1746_09

S. R. Faruqi:

Here the word muʿāriẓ is interesting because Mir had used it about fifty years earlier, in a very martial tone. From In the first divan [{585,7}]:

is fan meñ koʾī be-tah kyā ho mirā maʿāriẓ
avval to maiñ sanad hūñ phir yih mirī zabāñ hai

[in this art, how would any depth-less person be my competitor?
first, I am a 'warrant'; then, there's this language of mine]

The thought can't be avoided-- in the present verse, is there not any hidden sarcasm? It seems not, but nothing can be put past Mir.

The image of burning a wound on the liver Mir has also used elsewhere. From the fourth divan [{1510,6}]:

rang muḥabbat ke haiñ kitne koʾī tumheñ ḳhvush āʾegā
ḳhūn karoge yā dil ko yā dāġh-e jigar jalāʾoge

[how many styles of love there are! -- if someone would please you
you will either turn your heart to blood, or set alight the wound in your liver]

From the fifth divan [{1747,5}]:

nafʿa kabhū dekhā nahīñ ham ne aise ḳharch uṭhāne par
dil ke gudāz se lohū roʾe dāġh jigar pah jalāʾe bhī

[we never saw profit from undertaking such an expenditure
from the melting of the heart, we wept blood; we even/also set alight the wound on the liver]

The image only of a burning lamp, Mir has used at various places, for example

{1320,2},

{1807x,1},

{456,8}.

Keeping in view these verses, it becomes even more difficult to say that in the present verse there will be a sarcastic aspect as well. Now let's consider those aspects that our view has been able to reach.

In the first line ġharīb means 'helpless', and also has the sense of 'stranger'. 'Mir' is a single unknown traveler, who has no one to care about his situation. Thus even if anyone would pay attention to him, then it would be contemptuously-- that is, to interrogate him: 'Who are you? What are you doing here?' and so on.

The root of muʿāriẓ is ʿarẓ , which has many meanings: 'to present', 'to come before', 'to confront' are there of course. (From this latter came the sense of 'enemy, rival'.) But it also means 'mountain, foothills'. In this sense the affinity with 'valley' is obvious. Thus for someone's muʿāriẓ to be in a vādī has its own pleasure. For a muʿāriẓ to be in a vādī is not plausible.

Thus to the speaker the town/city itself seems to be so desolate and panic-inducing that he calls it a vādī ; or else he is in some corner of the town/city that is situated in the foothills. The first possibility seems stronger. But the speaker considers himself to be so alone in the world that it's as if he would be in a corner of some valley. Or again, by 'valley' might be meant the 'valley of life' or the 'valley of passion'. In any case, the condition of 'Mir' is that of someone who is a stranger and helpless.

Support for this helplessness is found in the second line, for Mir has no equipment for light, hustle and bustle, activity. He has only a flickering/dying kind of lamp that is burning on the wound in his liver. For the wound in the liver to be radiant/alight like a lamp is comprehensible. But for a lamp to be lit on top of the wound in the liver-- this means that the wound in the liver too is extinguished and dead, and the dim kind of lamp that Mir has lit acts as a final/funeral lamp for that extinguished, dead wound in the liver.

There's also the possibility that the prose might be, un ne jigar pah ek diyā sā bujhtā dāġh jalāyā hai . Since Mir has often used the idiom dāġh jalānā (for example, in

{1650,2}),

the meaning that he has lit a wound on the liver cannot be declared erroneous, but it is as dim as a flickering/dying lamp. Thus, what's the need to be an adversary of such a helpless man?

The complexity of image upon image, and the inclination of their effect, are worthy of praise. Now the character of 'Mir' comes before us as that of someone in whom all the inner fire has already been extinguished, and the memorial of that fire is a single wound in the liver, the heat and glow of which have already begun to dim. The memorial of this wound is a single flickering lamp which we can call the broken existence of 'Mir' himself.

This is among those verses of Mir's in which the darvesh-like dignity, the pride at one's brokenness, the finding of a way to keep one's head high even in failure, are not present. Rather, there is a light touch of regret/pity for oneself, a sorrow at the waste of one's inner fire. Even here, the personality has not been routed, but before the world there's also not a steadfast holding of ground. Instead, there's a longing to remain lost in oneself, and not to confront the outer world. In this verse the fatigue of old age makes itself heard.

{1746,9}

Notes:

S. R. Faruqi:

FWP: