Habba Khatoon
The Nightingale of
Kashmir
After the death of Lal Ded, the great spiritual poetess of Kashmir,
the Muse in Kashmir fell in deep sleep for about two hundred years and with the
birth of Habba Khatoon it woke up again fluttering and singing, not the mystical
experiences or moral exhortations, but the lilting tunes of true romance. In
Kashmir, even now, the travellers hum Habba Khatoon's verses on the highway and
her songs are sung by men roving upon rivers, by ladies at their looms and
farmers in the fields.
Habba Khatoon (URL) (TV
Movie)
HER LIFE
Kashmiri poetry, unfortunately, existed largely in oral traditions up to
1930. Therefore, the lives of the poets are mostly wrapped in mystery. So is the
case with Habba Khatoon. Nevertheless, the account of her life is based on the
firm bed-rock of tradition and legend, illustrated by a few historical flashes
of men like Birbal Kachru, Hassan Kohiyami and Moh'd Din Foq. Much of it we know
from old men and women living in the villages of Kashmir.
The story of her life, like her poetry, is romantic, pitiful and sad. Her
life is marked by misfortunes that culminated in a tragedy. At a distance of
eight miles from Srinagar, the summer capital of Kashmir, is situated the
village of Pampore and two miles from it, in the south-east, is a small and
narrow valley surrounded by a plateau of saffron fields and here in this valley
is a small picturesque village, known as Chandhara. Far away from here are seen
the magnificent mountains and the effect of the whole scenery is alluring and
inspiring. In this hamlet lived a well-to-do farmer, who supplemented his income
by doing some work of embroidery. His name was Abdul Rathar. Although there are
many theories, contradictory enough, held by people, about the place of birth
and early life of Habba Khatoon, but it is generally believed and accepted that
she, earlier called Zoon (which means Moon), was born in the house of this
farmer in this very village. She was sent to a Mulla's school (maktab), where
she learnt the Holy Quran and a smattering of Persian. The girl grew up into a
highly intelligent, sweet-throated and beautiful damsel. It is said that people
from far and near came to see her. Her father, as was wont then, hurriedly
married her to a peasant boy, Aziz Rathar who was dull and illiterate.
Her mother-in-law ill-treated and nagged her and her husband could not
appreciate her gift of song and poetry. He got weary of her and hated her, for
he did not find her helpful in the fields and attending properly to the
household drudgery. She felt unhappy and sunk into ennui and found escape from
the onslaughts of her mother-in-law's and husband's tempers in her songs. Out of
this suffering grew up a wistful longing and a pathetic strain which are
predominantly present in all her poetry. Once, when utterly dejected, she went
to Khawaja Masud, a Dervesh with spiritual powers and related to him the tale of
her woe and distress. He is said to have told her that her days of torture would
soon end and she would become the queen of Kashmir. He changed her name, Zoon
and called her Habba Khatoon by which she is known today.
Habba Khatoon used to go to collect cow dung, dandelions and edibles with
other village belles. On these occasions she used to lighten her own heart and
regale her companions by singing verses composed by her on the spur of the
moment.
It was a romantic evening and the moon had risen on the clear blue sky,
bathing with its silver light, the saffron fields. Habba Khatoon, drunk with the
wine of her youth, was roaming about all alone and singing by herself a
melancholic strain. She reached a bank and stooped down to dig some dandelion
for her supper. When, after a while, she raised her head and stood up, she saw a
young man standing motionless and quietly listening to her song.
The light of the moon fell upon her soft hair and turned its brownness into
gold; it flickered about her tall, straight form. On her downcast face the
colour came and went in swift and soft flushes. The young man spoke no word but
looked with a half-questioning glance at her. There was a strange pleading in
his eyes and he restlessly shifted from one foot to the other. Then he recovered
himself and spoke to her in Kashmiri verse, which may be translated as under:
A softness came about her grey eyes and a little smile hovered over the face
now uplifted to him. She, too, replied in a verse:
"Take heart, O youth, banish all fear and fright
For soon the sun will rend the cloak of night".
The young man, who was no other than Yusouf Shah, the heir apparent of
Kashmir, felt delighted and encouraged. He continued:
"Over the hills and across the valleys I wandered
In guest of the darling of my heart and home
When lo! before me I find the precious pearl".
Now soft blushes coloured her cheeks and she coyly murmured:
"When God is gracious; when God is kind,
What man truly desires he'll surely find".
The prince then proudly said:
"When the diver dives into the deep,
Come up, he must with lustrous pearls ".
In all loveliness she looked at him and softly spoke:
"Nay, hard he has to toil deep down in the main,
Then and then alone some gift he may gain ".
The conversation in verse continued till she knew that the young man was no
other than the heir apparent of Kashmir, Yusouf Shah Chak, who was returning
from hunting and had lagged behind his companions on purpose, to enjoy the
heavenly beauty of the bright and broad fields. The prince was simply enchanted
with Habba Khatoon's beauty and intelligence. Soon after returning to his
palace, he got her divorced by Aziz Rathar and brought her to live in his heart
and harem. Yusouf Shah himself had a passion for song and music and there were
many musicians and singers present at his court. Habba Khatoon learnt the art of
classical singing from them and herself contributed musical compositions,
particularly the Sufiana Kalaam and Rast-i-Kashmiri. But this joyful life of
hers soon came to an end.
Yusouf Shah had ascended the throne of Kashmir in November 1579. At that time
the Moghul King Akbar's army was engaged in subjugating and subduing other
smaller kings of India. The Moghuls, in fact, had cast an evil eye on Kashmir
since the time of Humayun, who had attacked Kashmir but had been repulsed.
Similarly, Sher Shah Suri tried to conquer it but he too failed to fulfill his
desire. Then in 1560 Akbar sent an army under the command of Mirza Qura Bahadur,
but at Rajouri he met a crushing defeat at the hands of Kashmiri soldiers,
commanded by Ghazi Khan. Then, again, after twenty-six years he sent, via Uri,
an army under the command of Raja Bhagwan Singh to annex Kashmir. But Kashmiris
successfully resisted the onslaught of the Moghuls. When Bhagwan Dass saw no
hope of victory, he persuaded Yusouf Shah to meet the Emperor Akbar, who, as
they told him, would be happy to see him and conclude a treaty of peace and
friendship with him. Yusouf Shah, who was a peace-loving king and did not like
to shed human blood, accepted the suggestion much against the advice of his
beautiful wife Habba Khatoon, who did her level best to dissuade him from
undertaking this hazardous journey. But he did not agree and went to meet Akbar
at Attock. He was arrested and later in 1587 he was released and granted a jagir
at Bassok, Patna and after a three months' illness he died in utter dejection
and helplessness and was buried there.
Habba Khatoon could not bear Yusouf Shah's separation and it completely
unhinged her. She immediately left the royal palace, donned the clothes of a
mendicant and renounced the world. She wandered like a ghost on the banks of the
river Jhelum, the desolate saffron fields and the haunts of her youth. Then she
made a small hermitage at Panda Chok on the banks of the river Jhelum. She
poured forth her wailings in her songs. After twenty years she died in
desperation and grief and was buried at Atha Wajan at a little distance from her
cottage. This grave has recently been repaired by the Kashmir Government.
HER WORK
Habba Khatoon, as a queen, has not much significance. She is known and loved
for her poems. It is acknowledged that she was one of the sweetest and the most
spontaneous singers of Kashmiri language. She wrote lyrics "which can be
regarded as great gems in Kashmiri literature and therein her genius
exults". Her poems possess all the essential elements intense and vivid
passion, exquisite verbal melody and spontaneity of utterance-that go to make a
true lyric. They have such carelessness about them that they send a strange yet
delightful thrill in us. She is the fore-runner of realism and romanticism in
Kashmir.
She appeared on the scene when poets were expected to sing of heavenly love
but she sang of human love. Up to her time Kashmiri poetry was only concerned
about God and spirit. Its main theme was mysticism. She brought fresh air into
it when she sang of worldly love. This love was the essential element of her
nature. She does not treat love as "a transcendental passion and spirit nor
is she engrossed in the universal, abstract and ideal love". She sings of
her personal substantive love. She plays the part of a lover and her entire
attitude is that of a devotee". In some poems she wails for long waiting
and in some she expresses the anguish of separation. Mostly she accuses her
lover for being indifferent to her. These songs are pathetic and deeply moving,
as the following English rendering of one of her Kashmiri poems will show:
"Who, my rival, has ravished you,
That you have turned away from me!
Do you not loving like to be?
Oh, why do you thus despise me!
At midnight I open the doors for you.
Ah! would you for a moment come to me?
Forsaken I am, though one we be.
Oh, why do you thus despise me!
My love, in the fire of your love I burn
I but desire and dream of you;
I shed tears of blood from my almond-eyes
Oh, why do you thus despise me!
Pining and melting I am like the snow in summer
Though blooming blossom of jasmine I am;
Yours the garden and you enjoy it.
Oh, why do you thus despise me!
I bathe and bridal dress I wear.
I swear to welcome and greet
But you spurn and turn away from me.
Oh, why do you thus despise me!
Drop by drop I shed the tears;
I, the miserable, pine and crave for you;
Why forget the path that leads to me?
Oh, why do you thus despise me!"
She is only obsessed with one idea and one theme, that is, her devotion and
love for her lover and his disinterestedness and carelessness. "She lends
herself to the intense feeling of the joylessness of life. Her own early failure
in marriage and then her love-story proved a strong and significant factor in
her psychic experience". Hence, in her poems "she enshrined her own
hate and love and the influence of those powerful emotions was so great that
unmindful of anything, she gave it unreserved expression in her poems".
Even as queen she was haunted by the fear that Yusouf Shah may forsake her at
any time, particularly when the rose of her youth would fade and fall. She had
seen in his harem many competitive maids. Hence, "only plaintive numbers
flow" from her and these echo her own grief. Her poems are full of pain and
sorrow, frustration and longing, desperation and disillusionment. The note of
helplessness, found in her poems, heightens her beauty and stirs the tenderest
chords of the human heart, as can be discerned from this English version of her
original Kashmiri poem:
"You stole my heart and forsook me at last;
Pray come, my lovely Love, oh, come!
Come friend, let us to collecting cress,
Mystery of fate none can unravel;
Sly, senseless people slander and defame me.
Pray come, my lovely Love, oh, come!
Let us to picking and plucking mellow myrtles;
He has hurt me with his love's hatchet;
Then sent none to ask and enquire after.
Pray come, my lovely Love, oh, come!
Come friend, let us go and dig dandelions;
People pull faces, mock and call me names;
May they too suffer and sorrow like me!
Pray come, my lovely Love, oh, come!
Come friend, to the woods we hurry;
People have poisoned his mind and ears;
The simpleton so believed and blames me.
Pray come, my lovely Love, oh, come!
Come friend, to the woods we hurry;
Leave off thy scorn and hate for me;
I crave and long but for you;
Life is short and fleeting, you see.
Pray come, my lovely Love, oh, come!"
But her constant preoccupation with her sordid life and poetry full of pain
does not depress us, or she does not cynically cry. In her lyrics, full of
despondency, we find an undercurrent of world-weariness and feel that the
problem of suffering on the part of the women is universal. Again, she keeps her
intense emotions under control and her simplicity, softness and music console
us.
It is thought that no poems, barring those of Habba Khatoon and Arnimal,
another poetess of Kashmir, which talk of a woman's passion or love from the
feminine standpoint, are found in Kashmiri literature.
Kashmiri ladies, therefore, find in her poems, "an eloquent exposition
of the woman's point of view". Her desolate wails make them share her
despair. Therefore, miserable women, downtrodden by callous men and troubled and
nagged by their mothers-in-law feel consoled and their sorrowful feelings get
purged after singing her verses in their lonely moments. Her individual,
personal longing and desire is the desire of every Kashmiri woman. Thus she
universalises her personal desire and interest. On reading her verses the
individual woman (here the poetess herself) fades out and the type, a universal
woman, comes to the foreground. Habba Khatoon, through her poems, symbolises
lonely, suppressed womanhood.
Hassan, the historian, says that Yusouf Shah Chak, in the company of his
beautiful wife, Habba Khatoon, enjoyed his days and nights in the picturesque
beauty spots. They used to come down at night from their lighted palaces,
situated on the bank of river Jhelum, sit together in a shallop and enjoy its
skimming down the river, or they would rove in a light boat over the placid
waters of the Dal Lake, enjoying the beauty of the lotus flowers. In fact, the
joyful life of the couple had become proverbial in Kashmir. But in her poetry we
don't find any portrayal or description of sensuous themes. "Nowhere we
find the expression of the gaiety of her heart and her joyful life as a queen.
Even though she had gone from the log cabin to the white house, yet absolutely
no joie de vivre peeps through her songs. A veil of feminine reserve and piety
(for she had received religious education and Kashmir was then steeped in
mysticism) interposes between her heart and words".
Habba Khatoon seems to have fled from the socio-political world into an
enchanted realm of her own, jealously closed against the intrusion of social and
political affairs. There was feudalism prevailing in Kashmir as elsewhere in
India and feudal system has its own vices. Feudal lords have always been
interested in profit-hunting and exploiting the poor classes. In none of her
poems we catch a glimpse of the miserable plight of the poor people, though she
must have had its full experience in the early years of her life. We can't peep
through her poems and know the political, economical and other conditions of the
State.
In vain we try to find anything deep or spiritual in her poems. She has no
doctrine or philosophy to offer except love. which is the consummation of human
existence. She lacks the knowledge of the different phases of life. The inner
life, of which we catch glimpse from her poems, is that of a proud, passionate
yet pure soul which is steeped in an earthly love. It is possible that after her
husband's separation she must have become meditative and more mature, for before
an order of her arrest could be served on her, she had left the palaces and
become a wandering minstrel. From earthly love, it is possible she must have
turned to spiritual love. She must have sung songs of great depth and devotion
which seems to have been lost to posterity.
The beauty of her poems is rather a matter of feeling than analysis. Her
poems can easily be sung or set to music. She uses ordinary but felicitious
words. She did not work on her verses. No influences can be traced in her poems
and she seems to weave rhythms and rhymes just by instinct. Rhythms, at least,
came to her naturally. Her dealing only with a single theme and constantly
conveying to us the deep anguish of her soul would have brought into her work a
monotonous note, but it does not, because of the simplicity of language and the
"music that gently on the spirit lies". We feet in it "the
freshness of flowers, which once breathed, will haunt the memory of the
reader" and so she well deserves a place on the heights of Parnasses.
|
