S. R. Faruqi:

We have already seen a theme similar to this one in

{97,2},

but there the metaphor is of weeping. Mus'hafi too has well versified the rhyme-word āshiyāñ ; his theme too resembles Mir's:

nālah kartī hai jis ghaṛī bulbul
shuʿlah ik āshiyāñ se uṭhtā hai

[at the hour when the Nightingale laments
a single flame rises from the nest]

But in the first line of the present verse the insha'iyah structure has created a dramatic intensity. Compared to it, Mus'hafi's first line seems colorless.

To give for the voice the simile of a flame is a famous theme of our poetry:

G{149,2},

and Momin:

us ġhairat-e nāhīd kī har tān hai dīpak
shuʿlah-sā chamak jāʾe hai āvāz to dekho

[every tone of that envy of Venus is in [the raga] Dipak,
look at her voice-- it glows like a flame]

and Siraj Aurangabadi:

rishtah-e āh-e ātishīñ hai sirāj
mujh ko har rāt shuʿlah bānī hai

[there's the thread of fiery sighs, Siraj
every night, I do flame-weaving]

Even in the presence of such powerful verses, Mir's present verse stands out as exceptional, because in it is an abundance of both 'mood' and meaning.

It seems that the theme of the shuʿlah-e āvāz has been developed by the Hindustanis (or by the 'Sabk-i Hindi' poets). In [the dictionary] bahār-e ʿajam , as a 'warrant' for shuʿlah-e āvāz , [Persian] verses by Muhsin Tasir, Ghani Kashmiri, and Sa'ib have been noted. That is, there are no verses by any sabk-i ṣafāhānī or purely Iranian poet (such as Sa'di, Hafiz, Jami). Ghani's verse is so beautiful that although it is very different in theme from Mir's verse, it must be noted here:

'Through the gurgling of the flame of the voice, my gathering is illumined,
Cupbearer, I sacrice myself for you-- don't silence the candle of the wineglass!'

In bahār-e ʿajam (and probably through imitation, in the urdū luġhat tārīḳhī uṣūl par ), the meaning of shuʿlah-e āvāz has been given as 'a burning voice that would have an affect on hearts'. It's clear that the Urdu poets have not restricted the phrase to this meaning. In the verses of Mir, Momin, and Ghalib-- all three-- the meaning of shuʿlah-e āvāz is, more than the burningness of the voice, its intensity, its artistic mastery, and its power and force.

Janab 'Abd ul-Rashid has directed my attention to a verse of Vali's, in which the meaning expressed in bahār-e ʿajam and urdū luġhat is supported:

dard-mandoñ kūñ sivā hai qaul-e mut̤rib dil-navāz
garmī-e afsurdah-t̤abʿāñ shuʿlah-e āvāz hai

[to the sympathetic ones, the words of a singer are more heart-caressing
the heat of those with sad/cool temperaments is the flame of the voice]

Along with this supremely excellent verse, he also directed my attention to verses by Sauda and Yaqin that support the meaning that I have described. Sauda:

kīje nah asīrī meñ agar ẓabt̤ nafas ko
de āg abhī shuʿlah-e āvāz qafas ko

[if in captivity restraint of breath would not be done
the flame of the voice would at once set fire to the cage]

Yaqin:

nahīñ to thāmtī us shuʿlah-e āvāz ko apne
kabhū jal jāʾeñge nā-ḥaq tire bāl-o-par ai qumrī

[if you don't restrain that flame of the voice of yours
sometime, unnecessarily, your wings and feathers will burn, oh Ring-dove]

In my view, the construction 'flame of the voice' would have been inspired in Urdu and Persian poets by the Dipak raga.

In Mir's verse, because of the word bhī the implication is established that the flame of the voice had set fire to other places; now the house too has begun to burn. In the second line, the word kuchh has made possible several meanings: (1) something like smoke; (2) a little bit of smoke; (3) it seems as though smoke is rising from the nest. It's a peerless verse.

FWP:

SETS
MOTIFS == HOME
NAMES == NIGHTINGALE
TERMS == 'SABK-I HINDI'; THEME

In this verse, who is the speaker? It could be a Nightingale, cautioning himself about the power of his own voice as he sees his nest begin to smolder. Or rather, he's cautioning the 'flame of the voice' itself, as though it could be an independent agent. The speaker could also be any bystander who notices the first wisp of smoke and hastens to sound an alarm.

Presumably we're not to imagine a caged bird, far from the garden, inadvertently setting fire to his own nest by remote control. Rather, it seems clear from SRF's examples that the 'flame of the voice' acts like any flame, and starts a fire in or near its place of origin. So we need to think of a Nightingale in the garden, in or near its own nest, singing out his fiery longing for the rose.

SRF guesses that the fire-associated musical raga 'Dipaka' would probably have been what first generated the idea of the 'flame of the voice'. Platts' Dictionary reports the idea that singing in that raga causes fire to break out (see the definition above), and Momin's verse cited above makes the association explicit. Not surprisingly, Tansen has a role to play: 'Among the legends about Tansen are stories of his bringing down the rains with Raga Megh Malhar and lighting lamps by performing raga Deepak', according to Wikipedia. Here is a more extreme modern folk version of such a legend, from a website called Exotic Indian Art:

'As the flame of fire is the body of a ‘dipaka’ – lamp, fire is the body and inherent attribute of Raga Dipaka.... As the tradition has it, once Akbar forced him [=Tansen] to give a performance under the discipline of Dipaka Raga. Indeed a challenging job. Tansen descended into the waters of Yamuna and began singing. As soon as the notes began ascending, corresponding to the rise of pitch the waters of Yamuna began boiling. Unable to withstand the heat that the intensity of the Raga generated Tansen threw off his clothes and nude and semi-unconscious he whirled like an insect caught in a fire. A repentant Akbar saw all this but could not help it. Right then a young maiden, an accomplished musician otherwise, happened to come. She performed Raga Megh-Malhar which brought torrential rains, the heat was subdued and Tansen’s body was finally cooled.'

For a beautiful Ghalibian (and very different) use of the 'flame of the voice', see:

G{147,1}.