Obtrusively, India walks away from Muhammad Iqbal, the man who penned Tarana-i-Hindi, ‘Saare jahan se achcha Hindustan hamara’. It may not be a crime yet to sing his Bachche ki Dua (A Child’s Prayer) but it is close as proved by a recent incident in Bareilly, Uttar Pradesh where a principal and a shiksha mitr were booked for asking children in the school assembly to sing, “Lab pe aati hai dua ban ke tamanna meri”.
We live in times when patriotism is considered the exclusive privilege of a few. The usage of words such as Rab, Khuda-ra and Allah in the poem upset a Vishwa Hindu Parishad functionary so much that he lodged a first information report (FIR) with the police. The principal herself was either so frightened or ignorant that instead of defending the lines of the poem, she claimed to be on leave from school on the day the alleged crime of singing the nazm took place. Neither the complainant nor the police or even the accused knew much about the poem.
Incidentally, words such as Rab and Khuda are uniquely Indian, and transcend the boundaries of religion. Not just Muslims but also Sikhs and some Hindus in north India use Rab for Almighty. Same with Khuda, an expression freely used for God in Urdu literature.
‘Lab pe aati hai dua’ was penned in 1902 and was inspired by Matilda Edwards’ ‘A Child’s Prayer’. It has been sung in schools for almost a hundred years in north India. It did not change with the adoption of Muhammad Iqbal as the poet of the nation by Pakistan.
For many government schools, where children are not as comfortable with English, this poem was part of the morning ritual. As unlike a Saraswati Vandana, a Biblical hymn, an Islamic surah, it was not a religious address. No parent objected to a child reciting ‘Lab pe aati hai dua’. Who could possibly raise objections to a child singing, “Make my life like that of a moth, O Lord/May I love the candle of knowledge/May my work be the protection of the poor/ May I love the sympathetic and the elderly/ My Lord! Save me from wrongdoing/ Help me walk on the path of the good”?
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Poet-translator Mustansir Dalvi wrote in Iqbal: Taking Issue and Allah’s Answer, “Being Indian and of India inspired many of Iqbal’s poems.” Iqbal was the one who called Ram Imam-e-Hind. He wrote in praise of Nanak, calling him Mard-e-Kamil or perfect man. He had the width of vision and depth of knowledge to translate the Gayatri Mantra into Urdu as Aaftab (The Sun). In Naya Shivala (New Temple), he deified the nation. He loved India to an extent that he raised it higher to any place in the world, including Arabia with its places of worship.
Iqbal wrote, “Saare jahan se achcha Hindustan hamara”, decades before V.D. Savarkar coined his pitrabhu (fatherland) and punyabhu (holy land) theory to distinguish between those whose birth land and sacred land were within the confines of India, and those whose sacred land was abroad. Iqbal was above such demarcation and denomination.
‘Two-nation theory’
Not that he did not have his critics when he was alive, or even after his death. When he penned Shikwa (Taking Issue) in 1909, a large section of ulemma was upset with his lament to God. The provocation was followed by pacification with Jawab-e-Shikwa (Allah’s Answer) where God answers Iqbal’s prayer. That was all in the world of the millat and ummat (community and universal brotherhood based on Islam). The larger Indian society often saw him through the prism of two-nation theory under which he believed, unlike Sir Syed Ahmed Khan, and very much like Savarkar, Hindus and Muslims were two separate nations.
Yet, there was much more to Iqbal. He chose his audience with care. When he was in Lahore, he used to recite his kalam freely. When in Sialkot, he would never give a hint of being a shayar or take part in poetic soirees. In Europe, after initial years when he found great scientific and economic progress and, in his mind, found the Muslim society lagging in comparison, he worried for Western society’s streak of materialism. Before he became wedded to the idea of ummah’s internationalism, Iqbal was a staunch patriot who celebrated India’s rivers and mountains, called its citizens bulbulein (singing birds) and the country their garden. ‘Saare jahan se achcha’ extolled wataniyat or love for the nation.
All that is consigned to the yellowed pages of history. Like his audience then, what Iqbal needs today is a discerning look at his works, away from the prism of pre-1905 when he went to Europe, or post 1909, when he came back. This may not be possible at a time when he is increasingly becoming a victim of ‘we’ and ‘they’ politics — sort of collateral consequence of bigotry. Just as ‘Saare jahan se achcha’ is being heard less and less on public platforms, and in danger of being confined to Urdu-medium schools, his other works, including ‘Himala’ where he praises the mountain chain guarding India, are being forgotten. It is, however, better than the irresponsible accusation that followed the singing of “Lab pe aati hai dua” in Bareilly.
“Time is hard on writers, particularly after the causes they fought for have been won, lost or overtaken by events,” noted author-critic Sham Lal, more than a couple of decades ago. For Iqbal, the hard time could be now. Reduced to being a prisoner of posterity, Iqbal stands forsaken by the nation in whose every speck he found a whiff of divinity. As he once wrote, “Khhak-e-watan ka mujhko har zarra devta hai” (Each dust particle of my motherland is God to me).
