Пролог: мушаира

Once I too knew so many tales of delight;
Now they have all become the prelude to grief and mourning.

Readers! The occasion of this story is as follows. Some ten or twelve years ago a friend of mine, Munshi Ahmad Hasan, who came from the country round Delhi, had come to Lucknow to travel and see the sights. He had taken a room on rent in the Chowk, near the gateway of Sayyid Husain. Friends would often gather there at nightfall, and the company was most delightful. The Munshi Sahib had a very fine taste in poetry. He composed a little himself now and then, and composed well, but mostly he loved to listen, and so there was a great deal of talk of verse. Next to this room was another, in which a courtesan lived. Her manner of living was quite unlike that of other dancing-girls. No one ever saw her sitting at her balcony over the street, nor did anyone come or go there. Curtains hung in the doorways day and night. The door that gave on to the Chowk was always kept locked; there was a door on the side of the lane, and the servants came and went by that. Had there not sometimes been the sound of singing at night, one would not have known that anyone lived in that room at all. In the room where we sat there was a small window, but a cloth hung over it. One day our friends were gathered as usual. Someone was reciting a ghazal and the company were applauding. Just then I recited a couplet. From the direction of that window came a voice: "Wah, wah!" I fell silent, and the company too turned that way. Munshi Ahmad Hasan called out, "Praise from out of sight is not the thing; if you are fond of poetry, do come and join the gathering." No answer came. I began reciting my ghazal again, and the matter passed. A little later a maidservant came in. First she greeted everyone, then she asked, "Which gentleman is Mirza Ruswa?" The company pointed me out. The maid said, "My lady has asked you to come for a moment." I said, "Which lady?" The maid said, "My lady has told me not to give her name; beyond that, as you command." I hesitated to go with the maid. My friends began to make fun of me: "Yes indeed, sir, why don't you go? You must be old acquaintances, since she sends for you like that." I was wondering to myself which lady could be on such easy terms with me. Meanwhile the maid said, "Sir, my lady knows you very well; that is why she sent for you." In the end I had to go. When I went and looked, I found, ah! it was Umrao Jan Sahiba sitting there.

Umrao Jan: (as soon as she saw me) Good heavens, Mirza Sahib! You've quite forgotten us.

I: How was I to know on which Mount Qaf you were living?

Umrao Jan: I often used to hear your voice, but I never dared to send for you. Today your ghazal quite unsettled me. "Wah, wah" escaped my lips before I knew it. Then some gentleman called out, "Come and join us." I felt quite ashamed of myself. I meant to keep quiet, but then my heart wouldn't let me. In the end, for the sake of old times, I gave you this trouble. Do forgive me. Yes, and please recite that couplet again.

I: There'll be no forgiving, and I shan't recite the couplet either. If you want to hear it, come over there.

Umrao Jan: I've no objection to coming; only I'm afraid the master of the house, or some other gentleman, might not like my coming.

I: Are you in your right mind? Would I ask you to come to such a place? It's a gathering of friends, all quite informal; your coming will only add to the pleasure.

Umrao Jan: That's true; but I hope it won't be too informal?

I: No, no; there no one but I may be informal with you.

Umrao Jan: Very well, I'll come tomorrow.

I: Why not come now?

Umrao Jan: Oh my, now? Just look at the state I'm sitting in!

I: It's not as if there were a performance; it's a gathering of friends. Do come along.

Umrao Jan: Oh, Mirza! You do have an answer for everything. All right, go on; I'm coming.

I got up and came back. A little while later Umrao Jan Sahiba, having done her hair and changed her clothes, arrived.

I had already said a few words to my friends in praise of her taste in poetry, her mastery of music and so forth, and they were eager to meet her. When she came, it was settled that everyone should recite his own verse. In short, it was a most delightful gathering. From that day Umrao Jan would often come over in the evening, and we would sit for an hour or two. Sometimes there was a gathering for poetry; sometimes she sang something and the friends were delighted. We set down here an account of one such gathering. At these poetry evenings no set metre and rhyme was fixed, nor were promises taken from a crowd of poets. Only our intimate friends would gather and recite their newly composed ghazals.

The Mushaira

To whom shall I tell the state of my wretched heart, O Ada?
In my wanderings I have seen the whole world.

Mirza Ruswa: Splendid, Bi Umrao Jan Sahiba! That closing couplet suits your case. But why didn't you recite the other couplets?

Umrao Jan: My respects, Mirza Sahib! I swear by your head, I remembered only the opening couplet and this closing one. Heaven knows how long ago I wrote that ghazal. How much can one keep in one's head? My wretched notebook has got lost.

Munshi Sahib: And what was the opening couplet? I didn't hear it.

Ruswa: You're busy with the arrangements; how should you hear?

There is no doubt that the Munshi Sahib had arranged everything for this evening's gathering with great taste. It was the hot weather. On the open roof the floor had been sprinkled with water when an hour of daylight still remained, so that by evening it would be cool. A carpet had been spread on it and covered with a spotless white sheet. New earthenware jugs had been filled with water scented with screw-pine and ranged along the parapet, with cups of fine clay turned over their mouths. Ice had been arranged for separately. In little paper pots, white betel leaves, folded into parcels of seven, had been wrapped in red cloths and steeped in screw-pine essence, and a little fragrant chewing tobacco set on the lids. The bases of the hookahs had been sprinkled with water and wound round with garlands. It was a moonlit night, so not much lighting was needed; only a single white lotus-lamp had been lit for passing round. By eight o'clock all the friends had arrived: Mir Sahib, Agha Sahib, Khan Sahib, Shaikh Sahib, Pandit Sahib and the rest. First a round of bowls of sweet vermicelli and milk went round; then the talk turned to poetry.

Munshi Sahib: Then you make the arrangements, sir, and let me listen to the verses.

Ruswa: Excuse me; that headache is not for me.

Munshi Sahib: Well, what was that opening couplet?

Umrao: I'll recite it:
Gone to the Kaaba, I forgot the road to the temple;
My faith was saved: my Lord was merciful to me.

Munshi Sahib: Well said!

Khan Sahib: A good opening couplet; but why "I forgot" in the masculine?

Umrao Jan: Why, Khan Sahib, do you expect me to write in women's dialect?

Khan Sahib: But the charm is of the women's dialect. "My Lord was merciful to me" sounds well only on your own lips.

Ruswa: There, your attacks have begun. Oh, let us hear the poetry, Khan Sahib! If everyone in the world became a critic like you, all the pleasure of writing poetry would take its leave. As the Persian line says:
Every flower has its own colour and scent.

Khan Sahib: (with a rather sour look) Quite so.

Ruswa: Well, Umrao Jan, recite another ghazal!

Umrao Jan: Let me see if I can remember something. (After a little while:)
The night of separation does not end;
It does not end; the dawn does not come.

The company: Wah, wah! Glory be to God! Splendid!

Umrao Jan: (making her salaams) Now hear this couplet:
The noise of my lament has reached the heavens,
But he never comes to know of it.

Ruswa: What a couplet! (The company too applauded.)

Umrao Jan: You are very kind; my respects, my respects!
The beggars who haunt your lane
Have no hunger for wealth or gold.

Friends: Bravo.

Umrao: My respects!
One had to give one's life for someone:
Life cannot be passed like this.

Ruswa: Wah! Khan Sahib, just listen to this couplet.

Khan Sahib: Glory be to God! It really is a fine couplet!

Umrao Jan: (with a salaam) You are all too generous in your appreciation. As the line goes:
Otherwise, what am I, and what is my worth?
I'm sure he will not come, and yet
When are my eyes not on the door?

Khan Sahib: That's well said too!

Pandit Sahib: What a manner of speech!

Umrao: (with a salaam)
In what hope now does my gaze
No longer plead for an effect?

Khan Sahib: How well said! It drips with the Persian manner.

Munshi Sahib: Whatever it is, the thought is good.

Umrao: My respects!
We captives of love, O fowler,
Have no longing for wings and feathers.

Friends: Bravo.

Umrao: My respects!
Even if only a glance that misses its mark,
Why does that gaze never fall on my state?

Khan Sahib: Yes, it certainly ought to. Well said!

Umrao: My respects! Here is the closing couplet:
O Ada, I shall never believe it,
That heart does not know the heart's news.

Khan Sahib: What a closing couplet! Is this your own experience you're describing? Other people's opinion is just the opposite.

Umrao: Whatever my own experience may be, I have only expressed a poetic idea.

Ruswa: Well, recite it again. (Umrao Jan recited it again.) It seems to me that both sides of the idea can be drawn from this couplet.

Khan Sahib: Truly, Mirza Sahib, that's well put!

Friends: The ghazal is of one colour from opening couplet to close. It's taste of the highest order!

Agha Sahib: Just look at the setting of the words!

Pandit Sahib: What pearls she has scattered!

Umrao Jan: (rising) "My respects!"

Munshi Sahib: Khan Sahib, now you favour us with something.

Khan Sahib: Sir! Do excuse me; I can't remember anything.

Ruswa: Do recite something.

Khan Sahib recited an opening couplet and two more:
Alas, the daughter of the vine is not to be had;
In a whole month one night is not to be had.

Ruswa: What a fine allusion: the night of the full moon.

Khan Sahib: My respects!
One gets praise, of course, for the craft of verse;
For the art of asking, no praise is to be had.

Khan Sahib: My respects!

Ruswa: Splendid! Very well put!

Khan Sahib:
From someone's playfulness, my heart's desire
Was to be had before; it is not to be had now.

Ruswa: A matchless couplet.

Khan Sahib: My respects!

After this a gentleman arrived, with a servant carrying a lantern before him.

Khan Sahib: Who's this coming? What need of a lantern on a moonlit night?

Nawab Sahib: It was foolish of me, sir; do forgive me.

Khan Sahib: Aha, Nawab Sahib! It's you, sir; no harm done at all.

The Nawab Sahib came in, and everyone rose to greet him. He was asked to recite a ghazal.

Nawab Sahib: I've only come because I was eager to hear you gentlemen; I don't remember a thing.

Shaikh Sahib: Sir, you will have to recite a ghazal.

Nawab Sahib: Very well, I'll recite whatever I remember:
Some day one glance of the killer will pierce the heart;
Some day one arrow of fate will find its mark.

Friends: Glory be to God! Wah, wah! What an opening couplet!

Nawab Sahib: (bowing and making his salaams again and again) Here is a couplet:
One adores the houris, another is mad for idols;
Man always finds himself some god or other.

Friends: Wah! What a couplet!

Nawab Sahib: My respects. (After that he fell silent.)

Ruswa: Favour us with something more.

Nawab Sahib: By God! I can't remember anything more.

Munshi Sahib: Pandit Sahib! Now you show us your eloquence.

Pandit ji: In obedience to your command, I'll recite two or three couplets:
Even in our meeting, talk of my rival went on and on;
The sweet draught of seeing her turned to poison for me.

Friends: Bravo.

Pandit ji:
O pious ones! Only two days ago did this talk of true worship begin;
Before that, in the Kaaba itself, they spoke of idols all along.

Nawab Sahib: That's something we couldn't say, but it's well said!

Pandit Sahib: Say it or not, it's the truth. Now hear this couplet:
Preacher! Why should he bow his head before anyone,
Whose head was always bent upon her footprints?

Friends: Bravo.

Pandit ji:
Volumes upon volumes I wrote in praise of her tresses;
Hair by hair, the tale of my distraction was set down.

Ruswa: That's the true Lucknow taste.

Pandit ji: And since when are you from Delhi?

Ruswa: Oh, go on with your verses; I only made a remark.

Pandit ji:
The heart that was once a new-blown rose in the garden of desire
Became a thorn of longing, of grief and of sorrow.

Nawab Sahib: Look what a couplet that is!

Khan Sahib: Note the dignity of the words!

Pandit ji: My respects! Here is the closing couplet:
Makhmur, when have you ever thanked Him enough
For the grace the Creator showed you with every breath?

Khan Sahib: Glory be to God! As Saadi says, "Every breath that goes in sustains life, and when it comes out it gladdens the soul."

Ruswa: Khan Sahib! Thanks to you it's hard to recite a couplet at all.

Friends: Glory be to God, what a ghazal!

Pandit ji: It is your kindness, your favour, your indulgence. By God! It is all thanks to you gentlemen.

Munshi Sahib: Shaikh Sahib! You too favour us with something.

Shaikh Sahib: (smiling) No, sir, I don't remember anything.

Khan Sahib: Doesn't remember anything, but he'll have a ghazal of seventy couplets in his pocket.

Shaikh Sahib: By God, no; I've just put four couplets together.

Ruswa: Then why don't you recite them!

Shaikh Sahib: I'll recite them:
A plea is a plea when there is no pressing in it;
Talk is talk when there is no refusing it.

Friends: Bravo.

Shaikh Sahib: My respects!
Like Joseph you lie about the open market;
How ashamed you'd be if there were no buyer!

Ruswa: What fine taste!

Shaikh Sahib: My respects!
That heart is best which does not catch the eye of beauties;
That ware is finest for which there is no buyer.

Khan Sahib: Very good!

Shaikh Sahib: My respects!
You swear in vain that you will kill your lovers;
We shall not believe it unless there's a sword in your hand.

Just then a servant came and handed Munshi Ahmad Hasan a note.

Munshi Sahib: (reading the note) There you are: Mirza Sahib won't be coming. He has sent his newly composed ghazal instead.

I asked the servant, "What is he doing?"

Servant: (smiling) Sir, this evening he brought back a lot of seedlings of English trees from the Sikandar Bagh. He's arranging them among the stones round the edge of the round pond, and the gardener is watering them as he goes.

Ruswa: Of course; he hasn't time to spare from his good works to come to a mushaira.

Munshi Sahib: By God, he has spoiled the whole evening. Well, if he won't come, he won't. Read out his ghazal, then.

Ruswa: Won't you have me recite something of my own?

Munshi Sahib: Ah yes, that reminds me. Then you recite first.

Ruswa:
Don't ask me how the days of my life go by;
Parted from someone heartless, I neither live nor die.
Someone should tell her: you took my heart, and then denied it,
As before my rival you curse me, and then deny it.
Now I laugh at the man who boasts he loves his wounds;
Don't ask what pleasure it is when they rub salt in the wounds.
What a sight it would be if I took her kiss and then denied it,
She who so often takes her lovers' hearts and then denies it!
It is her name a lover calls as he dies of separation;
Some day she'll hear it too, she who so fears a bad reputation.
Once fate has ruined me, I can never be mended again;
It is someone's tresses that, once disordered, are set right again.
Now caught in the comb, now breaking the mirror,
They are spoiled in the setting right, and set right in the spoiling.
The graces of her youthful bloom will not leave me alive,
That swell as she walks, her scarf thrown across her breast.
Ruswa, with such airs, such coquetry, she claims her virtue!
If anyone asks, on whom then do these dying lovers die?

The company praised every couplet, and Ruswa bowed his head in thanks. After that he began to read out Mirza Sahib's ghazal:
Last night, when she was a little late in coming,
The whole world went dark before my eyes.
The days of my death are near, perhaps; O life,
My heart has had its fill of you at last.
Foolish desires would not let me live,
Though my reason had brought those pests to heel.
O death, what has happened to you? Come, for all I care;
She has taken a long, long time to come.
Only now have you heard of my ruin?
What can I tell you? My life has gone by like an arrow.
I've made her promise to come today, it's true;
But my breath will fail if she is late.
You were to leave my side, O sloth;
Wretch, you have come and heaped yourself down here.
The desire for sin lay crouching like a cat;
At a little coaxing it swelled up into a lion.
Mirza won't be coming to the mushaira;
How long are we to wait? It's grown very late.

After this a poet named Mazhar-ul-Haq, from somewhere outside Lucknow, who happened to be present at the gathering, recited this poem:
This is the state of our mushairas now,
That mimics make a mockery of them now.
They laugh at the ways of the masters of the art;
They laugh at the colour of the gathering of verse.
What excuses there are in this age, God help us!
What honour poetry receives, God help us!
Though I show no regard for good manners,
I don't satirise without good cause.
The silver-tongued poets set out
With a great crowd in tow.
When does a poet go alone?
He brings his admirers along.
They go to battle with an army,
And countless hangers-on beside them.
The poet who has no such crowd behind him
Will never have his ghazal make a stir.
One on this side cries out, "Wah, wah!"
One on that side cries out, "Ah, ah!"
"Wah, what a manner of scattering pearls!
Wah, what a style of fine expression!"
One says, "Wah, splendid!
Truly, this is a new way of saying it!
Who could say it better than this?
Where is there a master like you?
You are unique in this age,
Truly the glory of Mir and Mirza.
When did they have such beauty of speech?
They were nothing; it's only a name.
Where are such lancets in their collections?
By God, you are better than they!
By God, you are better than they;
I swear by God, you are better!
Your manner far surpasses theirs:
Is it subtlety, or is it a miracle?
You display the power of meaning;
In truth you are the god of meaning.
Who can open his mouth before you?
Who has the power to say a word?
This manner is yours alone;
This miracle is yours alone.
We have thought it over well in our hearts:
There is only you, and nothing else.
You are like this, you are like that;
We know what you are.
How can you know your own worth?
Ask us; what do you know of it?
Your work is building castles in the air;
The art of grace ends with you.
When were such poets ever born?
None were born, and none will be now."
In short, they talk sheer nonsense,
They fall over themselves, they roll on the floor.
Their praise is such empty stuff
That it wounds the hearts of others.
On that side he brings out his couplet;
On this side they toss their caps in the air.
The one who is the object of this praise
Is mightily pleased in his heart.
If someone takes offence at this,
It's no wonder if cudgels come into play;
There's nothing so surprising in that:
It has often happened so.
They recite word by word, pausing and pausing;
They make their salaams, bowing and bowing.
Though outwardly there is great humility,
In the heart there is a great surge of pride.
How they swell, how they strut!
They even praise themselves;
Each word is explained in turn,
Each point is spelled out.
Why should they not crave their own praise?
They know they deserve it.
How far gone they are, God save us!
How proud they are, God save us!
Such critics, such men of subtlety,
Such poets, such patrons!
What is the worth of false praise?
If there's no truth in it, what's the pleasure?
What delight is there in it, what taste?
Someone should ask them what has come over them.
Though I shall be reviled for this,
I expect I shall be beaten with shoes,
I shall be praised for plain speaking,
I too shall have my wish.
Why should I be afraid of anyone?
It's the truth; why shouldn't I say it?
I have no taste for beating about the bush;
Indeed, I don't know how to beat about the bush.
I am displeased with the manner of the poets,
I am displeased with the ways of the masters.
If this is what poetry is called,
Then I salute such poetry from afar.

The fair-minded company praised this poem highly. At every couplet the gathering kept up its applause. The Munshi Sahib was in a kind of ecstasy, Umrao Jan was swaying, and as for my own state, ask my heart alone.

Munshi Sahib: Now, Agha Sahib, sir! Favour us with something.

Agha Sahib: Very good! Here is my first opening couplet:
If only I had things like these, my heart might find some peace:
Some boiled peas, and a bottle of country liquor.

Friends: Agha Sahib, what an opening couplet!

Agha Sahib: Oh, sir! You haven't heard anything yet. Hear my second opening couplet:
Let me seek out and set in verse a theme harder than the hardest;
Let me say a second opening couplet that comes before the first.

Friends: No doubt about it, it comes before the first.

Agha Sahib: There; now hear these couplets. (This couplet was aimed at the Nawab Sahib, who sat with his coat open, wearing a net shirt and a long coat of fine muslin dyed a pale almond colour, and fanning himself with a very elegant little fan.)
If I have you in winter, why should I care about the cold?
With your tresses on my shoulders, who needs a shawl or a blanket?

Friends: Bravo.

Agha Sahib:
Tell Majnun to keep his spirits up even in his helplessness:
When the shoot of his heart turns green, Laila's camel may graze on it.

Pandit ji: Glory be to God! Of all things, what a remedy he has found for helplessness!

Friends: By God, he understood it well! If one is to have understanding, let it be like that, or not at all.

Agha Sahib: Not at all, then! Well, now hear this couplet:
Tell your lovers to be good enough to hold back their tears;
The way to your house will be blocked if the lane turns to a bog.

Shaikh Sahib: Well said!

Ruswa: (to Khan Sahib) Why are you so silent? Find some objection!

Agha Sahib: Yes, sir! The silence of a connoisseur is not right.

Khan Sahib: I'm silent so that you won't take my praise for the applause of a man who knows nothing.

Agha Sahib: No, sir; I'm not so wrong-headed as that. (The company rolled about at this remark.) Hear this:
I'd be jealous of myself, a rival born of my own self,
If my beloved were cross-eyed and saw two of me.

Friends: Agha Sahib! Glory be to God! What delicacy of fancy!

Agha Sahib:
She's still young; her passion is for fighting kites,
With a single spindle of string, never mind the kite or the paper.

This couplet too was aimed at the Nawab Sahib, for from his exalted establishment a great kite-flying procession had lately set out with much fanfare.

Agha Sahib:
Someone should tell those who write couplets closed to meaning:
How can a hidden secret be revealed if the door is locked?

Ruswa: Agha Sahib! Splendid! Umrao Jan! Listen to this; what a couplet he has made.

Umrao Jan: Glory be to God! I understood it at once. Let him say what he likes; he's the master.

Agha Sahib: Then why not say plainly that I'm the doorkeeper of hell? Well, listen:
Somehow I'll coax this young beloved of mine;
If not a double pice, then a sugar sweet, or a pani-puri.

Friends: Splendid!

Agha Sahib:
Now giving me a curse, now giving me a beating with her shoes:
There's real pleasure in being ruled if your beloved is low-born.

Khan Sahib: Quite right; but it's beneath your dignity as a gentleman.

Agha Sahib: Sir, who is a gentleman in this age?
By the grace of God, what a pair came down from heaven:
Let there be no rogue like me, and no slut like you.

Nawab Sahib: Good! But at whom is this aimed?

Agha Sahib: That you can understand best yourself, since you are in the secret. "The faults of the noble are kept hidden."

Khan Sahib: You answer him.

Agha Sahib: What answer will you give? Listen to this couplet:
I'd give my life for the playfulness of that delicate beauty,
Who has the coquetry of a camel and the frisking of a horse.

Friends: What nerve!

Agha Sahib: All right, never mind; listen to this:
I'll tear my heart in two if you rise from my side;
I'll put out my eyes if you go out of my sight.

Friends: Good!

Agha Sahib:
There's something wonderful about your simplicity:
No braid, no comb, no black powder on your teeth, no kohl.

Umrao Jan: Oh my! Is a woman to sit day and night with her hair a mess and her face like a mountain?

Agha Sahib: That's the charm of simplicity, and it saves on expense besides. (The joke was that Umrao Jan was known to be rather close-fisted.)
When she asks me for a penny, I'll quietly give it to her:
No chatter, no squabble, no wrangle, no fuss.

Friends: What a line!

Khan Sahib: He's fitted the first line well too; it carries on that business of the low-born. (Umrao Jan was rolling about with laughter.)

Agha Sahib: Very well, I won't recite any more couplets of that kind. My beloved is being disgraced. Hear some delicacy of fancy:
On the subject of your slender waist, I'll draw the sign of a cross;
How should anyone grasp such subtlety, whose wits are thick as knots?

Khan Sahib: I'll grant that my wits are just as you say; but for God's sake explain to me what this cross means.

Agha Sahib: To please you, listen. Accountants, to fill in an empty column, mark an (X) in place of "nil"; so the meaning is that the waist does not exist. Secondly, one line cuts the other through the middle; so it is clear that the beloved's waist has been cut through and joined again.

Khan Sahib: How so?

Agha Sahib: Don't ask me about that subtlety now. Well, gentlemen, be it known that in mathematics the cross is the sign of addition. And the beauty of it is that a sign has no quantity. So the meaning is that the waist, though it does not exist, joins the two halves of the body together.

Friends: Sir! This is the very limit of delicacy of fancy! Only a man who knows that much learning could understand your verse.

Agha Sahib: That's exactly why I don't recite before just anybody. Alas! My late master is no longer alive, or these couplets would get the praise they deserve. Who is left now who understands? Well, hear this closing couplet. My spirits are quite spoiled; there's no one who appreciates.
Enough, O Qazzaq, enough! Restrain your tumultuous genius;
There'll be havoc if the army of themes breaks into a riot.

Friends: Do favour us with the closing couplet again. (Agha Sahib recited it a second time.)

Nawab Sahib: What a formidable pen-name you've taken: Qazzaq, the Raider!

Agha Sahib: Excuse me, it is something of the sort; but it's not so unbecoming. In the first place by family, for your humble servant's ancestors used to plunder in the steppes of Qipchaq. In the second place because my late master took the pen-name Sariq, the Thief; and that was not so unsuitable either, for (may his soul not be shamed) all his life he composed his verses by stealing themes from earlier poets. Look through his whole collection; you'll hardly find a single new couplet. When the reins of the steed of the pen came into my powerful hand, I thought stealing beneath my dignity and took the pen-name Qazzaq. Say what you like, there's a certain swagger to it. It has been and will remain your servant's practice to seize by force the themes of poets past, present and future and take them into my own possession.

Nawab Sahib: Congratulations!

When the mushaira was over, ice-cream flavoured with phalsa berries was set, and the friends ate two kulfis each. Everyone went home. After that the cloth was spread, and the Munshi Sahib, I and Umrao Jan had supper.

Munshi Sahib: (to Umrao Jan) Do recite that closing couplet of yours that you recited at the start.

Umrao Jan:
To whom shall I tell the state of my wretched heart, O Ada?
In my wanderings I have seen the whole world.

Munshi Sahib: No doubt your life must have been very interesting. Ever since you recited that couplet, I've been thinking so. If you were to tell us your story, it would be well worth hearing.

I too seconded the Munshi Sahib, but Umrao Jan kept evading it. Our kind Munshi Sahib had been very fond of tales and stories from his earliest years. Besides the Thousand and One Nights and the tale of Amir Hamza, he had read every volume of the Bostan-e Khayal. There was no novel he had not looked at; but after living a few days in Lucknow, when the beauty of the real speech of those to whom the language belongs became clear to him, most novelists' absurd plots, artificial language and bigoted, rabble-rousing speeches had lost their charm for him. He had come to like the conversation of the cultivated people of Lucknow very much. Umrao Jan's closing couplet had put into his mind the idea mentioned above. In short, the Munshi Sahib's eagerness and my urging compelled Umrao Jan, and she agreed to tell her story.

There is no doubt that Umrao Jan's way of speaking was most refined; and why not? In the first place she was educated; in the second, she had been brought up among courtesans of the highest class, had kept company with princes and the sons of nawabs, and had found her way even into the royal palaces. She had seen with her own eyes things others will not have heard of with their ears.

As she went on telling her story, I wrote it down without her knowledge. When it was finished, I showed her the manuscript. Umrao Jan was very angry at that, but what could be done now? In the end, thinking it over, she held her peace. She read it herself and put right whatever had been left out here and there.

I have known Umrao Jan since the days when she was acquainted with Nawab ...... Sahib. In those days I too often used to sit there. I have no doubt that what is told in this story is true word for word; but that is my personal opinion. The reader is free to judge as he pleases.

Mirza Ruswa
Lucknow, March 1899