Who in his father's time had several times been in charge of the districts of Budāon, and afterwards had received the canopy and staff of authority, and while holding the country of Lahore was his heir-apparent, succeeded to the throne by consent of the authorities in the aforesaid year,* and Malik Tāju-d-Dīn his secretary* wrote this congratulatory ode in honour of his accession—
All hail to the everlasting kingdom,
Above all to the king, in his heyday of youth,
Yamīnu-d-Daulat Ruknu-d-Dīn
Whose door became like the Rukn-i-Yamānī* from its auspiciousness.
When he ascended the throne, he opened the doors of the treasury, and gave full scope to his taste for rioting and wantonness and indolence and sloth, and used to spend his precious hours in the company of prostitutes and vagabonds.
When thy heart inclines towards the wine shop
Except the tavern keeper* and the musician who will praise thee.
And his mother Turkān Khātūn,*
who was a Turkish slave girl,
having gained absolute power, used to vex the other concubines of
the Sulān against whom her envious heart burned, in various
ways, and put to death Qubu-d-Dīn the eldest son of the
Sulān by another concubine. The treasury became empty, and
70. Malik Ghiyāu-d-Dīn Muḥammad Shāh the younger brother
of the Sulān, who was ruler of Oudh, refusing to acknowledge
his authority revolted against him, and Malik ‘Izzu-d-
Do not set thy heart upon the world, for it is a stranger
Like the singer who is every day in a new house.
Among the poets of that age [and the master of that time]* of Ruknu-d-Dīn was Shihāb Muhamra Badāoni* as Mīr Khusrū* on him be mercy says in one of his opening odes
In Budāon Muhamra rises intoxicated from sleep
If there comes forth from this melody the sound of the birds of Dehlī
And Maliku-l-Kalām Fakhru-l-Mulk ‘Amīd Tūlakī* mentions him as a master* and since the speech of the modern (poets) after the appearance of the cavalcade of the Prince of poets has become like the stars at the time of the raising of the banner of 71. the glorious sun, and like the seven poems* at the time of the descent of the inspired revelation upon the best of men, and the Lord of the world on him be peace, remains concealed as by a curtain—men speak and write less concerning them, nay more they do not even possess them—accordingly in harmony with the saying, The first comer has the best of it, I have thought it incumbent upon me to include a few odes from that eminent author as a benediction and blessing, in this composition of mine, and to leave a memorial for his friends, and to establish my own connection with the master, and to display upon the däis of evidence the excellencies of that doughty knight of the arena of eloquence, and more especially to fulfil the demands of fellow-citizenship. The master poet Shihāb* Muhamra [Badāonī] then says as follows:—
I am Alif in the table of existence and of no value as a sign.*
My existence depends upon the duration of the existence of
others, my own existence is transitory.
I stand at the end of the row* in the hope of obtaining a
better position, having rested from all movement with the
attributes of insignificance.
I have not the attributes of Alif for Alif has no crookedness.*
All my writing has become crooked on the page of desire.
There is the song of the nightingale, the rose is happy; while
I am careless like the lily.*
Like Alif I have no tongue, what have I to do with ten tongues?*
Since I can seize it* while thus at rest, Why should I pursue?
Since I cannot see openly how can I follow a hidden path?
By stratagem, I can recognize no distinction between earth and heaven, although I am like the heaven in my whirling, and like the earth stationary.
I am not like water in freshness, nor like fire in sublimity, nor like the wind in sweetness, nor like the earth in heaviness.
72. I am not made out of these four elements.* I am composed of the effluvia of the kennel. The refuse of the sewer water has boasted of piety.*
My wisdom, as though incarnate, seems to have taken to praise my faults; my avarice,* huge as a mountain, has girded its loins for taking presents.
I am become fixed in the way of avarice, not a sign of truth remains in me. The oppression of my vices has overwhelmed the mercies of the Sacred Book.
My greediness has so deceived me that the five sensual appetites have taken away from my heart with disgrace the blessings of the readings* of the ‘ashars.
My inner nature as well as my body is devoid of meditation and recollection. My eye like my ear is inclined to the singing women and their songs.
I desire brilliant speeches to fall from my tongue which is like a well-tempered sword. My pen has made me bent like a sickle* in the pursuit of my daily bread.
My speech has failed me because its glory was in the relation of this story. Yes! all this loss of honour was owing to inordinate desire for bread.
I am that mean one, less than the least, who am not worth a groat,* if you think me worth a barleycorn, you will not buy me for nothing.
Oh Shihāb it is strange that you in this road of kingly affairs are neither the Amīr of the Eight Squares* nor the Knight of the Seven Places.*
You are not an angel, nor are you a devil, from what workshop are you? You are not a sojourner nor yet a traveller, from what court are you?
Your heart and intellect are careless of the tortures of the grave, you have dressed yourself in Gūrkhānī silk.*
You have become utterly regardless from lust, owing to desire 73. for license, from urgent desire, by means of false accusation you have planted the foot of success.
Sorrow for the tulip-cheeked beloved has shut fast the door of your wisdom. The vein of your eye has shed blood from desire for the cup of red wine.
You are corrupt like the wind, you stand paralysed like the earth. You are a pearl of transitory existence, a shell empty-mouthed.
With breath like the burning lightning you are the enchanter of bad and good: with heart like a flint, you are the whetstone of dry and moist.
Naturally with desire you revolve like the sky in its figure-designing, from your youth hasting with greed, you are like a child in weakness.
You carry the sorrow of the seven (heavens) and the four (elements) in your heart, and every moment from pride you are put to a hundred thousand devices in the performance of one genuflection.
You are as coarse as the earth, and yet your speech is always of the moon in the heavens; you will not reach* the dignity of a king from the station of a doorkeeper.
You yourself owing to frivolity have not attained even for a moment, freeing yourself from the imperfections of the world, to the religious duties at stated times.
From the advice of the holy men may you be informed at least once, that in these two worlds at any rate* you are famous for creating dissensions.
Perversity springs from your heart as pride springs from foolishness. Evil arises from your body as rashness does from youth.
You are the moisture of the gullet of hypocrisy, the blast of the forge of tyranny, you are the flower of the garden of inordinate desire, and the mud which befouls the reservoir of the soul.
74. When present you melt the soul, perchance you spring from the heat of Tamūz;* in your ode you scatter snow*
perchance you are of the breath of autumn.
You like a child seek throughout your life after vain images;
from your fancifulness the sorrows of time have made you
old in your youth.
Poetry is but a desire, and its metre is like the mirage which
is void of water. This breath of life is grief to me, but its
savour is better than the water of life.
When your desire becomes collected that fancy becomes enjoyment, when your breathing is harmonious, it becomes a
scatterer of pearls.
How long this desire of the imagination? make one breath
pearl-scattering in praise of that man whose equal wisdom
has not seen even from the beginning.
The King of the throne of “Kun”* is Muḥammad who
pitched the tent of dignity by the side of the door of the
Protector (God) from the house of Ummahānī.*
He was a mortal of angelic beauty, a sky with the lowliness
of earth. Like the sky he was pure in body, like the
Angels he was pure in soul.
He was a pearl whose place was in the treasury of God, and
he was a moon whose brightness shone forth from the sky
of eternity.
He was such a pearl that nothing of more value than his
nature was ever produced by the medium of the elements
from the sea of heaven.
He was such a moon that in every early morning the face of
the star of Yaman became black as coal* from shame at his
cornelian-like lips.
So sweet tongued a prophet that the salvation of his disciples
comes by faith in his words,* from the eloquence of his
utterances.
So eloquent in pearl-like speech that the beauty of his utterance 75.
makes the heart's blood like the hidden wealth of the mine,
a royal treasure.
The brightness of the eastern sun is shamed by the beauty of
his face, and the stature of the cypress of the garden is
bowed before the perfect uprightness of his form.
By his accountantship he has adopted the way of absolute
monarchy; and by his eloquence he has opened the door of
auspicious government.
The attraction of secret desire, by revelation has drawn him
from the expanse of the natural world to the ocean of
spiritual existence.
By the good tidings of his friend, his heart became intoxicated
with the hope of a meeting. The son of Abū Qahāfah* has
drunk from the cup of his friendship.
His speeches have founded a fortress* for the decrees of God.*
‘Umar by his justice became the builder of it, by right
government.
One, third in order,* has placed the footstep in this way,
whose path to the enjoyment of this world was not obstruct-
ed by pride.
His fourth pillar was ‘Alī* who at the time of battle made
the face of the sun pale from the glitter of his sword.
Oh, King! I entreat you by your friends deliver me during
the whole of my life* by your aid from the calamity of
foolish friends.
He who demanded from me* this Qaṣīda, may his life like my
Qaṣīda be ornamented with the jewels of meaning ——.