Ghazal 17, Verse 6


le ga))e ;xaak me;N ham daa;G-e tamannaa-e nashaa:t
tuu ho aur aap bah .sad-rang gulistaa;N honaa

1) we took away into the dust the wound of the longing for growth/vitality/joy
2) you be! [imperative], and [your]self must be a garden with a hundred colors


nashaa:t : 'Liveliness, sprightliness, cheerfulness, gladness, glee, joy, pleasure, exultation, triumph'. (Platts p.1139)


nashaa:t : 'Growing; being produced; springing up, appearing; —anything growing, or produced; —a product; a creation; —a creature'. (Platts p.1139)


aap : 'Self, himself, oneself, itself; he himself, you yourself, they themselves'. (Platts p.7)


That is, I have taken my wound and departed; now you can flourish, and you're welcome to it; and this is the idiom. Replacing 'to flourish' [baa;G baa;G honaa, lit. 'to become gardens'] with 'to become a garden' [gulistaa;N honaa] is the writer's special usage. (18)

== Nazm page 18

Bekhud Mohani:

That is, you have killed the people of desire by keeping them in a state of longing. Now, be the only observer of your own springtime.... bah .sad-rang gulistaa;N honaa should be considered a translation of [the Persian] .sad rang bahaar shiguftan [which means] 'an extremely flourishing spring'.

[Or:] Well, you deprived me of the joy of union, but I'm not your ill-wisher. Even now I give you this blessing: may you ever flourish. (42)


A wound has been given the simile of a rose. Here, 'color' has the meaning of 'style'. But this too has come from the wordplay of wound and rose, and like rang-e gul this usage too is very captivating. He says, we have taken the wound of our longing for repose into the dust. Now you're welcome to remain and flourish in a hundred ways. (74)



We took the wound of longing 'into the dust' or dirt, so that we will be 'pushing up daisies'. Or, more elegantly, we will become the ground of the kind of lavish garden that you must become. But why exactly? To show you that our passion continues beyond the grave? To shame or punish you, by reminding you that you have killed a lover with such a longing for 'vitality'? Or simply to make sure that you remember us?

The possible questions go on and on. Is our death from the wound of longing perhaps the source of your brilliance and glory? Will you be more radiant and flourishing after (and because of) our death than you ever were before? Will the red blood of our wound help to color your garden?

And above all, what is the tone of the second line-- is it a blessing ('may you flourish!'), or a curse ('take your fancy garden and shove it!)? The mood is (designedly of course) impossible to pin down. For a verse that follows similar lines of thought about dust and flowers, see one of his all-time masterpieces, {111,1}.

For more 'you and I' verses, see {71,2}.

Compare Mir's tuu ho aur line, which is another tour de force of ambiguity: M{178,4}.