Preface

Preface

In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate

Preface: the praise of the Lord of Majesty and Glory
Is not such that anyone could write His perfection;

The heart of the writer's pen is split in two,
The poet's tongue falls dumb in His praise.

What power has anyone to write the Prophet's praise?
Whose thought can reach to his blessed eulogy?

He for whose sake God sent down *Laulak* [TN: "But for thee (I would not have created the heavens)", a saying of God to the Prophet],
He is the young cypress in the garden of the faith.

So, after the eulogy of the Best of Mankind, I
Describe the Lion of God, the manifestation of perfection,

In whose glory the prayer *Nad-e-Ali* [TN: "Call upon Ali", a prayer to Ali] came down;
What power has Tahsin to write his praise?

It is better that I invoke blessings on the People of the Cloak [TN: the Prophet's family],
And after that turn my thought to writing the tale.

Although I have as much command of Persian too,
Its understanding is very hard for most;

For this reason this style of *Rekhta* (Urdu) is good,
So that my words may come within everyone's understanding.

Let it not be hidden or concealed from the sweet-spoken wise men of the assembly of understanding and gravity, and from the gifted sages of the gathering of eloquence and soundness, that this most helpless of God's creatures, Mir Muhammad Husain Ata Khan, whose pen name is Tahsin and who bears the title "Murassa-raqam" ("Jewelled Pen"), after the death of his honoured father, Hazrat Mir Muhammad Baqir Khan Sahib, whose pen name was Shauq, who was famed throughout all the lands of Hindustan among men of accomplishment for his perfections in religion and the world (and truly, in the field of describing and praising that unique being, the crescent-moon gazelle of the pen, finding a place to show itself on the white paper that is the pasture of the garden of the heavens, cannot scatter the musk of the springtime of writing; if I call his blessed being the seal of the charter of lofty insight, or the heading of a peerless example, it is fitting; may God Most High drown him in mercy), gained, by the blessing of the company and the bounty of the gift of the head of the circle of those who adorn speech with the subtleties of eloquence and ability, the chief of the register of those who set out the truths of refinement and merit, the index of the collection of the arts of poetry and the knowledge of speech, the *Bismillah* (opening words) of the comprehensive copy of the canon of words and meanings, the one who adorns the gathering of the rules of fine handwriting and the composing of prose, the one who decks the garden of the colourful conditions of the art of poetry and letter-writing, the masterly calligrapher, the accomplished, the bright pen, that is, Hazrat Ijaz Raqam Khan Sahib, who in this age adorns the realm of the written word of learning and skill and holds high the banner of mastery, the effects of training and discipleship; and he kept his temperament wholly occupied with a passion for reading colourful stories and writing sweet tales. By chance, once, in the company of Nawab Mubariz-ul-Mulk Iftikhar-ud-Daula, General Smith Bahadur Saulat Jang, commander of the English armies, a journey to Calcutta down the Ganges by barge and peacock-boat came before him. But because of the long distance, at times the carefree parrot of the heart was cramped in the cage of the boat, missing its home. At such times, to pass the stages of the journey, a dear friend, all discernment, who like a dove wore the ring of love and sincerity round his neck in my company, would make the nightingale of his tongue tell strange and wonderful tales and so make the hours pleasant. So one day that nightingale of a thousand songs sang this enchanting tale too in the rose garden of storytelling, and every note of its song so charmed the heart beyond control that, bound up with the hearing of it, the painted peacock of an idea displayed itself in the mind thus: "Although I have already composed two or three books in Persian, as far as my capacity allowed, such as the *Insha-e-Tahsin*, the *Zawabit-e-Angrezi* and the *Tawarikh-e-Qasimi*, yet the matter of this springtime tale too should be written in the colourful style of the Hindi tongue [TN: i.e. Urdu], since no one before has been the inventor of this new invention; and so that whoever has the ambition to learn the exalted Urdu tongue may, by reading this spring bouquet, gain a sense and understanding of the drift of its speech; for the polished tongue of Hindustan, for social learning, is a lathe to the rough block of the outsider." So I set down a few phrases at the beginning of the first tale with the point of my humble pen, for amusement. After that, when the General Bahadur, at the time of leaving for England, honoured this helpless servant from Calcutta with some fine posts in the province of Azimabad and the management of the cases of the *nizamat* (the provincial government), then, in the bustle of those duties, the mind's taste for composition was gone; yet it was my aim and the centre of my wish that, if fortune favoured me for a few days, to bring this beginning to its end would be, as it were, to make firm the foundation of my life until the Day of Judgement. At last, in keeping with the saying *Kullu amrin marhunun bi-auqatiha* [Arabic: "Every matter is bound to its time"], I put off writing it for some days and entered the province. And see this spectacle of fate: after the turmoil in the affairs of the empire and the disruption of the line of service to the holy house of the Timurids, and because of the death of my honoured father and the changes of treacherous time, the mirror of my fortune, which had begun to be polished bright by the boundless favours of the English chiefs, was clouded by the rust of the envy of certain persons who managed the affairs of the province. Helpless under the turning of the heavens, with neither foot to go nor face to stay, I then remembered, as fitting my state, some verses of Mirza Sauda Sahib, who gives speech its due, saying that this black-faced heaven:

Is always set on giving pain and trouble to those who feel,
And gives its life in sympathy for those who cause grief;

This dark-witted one draws the needle across the seeing eye,
And fills the kohl-pot eye with powdered jewels;

It makes the river-bearing cloud rain on the desert of despair,
And keeps dry the field of hope of old and young;

This undiscerning one always feeds pearls to the swan,
And flays the *huma* (the bird of good fortune) after giving it a handful of bones;

In an instant the man of unknown birth reaches the height of lineage,
And in a moment So-and-so son of So-and-so falls on the dust of disgrace;

How far can one describe the nature of this base, mean one?
It keeps to no one way: now thus, now so.

Reciting these over and over, one day I fell into the sweet sleep of thought, when suddenly the unseen inspirer put this into my heart: "O heedless one! The noble verse *Fa-inna ma'a al-'usri yusran, inna ma'a al-'usri yusra* [Arabic, Quran 94:5–6: 'So truly with hardship comes ease; truly with hardship comes ease']: you have spent most of your time in great prosperity and ease, so there is no harm in passing a few days of hardship too.

That state did not last, and this one too will not last [Persian].

"And now that you have borne this trouble on your temper, God Most High willing, in recompense for it the bride of your desire will soon be in the embrace of the beloved of your aim. Never shake the dust of worry and anxiety onto the hem of your heart, nor break the glass of your heart's composure on the stone of distraction; perhaps there is some good in it, according to the rule *Fi'l al-hakim la yakhlu 'an al-hikma* [Arabic: 'The act of the Wise is never without wisdom']. But its remedy is so joined to destiny that you, a worthless mote, should light up the jewel of your loyalty by borrowing the light of the sun of the appreciation of that exalted lord; for if the seed of his great qualities is sown in the flower-beds of the avenue of paper, then without any pretence the sapling of prose will bring the splendour of the spring of the Tuba tree [TN: a tree of paradise] and become the envy of the garden of paradise." That is, the most noble Nawab of exalted titles, at whose stirrup the heavens ride, the ray of the forenoon sun in the sky of Haidar's majesty, the brightness of the full moon of the night in the heaven of Safdar's fortune, he who raises high the banner of the ministry and lofty rank, he who adorns the carpet of nobility and renown, the night-shining ruby of the crown of splendour and glory, the pearl of the crown on the head of wealth and fortune, the turquoise of the crown of the sultan of the realm of riches and success, the ruby of the diadem of the Khaqan of the land of majesty and rule, the star of the constellation of courage and chivalry, the jewel of the casket of generosity and kindness, pillar of the conquering empire, support of the shining state, master of the sword and the pen, raiser of rank and of the banner, the Grand Vizier, the wise in counsel, the great administrator, the clear in mind, the helper of the helpless, the healer of the wretched, the pride of the lands of Hindustan, the lord of bounty, the appreciator of worth, mild in manner, sound in nature, the governor, the just, the bountiful, the generous, the believer, the benefactor, the eminent, the handsome, the good, the prudent, the learned, the devout, the abstinent, the prayerful, the God-fearing, the righteous, the reformer, the noble, the great, the brave, the victorious, the holy warrior, the triumphant, Vizier of the Realms, Umdat-ul-Mulk, Madar-ul-Muham, Asaf Jah, Shuja-ul-Mulk, Itimad-ud-Daula, Burhan-ul-Mulk Nawab Shuja-ud-Daula Abul Mansur Khan Bahadur Safdar Jang, may God prolong his bounty and glory: by whom the agents of the highest council have, since the first day, made your fortune a beneficiary among those who taste the salt of the table of his grace and kindness, and the door to the opening of your heart's desires has been unlocked by the key of the favours of that exalted lord. So your servant, as that angel of the unseen commanded, entered Faizabad, the ornament of cities, which is in truth the stone in the signet ring of the realm of Hindustan, walking on his eyes [TN: i.e. with the utmost reverence]. Glory be to God! Every page of that book of bounty is a garden in itself, in which on every side bed upon bed of the spring of the down and moles of gold-clad beauties brightens the eyes of the onlookers; and every lane of that most choice city is a separate rose bush, where on every side a many-coloured garden of the beauty of moon-faced ones in rose-red robes gives light to the eyes of the sightseers. If you consider the breadth of the square of the Chauk, the delight of strolling in a plot of paradise is forgotten from the corner of the heart; and if you see the height of the arch of the Tripolia gate, the tongue of the heart falls silent from praising the lofty spring of the bow of the rainbow. Truly, what is a city? It is a spectacle of God's power. May God Most High keep this abode of peace for ever the splendour of the eyes of the seven climes.

So fresh has the air made the place
That agate has changed colour and turned like emerald;

By the perfect bounty of freshness, on every stone
A pomegranate tree grows there from a seed of spark;

If the morning breeze goes into a garden from that side,
A dry tree turns green on the spot and bears fruit;

It is no exaggeration: if any of the dwellers of paradise
Should stroll through the rose garden of this land,

Be sure that from the delight of the sight
His heart would be drunk like the eye of the narcissus;

When I looked closely in the garden of creation,
The spring of this plot of earth is the envy of paradise;

Whoever has this land for his home and shelter
Need never fear harm from the heavens;

If one describes the beauty of the city wall,
It is like the ruled border that adorns a fine book;

If anyone asks me to describe Shuja-garh,
In the shape of a fort the sky has settled on the earth;

Its strength is greater than the strength of heaven;
Rather, from envy of it, heaven's rampart is bent double;

When God made Faizabad the noblest of cities,
It was endowed in every quality with honour and dignity;

In short, I cannot praise it at all,
For it is the ornament of Hindustan in its beauty.

Praise and thanks be to God that as soon as I arrived, rising from the depth of exile to the height of honour, I gained the honour of service with that exalted lord, abode of grace, and from that moment, in keeping with his perfect favours, I was strung on the thread of his special servants. When the sun of the appreciation and patronage of my lord rose shining on the horizon of ever-increasing bounty, and the palm of my desire bore the flower of fulfilment, one day I brought to the blessed ears of my benefactor two or four phrases of this tale, which I mentioned at first. Because the lovely beloved of this enchanting story is playful and charming in the act of displaying herself, he accepted it with his heart's attention and favoured it with his noble glance, and commanded: "Adorn this heart-pleasing beloved, pleasing to all hearts, from head to foot with the jewels of fine prose." This one of small capital, as the exalted command required and as far as his capacity allowed, decked the beloved of this tale with ornaments of beauty and adornment, and wished to present that charmer to his blessed eyes, when in the meantime the age showed a different colour. At that time, as it is said:

What was in the heart stayed in the heart; the thing could not be done;
Alas, there was no meeting with him at all.

Helpless, I drew the foot of effort and search into the skirt of contentment and stayed silent in the corner of quiet.

After that, the eldest son of that lord who rests in God's forgiveness, the most mighty prince, the ornament of the noble house, the pride of paradise-like Hindustan, crown of the highest nobility, lamp of the great ministry, support of sultans, pride of the believers, refuge of strangers, shelter of the poor, sun of the forenoon, full moon of the night, chief of the exalted, cave of mankind, the light of the eye of strength and fortune, the blaze on the forehead of valour and glory, the sun of the sky of greatness and nobility, the sky of the sun of courage and generosity, master of all the sciences of wisdom and culture, that is, Nawab Asaf-ul-Mulk Asaf-ud-Daula Amir Yahya Khan Bahadur Hizabr Jang, may his life and fortune endure: when the Khizr of his boundless favours sprinkled the water of life of honour upon the feeble life of this frail one, then, in keeping with the idea that the money-changers of the four-way market of fine prose do not open the shop of speech until the coins of their words reach the stamp of the letter of praise from the eloquent tongue of the world-praised lord, and the jewellers of the bazaar of discerning meaning do not name a price for the pearls of meaning until they are strung on the thread of the miraculous lips of the lord of the world, it passed through my mind that the beloved of this well-wrought tale, which is adorned with the jewel of the name *Insha-e-Nau Tarz-e-Murassa* ("A Prose Work in the New Jewelled Style"), will not gain the ornament of fame until it sets the plume of a *Bismillah* of a preface in praise of that most exalted lord on the turban of its prose, and receives from that exalted presence the gift of the rich robe of "Bravo!", the turban-band of praise and the aigrette of approval. So I am preparing a *qasida* (ode) in praise of that exalted lord as befits my ability, with the help of my lucky star; for the mote of my helpful fortune has gained the appearance of light from the reflection of the radiance of that most luminous sun, by the shining of whose world-adorning beauty the wide field of the six directions of the world has become the eastern land of the greatest light.

Qasida

If the sea were ink and the trees were pens,
No one could write the scroll of his perfection;

Then where has my tongue the strength now
To promise to write anything of his praise?

But this much is needed: if all his qualities
Cannot be told, then let me write one in a thousand;

That his title, Madar-ul-Muham [TN: "Pivot of Affairs"], is fitting,
For he is the great chief of the field of reason;

The affairs of his realm, except by his own nature,
Even an Aristotle could never manage;

When he sits in splendour on the seat of justice,
He changes the evil influence of the wandering stars;

If a mustard seed is weighed in the scales of his justice,
What doubt is there that it would equal a mountain?

And how shall I praise his lofty spirit,
By which the field of the world has been made to rain pearls?

The garden of the age would be deprived even of dew
If the spring cloud of his generosity did not rain;

The name of "No" has vanished from the world;
From the tongue of his bounty the word "There is" rains pearls;

The wonder is that he does not know "is" and "less";
This is God's grace, that there should be "is" and "much";

The hold of his courage in the world is such
That wherever he turns his glance of favour once,

If on that side a Rustam stood with a thousand ranks,
His soul from fear could not come out of his body;

How should he not be brave, who is Hizabr Jang [TN: "Lion in War", his title],
Whose sword in the world is the slayer of unbelievers?

How then that sword, which differs nothing from lightning,
Which, falling on an enemy's crown, splits him to the feet;

His skill in shooting the arrow is so great
That how shall I tell of its swiftness?

Where the arrow of thought cannot reach for haste,
There passes the notch of his shaft;

In swimming he has such power that if there is the depth of a river,
And it comes into his heart to cross it,

Then before the lightness of his art of swimming
What power has the wind to pass over the water?

The glance of the eye cannot even reach
Before he goes from this side and comes back again from that;

God has given such strength to his hand and arm
That if his noble mind resolves on the hunt,

The lion in terror would hide in the sign of Leo,
Or would flee to the bottom beneath the sea;

If he takes pleasure in hunting birds,
How shall I set out the praise of that hunt?

If a falcon flies to the sky from his blessed hand,
The eagle of the sun would hide in a cave in the west;

Or if it turns towards the earth from the world above,
What is a bird? It takes the hare for its prey;

The bay horse of the pen now makes the page of paper
A racecourse for the coursing of his roan;

How far can one tell of its speed,
For whose riding even the sky would find the resolve hard?

Consider who has the power, over such a one,
To speak of riding it except to beg pardon;

But its rider is that very prince of the age
Whose help is the king of the faith, Haidar-e-Karrar [TN: Ali];

If he wished, in the east, to spur it on,
That I should reach the west saying "Yes" once,

The sound of "Yes" could not reach from tongue to lip
Before it went from here to there and came face to face here again;

I have no tongue to tell the majesty of his riding elephant,
Or to say anything of it:

Sitting, it is a mountain; rising, a black cloud;
High as the Throne of God; in going, the motion of the heavens;

When the driver stands on it with his goad,
It is as if the new moon had settled on the sky;

The stars of its housings shine with such charm
As the stars bloom in the dark of night;

And on its golden howdah the Nawab
Is like the shining sun in a black cloud;

What shall I say of the procession at his riding?
It has become a garden from the spring of his armies;

The drum sounds in such a way that if
Any heart holds cowardice, it becomes a man at once;

How shall I tell the splendour of his troops,
Whose train is greater than the army of the stars?

Fortune is his old and long-serving slave,
Victory is a servant at his stirrup;

How could the whole army be praised?
But one secret has become a rarity in Hind:

That at this lord's court, by his own nature, without others,
Such warlike regiments [TN: *paltan*, battalions drilled in the English manner] are made ready

As even a Plato could not think of,
Which have appeared from his exalted being;

By Murtaza [TN: Ali], when they stand rank on rank,
A different kind of night and day is seen;

When they fire like the army of England,
They raze even a mountain that stands before them;

Such is the might of his exalted artillery
That the body of thunder is weary of its roaring;

Its thundering is close to the noise of Doomsday;
At its flash the enemy's liver is torn to pieces;

If I tell you the majesty of the height of his tent,
Where has thought the strength to gain entry there?

From envy of it the sky is still turning;
By its weight the board of the earth stays still;

If you ask me about his noble kitchen,
What shall I say? It is beyond all limit and count;

I am sure the revenue of Hindustan would not suffice
If it were needed for its expenses;

Bravo, Nawab, prince of the age, refuge of the world,
Of whose rank and splendour this is the mention;

In short, Tahsin, one whose court is of such degree,
How far can I set out his praise?

For he is the shining sun, and I am like a mote;
For God's sake, what measure has a mote here?

He the pen of the tongue, and this some tongue of the pen;
How can a word come out of rosebud mouths?

Enough: now tongue and pen both confess their failing;
Where am I, and where the praise of the heir of the sword?

Who is that person? Nawab Asaf-ud-Daula,
By whose being Hind has peace and rest;

Although the work of flattery in the world
Has always gone on in every land and country,

Yet I swear by my faith and religion
That I say this a hundred times without exaggeration:

There is no commander in the world, in rank, splendour and majesty,
Equal to my Nawab;

May God keep him safe and firm so long
As the rose garden of the world stays green.

At last, praise and thanks be to God that the star of hope has shone at the zenith of desire, so that, with an untroubled mind, I now arrange the bouquet of the tale in this fashion in the assembly of speech, with beauty and adornment.