Khushḥāl Khān, Khattak: The Poems of Khushḥāl Khān, Kh

THE POEMS OF KHUSHḤĀL KHĀN, KHATTAK. I. AN ODE TO SPRING. From whence hath the spring again returned unto us, Which hath made the country round a garden of flowers? There are the anemone and sweet basil, the lily and thyme; The jasmine and white rose, the narcissus and pomegranate blossom. The wild flowers of spring are manifold, and of every hue; But the dark-red tulip, above them all, predominateth. The maidens place nosegays of flowers in their bosoms; The youths, too, fasten bouquets of them in their turbans. Come now, musician! apply the bow to thy violin: Bring out the tone and the melody of every string! And thou, cupbearer! bring us full and overflowing cups, That I may become fraught with wine's inebriety! The Afghān youths have again dyed red their hands, Like as the falcon dyeth his talons in the blood of the quarry. They have made rosy their bright swords with gore: The tulip-bed hath blossomed, even in the heat of summer. p. 150 Ae-mal Khān and Dar-yā Khān—from death preserve them! * Were neither of them, at fault, when opportunity occurred. They dyed red the valley of Khaibar, with the blood of the foe: On Karrapah, † too, they poured forth war's din and tumult. From Karrapah, even unto Bājawrr, ‡ both plain and mountain, Time after time, as from an earthquake, quaked and shook.

Time after time, as from an earthquake, quaked and shook. It is now the fifth year, since in this neighbourhood, Every day heareth the clashing of glittering swords. Since I arrived in this part, § I have become a nonentity— Either I am despicable, or this people are infamous grown. I cry out unto them, "Troops, troops," until I am weary; But deaf to all, they neither say "Die," nor "Thy sacrifice." §§ When the state of the Yūsufzīs became known unto me, Lowāghar was then my better place, not Damghār. The dogs of the Khattaks are far better than the Yūsufzīs, Though, in disposition, the Khattaks are more worthless than dogs. The whole of the other Afghāns, from Ḳandahār unto Attak, In honour's cause, both secretly and openly, are one. See how many battles have been fought on all sides; Yet still, amongst the Yūsufzīs, there is no sense of shame. p. 151 The first fight was at the higher back of Mount Tatārah, * Where forty thousand Mughals were scattered like chaff. When their sisters and daughters fell into the bonds of the Afghāns, With horses and camels, elephants and baggage, string after string. The second battle was with Mir Husain in the Doābah, † When his head was crushed, like that of a venemous snake. After that again, was the affair at the fort of Nohs’hairah, ‡ When from the Mughals I extracted my own inebriation. And then came Jaswant Singh and Shujaæat Khān, Of whom, Ae-mal Khān plucked up the roots at Gandāb.

Of whom, Ae-mal Khān plucked up the roots at Gandāb. The sixth was over Mukarram Khān and Shamsher Khān, Both of whom, at Khāpash, Ae-mal scattered to the winds. These are the greatest triumphs that I hold in recollection; But the lesser ones, in all directions, who shall compute? Up to the present time, victory hath been always with us; And for the future, upon God, is our dependence placed. A year hath passed since Aurangzeb is encamped against us, Disordered and perplexed in appearance, and wounded in heart. It is now year after year, that his nobles fall in battle; But his armies swept away, who shall number them! The treasures of India have been spread out before us: The red gold muhurs have been engulphed in the hills. p. 152 It would not have entered one's head in eighteen guesses, That such events would e’er have happened in these parts. Still Aurangzeb's malevolence hath not a whit diminished, Though the curses of his father it before drew down. * For this reason, also, no one can place dependence on him: He is malignant and perfidious; a breaker of his word. For this state of things, no other termination can be seen, Than that the Mughals be annihilated, or the Afghāns undone. If this, which is beheld, be the revolutions of destiny— If in this be the will of the Almighty, the time is come. Fate revolveth not in the same fashion at all times Now ’tis propitious to the rose; now favourable to the thorn.

Now ’tis propitious to the rose; now favourable to the thorn. At a period so pregnant with honour and glory, as the present, In what manner do these base and recreant Afghāns act? † There is no deliverance in any thing, save the sword: Afghāns, who nourish any other idea than this, are lost, indeed. The Afghāns are far superior to the Mughals at the sword, Were but the Afghāns, in intellect, a little discreet. If the different tribes would but support each other, Kings would have to bow down in prostration before them. But whether it be concord or strife, or folly or wisdom, The affairs of every one are in the hands of the Almighty. p. 153 Let us see what the Afrīdīs, Mohmands, and Shīnwāris will do; For the Mughals are now lying encamped at Nangrahār. * I alone, amongst the Afghāns, grieve for our honour and renown; Whilst the Yūsufzīs, at their ease, are tilling their fields. They who now act so dishonourably, and so shamelessly, Will, hereafter, the upshot of their own acts perceive. In my poor judgment, death is more preferable than life, When existence can no longer, with honour, be enjoyed. In this world, he will not always remain with life; But the memory of Khushḥāl will long, long endure! It was the first of the Third Sister, † in the year of Ghafū ‡ That I, whilst at Barmawul, indited these lines. II. What wonderfully delicious wine is this, Which the cupbearer, with welcome, presents!

Which the cupbearer, with welcome, presents! The laughing of the bud in the parterre were impossible, Did not the zephyr, every morning, over it pass. Its counsel regarding the nightingale was this, That the morn should the rosebud's garment rend. § p. 154 Appreciate thou the value of Philomel, O rose, Although thou bloomest in this thy beauty now! Since his cure dependeth upon the object of his heart, Of the lover's disease, what do physicians know? Save the beloved-one's beaming countenance, imagine not That Khushḥāl will be, with any other face, content. III. Spring hath returned: the narcissus in the garden wantoneth, And the breeze of the morning, the spikenard disordereth. For five short days, the rose of the parterre will bloom; But on the sixth, it scattereth its existence to the winds. The enamoured nightingale layeth its head at the rose's feet, As the Brahman bendeth, in adoration, his idol before. Acquire thou humility from the example of the cypress, That with such loftiness, showeth this much lowliness. The Karlārrnaey * hath quaffed no other wine whatever— The whole of this inebriety proceedeth from creation's cup. † IV. My beloved is offended: would there were any one who would conciliate her! Arise quickly, O mediator! for my heart is grieved on her account. p. 155 He will be constantly plunging into the deep seas of injustice, Who rendereth up his heart unto the heart-ravishers of these days.

Who rendereth up his heart unto the heart-ravishers of these days. What a vile world it is! what are its customs! what its ways! It abandoneth, altogether, the starving, and giveth invitation to the cloyed! Punished they cannot be; but would I could lay hands, as I wish, on them; For ’tis those sable locks of thine, that are ever of hearts making theft. The tyranny of thy dark tresses is by no means hidden from view— The impassioned-one, who may be powerful, soon her tyranny displayeth. Thou that givest thyself unto the tender passion, accept in love The taunts and reproaches, that the world, upon lovers, ever cast. Thy blood-thirsty locks have not made me, only, desolate; And many more, like unto me, forlorn, will they, even yet, destroy. Wouldst thou, this one so arrogant of her beauty see, draw near! Alas! towards Khushḥāl, her coquetry she openly displayeth. V. Wherefore doth Aurangzeb his throne and crown adorn? For death will assail, and lay waste the both of them. His evil name only will remain behind in the world; Knowing, as he doth, whether he as Kasrā, or as Hujāj acteth. * p. 156 O’erwhelmed in grief, I know not of festival or feast, Though the whole people of Dilhī make gladness and joy. All the water went to the eyes, and the heart's fire blazed out— Alas, how can any one, in such a state of mind as this exist! They turn pale when they lay finger upon my pulse; Then, by what means, can the physicians, my disorder cure?

Then, by what means, can the physicians, my disorder cure? Separation lacerateth my heart in the same manner, As the falcon rendeth the partridge and the quail. When two friends may be separated by a distant land, How desirous God maketh them of a mere salutation! My tears are produced through the emotions of the heart, Like as fire expelleth the moisture from the roasting meat. Alas, every arrow that is discharged from fatality's bow, Destiny maketh poor Khushḥāl's heart the butt of! VI. Thou wast saying, "Grieve not any more; for I am thine, and thou art mine:" Whether thou hast falsely or truly spoken, thou hast, indeed, given me life again. What a lovely calamity thou art! a charmer, incomparable, art thou! Would that there were not this defect, that thou hadst not such a cruel heart! Should the whole universe, in every direction, be with the lovely filled; Even then, it would be astonishing, if one were found beautiful like thee. p. 157 With so many victims slain, even yet thou showiest no pity or regret: But what matter, though the executioner shed blood a hundred times over? Since out of thy garden, or thy parterre, I beg for a rose from thee, Shouldst thou but a straw on me bestow, yet I, as a rose, receive it. As long as I may exist, I am, indeed, the captive of those ringlets, In every hair of which, hundreds of hearts will ever be enthralled. Whether old, or whether young, all are distracted about thee:

Whether old, or whether young, all are distracted about thee: There is not a person in the town, that is not enamoured of thee. The cypress-tree behold! it very soon ceaseth to be looked upon, When thou, with this stature and figure, through the garden trippest. The prospect of Heaven to come, is bliss to both monk and priest; But Khushḥāl hath gained Paradise, at once, in meeting thee. VII. Again the minstrel's rebeck toucheth the heart profoundly; For it discovereth new and fresh strains of melodious harmony. Leave the monk in the monastery's nook! I will to the garden; For the flowers of spring instruct me in righteousness’ ways. Beggars have much anxiety about filling their bellies; And kings should be solicitous regarding dominion and realm. If this be not the effect of my good fortune, what is it then, That against the guardian she crieth out to this degree? How much more will be the extent of the love of her constancy, When, in injustice and inconstancy, such favour she bestoweth? p. 158 Within this city, the juice of the grape is thus so openly sold; Because the censor, himself, favoureth the bibbers of wine. From thy coldness to me, I grow both joyful and melancholy, Like unto one that giveth thanks to, and yet complaineth of another. If to love to look upon the pretty creatures be aught of sinfulness, Then Khushḥāl committeth iniquity, all his life long. VIII. When towards his father a son acteth perfidiously,

When towards his father a son acteth perfidiously, After what manner, to others, will he sincerity show? See, what further perfidy must be within his heart, When the hypocrite maketh avowal of his own misdeeds. Neither will I pardon the enormities of the degenerate, Nor will the Almighty forgive the fallen angel his sins. All these minor hills are as nothing: desirous am I, That my God, betwixt us, would place even Ḳāf * itself. The conduct of his own son is best known to his father; Then why will people commend the degenerate unto me? Neither can any liar utter falsehoods like him, Nor can any one equal him in cunning and deceit. There are both a thousand varieties of vain lies in his heart, And a thousand vaunts of morality upon his tongue. That I cherished, and brought up such an undutiful son, It was, alas! for this, that he should, against me, rise up! p. 159 Let me not, indeed, cast eyes upon him whilst I live; And after death, let him not dare my grave to approach. Sorrow and grief shall, whilst living, leave his heart, If fate, unto Khushḥāl, shall due justice grant. IX. Every sick person that is impatient with his physician, Bringeth, if thou but consider, affliction upon himself. The fish existeth in the river; but should it come out thereof, Can it be comfortable, or at ease, upon the dry land? Though the bat hideth himself from the light of the sun, In what manner doth the sun sustain injury therefrom?

In what manner doth the sun sustain injury therefrom? ’Tis the nature of dogs to howl at the sight of the moon; And thus, by their yelping, bring disgrace on themselves. The dung-beetle is distressed by the flower's perfume; Because its existence is sustained by offensiveness. That the prophets are evil in the sight of the infidel, Is, because whatever they do, is with the Devil's advice. Unfortunate, indeed, is he, who acteth on his enemy's counsel: Can an opponent and an enemy ever give good advice? The heron, on the river's bank, is with thirst parched; For every penurious creature followeth his own avaricious ways. With the precepts of the Ḳur’ān, Fārūḳ is acquainted: It pointeth not out the right path to Bū-Lḥab, or to Bū-Jhal. * p. 160 The purity of the Musalmān, O Khushḥāl! is possible; But no ablutions, no purifications, can make the Gabr * clean. X. Through sorrow at the poor-spiritedness of the Afghāns, I have abandoned greatness, and taken meanness in hand. Had this much even been gained in the matter, it were good— Had I wreaked upon the recreant my full meed of revenge. From the time when the jewel of my honour became broken, I have not left, for a moment, my eyes free from tears. That pearl came not into my hands, after all my trouble, And, therefore, my boat I have drawn up on the sea-shore. This waist of mine, that in resistance was a mountain, Through chagrin and disappointment, unto the Mughal I bent.

Through chagrin and disappointment, unto the Mughal I bent. But let good fortune once commence again to aid me, That it may relieve me from the weight of affliction's load This misery of mine is not to be compared to any other grief, Although I may have experienced a thousand woes and sorrows. The back of fortune, and. the world's, both are turned upon me; Hence, through sorrow, I turned my face from all, the Mughal unto. Were it in my power, or were it mine own free-will, I would not, even two paces, towards them advance. I am obliged to hearken to crooked words from the mouths of those, Unto whom, in my lifetime, I never before a straight one gave. p. 161 The outcries of my own people, and of strangers, affect me, Notwithstanding I used, even from a whisper, to screen myself. I am now ashamed of those proud and boastful words, That, before every one, were wont to issue from my lips. A hundred reproaches and indignities are heaped upon me, Who ever guarded myself from detraction and reproach. ’Tis for this reason the elephant streweth dust upon his head, * That I made him acquainted with Khushḥāl's sorrows. XI. If, for once only, she will show her face from the veil, She will take the diploma of beauty from the sun. The tulip shall borrow bloom from her countenance; The hyacinth will grow furious at the sight of her curls. Wherefore Both the world accuse fortune thus falsely?

Wherefore Both the world accuse fortune thus falsely? ’Tis she, that with her eyes, hath desolated the world. Either those orbs of hers are red from wine's effects, Or some one hath roused her from sleep, unseasonably. She quaffeth the blood of hearts in the place of wine; Then again, taketh roasted hearts, as au incitement to more. The special death of the slaughtered by the hand of the beloved, Is that they may enter Paradise, without rendering account. Let my heart be a compass, and let it never vary or turn In any other direction, save the altar of thine eyebrows unto. p. 162 Do not be so overjoyed, O Khushḥāl! at all her vows; For, from the bubble, no one hopeth for any constancy. XII. O zephyr of the morn! draw near unto the parterre; For the flowers are overjoyed, in expectation of blooming. What doth the hermit know, as to what thing love is? Wherefore speakest thou to the owl, the garden concerning? Though the monks perform their devotions five times a day, I am ever prostrate, in devotion, unto the Giver of good. As much as I behold thee, I do not become satiated, Notwithstanding I gaze so intently upon thy face. Again, indeed, place thou a scar on the anemone's heart, When thou roamest in the garden, so joyous and gay. Anger and kindness I perceive between thine eyebrows: The tablet of thy forehead thou hast placed to be perused. Sometimes, thou raisest strife; at others, showest kindness—

Sometimes, thou raisest strife; at others, showest kindness— Simple hearted that I am, at such skill, I grow amazed. If thou hast set thine heart upon my death, I too, say, That thy tyranny hath brought me to death's door nigh. XIII. Draw near, and behold him now, with a clod beneath his head, Who could not sleep upon a bed, without a pillow of feathers! This, which they call the transient world, hath no existence, and is naught; For this reason, O foolish man! ’tis hideous in the sight of the wise. p. 163 This world is a scabby sheep—then what good is there in keeping it? The shepherd, when he findeth out its scabbiness, expelleth it from the flock. Is this a tempest or hail-storm, that both standing corn and stacks also go? Out upon such a corn-field as this, since an ear of corn can not be found! With these eyes of mine, I have beheld the noble and massive structures of kings, Who coveted the world's dominion, but left them, all at once, behind! A hundred thousand squadrons assemble, and collect the treasures of the world; Be as Sanjar * for a few generations, and then neither thou nor thy race remain. Thy house is on the face of a flood, and this thy contemptible idea is still worse; For no one would there his dwelling make, that it should be swept by the flood away. p. 164 Shouldst thou become a Shahdād * in the world, still calamity will remember thee; And if here thou a Paradise preparest, of what profit is such an Aden † to thee?

And if here thou a Paradise preparest, of what profit is such an Aden † to thee? He carried away along with him, this wealth ephemeral, O young man! Who diffused it broadcast; but not they, that heaped it up for themselves. I have beheld fortune's practices—its different usages and ways— It clambereth unto thee with difficulty; but like a stone from a mountain, rolleth away! If thou art foolish and imprudent, like unto Mir-bāz ‡ pursue it; But if wise and prudent, like unto Khushḥāl, from it flee away! XIV. These dark waving curls, they are thine, thou dear one, so beautiful, so gay! Black narcissuses are those eyes of thine, thou dear one, so beautiful, so gay! When thou gayest me a kiss, I became intoxicated, beyond computation; For like unto red wine are thy lips, thou dear one, so beautiful, so gay! Now that I have with mine eyes gazed on this, thy lovely cheek, I know that it is the tulip, thou dear one, so beautiful, so gay! p. 165 They, who murmur and complain unto others, of thy tyranny, Are faithless and inconstant too, thou dear one, so beautiful, so gay! Free of grief, how can he sleep—in tranquillity how shall he be, Who is separated from thee? thou dear one, so beautiful, so gay! He only will receive thy kisses, on whom thy affections may be, Tho’ many are enraptured with thee, thou dear one, so beautiful, so gay! Thou wreakest injustice on me, then sayest, "This is not done by me"—

Thou wreakest injustice on me, then sayest, "This is not done by me"— Then whose act is it, if not thine? thou dear one, so beautiful, so gay! Thou sayest unto Khushḥāl, "There are others far prettier than I:" Can there be one, than thee more lovely? thou dear one, so beautiful, so gay! XV. Wine's intoxication soon cometh, and as quickly disappeareth; But the eternal inebriation leaveth not the inebriated one. Tho’, in the world, my name is become notorious for debauchery, Still I will not abandon the ways of the bibbers of wine. Though the king may cast him into prison, he will not grieve; For the liberty of the free is from the beginning of time. There is neither friendship nor relationship: all is deceit, I find, Since I became acquainted with the ways and usages of mankind. I am happy in hope of future joy, tho’ now in sorrow plunged; For the day ever followeth, in rotation, after the darkness of night. The pearl of our yearnings lieth immersed in ocean's depths; And after it, the divers plunge continually, into its dark abyss. p. 166 That fish, who may perceive danger from the sharp hook, From the bottom to the shore, from prudence, will never look. The thoughts of the lover's heart are like unto the deep, deep sea, The billows of which, at times, rage in fury; at others, calmly sleep. Affection for the beloved, from Khushḥāl's heart, will never depart: It is like unto the love of the idolater, for the idol of his worship.

It is like unto the love of the idolater, for the idol of his worship. XVI. From out of the clear, azure flask, O cupbearer! bring thou unto me A full goblet of that potent wine, The remedy for grief, the consoler in woe. Speak not of the tributes of the world! They cannot compare with one cup of wine: Then, O censor, leave me and the wine, withal! Tho’ thereby my house should devastated be. Become thou the beggar at the tavern's door, If along with the crown, thou dominion seek: The mart of the wine-bibbers is crowded, From this extensive sale of wine. Turning from the idol-temple to the monastery, Is both an absurd and a useless act: From the cupbearer, then take thou the glass; For therein is much gladness and joy. O cupbearer! let me ever behold thee— Thou of the moon-like brow and sunny face! Bring the crystal cup, to overflowing full, And satisfy the yearnings of Khushḥāl! p. 167 XVII. Tho’ the miser's house may contain the water of immortality; Still, like unto the deadliest poison, is its effect on me. Moses possessed nothing whatsoever, but one rod alone: Ḳārūn had boundless wealth, and verily, calamity befell him. * He who hath riches, with it hath vexation and misfortune mix’d up; Hence the wise so act, that they may not their troubles increase. The duration of the rose; the world's wealth; the mean man's friendship; These three or four things are all inconstant and transitory.

These three or four things are all inconstant and transitory. He, who may neither possess modesty nor virtue, genius nor understanding, Regard not his wealth, nor his beauty, nor his ancestral descent. The wise man is in utter misery, whilst the fool reveleth in pleasure— And well, indeed, may the world be amazed at such occurrences as these. That he should continue happy all his life, and grief never assail him, No one, into the world hath brought, a safe-conduct, such as this. This is the way with fortune—some it maketh happy—some miserable; And however clear now, the mirror will become clouded hereafter. Wherefore, then, trouble thyself! Be rejoiced at this, O Khushḥāl! That he, who hath neither riches nor wealth, hath neither pilgrimage to perform, nor taxes to pay. p. 168 XVIII. Very many persons within my recollection, Have come, and passed, like the wind away. They, indeed, arrive and depart, in such a way, That they appear to have no tarrying place at all. It is an astonishing, and a vast workshop this, That the Great Master hath organized, and set up. Cast thine eyes upon the bubble in the stream! What is it? and what its origin and its base? Such art thou too, if thou canst understand: An excellent example is demonstrated to thee. Concerning thyself, thou knowest nothing: Alas! alas! verily, thou knowest naught. What are all thy grief and misery about? And why becomest thou again overjoyed?

And why becomest thou again overjoyed? Since it is so very hard, O Khushḥāl! Is this thine heart, or is it but a lump of steel? XIX. Like unto the wind, every moment, life passeth away! Let then every man have the remembrance of death ever before him! Since the foundation of this life of his, is based upon the air, Upon existence such as this, what reliance can be placed? The dust of man is leavened with the water of mortality, By the hand of Omnipotence kneaded, in the space of forty days. * p. 169 Both saints and prophets have, alike, gone down into the tomb— Thou wouldst say, forsooth, that they had never existed at all. If thou considerest it well, the term of life here is nothing: No one hath attained in it the object of his desires and hopes. If thou, indeed, seek life eternal, then I say unto thee, War, for ever, with the infidels of the lusts of the flesh. The prudent traveller, whose journey lieth before him, Taketh provision with him, according to the length of the road. Come, sever thine heart, O Khushḥāl! from all extraneous things; And in the hope of meeting Him, let it rejoice always! XX. The Almighty gave into my arms—and I am under obligation to the mediator *— The fair-faced one, with the ruby lips, and the flowing sable tresses. The beloved is kind and affectionate, and the consoler in every sorrow: Should the guardian come, what will he do? neither grief nor concern have I.

Should the guardian come, what will he do? neither grief nor concern have I. Let them consume upon it, as a charm, to ward off evil from thy face; For thy love is like unto fire, and thy lovers like unto wild rue † are. p. 170 These are not thy cheeks, nor are these thy dark flowing ringlets: They're the fresh fibrils of the spikenard, that have fallen two roses upon. I follow in her pursuit, in the hope that I may obtain, even one look; But she casteth not her eyes behind; and, thus, along before me goeth. If this much of thy affection is not good fortune, what is it then? That when thou, upon Khushḥāl, Khattak, smilest, the jealous weep. XXI. Unto the old man, who sigheth after youthfulness, say— What is this? laughest thou at thy beard, old man? Since in a year, it will have both youth and age, Than the fate of man, that of the wild rue is better. At times, he becometh so sated at table, that he cannot eat; At others, he rolleth his eyes upon it, with greediness and voracity. In their wishes, and in their words, and also in their proceedings, The people of the world are doubtful and timid of each other. With beard now grown white, why should I have fear of death; When friends, in their prime, with beards black, have gone before me? Him, under whose sway the whole of the earth's surface was, Draw near, and behold now, in the surface of the earth! p. 171 This world's folks are like unto the moving sands, * if thou but consider;

This world's folks are like unto the moving sands, * if thou but consider; For, in truth, they roll over, and upset each other, in the very same way. With these eyes of mine, I have beheld the dread furnace of fate— I Khushḥāl, myself, whom, like unto dried up verdure, it consumeth. XXII. Her sweet face took from me all thoughts of the wild white rose: Her ringlets eradicated all consideration of the musk of China. The curls of the pagan beauty became a cord about my neck: † A thousand thanks, that she of my religion and faith divested me. Although the folks offer up prayers for my patience and resignation, Affection hath despoiled me of the "Amen," unto these supplications. Save the lips of the beloved, I take no other name upon my tongue; For love hath abstracted from me all other memory and recollection. My heart, on that day became disgusted with my own life, When the hard-hearted one took it, entirely, from me. By what law, indeed, hath she deprived me of sleep and repose, That I weep and lament, and sigh and bewail, all the night long? Her two eyes are a falcon, and her waving locks are the king-feathers: The falcon pounced on, and carried from me the pigeon of my heart. p. 172 At her coming, she used to bring with her comfort and consolation; And by her departure, she would rob me of all tranquillity soever. The flowers of the parterre hang down their heads, and this they say—

The flowers of the parterre hang down their heads, and this they say— "The heart-ravisher hath appropriated to herself all admiration." I was saying, I will consider, even yet, of some remedy for it; When poor Khushḥāl, wholly withdrew his lacerated heart from me. XXIII. The skirt of fortune and prosperity cannot be seized by force! Is the blind man without reproach, if he apply antimony to his eyes? What is wealth, indeed? It is like unto a beautiful bride, In an impotent-fellow's house, where her life is in torment. Let it not be, that every bad rider should mount fortune's steed: If it be ridden by any one, at least a good horseman let him be. From a sorry, low-bred pony, another wretched one is produced; ’Tis from the high-bred horses of the course alone, that noble steeds come. * That into my dwelling, in the first place, such animals came, My luck must have been bad, from the beginning of time. These ponies are mere puppets—may confusion seize them! They create disturbance and tumult in the stable continually. Like unto a good and worthy son in his father's dwelling, A treasure of silver and gold in his house is not to be compared. p. 173 O God! thou hast given me a numerous progeny, and I am thankful; But let the fame of their goodness resound in every city and town! They, who stir up enmity between brothers, are recreant and unworthy: Would to heaven they had learnt good, or had learnt naught besides!

Would to heaven they had learnt good, or had learnt naught besides! Give both thine ears and eyes unto the appeals of Khushḥāl; Since Bahrām and Æābid * are, both of them, deaf and dumb! XXIV. It is the sweet spring time, and I am separated from my beloved! Alas! alas! that thou passest away, O spring, without her! Both the hills and the dales weep at the lover's state forlorn— They are not from melted snow, those floods, that from the mountains flow. It is the fire of wounded hearts, that hath enveloped the trees on the hills; Hence, dense black smoke and flame arise, from the fir-tree and the plane. Dost thou desire to become acquainted with the condition of the bereaved? Behold then, that crane, which hath become separated from the flock! It thus appeareth, that the world is a place of mourning and sorrow; For the parrots have, with loud cries, green vestments donned. † p. 174 There are no other wailings besides—all are the wails of separation: Draw near, if thou wouldst hear them from the rebeck's every string! My disease lesseneth not—indeed, it increaseth every hour: For God's sake, come speedily, O physician, that I may not die! One, is death unto opponents—the other, is life unto beloved friends: I swear, by heaven, that when lovers meet, both are brought about! What though one still breathe, and is accounted among the living? When the malady is yet without antidote, give up hopes of the sick.

When the malady is yet without antidote, give up hopes of the sick. Of mankind none remain—those that roam about are demons and devils; Hence, they have no compassion for the agonies of the distressed. Through love, alas! to this degree, wretched and miserable am I become, That whether relations or strangers, they look not on Khushḥāl through shame. XXV. Although she quarreleth with me, by word of mouth—that dear one; Yet in her heart, that dear one entertaineth much kindness for me. When, with arms each other's necks around, she accompanieth me, Verily, from my heart she removeth the rust-spot—that dear one. There is no necessity for the sword—her coldness is sufficient, If to compass my death should be the intent of that dear one. Since she hath shown unto me the torch of her loveliness, Upon it, another time, she will make me the moth—that dear one. p. 175 I am a poor beggar—she is a sovereign; hence it is becoming in her, Even though she of my affection should feel ashamed—that dear one. He, who may have turned Malang, * requireth but a carpet for prayer; And in the end, too, a Malang will she make of me—that dear one. With cheerful heart, she laugheth and smileth with every one besides; But with me, indeed, she is mournful and sad—that dear one. No gem-studded ornament hath she inserted in her nostril; But with a single black clove she resteth satisfied—that dear one. † Towards my opponents, her heart is gentle and soft as wax itself;

Towards my opponents, her heart is gentle and soft as wax itself; But towards Khushḥāl, she hardeneth it like stone—that dear one. XXVI. Upon those lips of her’s is there not a black hand-maid? ‡ Draw near! Khizr, § at the fountain of immortality behold! The face of the beloved is rich, both in moles and in ringlets; For in the house of the wealthy, every requirement will be found. When their shade over-shadoweth me, I a king become; For the shadow of thy dark curls is that of the Ḥumā itself. §§ Thy cheek is an enkindled flame—what then is thy braided hair? It is like unto the dense black smoke, that from fire ascendeth. p. 176 The dust of those feet of thine, at the rate of amber thou vendest: Who told thee that thou shouldst sell it at a price like this? For how long wilt thou look another way, and appear unconscious, When about me in every direction clamour and uproar arise? It is through this loveliness that thou art beautiful like the rose, If thou art, indeed, one of a father and a mother born. He hath not the courage to take her name upon his tongue—. The poor lover who feareth the censures and reproaches of the world. I had given up wine, and had grown quite a penitent, indeed; But the goblet of the cupbearer again put my contrition to flight. He that placeth foot within her alley, bringeth destruction on himself; Therefore, O unfortunate, into that vicinity do thou enter not!

Therefore, O unfortunate, into that vicinity do thou enter not! Whether it were her coquetry, or her conceits, I could have borne them; But towards me she manifesteth exceeding arrogance at all times. The whole power of her mind hath she put forth against him; And thereby hath deprived the poor lover of all energy and control. When it may convey no significance, speaking is unprofitable; But the Almighty willeth not that Khushḥāl's words be vain. Since, on thy account, the black pupils of his eyes turned white, Welcome unto me, O thou, of Khushḥāl's eyes, the light! XXVII. I am, indeed, a wine-bibber; then, wherefore, O monk! wranglest thou with me? Men's destinies are from all eternity—would thou couldst like thyself make me! p. 177 Wisely thou counselest—a blessing, O monitor, be upon thy tongue! But it were well, if by means of words, thou couldst the river's water disguise. They, who possessed naught of sense or understanding, have gone to Heaven; Whilst those, who prided themselves upon their wisdom, have gone to Hell. Unto Abū-Jahl, * the precepts of Muḥammad were of no advantage soever; For who can polish the mirror of him, whom God hath with rust corroded? In loneliness and solitude seated, tell me, O monk! what thou gainest thereby? Wherefore makest thou this wide and ample world, for thyself, so confined? In every sect and religion, I, indeed, seek after the cause of the heart's sorrows;

In every sect and religion, I, indeed, seek after the cause of the heart's sorrows; But thou knowest, and thine own words know, the various tales thou tellest. Draw near, thou minstrel! commence the song of the new year's day! On rebeck, flute, and harp, strike up those thrilling strains of melody! The flowers teem on all sides—there are tulips, narcissuses, and hyacinths too: Thou attest unwisely, if thou purposest going in any other direction than to the parterre. p. 178 Some, taking with them much provision for the journey, set out to seek for her; And others again, for her sake, bind the Santon's prayer-carpet round their loins. O, that the scale of thy good deeds may be heavy at the judgment day! For like wax shalt thou soften, towards the lover, his opponents’ flinty hearts. Though the whole of the armies of Dilhī have come to compass the death of Khushḥāl; Still, thou dost not consider thyself strong enough, and hangest back from shame. XXVIII. The world's affairs have all become turned upside down: All those ways are not now, as they used to be seen by me. Towards the father, the son showeth the actions of an enemy: Towards the mother, the daughters are ready to act like rival wives. In thine own house, there will not be two brothers together dwelling, Who have not a thousand iniquities ready in their hearts. The scavenger now feasteth on pulāo, * and rice, and sweetmeats;

The scavenger now feasteth on pulāo, * and rice, and sweetmeats; And unclean things are become lawful, for Muḥammad's descendants. The honoured and trusted of kings are now mere thieves become; And in their royal courts, highway-robbers are grown trustworthy men. p. 179 The nightingales and the parrots fly about the wilds, astounded; And crows and ravens caw and croak above the beds of flowers. Babylonian steeds eke out an existence upon dry grass alone; Whilst the tanner's asses receive a stipendiary allowance of provisions. Fools, exempt from all care and anxiety, in tranquillity repose; Whilst a hundred troubles and misfortunes, the prudent and the wise beset. The meanest slave assumeth authority over his own proprietor; And the slave-girls are more honourable than the mistress of the house. Alas, O Khushḥāl! in the days of the Emperor Æālam-gīr, * The house-born servants † have all a wretched and contemptible lot! XXIX. What numbers of boats in this river's depths have sunk and disappeared, A single plank of which, even shouldst thou search, cannot be discovered! Everywhere separation and absence have enkindled the flame of grief: Like unto green wood thrown upon the fire, how long wilt thou weep? p. 180 Sorrow and joy—pain and pleasure—are, from the beginning, linked together; And as much as one may have wept, so much even shall he rejoice again! Many lofty minarets have I beheld, in their graceful symmetry standing;

Many lofty minarets have I beheld, in their graceful symmetry standing; But not a soul mentioned their names unto me, nor said unto whom they belonged. The cares and troubles of the world are of a thousand varieties and forms; And the summer skylarks trill and warble in a thousand different ways. They are different, by far, from the cherished sentiments of my heart The manifold rumours, that the folks bandy from one to the other. This scroll is not the kind of thing, that it shall ever be brought to an end: It is spread open, and examined into—it is read, and then rolled up again. Thine own actions are of use to thee, both in this world and the next Verily, the throat of every one is kept moist, by its own saliva. The humblest fare, though barley-bread, unattended by care and trouble, I will account more dainty than the viands, on the king's table outspread. The ears of the reckless and imprudent are deaf—they cannot hear The blunt, plain-spoken words from Khushḥāl Khattak's mouth. p. 181 XXX. Every moment that a person may be thus in want of employment, Than such, I hold him far better off, who is forced to labour for nothing. * The sick and infirm, if they do not work, are to be excused; But wherefore should not the hale man his living earn? Even if thou mayest not have any employment of thine own; Still, I say unto thee, sit not thus useless and unemployed. Every amusement, by which care may be beguiled, is delight;

Every amusement, by which care may be beguiled, is delight; Whether it be chess, or backgammon, or the pleasures of the chase. Every hour, and every moment, a man's state is different: In one state unchangeable, is the Creator of the world alone. Thy name, O Khushḥāl, shall be remembered in the world; For, in truth, thy employment is one great and mighty work! XXXI. Neither doth any one here seek to avail himself of my abilities and experience, Nor are the capabilities of this country's people of any advantage unto me. † We converse together in one tongue—we speak the Pus’hto language; But we do not, in the least, understand what we to one another say. p. 182 The Suwātīs account themselves exceeding wise, whilst they are but fools; And ’tis amongst such a set as these, that the Almighty my lot hath cast. Now that I have beheld the Suwāt valley, I have this much discovered, That there is no tribe more abject and contemptible than the Yūsufzīs. Tyranny and self-conceit seem to be the innate nature of all; And every man amongst them is covetous and ready to beg. Although, in their dwellings, they have wealth and goods, they are hungry-eyed; And their head-men, than the rest, are more villainous and infamous still. ’Tis said, that the water-melon deriveth its colour from the water-melon; But their wise men and elders are more worthless than the people themselves. The rights of the poor and helpless, they make out wrong and unjust,

The rights of the poor and helpless, they make out wrong and unjust, If they can a single penny obtain by way of a present, or a bribe. As to those I have seen myself—about others I am unable to speak They are all either bullocks or skinners, without any exception soever. * p. 183 Peregrinations such as these, in all countries, are by no means useless; Since all the secrets regarding them became known unto me. Now that Khushḥāl hath smelt the earth of Suwāt, and the Sama’h, * He knoweth, that a single faithful man will not, in them, be found. XXXII. There is lamentation everywhere, from the hand of death! In every place, in every habitation, from the hand of death! 'The form of man He created for the sake of death itself; And evil and misery, in this world, came from the hand of death! The whole of the prophets and saints, that have ever existed, Have all been hidden in the earth, by the hand of death! Surely, and without doubt, in the end shall be brought Ruin and desolation on these fair abodes, by the hand of death! Come! do thou, too, occupy thyself in laying by viaticum for thy journey; For whole caravans have been dispatched, by the hand of death! O Khushḥāl! though in body thou shouldst a Shāh Julian be, † Even then, thou wouldst depart in sorrow, from the hand of death! p. 184 XXXIII. Whilom, indeed, I was always wise; and wise, even yet, am I! I was ever mad and beside myself—mad, even yet, am I!

I was ever mad and beside myself—mad, even yet, am I! There is association, not separation: from Him, disjunction is unreal: With Him, with whom I was a dweller, a dweller, even yet, am I! Since I have entered into the world, I have come to know myself: I was a treasury of mysteries; and of such, a treasury, even yet, am I! In the world, the mention of my goodness is made, far and near: Amongst the folks I was a fiction; and a fiction, even yet, am I! When the veil of His face was drawn aside, unto me a torch appeared; At that moment I was a moth thereon—a moth, even yet, am I! The arrows of His eyelashes, they are the misfortune of my life: I was a target for them an age; and their target, even yet, am I! When He made me a friend of Himself, He turned me from all others away: I then was a stranger unto the world; and a stranger, even yet, am I! That ocean which is circumambient, boundless, unfathomable, Of that ocean I was the pearl; and its pearl, even yet, am I! In the same manner, with mine own beloved, without agent or delegate, As I, Khushḥāl, used in amity to be, in amity, even yet, am I! p. 185 XXXIV. Amongst the whole village, my beloved is that person, Who, throughout the whole tribe, is celebrated—that person. Though, in resemblance and in qualities, she may human seem; But, in truth, from head to foot, she is like a fairy—that person. ’Tis for this reason that I am as a nightingale towards her,

’Tis for this reason that I am as a nightingale towards her, That, in loveliness, she is like unto a bower of roses—that person. Notwithstanding she may reproach me, or become angry with me; Yet still, from her mouth, she is a scatterer of sweets—that person. Whether her curly ringlets, her top-knot, or her side locks; She is the fragrant musk of Tātāry entirely—that person. Let it not happen that I miss her in a crowd, but in case I should, Know, that she is fawn-eyed and rosy-cheeked—that person. In place of a veil, I will present her my head as an offering, Should she nourish the desire to possess it—that person. When I seek to kiss her, she censureth and rebuketh me— She is severe and tyrannical beyond measure—that person. When arrayed, from head to foot, in gold-embroidered garments, From head to foot she is a golden picture—that person. Wherefore, O partridge! art thou so proud of thy gait; For her step is far more graceful than thine—that person! Since her form and disposition perfectly harmonize together, Unto the heart of Khushḥāl she is precious—that person. p. 186 XXXV. There will be none of the world's vanities and ambitions within the tomb: Thine own good deeds will go with thee, and naught else besides! Without the parrot, the cage is useless—be convinced of this! And the soul is like unto the parrot—the body like unto its cage. Be careful, that it may not be, altogether, lost unto thee;

Be careful, that it may not be, altogether, lost unto thee; For, like unto a pearl of great price, is this breath of thine. Whoso casteth this pearl, so precious, unprofitably away, He is not a whit better than the beasts of the field. Pass near the graves of the chiefs, and the nobles of the land! Behold, out of their dust, thorns and brambles have sprung up! Whatever hath happened, cannot be changed; wherefore, then Dost thou manifest such apprehension, and such dread? ’Tis thy lot, from the world to bear, at most, but a shroud away; And that, too, will be but eight or nine yards, or may be ten. All these things, my dear! will remain behind thee; Whether pretty maidens, noble steeds, or robes of finest satin. Be ready, O Khushḥāl! for the time of departure is come In every direction may be heard the sound of the warning bell! * XXXVI. The Turānīs are all turbulent, quarrelsome, and oppressive; Liars, perjurers, and concoctors of calumny and slander. p. 187 The Iranīs * are of a friendly disposition—they are true and faithful: They have urbanity, and breeding—are respectable and deserving. The Afghāns are malevolent, and ruthless, and contentious; But give them for their modesty and valour due praise. Whether Balūch or Hazārah, both are dirty, and abominable: They have neither religion nor faith—may shame attend them! Whether Hindūstānī or Sindhī, may their faces be blackened;

Whether Hindūstānī or Sindhī, may their faces be blackened; For they have neither modesty nor shame; neither bread nor meat! The Kashmīrīs, whether male or female—may they all be undone! They have none of the chattels of humanity amongst them. Behold! they are not of the human race—what are they? May perdition swallow them—both Uzbak and Kazalbāsh! The Laghmānīs, Bangas’hīs, Suwātīs, Tirāhīs—all of them, Are dancers and fiddlers—and who will be friends with such? Unto him, all matters are manifest, regarding other folks’ ways; Then render unto Khushḥāl's shrewdness, its due meed of praise. † p. 188 XXXVII. I am well acquainted with Aurangzeb's justice, and equity— His orthodoxy in matters of faith—his self-denial and fasts; His own brothers, time after time, cruelly put to the sword— His father overcome in battle, and into prison thrown! Tho’ a person dash his head against the ground a thousand times, Or by his fastings, should bring his navel and spine together; Until coupled with the desire of acting with virtue and goodness, His adorations, and devotions, are all impositions and lies. The way of whose tongue is one, and the path of his heart another, Let his very vitals be mangled, and lacerated by the knife! Externally, the serpent is handsome, and symmetrically formed; But internally, is with uncleanness and with venom filled. The deeds of men will be many, and their words will be few;

The deeds of men will be many, and their words will be few; But the acts of recreants are few, and their boastings many. Since the arm of Khushḥāl cannot reach the tyrant here, In the day of doom, may the Almighty have no mercy on him! XXXVIII. I am intoxicated with that countenance, which hath sleepy, languid eyes: By them, I become so cut and gashed, thou wouldst say, those eyes sharp swords contain. My beloved, in loveliness and grace, is incomparable, and without equal: But, than her whole person, more splendid, and more radiant are her eyes. p. 189 I have seen the fine eyes of very many fair ones, in my lifetime; But only one, here and there, hath lashes full and long like thine. Tho’ the prelate and the priest may admire them a hundred times, Can the Ḥourī * have brighter eyes, than those dark ones of thine? Those marplots are sitting together, talking about the poor lover; Consequently, he keepeth his eyes, to this degree, averted from thy face. Wheresoever thou art, there, and there only, will my sight be directed Wherever the heron may be, there the falcon directeth his eyes. There is not, in the wide world—tho’ I am constantly in search— One such fair charmer, that may, to day, possess bewitching eyes. She looketh upon no one—to what degree will the pride of her beauty go? See how long this wayward creature will look so proudly from her eyes. ’Tis well for them, who are happy in the society of the beloved of their hearts;

’Tis well for them, who are happy in the society of the beloved of their hearts; For every hour, on the face of their dear ones, they charm their eyes. Draw near, if thou wouldst behold Khushḥāl in sorrow and grief— Day and night, from thee severed, his eyes with tears o’erflow! XXXIX. A man is he, who is courageous, and whom success attendeth— Who is gentle and affable, unto all people, as long as life lasteth. p. 190 His face, his real face—his word, his word—his promise, his promise: With no falsehood in him, no deception, not witless and lewd. His words few, but his deeds many, and in silence performed— With mouth closed, but bosom laid open like the bud of the rose. When humility may be necessary, or when stateliness be required, To be in loftiness, like the heavens—in humbleness, like the dust. In dignity, like the cypress—in generosity and bounty, like the vine— Its branches, on all sides, under the weight of its clusters bending. Like unto a fresh and fragrant full-blown rose in the parterre, Around which the sweet nightingales raise their plaintive songs. I am quite amazed, since he speaketh in this manner, As from whence did Khushḥāl all this mental genius bring. XL. In this parterre, a single leaf of thine there will not be, O rose! Shouldst thou become acquainted with autumn's dire inclemency. Account as great good fortune, these thy few days in the garden, That the nightingales, for thy sake, beat their breasts and bewail.

That the nightingales, for thy sake, beat their breasts and bewail. Nothing whatever of the glory and dignity of that garden will remain, When the plaintive melody of the nightingale is hushed within it. Upon that wine-flask, which the cupbearer hath with him, The eyes turn not towards, since it is devoid of any wine. Behold the passage of this bridge, by the people of the world! See! some fall, whilst some outstrip others, and cross before them. p. 191 It will never be effaced from its memory, as long as it liveth, If the partridge may ever have felt the talons of the hawk. The decrees by fate ordained, cannot be changed by any means, Tho’, over thyself, thou shouldst read the four kuls, * unceasingly. Lovers, who unto love devote themselves, will never grieve; Nor for the backbitings of marplots, and tale-bearers, will they care. What shall I, a poor darwesh † do? neither hand nor might have I, Otherwise, indeed, I would have exhausted the whole upon the world. Such a dear one I possess—from this, thou mayest of her loveliness judge, When the fragrance of musk is nothing to that of her ringlets. How can he possibly lie on his bed, free from sorrow and care, Who may be aware of the dread earthquakes and tornados of fate? In the assumed coldness of the beloved, there is a pleasure withal; But miserable Khushḥāl, alas! from her real indifference, dieth. XLI. Should any one speak about intellect and ability, certainly, I possess them;

Should any one speak about intellect and ability, certainly, I possess them; But since good fortune assisteth me not, unto whom shall I mention such things? In this world, the gift of fidelity and sincerity is alchemy itself; ‡ Wherefore, then, should I be covetous to obtain it from any one? p. 192 The fruit of constancy and faith, is not to be found in the world's garden I search for it, bootlessly, and unavailingly, upon every tree. That rain which falleth upon the waters, and mixeth with them, How shall I such rain account, amongst other genial showers? My foolishness hath become predominant over my sense and prudence— Unprofitably, I cast back my pearls into the depths of ocean again. By means of fate, it will neither decrease, nor will it increase— I do not consume that daily-bread which belongeth not to me. Whatever may remain redundant, out of my daily sustenance, Like unto a thing given in trust, I preserve for the use of others. What place, in the present time, is free from deceit, and from imposture? O tell me where! that there I may flee, and escape from them. If there had been any safety in flight, from destiny I had been free; But, alas! where shall I direct my steps, to be safe from its decrees? Cruel fortune stoneth me with the stone of calamity and perfidy; Whilst I, silly that I am, carry a shield of glass before my face. When, from its advent, I obtained neither happiness nor joy,

When, from its advent, I obtained neither happiness nor joy, Wherefore should I make my heart sad, by severance therefrom? They were wont to say that patience is the sign of success; Therefore, I Khushḥāl, with resignation gird up my heart. XLII. Notwithstanding thou art unto me a sovereign, and I a beggar; Still turn not from me thy face, for I am distracted and distressed. p. 193 I, who bear the brand of thy thraldom and enslavement, Do not consider any one equal with myself; for I am a king. The door of my heart I have closed unto all extraneous things— Associating with the world, I am filled with anxiety for thee. If any one is wretched about thee, I am that wretched being: If any one is the dust of the sole of thy foot, that dust am I. Sometimes, I write upon paper the words of thy mystery— At others, through grief for thee, I tell, unto my pen, my state. The admirers of thy pretty face, are beyond computation; But amongst the whole of them, I am without compare. Exclude me not from being accounted among the dogs at thy door, Although I may be debarred from all benefits, and favours beside. Shouldst thou love and kindness bestow, of them I am unworthy— If thou treat me with harshness and severity, I merit them. Unto Khushḥāl, thou wast saying, "Of what use art thou?" If I am of use, or if I am of no use; still, still I am thine! XLIII. Gentle breeze of the morn! shouldst thou pass over Khairābād, *

Gentle breeze of the morn! shouldst thou pass over Khairābād, * Or should thy course lead thee by Sarā’e, on the banks of the Sind; † Hail them, again and again, with my greetings and salutations; And with them, many, many expressions of my regard and love! p. 194 Cry out unto the swift Abā-Sind with sonorous voice; But unto the Landdaey, mildly and whisperingly say *— "Perhaps, I may drink, once more, a cup of thy waters; For, whilom, I was not on Ganges’ nor on Jamna's banks." Of the climate of Hind † should I complain, how long shall I cry out? Whilst the vileness of its water is far more horrid still. Shouldst thou drink water from a rivulet, it racketh the vitals; And that of the wells, too, is not free from danger and peril. Since therein, from hill streams, the cool element is not to be had, Defend us from Hind, tho’ it should teem with all the world's luxuries besides. Surely, no one will continue in utter helplessness in this world— The mercy of the Merciful will be shown unto the forlorn, at last! Of the restoration of the wounded, hope may be entertained, When the sore, of its purulence, shall become somewhat free. Once more, O God! delight, by uniting me unto her again, That heart, which now, from her separated, is rent in twain. The wise murmur not, neither do they ever demur, At any stroke of misfortune, that emanateth from the All-wise. In Hind, O Khushḥāl! thou wilt not remain for aye;