Ghazal 234, Verse 7

Hali:

In Urdu ghazal there can't be more than three or four more such rhetorically effective [baali;G] verses. Maulana Azurdah too, who was well known for writing in Mirza's style, was a moth to [the candle-flame of] this verse's manner of expression. I too have made some remarks [riimaark] in the Muqaddamah[-e shi'r o sha'iri] about this verse. Here, attention is drawn to one more excellence of it. Two things about the event that Mirza mentioned in this verse must certainly be explained. One is how the Gatekeeper treated the speaker; the other is what the speaker wanted from the Gatekeeper. Neither of these things have been mentioned in detail; they have been presented only through suggestion. But with further explication they immediately become understandable. The word 'misfortune/disgrace' proves the first thing, and 'to seize the feet' is clear evidence of the second. In addition to this, to present with so much excellence in two lines such placement of colloquial language and verbal constructions and an extended thought, which even in prose would be hard to achieve-- all these things are worthy of extreme praise. (166-67)

Nazm:

[Reading shaamat aa))ii :] By 'he' the Gatekeeper is meant-- that formerly, considering him a beggar, he did not prevent his coming to the beloved's door. But when his misfortune/disgrace occurred, then he fell at his feet. From this he understood his purpose, and placed a hand on his neck. This verse has attained a construction [bandish] that has no equal. (266)

Bekhud Mohani:

[Reading shaamat aa))ii :] The greatest pleasure in this verse is that the lover's state had become so altered that even the Doorkeeper, who knew him very well, didn't recognize him. But the lover's absorption, and hiw immersion in the thought of the beloved, were such that he didn't even realize that his clothing and his appearance had become like that of faqirs, and for this reason the Doorkeeper had considered him a beggar, and had remained silent. Rather, he considered that today the Doorkeeper was gracious, and he pulled together his courage-- with this result [as described in the second line].

And there's also this: that the Doorkeeper, having considered him a beggar, recognized him as a lover when he saw him falling at his feet, and expressed anger. In the force of this anger he must also have said, 'I had considered you a beggar-- otherwise, I would have put you out long ago!' In short, such a composition is, for poetry, a cause of pride. (506)

FWP:

Most (though not all) of the commentators take the verb at the end of the first line to be aa))ii , and interpret the grammar accordingly (my disgrace 'came about'). However, Arshi, Nazm, Hamid, and one or two others use the aa))e , which here can only be a subjunctive (my disgrace 'would come about'). The grammar then feels awkward in the second half of the first line: my disgrace becomes a form of fate, and more or less predestined to occur. This requires a bit of tormenting of the jo , but maybe it's strong enough to endure it. I wonder whether there could have been some early manuscript confusion involving the archaic form of e that looks like an ii with its tail cut off; but this is just speculation, and I'm not going to get sidetracked into manuscript research.

Why does the speaker first 'rise, get up', and then, 'having risen, having gotten up', bend or fall down to touch the Gatekeeper's feet? Do we see an unnecessary repetition, a redundancy, even a sense of padding? I think we can save the verse by arguing that the repetition achieves a useful purpose: it separates the lover's behavior into two distinct actions. First he stands up, then he bends or falls down again to grasp the Gatekeeper's feet in supplication. Thus he makes two separate mistakes: he gets up as though he actually hopes to be admitted, which a beggar would probably not do; and then, perhaps after noticing the Gatekeeper's ominous expression, he bends or falls back down again to touch the Gatekeeper's feet in extreme humility, which also a beggar would probably not do. And certainly it would be strange if a beggar did both these things in sequence. Thus the lover doubly marks himself out as not a real beggar, so that the Gatekeeper's suspicions are aroused. For discussion of another such case of 'padding', with additional examples, see {17,9}.

This verse offers what feels like a case of 'contrived rhyme', though perhaps technically it's not; I haven't really figured out all the nuances of the concept. The whole ghazal has the refrain of ke liye ('for', 'in order to'), which acts, as usual, as a single grammatical unit. This verse breaks it in half, using the ke as a possessive for the Gatekeeper's feet, and the liye as a masculine plural perfect verb. It feels daring, it feels a bit shocking; it's certainly part of the pleasure of the verse. It could also even be considered a kind of iihaam , since it creates a 'misdirection'. The unity of ke liye is so deeply engrained in our colloquial sense of the language that we can hardly help but read the line that way; it takes an effort of will to break it apart. A very similar case: {234,10}.