form Ghazal,
in a heavily Persianised tongue. Be times he took whole verses from Persian
masters and re-laid them with a Kashmiri interjection here, a connective
there, a pronoun at other places. Still, he wrote some memorable prices. And
he wrote a lot. From masnavi, to gazals, to dainty Kashmiri vatchun, on to
pieces dipped in Sofi lore, Gani, lived to be ninety and filled a thick
Kuliyat. The one published by Cultural Academy runs to 560 pages, of closely
written script!

Gani was a gifted poet, a master versifier, in love with Persian. His
bequeath was distilled by Rasul Mir, who loved with heart, lived with heart,
and sang from a love-ful heart. To a notority'*

Rasul yud-vy gun-cha laban
pailth teh-h chhok badnaam
Kho-sh ro-z aashaq kar tse
Naa farmaan dapan chhi.
**

Rasul, even though you are infamous for your love of tulip lips, be happy,
for seldom do the lovers complain of thy in-attention*

Love was the task to which Rasul applied himself with abandon. Love, and
beloved, a total world, with neither time nor space for the mundane.*

Mae-nzi nam-nae van-d-sai bo
Ha-tt-i Koi rath tor-ri lo-lo
Sarva ka-math kam-deev myon
Ja-ma chhis ka-for-ri lo-lo
Zar vanaan ehho-ee Rasul Mir
doori shah-baad ddoore lo-lo
**

For her hennaed naib I'll give, pot-fuls of blood from under my throat, that
tall beloved of mine, is attired in robes of scent Rasul. Mir is crying his
heart, away, far in Dooru, oh love**

Tanha chon-e dar zulf girf-taar myonui dil
Dar halqa yo-hai sil-sil-h
don aal-man aa-mai
**

My heart is not the love one, caged in that love/This is way, the path
through which, not one but two worlds've gone**

Chhus koba hus-nuk roae,
abroo taq bar taq
Dar ra-hi aashq sajda ra-va
don bu-mun aa-mai
**

That face is the kaaba of beauty, her lashes layered over and over. In the
path of love, it is meet to bow to those two brows**

Gul ro-ae ra-tah-hath na-la
dev dilas tselem daag
Rasul-h tse rus khar mae bar
farsh-i suman aamai
**

Ye tulip faced, thee I'd hold, by neck to heal my pain/sans thee, Rasul the
flower bed, is a thorny seat for me**

Kama-kus ja-ma-h paerith che-ti-yey
Sheeri lae-gith gul-i a-naar
Veeri ta-san-zi nae-r-e mati-mati-yey
Vanta la-ti-ye, tas mae-ni jar.
**

White are the robes, my Kamdev wears. His brow is adorned in flowers red,
His path, I'd take in drunken stupor, go, tell my love of my pangs**

Nae-li sho-bee ta-sa var-dan,
bae-li Khorda sae-li-yey
Vae-li kan chie zaeli waen-kan
saeli vodd-ni tac-li-yey-lo
**

Bride's robes, would suit thee well, Ye, my beloved of short years/Thy
braids of hair, thy ear rings/peep from beneath the gossamer cover**

Yae-ri laa-gov maeri man-zi
zaar boj-tai hen-zi-yey
Nae-ri san-zi-yey mae-lh vuchh-ney
pher-vai. Tel-baeliyey-lo
**

Come let us be friends, ye lovely beauty, listen to my laments, oh Henzi,
come to see the mela and, we shall roam through Telbal)*

The object of Rasul's love is said to have been a Hindu belle of his
village. Tales of their having gone to the same mak-tab, and fallen in love
have been woven. His poems of love, will yield a thousand tales of prolicy
dalliance and passionate love, with little effort. Probably, such soul-full
poetry is not possible without a passionate love. You have only to read
Mahmood Gani, to know the bubbling heart in Rasul Mir's lyrics. Henzi-yani,
Hindu girl, is an unmistakable refrain in Rasul Mir's Poems.*

Raza hen-zi-ya-ni naaz kyah anzni gardan
Ya illa-hi chesma bad-a nishi rachh-tan
Ga-tsi kam kyah cha-ni baar-ga-hi lo-lo
Rinda poshamal gindi-ney dra-yi lo-lo
**

How graceful the swans neck of henziyani looks, spare her from evil eyes, my
Lord, Thy bounty, that won't lessen, O God, Lo, the love goes on a frolicly
outing*

Whether the love was reciprocated or not is lost, like the details of Rasul
Mir's life, in the depths of past lost to us. It is also not clear whether
the mentions would point to a specific person or an idealization of female
beauty in the form of a Hindu-maiden (God lenons, they are beauty itself)
Raza Henz-yan, passes into Kongi, into Poshmal, Soundermal, Padmaeni,
Kostouri, Kongi Padmani, take the primal place, for full lyric 'Kongi*

haav-tai paan.
Bo veer-na-gai he-mai za-gai
La-gai mot gaer zaan
Pooli to cheena-gund kya drengi,
Kongi haa tai paan.
**

I'll look for you at Veernag, in the garb of an unknown mendicent, at Pooli,
cheeni-gund, Drengi. Give me a glimpse, Kongi*

This is a virtual topographical map of the area, where Rasul Mir lived. The
compiler of Q. Kulyati Rasul Mir has avered that Poshmaal too is a probable
name of the Henziyaen. Rightly so. And so are Sondermaal, Kastour, Padmaan,
Shama, which repeatedly occur in his verses.*

Gul zun bae tse-nai jama tse-ttith
nae-rh ba-ba-zaar
Padmaeni aa-shaq chh-us tse pa-th
bad-naam niga-ro
**

Like a tulip, my robe I'll rent, and come forth; O Padmani, I'm thy loved,
infamed by my love**

Madno Padmaani mo dim dalai
Mad-h chhas az to tai ada-h no var
Aadan ba-jey va-da na dda-lai-h
Hain-tse-i-h ko-tah tsa-l-h bo
**

My love, spurn not this Padmani, now for another occasion is not meet. My
primal mate, my word I won't break. How much shall I bear, ye pretender**

Dil nith mae jaanus ma zaag
Shama Soundri paa-mun mai laag
Ram-nae-gr-i tsaar-thai veer nag
**

My heart you've taken, trap not my body, O beautiful Shama, expose me not
to..... I look for you at Veernag through Ram Nagri*

Of course, all these proper nouns can be interpreted in adjectival sense,
which every name in reality is Shama Sundri, can be dusky, Soundri,
beautiful Shama, or a dusky beauty. And that point needs be made about,
about Rasul Mir. For Rasul Mir is a poet of love, a poet par excellance even
without any enchanting tales appended to him. He lives his heart out in
love-ful lyrics, weaving patterns of beauty in the nunees of emale form and
adornments, wringing out a resonance from every listening heart.*

Tse yi-vaan roshe chhok-na-t-h
ho-she dda-la-yo madno
Be-h rivaan sor-ma chesman
sor-m-h chha-lae-yo madno.
**

You stay away, my angry love, and here I sink from senses dear; My tears
flow and wash all kajal from my eyes dear**

Me-hn eu-than tso-r-ri dil, mas-toor-i
kor-tham hoo-ri k-soor
Bad-nus soor ma-lai, door
tse-la-yo madno
Kha-ttith see-nus-andar
na-lae ra-ttith Shama Sunder
Jama zan sar-va-ka-dus
paan va-lae-yo mad-no.
**

My heart you stole, and left me a maiden. With a blot in Ashes I'll smear
myself and wander away,dear

Thee I'll hold by neck, and squeuster away in heart like robe I'll cling**

Mot gom yaar farzana vesi-yey
Kot gom tee kar ba zan-h vesiyay
Pan-ai chho Yousef pa-nai zu-lai-kh-ah
Panus chho aashaq paa-nai vesi-yey
**

My wise lover is enchanted; whence gone, how'd I know' He is Yousef, himself
is Zulaikhah; a lover he is undo his self, my dear.*

Rasul Mir's object of love, is an idealization rooted in the world of
sights, smells and tastes. His flowery aspect is as enticing as the exuded
fragrance is invigorating.*

He t-h masval, bai yimberzal,
bar-r-h gai tse kun v-e-e-chhaan
Chesm-h si-yah ro-kh vo-zae-lee
Jam-h che-ti-yey latiyey
**

Jasmine, Iris narcissus too, looking at thee have withered away/Thine eyes
are black, face is red and robes are of the whitest hue**

Aash-q-h tab s-o-n bhargi la-lus,
yaam hae-vi-th man-zi num
Aar-h-val chh-ey la-lae-na-vaan
Na-ra-ta-li-yey lati-yey
**

Loves fire bored into the poppy, the moment they he-nnaed hands it saw. The
wild rose is nursing its boils from burning, dear*

The beloved is seen in a floral mien, or else as an ethereal beauty
fashioned of the most sublime things around. It is a portraiture that'd
brook no reservation for love, because it is formed of a bubbling love,
seeking an end and fulfillment in form. Beauty reaches divinity as it
progresses to perfection.*

Aash-q-h pae-chaan chho-e arg-vanun manz
Ka-teh-h zoon zan don shah-maar-unmanz
Naq-shi chee-nus zu-naar nachli-ye lo
Bosh hus-nuk ro-zi na kae-li-ye lo.
**

Like an Ivy caught in violets, a full moon trapped by pythons two; or a
beauty of China wearing the sacred thread**

Gum-h shab-num gul ro-kh-us
Zan chhi arq daa-n-h tus
Zooni pai-tth taa-ru-kh pa-kaan
*

*Kari ro-gun dur-dan.*
*

Like dew on a flower, are the drops of sweat on her face, or else
starswalking over moon, that my high-necked love**

Vuch aafta-bun chon tsan-dan mokh
te dolus rang
Gae-j Katch-h ta-vuy zoon chhus sar-saam nigaa-ro.
**

The sun spied thy...Chandan face, and lost color/the moon there upon has
been jaded and looks pale**

Kad chon alif, laam zulf, meem da-hn chhoe
Por akli sabaq shakli alif laam ni-gaa-ro.
**

You are talllike alif, thy locks are long like laam, and thy mouth is meem
itself; from thy form came all knowledge, in shape of alif-laam*

Some where these heady portraits of the lover and beloved mingle into one
whole. Kashmiri Gazal, says Abdul Ahad Azad, is a female seeking the lover,
who is male. In Persian from where Kashmiri gazal derives its inspiration,
the object of love is a male sought by a male singer. In Rasul Mir, the
singer changes from woman to man, the poems, and the elements of female
beauty get mixed with distinctly male attributes producing a bivalent image.
Azad calls it a defect of conception. This defected concept,' runs in the
Kashmiri gazals from Mahmood to Gani to Mahjoor. It certainly mars a
distinctive characteristic of Kashmiri gazals, that set it apart from
Persian and its offspring Urdu gazal. This trait has been preserved in
female poetesses alone, like Habba and Arnimaal where there is no confusion.
Rasul also gets into the gazal a boldness that is characteristically
masculine. Thus:*

gom ha-n-kli, dr-s-h go-m b-rai
Ts-us gom va-li-nja yaar ma aam
Tae-mi door see-n-h tai mae da-ri na-rey
Van-tai vesi-yey konai aam
**

The (door-) chain clanged the door was pushed  my heart leapt, was my lover
come' His chest he proffered and I my arms. Tell my friend, why didn';t he
come**

Zae-li dda-bi be-hi-mai ki-n-h rang-h la-rey
vo-th ve-s-e yaa-rus prae-ng voth-rar
Kai-n-h nai mang-sai shong-sai la-rey
Van-tai vesi-yey kon-ai aam
**

Would he grace in the balcony, or sit in the painted room' Arise, my friend,
spread his bed. I ask for little, but to lay be his side. Tell, my friend
why didn't he come**

Chum kha-f-h laa-rai pa-ta-h
la-yey bron-ttha na-lus thaf
Da-maa-n-h ra-tt-ai ma-h-sha-rai
baal ma-ra-yo
**

He is angry, him I'll chase, by collor I'll catch hold of him/on dooms day,
I'll hold thee by thy robe; without thee, here I die*

It is a practice in Kashmir, for every poet even a singer, to have a
spiritual preceptor, a peer. Rasul Mir is said to have had any peers. Rasul
Mir sported majestic moustaches, which went tapering across the lip ending
in a flowish. Some devotees, it is said, raised some religious objection to
Rasul Mir's moustaches 'well ask him on the morrow' said the peer. At night,
the devotees, it is said, saw in their dreams the peer himself with similar
moustaches. Tuswof, does not alloy Rasul Mir's' poetry, Unless, of course,
you twist and tear it out of context and 'discover' 'hidden meanings'. But
Rasul Mir is an ardent lover, and on that plane, love becomes devotion,
godhead.

*

Rasul chho zae-nith deen-o-maz-hab
rokh te zulf chon
Koh zani kya gov kufur to
Islam niga-ro
**

Rasuls, knows thy locks and looks is a fine faith.How'd he know what is
kufur, and what Islam, dear*

That is Rasul Mir bold beautiful poet of exquisite love. Singer of fervent
lyrics. The breath of vibrant air, that sent its freshness over cobwebs of
cloistered verses. Almost single handedly, he turned Kashmiri poetry into a
bubbling love, gushing forth helplessly, sincerely, fervently. As it should
in a vale of beauty*

Zae-li vae-nkan bae-li yeli lagi shu-maar
Pachh lag-nus gae-nz-ra-nus lachh tai hazaar
Ami Sha-yi no mok-lan pa-yi lo-lo
Rind-a posh-maal ginda-ney dra-yi lo-lo
**

When count is taken of thy braids, lacs of fortnights it'll take. Once begun
there is no escape from there. Lo, the gay love goes out to frolic*

Poetry is, needlessly, harangued by analysis and postmortems, split as under
to gorge out philosophies, burdened with the weights of duty and messages.
Poetry is a communion of hearts. Pure andsimple with or without the appeals
and advocacy's, philosophies or campaigns. There reigns Rasul Mir Supreme
unmatched. A master singer of heart*

Ruslan ta-a-zh kitaab,
yi vaen-nai cha-ni ga-mai
Ani kus taa-b-i jawab
chav mey jam-i ja-mai
**

This new volume Rasul has sung in thy pang, who' dare to rebut come,hand me
another cup'.*


-- 
Rashneek Kher
http://www.nietzschereborn.blogspot.com