Naya Shivalaya … Really, Iqbal?
By Mohajer Ansari
US
On August 5 - more than three weeks ago – Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi unilaterally revoked the special status of Kashmir. People react to events differently. This dictatorial and unconstitutional writ of Modi was met in some quarters with precipitous incredulity, deep sense of hopelessness and a great deal of anger.
While the Hindu majority in India welcomed this move joyously, Pakistanis burned tires and Modi’s effigies, and, Kashmiris felt dejected, cheated and robbed. But then, we are living in the era of populism. Gone are the days, when fates used to be decided after considerable deliberation, lengthy non-partisan consultation and eventually by the stroke of a pen. Now, any honcho can deliver a deadly punch by a mere tweet! Yes, mere 140 or so characters typed by a bunch of pimps of an ugly, arrogant and stout islamophobe, can have everlasting consequences on an individual, a nation or an entire race.
This unexpected but well-calculated political move of Modi transported me to another realm: the realm of gross injustice. The stalwart journalist Khuswant Singh once wrote: Indian freedom is written on Muslims’ blood; their participation and sacrifice in the struggle was much more than their percentage. So, next Republic Day, before he stands on the ramparts of Red Fort donning the saffron turban and prates about the great contribution of Hindutva, he and his mongrel Amit Shah should take a peek at Delhi’s India Gate. Names of 95,300 freedom fighters are inscribed on it, of which 61,945 are Muslim names. That is 65% of all martyrs! Someone also ought to remind Modi that the current Indian national flag was designed by MsSuraiya Badruddin Tyabji – a Muslim woman from Hyderabad.
Another reality dawned on me and ran like a film on the mental retina: about so many great Muslim thinkers, philosophers, educators, writers and poets who used their tongues, pens, wealth and personalities to fight the British Raj. The last Mogul emperor, Mirza Abu Zafar Siraj-ud-din Muhammad – popularly known as Bahadur Shah Zafar – was more of an Indian than a Mogul or anything else, for that matter. It is said that he would often stand near the only window in his prison cell in Rangoon and gaze in the direction of his beloved Delhi! Even in his death, his eyes were locked with his homeland. Who can forget MaulanaHaali or Hasrat Mohani for their evergreen poetry of hope, morality and steadfastness? I wonder, how come Indians don’t choke, when every year on August 15th, they sing Iqbal’s selfless gift, Saareyjahan se achchha, Hindoosta Nhamara? How come, they haven’t yet invented an alternative version in dry and crude Sanskrit?
Journey of my sub-conscience then took me to Iqbal’s Bang-e-D’ra (Call of the Marching Bell). As I recalled some epic poems from that collection, I tried to remember even so vaguely the words of one poem in particular: Naya Shivalaya (Shivala) – meaning literally, the New Temple of Lord Shiva – a Hindu deity.
As I tried to mentally read some of the stanzas of that poem, I realized, I was getting filled with dismay and disrespect for this man – whom up until now I had held in great esteem. Only couple of weeks ago, I had written to a friend in Sweden that Iqbal was a divine gift to Pakistan but they never respected him nor availed his deep philosophical teachings of self-respect or self-discovery.
I guess, I was reading this poem in the light of the current events in Kashmir in particular and all across India in general. So contextually, I was unable to fit the naivety of Iqbal’s philosophical notion of inclusiveness, patriotism and humanism with the ground reality. He wrote:
AA GHAIRIYAT KE PARDEY IK BAAR PHIR UTHAA DEIn
BICHDOn KO PHIR MILAA DEIn, NAQSH-E-DUI MITAA DEIn
SOONI PADI HUI HAI MUDDAT SE DIL KI BASTI
AA, IK NAYAA SHIWAALAA IS DES MEIn BANAA DEIn
DUNYAA KE TEERATHOn SE OONCHAA HO APNAA TEERATH
DAAMAAN-E-AASMAAn SE US KA KALAS MILAA DEIn
HAR SUBH UTHH KE GAAYEIn MANTAR WO MEETHEY MEETHEY
SAAREY PUJAARIYOn KO MAI PREET KI PILAA DEIn
SHAKTI BHI SHAANTI BHI BHAKTOn KE GEET MEIn HAI
DHARTI KE BAASIYOn KI MUKTI PREET MEIn HAI
Boy, this sounds like the raving of a mad man! Build the divine temple of Lord Shiva anew? Is it the same Iqbal who wrote ‘Shikwah’ and ‘Jawab-e-Shikwah’? Is it the same Iqbal, who legend says, once chose to spend the entire night in the tiny bathroom rather than sleep in the soft bed of a guesthouse at Oxford, trembling in fear of Allah? This poem’s wording stung like a scorpion.
Iqbal died in 1938. In a way, I’m glad that he didn’t live to savor the independence of India from the British. All in all, it was a sweet moment for most part, but for a few hiccups and upheavals here and there. For example, the much-fought freedom was entrenched in the ill-fated partitioning. Blood and body parts were freely and amicably bartered by trainloads across the Line of Divide for months. Eventually, the body parts decayed, became fossilized and merged with the fertile soil on both ends of Punjab. The blood dried too, leaving deep scars on either side of the border for miles and miles. It is by the sheer Divine Mercy that Iqbal was saved from witnessing how humanity was decimated in that part of the world, how mutual love and tolerance was thrown to the savage wolves within less than a decade of his parting from this world, and, how, the nation of Muhammad (peace be upon him) has been coerced into sacrificing their faith, identity and soul on the altar of Hindutva, since independence. NayaShivala, Realy Iqbal?
It is hard to speculate as to what Iqbal would have done, had he been around today to witness the abrogation of his forefathers’ Kashmir by the ‘Brown’ supremacists of the mainland India. But then, seeing the titles like, ‘Ram’ and ‘Swami Ramteerth’ in Bang-e-D’ra, and the fact that he originally was of a Kashmiri Brahmin descent, I can very well imagine him donning a saffron dhoti, rubbing ashes from the feet of Lord Shiva, raising the Trishool in joy and shrieking, ‘Jai Ho’!
All in the name of good ol’ concoction of the opioids of shakti, shanti, bhakti andmaulvi-pundit preet, eh? Unbeknownst to him, the Islamophobic politicians and masses have been peddling this amrit for the past 70 years, on every street of India – from Kashmir to Kanya Kumari.
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