FWP:
SETS
== A,B; LIST
JIGAR: {2,1}
Here is one of the most irresistibly discussable of all verses. It's as inshaa))iyah as possible, with no verbs at all in the first line (so that it becomes one of his 'list' verses, a group analyzed in {4,4}), and with an interrogative second line.
The first line is dominated by two birds. The Ring-dove is (since we basically have to assume a copulative construction) a kaf -- either a 'palm[-ful]' or a 'froth, foam' (see the definition above)-- of ashes; and the Nightingale is a 'cage of color'. This line is arresting, compelling. Even before we're allowed (after the mushairah-performance delay) to hear the second line, we can't possibly refrain from playing with and enjoying the first one. The Ring-dove is a handful or 'palmful' of ashes because he's a small, unobtrusive bird of a grey, ashy color; he's also a 'froth' or 'foam' of ashes because a handful of ashes would indeed be slithery and ungraspable like froth or foam. Similarly, the Nightingale is a 'cage of color' because he too is basically a small, drab-colored bird who contains within his inconspicuous body the invisible, potent 'color' of his famous song. (For another vision of a 'cage of color and scent', see {347x,7}.)
Then, as so often, the second line starts completely afresh in grammar and imagery; such 'A,B' verses allow (and require) us to decide for ourselves what kind of connection there is between the two lines. Here are some possible ways we might perceive, by the powers of implication, answers to the question in the second line:
=The birds' drab bodies have been 'burnt' (and
thus 'marked') by the fire of their burning, suffering, livers.
=The birds' exquisite voices have been generated (and thus
'marked') by their burning, suffering livers.
=The birds' livers have been 'burnt' (and thus 'marked') by the
fire of their melancholy laments.
=The birds' drab bodies conceal the passion of their burning
livers-- a passion which is revealed and 'marked' only in their
song.
=Unlike the birds, who live and sing in their passion, the
lover is dying from the 'mark' or effects of a burnt-out liver.
=Unlike the birds, who still have livers, the lover in his
passion has burnt away his own liver until it can no longer be
detected by any 'mark'.
=The speaker/lover doesn't know what the 'mark' is, and is
brooding about it and addressing his thoughts to 'Lament'.
Why the address to 'Lament'? Perhaps because it's the common factor between the experiences of the bird and the lover. Perhaps because by its very nature it's both a symptom and (in the ghazal world) a disease. 'Lament' seems a particularly suitable entity-- suggesting as it does both a semantic content and a process-- to receive a meditation on the nature of passion, suffering, drab bodies, melancholy songs, and burnt-out livers.
Moreover, this verse is one that Ghalib himself, in a famous anecdote, 'explained' to his pupil and biographer Hali (see Hali's account above). When I first read this anecdote, I was inclined to agree with the plaintive (or exasperated?) 'person' quoted by Hali. What could be more in-your-face arrogant than arbitrarily redefining common words, and giving the reader no way at all to figure out what you had done? Hali too seems to share this reaction, albeit with resignation rather than irritation. (I wrote about all this in 'The Meaning of the Meaningless Verses': Ghalib and his Commentators.)
But now, on further thought, I believe a strong case can be made that Ghalib was not actually telling Hali that he had, in the verse, redefined ai to mean juz . Rather, he said that if Hali made that substitution, he would be able to intuit or grasp the meaning of the verse for himself; Ghalib was thus giving Hali an interpretive hint rather than a redefinition. Because of the absence of quotation marks in the Urdu, it's impossible to tell whether the next sentence ('The meaning of the verse is that...') is intended as a direct continuation of Ghalib's own words, or as a paraphrase or explanation provided by Hali himself; I now think the latter is more probable, but it can't be proved either way. (On the possibilities of juz as either 'apart from' or 'except for', see {101,1}.)
The question that remains to be answered, then, is why Ghalib gave Hali the advice that he did. I'm inclined to see the same process going on as in {57,7}: in a tactful and unintimidating way, Ghalib is encouraging Hali to figure things out for himself. He's showing him a path that would take him deeper into the verse, without actually laying it all out for him. Surely he's trying to be a good teacher.
For if we make the thought experiment that Ghalib recommended, we certainly do find some helpful interpretive guidance: we don't get sidetracked into worrying about how a personified 'Lament' fits into it all, and 'lament' becomes an obvious possible answer to the question that is being asked. Yet the verse still retains some of its complexities. If we ask of some unnamed person, or the world in general, 'Apart from lament, what is the mark/sign/scar of a burnt liver?', then on the basis of the verse the answer can be at least fourfold: (1) the mark is a 'colorful' but melancholy singing voice; (2) the mark is a small, dark, even 'ashy' body; (3) the mark is really nothing except lament (since the lover's liver has been burnt away completely), so that the question is rhetorical; or (4) the nature of the mark is unknown (since the speaker has to ask a question about it). Hali firmly chooses (1). These are not of course all the possibilities. But perhaps 'after further reflection' (as in {57,7}), Hali might have seen some of the other choices as well. A good teacher never gives up hope.
Thus, ultimately, we ought not to take Ghalib's
purported advice. Not only do we not need to change 'oh' to
'apart from, except for'-- we definitely shouldn't. For the
original address to 'Lament' can imply, in the context of the
verse, either that one is saying to Lament, 'Apart from you...'
--or, alternatively, that one is asking of Lament a completely
open-ended question, with no ready-made possible answer (or
partial answer) popping up. By contrast, saying
'apart from lament' cannot imply that one is addressing
'Lament', nor can it retain the possibility that one is asking a
completely open-ended question. Thus if we were to remove the
vocative, we would lose the possibly radical open-endedness of
the question, and would find ourselves with a verse diminished
in subtlety and complexity. Why would we want to make such a
restrictive change? What would we gain?
Hali:
A number of principles of expression were Mirza Sahib's own, which before him had been seen neither in Urdu nor in Persian. For example, in his present Urdu divan there is one verse: {230,5}. I myself asked Mirza the meaning of this. He said, 'In place of "oh," read "{apart from / except for}" [ai kii jagah juz pa;Rho]; the meaning will come to your understanding by itself.' The meaning of the verse is that the Ring-dove, which is not more than a palmful/froth of dust, and the Nightingale, which is not more than a cage of elements-- the proof of their being liver-burnt, that is, lovers, is only from their warbling and speaking.
Here, the meaning in which Mirza has used the word ay is obviousy his own invention. One person, having heard this meaning, said, 'If in place of ai he had put juz , or if he had composed the second line like this, "Oh lament, except for you, what is the sign of love," then the meaning would have become clear.' This person’s utterance is absolutely correct, but since Mirza avoided common principles as much as possible, and didn't want to move on the broad thoroughfare, rather than wanting every verse to be widely understandable he preferred that inventiveness and un-heard-of-ness would be found in his style of thought and his style of expression.
==Urdu text: Yadgar-e Ghalib, pp. 113-14
==another trans: Russell and Islam, p. 39