Jhaverchand Meghani’s at his newspaper desk (Photo: www.jhaverchandmeghani.com)
I did not realize that two Indian literary giants, Jhaverchand Meghani and Raghupati Sahay Firaq Gorakhpuri were born on the same day and the same year. That was August 28, 1896. While Meghani, an icon of Gujarati literature, died on March 9, 1947, Firaq, a giant of Urdu poetry, lived much longer and passed away March 3, 1982.
Today happens to be the 123rd birth anniversary of these two extraordinary figures of India’s rich literary and cultural heritage. I have written about both—about Meghani on August 28, 2016 and Firaq on June 13, 2013. It makes perfect sense to republish the two posts.
August 28, 2016
There are those who are more than the sum of their parts. The great Gujarati folklorist, poet, novelist, journalist, singer and thinker Jhaverchand Meghani (August 28, 1896-March 9, 1947), whose 120th birth anniversary falls today, was one of them.
Speaking of his parts, he wrote 14 novels, four plays, nine collections of poetry, 19 biographies, 11 short stories, 11 folk songs, 13 folk tales and 13 collections of folklore and literary criticisms. These add up to create a Gujarati cultural icon whom Gandhi described as “Krishna’s flute” and a “national poet laureate.” While he was creating all those works, he was also immersed in India’s campaign for independence. Sardar Patel called him a leading figure in India’s struggle for independence who spent his entire life in that pursuit.
Meghani led an enormously rich literary, cultural, political and social life that led him to the colossal figures of his time, including Rabindranath Tagore sometime in 1933 in Bombay. According to Meghani’s official website, the great painter Nandlal Bose had heard Meghani sing his own Gujarati folk songs and was enraptured. He persuaded Tagore to meet Meghani while in Bombay. Their meeting was an unqualified success with Tagore being spell-bound by Meghani’s literary and musical passion. The website quotes Tagore as saying, "Much as I wish to visit Gujarat again, I am afraid I won't be able to make it. Why not, then, you come over to Santiniketan ? We shall compare notes and publish jointly English translation of selected things. Do therefore come. But, yes, in winter --- not summer when the heat is scorching over there."
Meghani’s journalistic connection came in the form of his assignment as a columnist at the Janmbhoomi newspaper in 1934. As part of his passion to “raze the walls of discrimination” between the educated and the unlettered, Meghani’s column titled ‘Kalam ane Kitab’ (The Pen &the Book) encouraged readership outside the scholarly domain to get involved with literature.
When one thinks of Gujarati literary giants such as Meghani and scores of others one feels how skewed the reputation of the state has been because of its historically flourishing mercantile and entrepreneurial culture. There is a legion of non-Gujaratis who would never suspect the state of having any connection to a world-class literary tradition. Meghani and many like him would be happily counted among world-class litterateurs.
I have a collection of his novellas. This morning I chose a random short story titled ‘Shikar’ (The Hunt). It is a story about how a group of men are tasked with having to scare a leopard out of a forest into the open so that a local governor—presumably English—can then hunt it down. It is a simple story but Meghani tells it with such literary relish even though it barely stretching 2000 words. In describing a patch of an extraordinarily fertile land, he begins by saying, “Time must have used lightening as a plough here.”
He vividly describes the leopard, which is resting in the morning after a rich nightly hunt. “A long leopard is panting and resting in the hollow of a tree, its white stomach spread and puffing like a cushy mattress.” The leopard, of course, has to be driven out of its slumber without being harmed because the governor must not be denied the pleasure of having hunted it while it was alive. As the advance hunting party approaches the forest with much commotion, Meghani writes, “He (the leopard) does not respond to every noise but does occasionally bare its dagger-like teeth and shake his head as if mocking and saying ‘With which cow have you set up my engagement (In the sense of wedding) today?’”
The leopard is very hard to move away of its domain and out into the thinning forest line where the governor and his party is waiting ready to shoot. Eventually, a member of the advance hunting party has to skillfully shoot the beast into one of its legs. He limps out to be shot by the governor and others. As the animal emerges from the woods, Meghani has the governor say out triumphantly in English , “Yes! There..there’s the milk white stomach. Shoot.” They all do indiscriminately because there was no need to take a precise aim on a wounded leopard.
“Before the day-end at the edge of the forest ten motors (motorcars) kicked up clouds of dust. The dust settled back again into the lap of the earth. The sun went to the sun’s house…..” And then Meghani ends with a characteristic literary flourish about those last remaining men of the advance party: “The villagers carried the carcass of the dead day and returned to their village.”
Here is to the great Jhaverchand Meghani.
June 13, 2013
Raghupati Sahay Firaq Gorakhpuri
तुम मुखातिब भी हो,करीब भी हो
तुम को देखें के तुमसे बात करें
(Tum mukhatib bhi ho, karib bhi
Tum ko dekhen ke tum se baat karen)
(You are here and you are near
Should I gaze at you or should I talk?)
--Firaq Gorakhpuri
June 13, 2013
Raghupati Sahay ‘Firaq Gorakhpuri’ (August 28, 1895-March 3, 1982) has long been one of my favorite literary figures. Regarded as one of the most important names in Urdu poetry, literary criticism and language scholarship, Firaq, which means separation in Urdu, was one of those naturally charismatic people. A thinker of subtle but charming self-absorption, he was at equal ease teaching English literature (his professional calling) and creating and reciting his Urdu/Persian poetry.
It is a pity that there is a sparse audio-visual record of Firaq because he was such an effortlessly cinematic figure and could have lent himself to a terrific full-length documentary feature. I have seen few people who smoke cigarettes with such relish and yet such detachment at once.
There is a short documentary about him, which was made by India’s Films Division in 1971, available on YouTube. He was already 75 then. Born in 1896, he died in 1982 at 85. There are also a couple of other sessions from a different video about where he holds forth on how language often rises from much more intimate sources such as individual families. (See the video above). It has one of those rare stimulating conversations carried out by Firaq, unmindful of and unselfconscious about the presence of TV cameras. With his cigarette dangling he discusses finer points of language.
He makes a couple of striking points when he says,”Bhasha ka base illiteracy hai. (The base of language is illiteracy).Aur literature kehte hain brilliant illiteracy ko. (Literature is brilliant illiteracy).” He also says that brilliant literature should not be defined by the use of words that ordinary, perhaps even illiterate, people do not use.
“Great literature aur brilliant literature wahi hai ki itne bade bachche ko jo labz malum hai us se who Gita likh le,” ( Great literature and brilliant literature is one where the words that a child this small knows can use to write the Gita),” Firaq says.
He illustrates his point about the accessibility of great literature by giving the example of Charles Dickens and how his cleaning lady could enjoy his books in her free time. He says the great Hindi litterateurs Premchand and Surdas both had this facility.
I admit to not having read Firaq much but from whatever little one has read one can infer his intellectual depth. I say infer because Firaq was a great proponent of being able to infer when one is not well-versed with something.
The short Films Division documentary does an effective job of capturing the more compelling aspects of Firaq’s personality. Obviously gifted with a charming sense of humor and great skill as raconteur, Firaq’s presence at poetic conventions was a major draw. There are a couple of places in this documentary where Firaq opens his recitation with humor. In one he describes how a man falls inside a well. A poet happens to pass by and he too falls inside the well. Rather than looking for ways to rescue themselves, the poet declares that he would recite some verses from his poetry. The other funny incident that Firaq narrates is about a haunted house which no one wanted to buy. A poet, unable to find any home for himself, decides to buy it. He then drives the ghosts away by reciting his poetry.
There is so much to quote from Firaq’s great body of poetic works but for the purposes of this post I would like to cite just one throwaway line from this documentary.
“Zulmat ke seeney mein humdum
Main roz charagha karta hoon.”
(In the heart of darkness, my dear
I always spread light (His literal words are ‘I light lamps everyday’)
Firaq’s poetry was also defined by the influence of nature, something he said he was inspired to do by the likes of Wordsworth. There is a short discussion with students in this documentary about it.
Perhaps I am wrong but one no longer finds this level of erudition and this finesses and sophistication in articulation of great ideas that the literary giants such Prof. Sahay commanded with such lightness of touch. Pay attention to how he says what a civilization like India has had to balance for millennia before it acquired its greatness.
