The Hidden Garden by Gopi Narang (phonics books txt) 📕

tiny lamp somewhere). This was the same glittering city Mir had earlier eulogized and loved thus:

Dilli ke n the kuche auraaq e musavvar the

jo shakl nazar aai tasviir nazar aai

The lanes of Dilli were not lanes.

They were more like pages from an album.

Every face that you saw was like

a magnificent heart-stopping image.

No one could guess better than Ghalib what the heartbroken Mir must have gone through when he shaped and perfected Rekhta in those challenging times marked by violence, barbarianism, and a complete breakdown of law and order.

rekhte ke tumhien ustaad nahien ho Ghalib

kahte hain agle zamaane mein koi Mir bhi tha

You’re not the sole virtuoso of the craft of Rekhta, Ghalib!

People say that in the times gone by, there was a poet called Mir!

Mir is a poet of the fire of love and torment that impacts us slowly. He is a poet of agony and suffering, as well as courage and audacity. Before embarking on his poetry, it is important to understand Mir’s life’s key events so that the reader becomes familiar with the roots of Mir’s pain and scars of his psyche. He is like a candle that burns and melts continuously. Mir is not only a poet of unrequited love; his voice reveals and recreates echoes of the medieval age’s soul-touching transcendental thought of the bhakti tradition and spirituality that runs parallel to the self-consuming mystic narrative of Mansur and Majnun.

Mir is not a simple poet by any means. This book attempts to uncover multiple aspects of Mir’s creativity. I have tried to unwrap every hidden pathway, every dark trail that zigzags, every footprint that shows something new, and every trajectory leads to a more hopeful future. There is a reason why almost after three hundred years, Nasir Kazmi said, ‘The night of Mir’s age has joined the dark night of our age.’ The creative agony of Mir’s verse reverberates the epoch of untruth that we live in. A poet’s greatness lies in the fact that the poetic voice echoes trials and tribulations of ages that follow.

To mould the bewitching verse of Mir and its hidden delights into a modern Western language is not an easy task. For this creative endeavour, I wholeheartedly thank Surinder Deol, who has been my translator and associate for several years. Working together, we have covered a lot of ground. The Urdu text of the ghazals in the book has been drawn from Kulliyaat-e Mir, Vol. 1 published by the National Council for Promotion of Urdu Language.

Books have been written about Mir, and more will be written in the future, but this book attempts to open a new vista that has never been tried before. I hope that this English rendition of Mir will pave the way for further appreciation of his multidimensional work—a new critical discourse on Khuda-e Sukhan Mir, the first master poet of Urdu.

Gopi Chand Narang

New Delhi

December 2020

The Life of Mir Taqi MirThe Agony and the Ecstasy

Mir was born in February 1723 in Akbarabad (as Agra was known then). He was named Mir Muhammad Taqi. When he grew up, he chose Mir as his takhallus (nom de plume). His ancestors had migrated to India from Hijaz in Iran a few generations ago. They first came to Dakan, then moved to Ahmedabad, and finally settled in Agra. His grandfather got the job of a faujdaar (a position in the Mughal army) and he lived a decent life; he died while he was travelling to Gwalior, leaving behind two sons. Mir’s father, a dervish who was called Ali Muttaqi out of reverence, pursued the path of inner knowledge from his early age. Over the years, he gained a lot of followers within and outside the community. He remained busy day and night, his eyes moist with tears, in the remembrance of God. He was a man of utmost humility, a man free of prejudice, a perfect Sufi. He never became a burden for anyone else. In his autobiography, Zikr-e Mir, Mir talks about his father in a highly respectful and reverent tone, dwelling at length about the lessons that his father gave him from his early years. Here, in a nutshell are some of the things he was told:

ai pisar i’shq bavarz, I’shq ast k dariin karkhaana mutasarrif ast: Son, always adopt love because love is the dynamic force that binds and controls this universe. Nothing great can happen unless you put a lot of love into your endeavour. If you take love out of your life, it becomes barren. All things around you are the manifestation of love. Water is love, so is fire. Even death is love’s drunken stage. The night is the time when love sleeps; the day is when it wakes up. When you fill your heart with love, it attains perfection. Virtue is its union with love; sin arises when it separates itself from love. Paradise is attractive because it is filled with love; hell is a place of horror because there is no love to be found there. The practice of love is more significant than any prayer or pursuit of knowledge.

Son, this world is nothing but a momentary excitement. Don’t indulge too much in it. Love for God is the only real thing. Prepare for the journey that starts after this life is over.

My son, you are the treasure of my life. What kind of fire burns in your heart? What is your passion? What do you want to be in your life? (When Mir heard his father ask these questions, he had no answer; tears rolled down his cheeks.)

Son, be a nightingale whose spring never ends. Admire beauty whose colours never fade. Keep your heart always strong. Always be ready to face odds in life. The world changes continuously. Do not be depressed when things get bad.1

There is no doubt that these teachings had a lasting impact on Mir’s psyche, and he tried to live his life following these high ideals. Mir mentions that one day his father felt the