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FWP:
SETS == IDIOMS
MOTIFS
NAMES == FARHAD
TERMS == THEMEHere's another of the brilliant verses of Mir's divan. Because after all, there were two distinct points when the stone-cutter Farhad 'put his hand on the axe' preparatory to using it. The first one was when he originally undertook to dig the milk-channel for Shirin's bath; and the second one was when he used the same axe to split his head open, upon being told (falsely) that Shirin was dead. In either case, it would have been smarter for him to wait a bit, to pause and think it over, before picking up the axe. For in both cases, of course, he was being tricked and exploited, and his own desperate passion was being used against him by the cynical Khusrau.
Thus to say in the second line that he ought to have 'pulled out his under-a-stone hand' sounds wonderfully multivalent. It basically means that he ought to have withdrawn his (literal or implicit) promise to dig the milk-channel. For as Nazm observes, commenting on Ghalib's G{230,7}, 'At the time of making a vow and promise, they slap down one hand on another; and here, on the hand is a stone'. But it also sounds like a general act of going on strike: for a stone-cutter to remove his hand from the midst of the stone he is working on is part of the process of dropping his tools and leaving. And beyond that, does it perhaps also suggest that Farhad ought to have given up his crazy longing for Shirin?
The question also arises: is the hand in the first line the same as the hand in the second line? Are we to take them just metaphorically, or are we to imagine that he ought to have 'pulled his hand out from under a pile of stone' literally, by stopping his work, and then 'pulled his hand-- the same hand?-- out from under a stone' metaphorically, by refusing to wield the axe? The various literal and idiomatic senses of the 'hand under a stone' are so entangled here that it's impossible to say; the level of metaphoricalness keeps shifting on us, as the kaleidoscopic pleasures of the verse revolve.
Even so, SRF is right to say that Ghalib's verse is even more brilliant. But each poet's verse has its own characteristic kind of excellence. Mir has no equal in evoking the universality of the particular, the complexity of the (seemingly) simple. (I know, I know, that sounds like the usual meaningless verbiage; but I do mean it, and I try to justify my forays into abstraction with a thousand close readings.)
Note for grammar fans: In this ghazal, which has no refrain, the rhyme-words are all verbs in the contrafactual, a tense that (by definition) describes something that didn't happen. Depending on context, various attitudes toward the thing that didn't happen can be expressed or implied. Here the sense is of a vain longing: the full form would be prefaced by kaash kih (which is colloquially omitted, but shapes the reading).