The Desert Voices of Sind are not silent. Their
message shall resound through the centuries unborn. This can be readily borne
out by those who are in touch with the mystic culture of Sind. The readers of Triveni
are familiar with the philosophy and lyrical sweetness of the past poets of
Sind such as Shah and S’ami, Sachal and Murad. But the scope of this sketch is
to present to modern India a powerful personality of the present-day Sind’s
youthful poets. He is adored by village-folk, both Muslims and Hindus, as God’s
man. The fragrance of his songs has been wafted on to the far-famed Sevagram,
for even Gandhiji has listened with rapt attention to the songs of this rustic
bard, not without being moved.
Commonly known by the nom-de-Plume of Dukhayal
(literally meaning “the sorrowing one”), his real name is Hundraj Lilaram
Manick. Born on 16th January 1910 at Larkana, a northern town of Sind, at the
foot of Mohen-jo-Daro, the cradle of India’s most ancient civilization, he in
common with others shares the belief that the very soil of Larkana is
sanctified by the birth and breath of several Sufi poets of past and present
fame. Like other prodigies, he wrote poetry at the age of 8 and when he was 14 his
first booklet of poems saw the light of day. Since then, hundreds of his poems
and songs have been printed in Sindhi and have been immortalised in gramophone
records.
Like most of the Sindhi poets, Dukhayal was not
groomed in any other University than that of Life. He left school at the age of
10 when the Congress launched the triple boycott of schools, courts and
Government services in the hectic days of Non-co-operation. Since then he has
been drawn into the vortex of politics, which incidentally provided him with an
excellent opportunity of mixing with the masses, of understanding human
problems of joy and sorrow. Since 1928, he has been actively associated with
the Congress programme and has to his credit five incarcerations spending an
aggregate period of over 3 1/2 years. Most of his poetry was sung and penned
within those cold, stony walls. His poetry though characterized by patriotic
fervour, varies from national themes to those of Sufi cult, folklore,
religion, worship of Nature and mysticism, as will be seen from some of his
typical songs (translated in English by the writer of this sketch) reproduced
below.
Dukhayal is not a mere dreamer. Anyone who has seen
his tall, Rajput like mien, powerfully defined profile, his dark magnetic eyes
that are fathomless and his child-like smile, tender and frank, that instantly
wins over even his political opponents, will agree that his personality works
more on the plane of practical day-to-day problems of the masses.
In 1940, he started Goth Seva Dal (Association for
serving Village-folk) and later on in 1942 he started Gandhi Khizmat Ghar,–the
only kind of Ashrama in Sind where public workers are given practical
training to serve the villagers in various ways. This institution is built far
from the din of cities and towns, under Nature’s beautiful setting at a small
place called Ratodero where not only the sick come to receive healing, but
small indigenous cottage industries are worked to make the villagers
self-supporting; farmers are taught new methods of irrigation; the spirit of
self-reliance is infused in all the activities of the villagers; here
Hindu-Muslim unity is not merely preached but is lived in day-to-day life; here
people take their disputes for arbitration and amicable settlement without squandering
their hard-earned money on litigation. Dukhayal is essentially a man of
action–though a born poet,–who by living his precepts spreads the charm of his
beautiful utterances deep down the hearts of his fellow-beings.
His is not a pessimistic outlook on life. Listen to
his message for the modern youth:
Courage, Youth!
Be daring, despair not
Having moved thy feet, look not behind;
Take courage, O Youth!
Combat with calamities;
March, march on to thy goal!
What if thou slip or tumble down?
Bate not thy breath, turn not thy face!
Even if a thousand hardships befall,
Take courage, O youth!
Let volcano erupt over thy path,
Not even the sky’s summit can obstruct thee!
Endeavour to walk onwards
With the aid of courage;
For courage is the weapon of victory.
Take courage, then, O youth!
Give up contemptible cowardice!
Recall thy immutable resolve!
For sacrifice indeed is the mark
And warp and woof of Success
That will work wonders.
Take courage, then, O Youth!
He is out and out for a new outlook on life. His
clarion call to the sons of India emphasises this aspect as under; –
Revolutionize thy thoughts
So that they produce
A strong revolt against slavery;
O thou India’s son!
Revolutionize thy thoughts.
O thou lion-hearted, dauntless rebel!
Cross over the ocean of doubting mind,
Depths of difficulties are shallow for thee;
The other bank is not yonder from thee;
One leap is enough
O thou India’s son!
Revolutionize thy thoughts.
Blast the rugged rock of superstition,
Pound it to dust by the touch of your foot;
Lift up the club of courage
And destroy life’s narrow hedge;
Remember thy royal road
O thou India’s son!
Revolutionize thy thoughts.
Let the tempest of terror descend,
And clouds of coarse barbarity rend;
Yet Hope’s resplendent ray
All darkness shall allay;
Light, then, the torch of thy heart
O thou India’s son!
And revolutionize thy thoughts
The masses are yearning and ready to watch
For the signal to march;
When the bugle of Equity shall blow
Wild into joy would the Nation go!
Who could dare to stop thee?
O thou India’s son!
Revolutionize thy thoughts.
Again: –
O thou sentinel of Motherland!
And the policeman of Peace!
Hearken the call of public welfare
Thou sentinel of the Motherland!
The Angel of Peace looks towards thee
And in the name of Civilization implores thee!
Wars have caused havoc in this world,
O thou sentinel of the Motherland!
The age of righteousness is visible no longer;
The treasure of Humanity’s decency is being
squandered;
Offer yourself in the Righteous Cause,
O thou sentinel of the Motherland!
Sacrifice thy life for the world’s good,
And create kindness in stony hearts,
To prove the Cause of thy country,
O thou sentinel of the Motherland!
Behold the world is girdled in flames of greed!
Awake! thou inheritor of thy country’s brave
destiny!
A grand sacrificial offering is needed,
O thou sentinel of the Motherland!
Dukhayal’s attitude towards India’s labour class is
in no way less solicitous than that of the extreme socialists of the day. The
following song of his address to the Workman should put a new breath in his
dilapidated body: -
O thou Workman!
Thy claim for rights is a weighty one!
Why art thou despondent, man?
Thy claim for rights is a weighty one!
The bleak times have changed,
Thy awakened rights cry to be avenged!
The time-spirit today salutes thee!
Catch this opportunity by the forelock,
And with wisdom and courage walk;
Thy claim for rights is a weighty one!
Thou eat’st not the fruit of thy labour
But fill’st the capitalist’s coffer!
How the demon of exploitation heartlessly
Snatches away thy earnings cunningly!
Thy labour’s wages, O hard-pressed one
Are unemployment and starvation!
Thy claim for rights is indeed a weighty one!
Thou art the producer of emeralds green,
Thou art this world’s precious cream!
As the river’s sweet water tastes salty
On its reaching the sea,
Likewise is labour in the hands of the rich!
Now is the time for churning nectar, man!
For, thy claim for rights is a weighty one!
Cast aside thy false delusion,
Destroy all deceit. O valiant one!
Lighting the lamp of sacrifice,
Dispel the darkness of ignorance and vice;
End this usurpation of thy rights
And establish the equitable state, O man!
Thy claim for rights IS a weighty one!
From the field of mundane matter, the poet can lift
us to sublime realms with as smooth a grace and charm as few could match. The
following song of his, which is the echo of every aspiring heart, has brought
visible tears in the eyes of his several listeners: -
I have heard it said
That the Goal is still afar!
I know not how to swim and rickety is my raft;
Lo! with bare hands I push it
Without any oar or helm,
Or even a rope to pull my boat.
Restive hath become this helpless being;
Yet do I hear that the Goal is still afar!
These eyes search and shed pools of tears,
For my heart is athirst for the sight of HIM!
If perchance the winds drift my bark towards the
bank,
The cruel eddies erode the soft brink,
And the tide tosses back my boat helplessly on!
Ah, I hear that the Goal is still afar!
Who, but THEE, could be my Refuge?
On whom may I lean for succour?
Many lives have I wasted drifting afloat
With Hope ever clutched to my heart.
May this raft reach its haven yet!
But I hear it said
That the Goal is still afar!
The poet’s vision of human divinity is beautifully
depicted in the following song: -
In the mirror of heart, O thou seeker!
You and I have an identical form.
In Ka’ba or in the temple of deity
The Formless and Manifest are Same indeed!
Lighting the Candle of Knowledge
Dispel all ignorance and darkness;
Search for the Secret of thy subtle Self,
Behold the Mysterious is the Same One of Immaculate
Beauty!
Rarely a person peeps within
Submerging knowledge in Knowledge doth he Know!
He is aware of the Essence of this Secret
Revealed to the Self-realized ones!
The Master in His mercy expounded
The intricacies of this Mystery;
I have been vouchsafed with this revelation;
“Thou art the Ruler of Earth!”
From the realm of true Sufi’s dizzy, detached
heights, he looks down at the valley of sunshine and shadows and sings: -
I know not
What indeed is true–
Whether what we hear is noise or music.
Some proclaim; all is finite!
But others, claim all to be Infinite.
I know not what indeed is true!
Some say that in the void
Is heard the music of the spheres;
Others sing of the splendour beheld
Of the cosmic fullness in nothingness.
I know not, what indeed is true!
Some aspirants with yearning hearts
Bear witness to this Mystery.
Some Yogis have peeped within
And heard the Mystic Word.
I know not, what indeed is true!
The SELF-realized one revealed this Secret:
The Beloved dwells everywhere!
Yet HIS Abode is beyond
The reach of mortal eyes.
I know not, what indeed is true!
Dukhayal, like many great patriots, is
temperamentally unsuited to political trumpetery and din but the degrading
state of our poverty-ground masses boils his very blood and compels him to toil
under unpalatable circumstances to strive for their better living conditions
and bringing a little sunshine in their cheerless cottages. Yet, his heart, as
he has many a time confided to me, yearns to run away from the tumult of crowds
to some secluded spot in the sanctuary of Nature where his songs would mingle
with the symphony of the babbling brooks and whispering woods, where he could
melt himself in the ever-growing wonder of the Beloved’s manifestation in his
ever-changing blushes at dawn and sunset reflected in the skies above and the
waters below!