5 Renditions of Faiz Ahmed Faiz Lamenting Our Fragile State
Politics and death work in strange ways. They contain possibilities of sowing seeds of years of distrust and animosity, but they can also erase boundaries and merge memories at a moment’s snap.
After the barbaric killing of schoolchildren in Peshawar’s Army Public School, and between the gory photos, painfully detailed reports, #IndianwithPakistan and the swaying of people’s emotions, Pakistani writer Mirza Wahid shared an extract from Mohammad Hanif’s article on BBC Pakistan’s website on his Facebook profile. Hitherto the Shares on the social media have outdone it’s Likes on that post. You know what that means. Though a few preferred to disagree, the veracity of Hanif’s statement could hardly be doubted.
In a scathing attack on the frail governance, the writer demanded the killings shouldn’t be mourned by the state. “Pakistan’s political and military leadership is requested not to worry about the children’s afterlife. When they raise their hands in prayer, they should pray for their own forgiveness. And they should look at their own hands closely, lest they be stained with blood.”
It’s no secret that Pakistan’s government is a sham. The fundamentalism that resulted in the Peshawar disaster goes back to times as early as that of Liaquat Ali Khan. This isn’t to say that those who had allowed the seeds to grow had foreseen the future. But fundamentalism is also a political tool that provides heavy dividends to its master, at least till it’s fully grown; then it turns its head, overpowers and destroys, because it is run by no clear motive.
But hold on for a minute, you who are pointing fingers at “a failed state” and laughing. You who think you are better off. You who think at least this isn’t happening to you. What’s the “at least”? What makes a mishap complete for you? How many must die for killings to be recognised, to be considered shameful? But oh, as a Wislawa Szymborska poem would say, “History counts its skeletons in round numbers.” A 141 can be rounded to 150? Okay, neither mine nor yours, 140 it is. Done? Or we will forget this. Two people killed? No big deal.
“A thousand and one remains a thousand,
as though the one had never existed:
an imaginary embryo, an empty cradle,
an ABC never read…”
In the world of the dead and deluded, Fernando Pessoa once said, “Only poets and philosophers see the world as it really is, for only to them is it given to live without illusions.”
Our beloved poet Faiz Ahmed Faiz, who has often been called “Pakistan’s unofficial Poet Laureate”, had seen the cracks on the buildings of our fragile nations, and often in lyrics, poetry and other writings of his the despair came alive.
Here are five of Faiz’s compositions read and sung by various singers and readers. As the lament continues and grows we wonder if the clock is ticking, at all.
1. In August 1947, a day before and a day after each other when India and Pakistan celebrated its independence, the wheels of freedom had to run over corpses, leaving behind stains of blood that won’t go away. In words that could act as a counter-point to Jawahar Lal Nehru’s celebratory “Tryst with Destiny”, Faiz wrote “Subh-e-Aazaadi” (Freedom’s Dawn) that begins with:
Ye daagh daagh ujaalaa, ye shab-gaziida sahar,
Vo intizaar thaa jis-kaa, ye vo sahar to nahiin,
Ye vo sahar to nahiin jis-kii aarzu lekar
Chale the yaar ke mil-ja`egi kahiin na kahin
These tarnished rays, this night-smudged light–
This is not that Dawn for which, ravished with freedom,
we had set out in sheer longing,
so sure that somewhere in its desert the sky harboured
a final haven for the stars, and we would find it.
We had no doubt that night’s vagrant wave would stray towards the shore
that the heart rocked with sorrow would at last reach its port.
(In Agha Shahid Ali’s translation.)
And ended it by saying, “Chale-chalo ke vo manzil abhii nahiin aa’ii”. Come on, keep going, the destination hasn’t arrived yet.
In Pakistani film actor Zia Mohyeddin soulful voice
2. “Hum Dekhenge” (We Will See) was written by Faiz in protest against Zia ul Haq’s dictatorial government and forced rule following the ousting of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto. Zia’s right wing conservative outlook was in exact contrast to the poet’s leftist ideals.
The song entered folklore when Iqbal Bano sang it in front of a huge gathering at the Lahore auditorium, and amid chants of Inquilab Zindabad. Bano’s performance was a show of resistance against the radical “Islamicization” of Zia. As a sign of protest she sang wearing a black sari, an attire that was supposedly banned by the government.
3. “Tujhko Kitno Ka Lahu chahiye ae Arz-e-Watan” (Blood of how many do you want, my dear nation) is the poet questioning his land how many more sacrifices it desires to be pleased. The poignant lyrics often seem like they are questioning the ideals of nationalism itself.
Here’s the song in Tina Saini’s beautiful voice:
4. An interesting entry would be the recently jazzed up video made out of Faiz’s powerful poem “Kuttay”. Faiz uses Kuttay (dogs) as a metaphor, comparing them to the common men who struggle with their lives every day, who are capable but can be so easily duped and made to fight between themselves.
Jo bigrain to ik dusray se larra do
Zara aik roti ka tukra dikha do
The poem ends with a plea to make these people aware of their shame by moving their sleeping tails.
Koi in ko ehsas-e-zillat dila de
Koi in ki soi hui dum hila de
Here’s a video from last year directed by Nigel Xavier with vocals from Tabish Javed.
5. Although there are various versions of “Intisaab” by much acclaimed singers, including the fabulous original by Nayyara Noor, this rendition by Ammar Rashid of Pakistan’s Awami Worker’s Party contains a certain kind of insufferable pain.
It grows on you.
Zard Patton Kaa Ban Jo Meraa Des Hai
Dard Kaa Anjuman Jo Meraa Des Hai
Kilarkon Kii Afasurdaa Jaanon Ke Naam
Kirm_Khurdaa Dilon Aur Zabaanon Ke Naam
Post-Mainon Ke Naam
Tangewaalon Ke Naam
Rel_Baanon Ke Naam
Kaarakhaanon Ke Bhole Jiyaalon Ke Naam
Dedicated to these times, and the sorrow of these times.
The pain of today, that is set against the plentiful garden of life.
The forest of dead leaves, that is my land.
The collection of pain that is my land.
Dedicated to the gloomy lives of clerks
Moth eaten hearts and words.
Dedicated to the postmen
Dedicated to the coachmen
Dedicated to the railway workers
Dedicated to the innocent beings in the factories.
(In Raza Rumi’s translation.)
But in our lives as interludes between disasters, if we are to survive perhaps it is necessary that we sing along with the poet, and hope:
Dil Na-Ummeed Toh Nahi, Na-Kaam Hi Toh Hai
Lambi Hai Gham Ki Shaam, Magar Shaam Hi To Hai
(The heart hasn’t lost its hopes, it is just not capable of doing
Though the night is long, it is still just a night).