நாமார்க்குங் குடியல்லோம் - திருநாவுக்கரசர் - Meena Kandasamy - We are Not the Citizens, the disgraceful fakir Madho Lal Hussein

Meena Kandasamy

We are Not the Citizens

நாமார்க்குங் குடியல்லோம் நமனை யஞ்சோம்

நரகத்தி லிடர்ப்படோம்நடலை யில்லோம்

நாமார்க்குங் குடியல்லோம் நமனை யஞ்சோம் நரகத்தி லிடர்ப்படோ ம் நடலை யில்லோம் ஏமாப்போம் பிணியறியோம் பணிவோ மல்லோம்

naamaarkum kudiyallom, namanai anjom
naragathil idar padom, nadalai illom

We are not the subjects of anyone
We do not fear the god of death
We shall not suffer, were we to end in hell
We’ve no deception, we’ve no illusions.

naamaarkum kudiyallom, namanai anjom
naragathil idar padom, nadalai illom

Nobody’s citizens and nobody’s slaves
Fearless of lynchings and beheadings
Unscathed by the torrent of hell-fires
We do not tremble at certain death.

naamaarkum kudiyallom, namanai anjom
naragathil idar padom, nadalai illom

As people, we refuse to be ruled
As people, we refuse to die
As people, we refuse to suffer
As people, we refuse to be deceived.

naamaarkum kudiyallom, namanai anjom
naragathil idar padom, nadalai illom

(After the Thevaram, as sung by Appar Thirunavukkarasar)

http://shaivam.org/tamil/thirumurai/thiru06_098.htm

962	நாமார்க்குங் குடியல்லோம் நமனை யஞ்சோம் நரகத்தி லிடர்ப்படோ ம் நடலை யில்லோம் ஏமாப்போம் பிணியறியோம் பணிவோ மல்லோம் இன்பமே எந்நாளுந் துன்ப மில்லை தாமார்க்குங் குடியல்லாத் தன்மை யான சங்கரனற் சங்கவெண் குழையோர் காதிற் கோமாற்கே நாமென்றும் மீளா ஆளாய்க் கொய்ம்மலர்ச்சே வடியிணையே குறுகி னோமே.	6.98.1
963	அகலிடமே இடமாக ஊர்கள் தோறும் அட்டுண்பார் இட்டுண்பார் விலக்கார் ஐயம் புகலிடமாம் அம்பலங்கள் பூமி தேவி உடன்கிடந்தாற் புரட்டாள்பொய் யன்று மெய்யே இகலுடைய விடையுடையான் ஏன்று கொண்டான் இனியேதுங் குறைவிலோம் இடர்கள் தீர்ந்தோந் துகிலுடுத்துப் பொன்பூண்டு திரிவார் சொல்லுஞ் சொற்கேட்கக் கடவோமோ துரிசற் றோமே.	6.98.2
964	வாராண்ட கொங்கையர்சேர் மனையிற் சேரோம் மாதேவா மாதேவா என்று வாழ்த்தி நீராண்ட புரோதாயம் ஆடப் பெற்றோம் நீறணியுங் கோலமே நிகழப் பெற்றோங் காராண்ட மழைபோலக் கண்ணீர் சோரக் கன்மனமே நன்மனமாக் கரையப் பெற்றோம் பாராண்டு பகடேறித் திரிவார் சொல்லும் பணிகேட்கக் கடவோமோ பற்றற் றோமே.

Notes:

1. “Naamaarkum kudiyallom, namanai anjomnaragathil idar padom, nadalai illom” are lines from the classic Tamil poetry of the Bhakti poet Thirunavukkarasar (Appar), who was persecuted for his faith in Shaivism by Mahendravarman, the Jain Pallava emperor . It’s widely believed that these lines were sung when efforts were made to arrest him and produce him in Mahendravarman’s court. Because the seventh century Tamil of Appar is still in use — and at the same time, some words have fallen out of the everyday vocabulary — it opens up to all of these renderings, all of these translations. This declaration, that we are not citizens/subjects, is a radical slogan to throw in the face of the state. In today’s world, rife with the refugee crisis, these words resonate. They encapsulate the people’s rejection of a state and, closer home, brings to mind the poet/writer’s disowning her/ his association with a state.

2. This poem is a rendering in the form of an independent poem. The initial lines are word-for-word, but later, the poem begins to convey the spirit without taking away from the meaning of the poem. Also, the plural address and collective speech amplify the voice beyond that of one poet.

© Meena Kandasamy

Leena Manimekalai ‏@LeenaManimekali  56m-‎Sunday, ‎January ‎17, ‎2016 -9:10

BOOK EXCERPT

Introducing the disgraceful fakir Madho Lal Hussein, with four poems to prove it

The poet who added his lover’s name to his own made a joke of moral codes.

Naveed Alam  · Yesterday · 08:30 am

Weaver, mystic, fakir, Shah Hussein continues to command great reverence in Punjab as a poet-saint more than 400 years after his death. His urs, or death anniversary, is still celebrated at his shrine in Baghbanpura, Lahore.

In the inner sanctum of the shrine, buried right next to Hussein, is his young beloved and disciple, Madho (pronounced Madh-oh) Lal. The fact that Hussein literally fused his name with Madho’s and came to be known as Madho Lal Hussein is not only testament to the enduring legacy of love, but also illustrates an essential tenet of Sufism, the merger of the lover and the beloved…

To understand the subversive wisdom of Hussein’s kafis (singular kafi, the stanza-length poetic form preferred by most Punjabi and Sindhi mystical poets) and his unconventional lifestyle practised in sixteenth-century Punjab, we must delve into the scant biographical sources available.

Hussein’s father, a Rajput from the Kalsrai clan, converted to Islam during the Delhi Sultanate (1206–1526) and took on the Muslim name of Sheikh Usman. As a boy, Hussein joined the local mosque which also functioned as a madrasa, where memorising the Quran by rote was the main method of learning.

Being a prodigious student, Hussein caught the attention of an itinerant dervish and scholar, Sheikh Bahlol Dariai, who took him under his wing. The Sheikh was a learned man, having travelled across the wide expanse of the fifteenth-century Islamic world, including Arabia, Mesopotamia, Persia and Afghanistan. He broadened the parochial horizons of his young ward, daring Hussein to fathom the unconventional ways in which traditional texts could be interpreted.

Later, at the age of thirty-six, while studying with another respected scholar of the time, Sheikh Sa’ad Ullah, Hussein paused at the following verses from the Quran:

Harken, Ye Folks, the world is a play and a show, a display of pageantry, pride, and boasting between yourselves, and competing with one another for greater wealth and number of children.

Sura Al-Hadid 57: 20

The words resonated so deeply with Hussein that he broke into a spontaneous dance of self-liberation. From this point onwards, he would not play the game for the sake of any success in the world, material or spiritual, but would rather become the amused player who treats the world as what it is: an ephemeral playground.

It was only a matter of time before Sheikh Bahlol Dariai heard of the promising young student turned malamati – one who seeks disgrace and censure – leading his pack of revellers through the town. The Sheikh returned to talk some sense into Hussein, and he received his due reverence despite Hussein’s radically altered lifestyle. When asked to lead the prayers, Hussein complied. In the middle of the prayer, Hussein broke into laughter and ran away when he recited these Quranic verses:

Did We not open your heart, and ease your burden which weighed down your back, and exalted your fame?

Sura Ash-Sharh 94:1-4

In time, Hussein acquired quite a reputation: a rebel fakir dressed in all red, bearing a wine flask in one hand and an earthen bowl in another. This popular figure did not make for an exemplary model to enforce the moral codes based on the puritanical values of the religious elite. And yet the swelling numbers of his followers could not have gone unchecked since Akbar had temporarily shifted his capital to Lahore.

According to legend, the emperor was unimpressed by the wine-to-non-alcoholic-drinks miracle performed by Hussein when he was brought before Akbar for interrogation, and sent him to prison. While Hussein was in the dock, his likeness showed up in the harem attended upon by the royal ladies. Mystified by the miraculous feat, Akbar acknowledged Hussein’s credentials as a saint, and set him free.

Sorrows are our completion, I tell you,

aches and scars compose a being

Those busy turning millions to billions

remain greedy as ever

Your white robe is fuel for fire

You may have been better off

with a dervish’s grimy cloak

Those who keep the company

of the plain and simple

stay out of harm’s way and arrive

at fuller wisdom

Says Hussein, the Sain’s fakir,

People leave unfulfilled

~~~

My lover grabbed my arm


Why would I ask him to let go?

Dark night drizzling, painful


the approaching hour of departure

You’ll know what love’s all about

once it seeps into your bones


Why dig a well in brackish soil?

Why sow a seed in sand?


You, who are making giant leaps,

one day you’ll be leapt over, my man!

Says Hussein, the humble fakir,


look into the lover’s eyes, and let


the gaze remain interlocked

~~~

O God, I hid my weaver’s tools

You are merciful, Sain


With rings on my finger


how can I do any labour?

With my red velvet shoes

how can I sit still and weave?


For the sake of warming the stove

I sweat for the five measly kaseeras

How can I pay for the expenses?

Inside I’m a den of hens, outside

the serenity of a peacock


Says Hussein, the Sain’s fakir,


the good weaving girl got

kidnapped by the robbers

~~~

Be fearful as long as you live


In the bazaar of love, poor monkeys


put to bizarre tricks. Not easy, I tell you,


to entertain the whims of the beloved


Don’t be a stubborn colt, bow down


Lovers risk life and reputation


Grab the flame through the fire


Sighs ‘n’ sobs, that’s not the way


Out in the field you discover love


Not easy to catch a glimpse. Pluck out


the heart at the glint of love’s blade


The real lover first finishes off the body


Not easy starting up passion, but once started

better not tell anyone. Without the beloved

it’s a false game of a gossip spun world


Don’t seek the temporal out of truth


Don’t ignore one or the other


Says Hussein, the beggar fakir,


what can you do if he remains indifferent?

Let him sort what he started. Look!


Here comes the wedding party

~~~

Excerpted with permission from Verses of a Lowly Fakir, Madho Lal Hussein, Translated from the Punjabi by Naveed Alam, Penguin Books.