Beauty’s silent song

Why a poem written by a Pathan moved me to tears

Browsing through Netflix I came across a Pakistani film called ‘Janaan’. Although the imdb rating was only 7.3, the film was surprisingly watchable.

At one level it was the ‘across the border’ version of ‘Hum Aapke Hain Kaun’ — the film is centred around a wedding, mostly shot in one beautiful mansion. Except the family is Pathan, living in the Swat valley (home to Malala).

Everyone is impossibly good-looking and wears amazing clothes. But there were some surprising elements.

The film is in Urdu, the kind any north Indian would understand. But some dialogues are spoken in Pashto (they come with sub-titles). Mostly by the grandmother, who is perpetually puffing on a hookah. I later read that ‘Janaan’ is the first Pakistani film set in the Khyber-Pakhtunwa region (otherwise politics ho ya culture, it’s all about Punjab and only Punjab).

For me, the highlight of the film was a haunting song called ‘Reidi Gul’ (Poppy Flower). I am sharing a version of the song performed by Yasir & Jawad.

The music is amazing but what really touched me were the lyrics. They centre around a flower, fallen in the midst of the desert. The traveller rues its fate but the flower sees it differently.

In this grey desert a flamboyant flame of divine light am I,

Beauty’s silent song, a miracle from the sky.

In your garden there are thousands of flowers like me

A nameless droplet in a nameless sea

Who could have written a poem of such depth and beauty? Google reveals it is ‘Ghani Khan’. What’s more, he was the son of Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan, whom we remember from our history textbooks as the ‘Frontier Gandhi’. Ghani Khan was a unique blend of East and West, having been educated in the UK, US as well as Santi Niketan (where he was a classmate of Indira Gandhi).

Ghani Khan would have become a famous painter or sculptor (that’s what his teachers at Santi Niketan say). But his father withdrew him from the course mid-way, when he realised they don’t teach anything ‘useful’.

Yet, the time spent there left a lasting impression on his mind. He later said:

“When I came back (from the West) I had an inferiority complex about the backwardness of my country. It was in Shantiniketan that I discovered myself and the past greatness of my own culture and civilization which has produced several men of versatile genius, who have been appreciated by historians and scholars of the West.”

Ghani Khan went on to write several books, mostly collections of poetry. He also wrote a book on the history and culture of the Pathans.

For several years, Ghani Khan worked alongside his father, to secure a separate homeland for Pashtuns, while India was under British Rule. Later, he got disillusioned and left politics. Even then, when Pakistan came into existence the newly formed government confiscated his properties and sent him to jail for 6 years.

After his release someone observed, ‘Ghani saab, you got a ‘raw deal!’

Ghani is said to have replied, ‘Not at all! For the little back-bone and honour I exhibited my Creator more than adequately compensated me through two gifts — one when I was interned for a brief while and had my family with me, that year, after twelve years of marriage, a son was born to me; and the other is [my book of verses] De Panjray Chaghar (The Chirping of the Cage).

In exchange for these two gifts the surrender of six years of my life seems like the bargaining away of an hour.”

The thoughts expressed in ‘Reidi Gul’ are not mere words, they are a lived experience.

Though few (outside Pakistan) know the name Ghani Khan, for me, he is as illustrious as his father. For history records only the names of kings and warriors, kaun jeeta, kaun haara. The philosophers and poets, artists and dreamers are ‘Reidi Gul’. Waiting for a traveller to chance upon them, admire their beauty. Ponder for a moment on the finer, nobler instincts.

Which light up that flamboyant flame. Taking us beyond the human, making us divine.