Ghazal 72, Verse 5

{72,5}*

dahan-e sher meñ jā baiṭhiye lekin ai dil
nah khaṛe hūjiye ḳhūbān-e dil-āzār ke pās

1) please go and sit in the mouth of a tiger but, oh Heart,
2) please don't stand near heart-tormenting lovely ones!

Notes:

hūjiye is the irregular polite future imperative for honā (GRAMMAR)

 

āzār : 'Sickness, disorder, disease, infirmity; trouble, affliction; injury, outrage'. (Platts p.45)

Nazm:

'To sit' and 'to stand' have the pleasure of opposition. (75)

== Nazm page 75

Bekhud Dihlavi:

He says, oh heart, to become a morsel for a tiger's mouth is much better than to fix your heart on some heart-tormenting beloved. (121)

Shadan:

If it were like this, it would be better: [a reworking of the verse using intimate imperatives].... Use of the honorific form of address for the heart doesn't appeal. (236)

FWP:

SETS

Who says Ghalib can't be simple, when he wants to be simple? Here's a verse that anybody would be hard put not to understand at once.

As Nazm observes, the opposition between the sitting and the standing is a source of pleasure in itself. But we should consider it a little more deeply, for the opposition is carefully developed. The heart is invited to 'sit'-- comfortably, informally, at ease-- right 'in' the tiger's mouth. But by contrast, it is urged not even to 'stand'-- humbly, fearfully, formally-- anywhere even 'near' the cruel beloveds.

Shadan's rewritings of Ghalib are usually notable, but this one is not very interesting, since it's only a change of verb-forms and a little padding. Shadan doesn't like the idea of a polite address, rather than an intimate one, to the heart. But surely the formality of the polite imperatives gives a sense of cautious handling, elaborate care. At all costs the heart mustn't be offended-- the lover is too afraid of what it might do! Advice can be given only diffidently, with a great show of courtesy and respect.

Note for grammar fans: hūjiye is an irregular polite form of honā ; for the irregular familiar form hūjo , see {190,6}. It's like kījiye from karnā , only more understandable since the root ends in a vowel (and indeed kījiye is nowadays often replaced by kariye ). Why then do we never hear hūjiye ? Because instead there's ho jānā , once just a compound form of honā but now virtually an independent verb that means 'to become'. So in modern speech now we'd hear ho jāʾiye (and similarly, ho jāʾo instead of hūjo ). The same constant compounding applies to sonā , and for the same reason (that is, the clumsy-sounding vowel ending of the root; nowadays it's always so jānā instead.

 

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