Heritage: Hundraj Dukhayal's 'Call to Sindhis'

[Gul Agha <agha@CS.UIUC.EDU>]

I had posted an account of my meeting with the ninety-something, young
at heart 'Padam Shri' Saaiin Hundraj Dukhayal last year, and his
moving recounting of a meeting with my late uncle 'Agha Sufi' (a
famous poet in his time whom passed away before I was born).

Recently, I received from the Indian Institute of Sindhology a copy of
a cassette in which Saaiin Dukhayal renders some of his powerful
poetry in song.  I was moved to translate one of the poems.  It is
about 160 (short) verses long and provides a powerful parable relevant
to some of the recent discussion topics.  I am no poet, and am sure
much of its beauty is lost in translation, but I hope a little of its
potent message remains.

The Tree and the Axe
--------------------

'Tis was the end of Autumn
        Spring was bursting forth
Trees sprouted fresh leaves
        flowers bloomed everywhere

The morning dew
        glistened on every branch and leaf
The birds of the forest danced
        in their mating rituals excited

At this beautiful hour departed
        an ironsmith from his home
Carrying in his hand
        the dangerous head of an axe

He was journeying, on his path
         to find a rich client he hoped
Who would handsomely
        for this helpful tool pay

Travelling, along the way
        would he find, hoped he
Some traveller, some buyer
        for his priceless axe

Walking a ways, tired he felt
        his hopes grew short with the shadows
In the shade of tree
        for a while to rest he lay

A pleasant cool breeze
        from the tree he felt
Asleep he fell
        in a restful peace

Every leaf of the tree sang
        as if a beautiful melody
As though from its mouth
        came a sweet harmony

This happy state of the tree
        did not the axe appreciate
It felt in its shallow heart
        every leaf was teasing it

For as the breeze shook
        each leaf of the tree danced
Jealous, the ugly axe
        angry and restless felt

Its face flush with anger
        to the tree it spoke
"Laugh and make merry
        but who I am, realize

"In my presence, never
        your head rest easy
Of my conquests do
        ask your ancestors

"In their graves they
        even to this day
In their terror
        cannot speak

"By my name are
        royal forests chopped
Recognizing my kind
        mere mortals tremble

"For I, made of iron
         an axe am called
I can chop trees mountain high
        such my strength is

"You have laughed in my face
        in the arrogance of youth
For this crime soon
        punished you will be"

Saying as much
        it moved in anger
Its blood boiled
        its innards on fire

Seeing the unjust wrath
        the tree now replied
"Friend! what my crime is
        this I cannot see

"Be mindful, O brother
        do not in such passion be
Truth and lie cannot
        by the angry be discerned

"You are strong but
        stronger yet is my Creator
Who with His Beauty
        created this world entire

"If I have in this life
        more time still
I will for past sins pay
        and to my Lord pray"

Here the ugly axe stood
        with great religious zeal
And there 'Dukhayal' the tree
        a silent spectator stood

Rested, the ironsmith
        took the axe, journeying on
Happenned a woodman to find
        who liked the axe head

The fortune of the ironsmith
        the asking price he did receive
With the head of an axe
        the woodman did proceed

Only to find the tree
        for which axe wished
Why not,  thought the woodman
        this one to chop

"For a year or more I shall
        have its wood to sell"
Thus resolved
        to cut the tree he was

That the axe had no handle
        did not the woodman worry
He climbed the tree
        and broke a limb

Fashioning a handle
        his axe he did prepare
Suffering blow upon blow
        the tree now fell

With the fall of the tree
        the blade was pleased
Tormenting the tree
        vindicated it felt

"Say O tree!" it asked
        "Where is your self-righteousness?
Where is the smile
        with which you once ridiculed me?

"If you any illusions have,
        O arrogant one!
Just remember, I shall
        dismember you some more"

Now spoke the tree by turn
        "O ugly axe, do not brag
Forget your empty thunder
        do not think much of yourself

"If you had stood fair and square
        you had not this strength
To bring me down
        was not for you alone

"When my part was separated
        and allied with you
In bringing me down
        the woodman did succeed

"If he had relied on you alone
        he would have no hope
His progeny would starve
        his effort would be for not

"Your pride is false
        your brag is suspect
I have fallen
        for I was a house divided"

My fellow countrymen, listen!
        to the tale of the tree
Look towards your land
        Look at your fallen state

The sweet soil of my country
        May it forever be free
Not my counsel,
         'Dukhayal' this is

The call from my heart
        with which it is
That my compatriots
        their slumber will end!

    -- Huundraaju Dukhaayalu, 'varnu aen kuhaarro'

----
haku mojuudu,

Gul Agha