Poems of India and Freedom

Poems of India and Freedom

India

I have no concern with the conch, nor any business with the call to prayer;
if I have a love, it is for India.

If the culture of India is not the fountain of eternity,
then from where has this many-coloured wave come?

If there is a throb in the speck, it is from this pure land;
if there is light in the sun, it is from this sky.

From its breath comes the warmth of the world's tumult;
all the splendour of the West comes from this one shop.

The Revolution of India

Many a time you have seen the revolution of the heavens;
open your eyes and now behold the revolution of India.

West and East have begun to appear turned upside down;
the revolution of India is the revolution of the whole world.

It is laying firm the foundation of the palace of freedom:
the revolution in the nature of child and woman, old and young.

The patient are spreading over the realm of tyranny;
the revolution of sword and spear has grown worn out.

The Flame in the Lantern of India

Long live, O revolution, O flame in the lantern of India,
whose heat has turned into the light that passes into souls!

The silence of death was spreading over the towns;
when you blew your trumpet they became a field of resurrection.

Every drop there was of the blood of the martyrs of the homeland
became the adornment of the palace of freedom.

Bravo, O new captives of the West's injustice,
whose chains have swelled the uproar of the prisons!

Life is theirs, faith is theirs, the world is theirs,
whose lives have been sacrificed for the honour of the nation.

Swaraj

It was only yesterday that you were the crown of India;
the kings of the age came and paid you tribute.

How the age has changed its colour, that you
are thought contemptible today by every nation in the world!

The garden for whose expanse the skirt of the eye was too narrow
was laid waste while you looked on.

As long as you depended on your God,
He never let you need a stranger.

Those who became His, He became their guardian;
He keeps the honour of those who are ashamed before Him.

Be wiped out yourselves, but do not watch the truth wiped out;
learn this way, if you would have Swaraj.

The Tumult of the New Year

Britain has started a war with India,
though a war with India is a war with the whole world:

trials of strength with the Gita and the Granth,
a war with the mighty hosts of the verses of the Quran;

a fight with the house of Arjun and of Bhim,
then a war with the family of the Lord of the worlds [TN: the Prophet];

the nerve to bring low the banner of God's oneness,
a war with that standard which is in the hands of angels;

intentions of crushing the warriors of the Frontier,
a war with the child, a war with the old man and the young.

The caravan whose whole wealth is peace, goodwill and safety:
the plunderers have now picked a war with that caravan.

Why should faith not laugh at lightning and smoke?
Today the earth has set out to make war on the sky.

Force is raiding the powerless;
half-dead ants are at war with a mighty elephant.

The army of tyranny is charging the band of patience;
cannon and musket are at war with pen and tongue.

We may be weak, but God is with us;
if they still will, let them make war on the weak.

War with the speck is war with the sun;
the bat's war with the king of the east is in vain.

Duty and Debt

If you are a Muslim, give your life for the honour of the community;
pay the duty owed to God and the debt owed to His Prophet.

If unbelief cannot bear to see it in the open gathering,
then go to prison and light the lamp of faith there.

If you long for martyrdom, then in some meeting
criticise the English government openly.

Your caravan has been partly plundered, and the rest is about to be;
let the morning breeze carry the news of it to the Messenger of God.

The wise men of the West now need an invention
that will part the skirt of the Indians from the bodice. [TN: i.e. split them apart, like a garment cut in two.]

The sun is about to rise, so that there is light in the East;
the cloud is about to burst, to make the garden green.

Circling round the nest, on the bars of the cage,
may lightning fall from the sky to set the nightingale free.

In every age this is the mark of God's chosen,
that God in His pleasure makes them captives of affliction.

Cawnpore

It was the magnet's summons; how could iron refuse?
Taking leave of Calcutta, I came straight to Cawnpore.

I saw the blue-shirted volunteers, rank on rank; [TN: the "blue-shirts", volunteers of Zafar Ali Khan's Majlis-e-Ittehad-e-Millat in the 1930s.]
joy came down into my heart, light came into my eyes.

When I told the story of Lahore and its martyrs, [TN: the Shahidganj mosque agitation in Lahore, 1935.]
the tumult of the Resurrection came out to welcome me.

I call the drinkers of the East to dark intoxication;
I have come drunk with the wine of the tavern of Arabia.

When I gave the tale of the world over to my pen,
the spell of the abiding faith appeared between the lines.

It is not easy to clash with the united body of the Muslims;
if they clash with it, know that their wits are disordered.

The praise of God, the eulogy of the Prophet, the stories of Islam:
these have been my themes since I first knew how to make verse.

Calcutta

Write of the Assembly for the Unity of the Community
as the firm rope of Calcutta. [TN: "the rope of God", Quran 3:103, to which believers are told to hold fast together.]

Call the wealth of all India
the right hand's possession of Calcutta.

Unbelief went and drowned in the Hooghly;
faith has become the dweller in Calcutta.

From the mark of unceasing prostrations
the brow of Calcutta has grown bright.

Blue-shirts are going about on every side;
the earth of Calcutta has become the sky.

The Confluence

At Prayag the Ganga has come and met the Jamna:
this one molten sapphire, that one a flowing diamond.

Their partings have drawn the figure of Gemini;
their flowing is the glory of the One God.

On the steps of the Sangam a pearl is rolling. [TN: the poem breaks off here in the source.]