Nizami's Khusrau and Shirin

[Virtual Afghans]

The Contest Between Khosrau and Farhad (excerpt from the poem Farhad and Shirin)

Khosrau asked once: "Where do you come from, say?"
Farhad replied: "From regions far away."
Khosrau: "In what crafts does you land excel?"
Farhad: "We purchase grief and souls we sell."
Khosrau: "By selling soul what do you gain?"
Farhad: "Our bards this custom don't disdain."
Khosrau: "Your soul from love is well high fleeing?"
Farhad: "My soul? I love with all my being."
Khosrau: "Shirin's affection do you prize?"
Farhad: "O yes, I prove it with my sighs!"
Khosrau: "Is she the moon that shines at night?"
Farhad: "Though drowsy, still I see her light."
Khosrau: "When will your heart forget her glow?"
Farhad: "When I am buried, lying low."
Khosrau: "When she appears, you trembling, sigh?"
Farhad: "To please her in the dust I'd lie."
Khosrau: "But if she wounds you in the eye?"
Farhad: "I'll give both eyes without a cry!"
Khosrau: "If someone offers her his heart?"
Farhad: "My sword of steel will do its part!"
Khosrau: "She never will become your own!"
Farhad: "A glimpse of her is a joy enough alone!"
Khosrau: "If all your chattels she demands?"
Farhad: "I'll give her all, as she commands."
Khosrau: "But if she orders - go away!"
Farhad: "My head then at her feet I'll lay!"
Khosrau: "Forget this friendship, do you hear?"
Farhad: "Can friendship be destroyed by fear?"
Khosrau: "Be calm, it is a day-dream, see?"
Farhad: "Nay, calmness not made for me!"
Khosrau: "Give up your love, and bear your lot."
Farhad: "For me love without love is nought."
Khosrau: "With patience men condole for sure."
Farhad: "Some men endure, I don't endure."
Khosrau: "By what great sorrow are you torn?"
Farhad: "Our parting makes me weep and mourn."
Khosrau: "Would you desire to have a wife?"
Farhad: "Alone I can no more bear life."
Khosrau: "Give up Shirin, you must obey!"
Farhad: "Shirin is mine, that's my last say!"
Khosrau: "Her name to mention do not dare!"
Farhad: "You see and hear Farhad's despair!"
Khosrau: "And if I come to love Shirin?"
Farhad: "The world will burn to ashes clean!"

[Virtual Afghans]

Khosrau could give Farhad no fair reply,
And thought: it's best to stop with him to vie.
Confused, the Shah had surely to admit
Not having ever met such ready wit!
The Shah proposed of gold a heavy sum,
To this proposal proud Farhad was dumb!
The Shah's sharp spoken was firm and sound,
Instead of gold he tried a stony mound:
"Upon our roadway stands a mountain tall,
With pain men cross this giant stony wall.
Your work will be to dig through stone and lay
For people's easement a convenient way.
No man can undertake this work; they say
That you alone can do it, so I pray.
In honour of Shirin you do the work,
My promise to reward you I'll not shirk."
Fulfil my cherished wish, and ease my load -
Through these great mountains dig a well-paved road.
You will be worthy of my gratitude,
I'll grant you everything that vainly you pursued.
You will be housed with honour at my place,
You will be promoted owing to my grace."
Farhad stretched iron muscles: "I obey,
The obstacles I'll duly clear away,
But if in this great labour I succeed,
There's one condition that the Shah must heed:
Tomorrow, if you wish, I can begin,
But on condition - you'll give up Shirin!"
The Shah enraged with what Farhad had said,
Was just preparing to chop off his head -
Then thought: "Khosrau is not on terms with fear,
Farhad will hew not earth but stone rock sheer,
If it were earth to dig and cart away -
Then that alone would take him many a day."
So, "I agree", said Shah Khosrau with heat,
"To compromise it is meanness and deceit.
Well, start to work and show your boldly dig and drill!"
Farhad provoked by this insulting speech -
"Just Shah", said he, "how this high mount to reach?"
He showed the mountain looming far away,
That mountain's name is Bisutun today.
The mountain was of mighty granite stone,
To be of utmost hardness it was known.
He hoped the promise of the Shah held good,
And toward the mountain ran as whirlwinds would.
He left the palace, flying like a wind
Toward Bisutun, and never looked behind.
He reached the mountain, without cry and moan,
And with his pick began to break the stone.
So, bit by bit, he hewed some figures fine,
Most beautiful, or wonderful design:
He made the sculptured figure of Shirin -
As with a sculptor's chisel, firm and keen.
Then with the pick's sharp point he drew alone
Khosrau, Shabdiz, upon the mountain stone.
Before these busts you see the sculpturing man
Who died, according to a villain's plan:
Khosrau betrayed his vow, his word he broke,
Sent to Farhad a hag, who dealt the fatal stroke.

*~*~*
Snob

[Virtual Afghans]

Ghazal by Nizami Ganjevi (1141-1209)

O radiant-faced beloved, whose cherished bride will you be?
Whose dignity will you praise, whose honour and pride will you be?

You are shaded this eve by the awning your master has spread,
Whose queen with your odorous tresses and grace will you be?

You are sweeter than honey, no sherbet is sweeter than you
Whose rill his course with love's wave lets to trace, will you be?

In the darkness of night you're a lamp with bright light, God guard you from evil eye,
Breath of life - o whose love caress and embrace will you be?

You are gone, how can poor Nizami live alone with his grief?
He is down now, whose healer his pain to appease will you be?

[Virtual Afghans]

The Story of Sultan Sanjar and the old Woman(from the poem Treasure-house of Mysteries) By Nizami

A poor old woman, harassed and in pain
Came to Sanjar the Sultan to complain:
She said: "You have no justice, you offend,
Your club-law and your cruelty has no end.
Your drunken steward came to me, the lout,
Kicked, knocked me down, till he was tired out.
He seized me by the hair - an innocent old crone,
And dragged me, heeding neither cry nor moan.
A crowd flocked round, he swore at me, the brute,
Abused, reviled me, hard blows following suit.
He yelled: 'You hunch-backed hag, you'd better tell
Who killed a man quite near to where you dwell?'
He searched my house in hope of finding there
The murderer… O master, is that fair?
The reason was the steward's drunken state,
But why to torture me? O what a fate!
If subjects of the king ransack his land,
Can an old woman answer for the band?
The steward wished his false rights to assert -
Are not your justice and my honour hurt?
The blood flowed thickly from my wounded breast,
I have no strength to bear this cruel test.
O mighty Shah! I writhe with dreadful pain,
To God you'll answer should my cries be vain.
You have no mercy, you're unjust, unfair,
Your club-law is a torture, hard to bear.
A shah should grant his people bounty, grace,
Whilst you defile your honour with disgrace.
To rob poor orphans - that's no valiant deed,
I see the sequel to your acts, indeed!
Don't rob old crones that hunger they should bear,
And be restrained, at lest, by their grey hair!
You are no shah - a knave, and nothing more,
You cause great sorrows on our homes to pour.
If you but strove with love your land to bless,
Your subjects would rejoice of your caress.
They would respect and honour you, no end,
And would consider you're their greatest friend.
Your criminal acts created chaos here,
What valorous deed was yours, of conscience clear?
This state used to be famous for its might,
Its kings were praised for being just and right.
Now homes and hearths are ruined here by you,
The empty barns present a desolate view.
Recall the dreadful deaths you caused around,
Your turn will come! Yet you'll be safe and sound
If justice you adopt as guiding star;
Today is yours more than tomorrow, Shah!
Be kind and just to crones, infirm and old,
Attend to them, their words are more than gold.

(Continued...)

[Virtual Afghans]

Refrain from ruining homes of innocent folk,
They may take vengeance with a fatal stroke.
From your vile bow-strings swarms of arrows sped,
But starving men may rise and strike you dead!
This bear in mind: you are the key to peace,
Is mankind born disaster to increase?
You were made king to keep your folk from harm,
To treat their wounds with vivifying balm.
To what your subjects say, o Shah, give ear,
To what their hearts demand, give heed sincere.
No need for words!… Though taking Khorassan -
Your loss was great, when everything was done."

Of shame today remains not even a token,
Loyalty's done away with, vows are broken,
Justice and conscience to the winds we fling,
They've fled, found refuge under Phoenix wing!

O Muse, your poet's words now stop flood:
For Nizami has steeped his soul in blood!…

*~*~*~*~*

[Virtual Afghans]

Gassida by Nizami

It is I who am peer of all knowledge, my renown of perfection is great,
My genius is vast as the heavens, for I dominate earth, time and fate.

My breath fills the earth, it resembles the resonant chimes of a bell,
My pen is a banner of glory called to conquer the earth and create.

And my proud, lofty brow has attained in its power Keigubad's regal crown,
Nay, compared to this height and this grandeur his palace is of far lesser weight.

In the sky rose my wonderful sun to shine for the whole universe,
While my body can breathe and give life, its power will never abate.

In the world of the bards has my name reached immortal and glorious fame
And my genius is here, of this palace, where the Shahs reign - the master innate.

Magnanimous and large is my heart - a vast storehouse of nobleness pure,
It is sealed with the seal of deep truth, and the truth therein lying is great.

If, with pride overwhelmed, the works of Zabur I peruse,
His tongue for the reading of thoughts I wish to cut out, for sheer hate.

(Continued..)

[Virtual Afghans]

Generosity often breeds pity, gentle words are bred daily by me,
My gift shows freshness and beauty, sweet youth seems forever its mate.

My ghazals reach the ear of the people in a wave of harmonious sounds,
My ghazals are the colour of poppies and, like wine, lull the heart-beats to sleep.

All that moves in the far starry heavens, all is put into motion by me,
And in Fortune's gold cup I'm the water, while the sky is the scoop of the deep.

I'll not strike tambourines to no purpose; with drums comes a wedding for sure,
When my word sounds, music is worthless, and all instruments silence keep.

If my writings have flaws in their wording, they are still of an exquisitive style;
If my syrup has dregs - still with pleasure, for its taste, you will drink of it deep.

My new style has begun a fresh epoch, and now naught of old values remains,
If a new word is coined it is useless, for compared to my word - it is cheap.

With my writings of beauty mysterious, I have conquered the heart of the world,
And from all this success and this glory - admiration and love do I reap.

When I write, my great writings are such, that Ibni-Mugla [1] covets my pen,
Where my word is of clearness astounding, there his poise Ibni-Khani [1] can't keep.

When my lips part to utter wise sayings, then all people in gladness exult,
And the buds of the flowers open, by my spring from their winter sleep freed.

If my word is not heard in its glory, and no gladness or joy light the scene,
The no bard will you witness whose singing to the advent of springtide would lead.

I have cause to be proud of my writings, of the beauty sublime of my pen,
And you notice the exquisite wording, when my wonderful verses you read.

I am mother-of-pearl, I am virtuous, I am clearer than crystal-clear gems,
But I am troubled that, causeless, some harm me, and deprive me of things I need.

When my breath comes out freely and deeply, it resembles a light-floating mist,
And it warms me and makes my fine verses string like pearls on a thread, bead by bead.

I am truly a star that is shining, making nought of my enemies fierce,
It is greater than art and the Muses, and makes poets and thinkers recede.

Nizami's style resembles a charger with a bridle - a light leather strap,
And my grief is a hard, heavy stirrup, but how perfectly gallops my steed!

*~*~*~*

[Virtual Afghans]

Fragments from "The Arrival of Iskander (Alexander the Great) in Bardaa and His Encounter with the Queen Nushabaa" (from the poem ISKANDER-NAMEH) - By Nizami

Oh, wine-bearer, bring me a cup of your exquisite wine,
It is for the thirsty a spring giving water divine.
I feel all aflame and my thirst rouses terrible pain,
O bring me some wine, let me drink till no remnant remain.

Bardaa!…what a beautiful country! a wonderful sight:
In spring and in winter the flowers are flagrant and bright,
In summer the tulips and poppies with scarlet tints glow,
In winter the breezes of spring-tide carelessly blow.
The verdant and soft rustling forests are numerous here,
Surrounded by springs that are welling, melodious and clear.
The fields are adorned with thick willows of emerald green,
The gardens resplendent - fairy-land never yet seen.
The pheasants have built for their brood in each cypress a nest,
The ptarmigans coo, and the partridges sing there with zest.
And flower-beds slumber in silence, perfuming the air;
The lands of this country are free from all worry and care.
The sweet smelling greens in all seasons here sprout and abound,
Here flourishing nature is bountiful all the year round.
The birds to this country flock always to nest and to feed,
Here all, even pigeon milk, is to be found, if you need.
The soil of this country is verily nothing but gold -
As if the saf-flowers were blooming, so fair to behold.
Wherever you pass through the verdant and prosperous places
You witness the ease of existence and bright happy faces.
A garden as lovely as this one is not to be found,
Nor also a land like Bardaa, where these riches abound.

An eminent narrator tells us a wonderful lay,
A lay that in eloquent wording survives to this day:

The fair Nushabaa reigned here - queen of this land superfine,
A patron of feasts rich in delicate sweetmeats and wine.
This female jeyran would have none of the masculine race,
And rivalled the gorgeous pheasant in beauty and grace.
An eloquent talker, unyielding, and wise and sincere,
In figure a goddess, with temper of kindness and cheer.
A bevy of comely young maidens surrounded the Queen,
They stood in a round and created a picturesque scene.
Besides them, the Queen had trick-riders and many a knight,
Great numbers of warriors presented a marvellous sight.
Although they were men in attendance, the prop of her reign,
Yet none of them ever set foot in her private domain.
The kingdom was governed by women with masterly skill,
To men she would never in person give word of her will.
The women were able and clever in action and pan,
And managed affairs by themselves with the help of no man.
Men housed in the outskirts, ne'er settled to live near their Queen,
And chose for their homesteads vast meadows, delightfully green.
In fear of her wrath none would venture to enter the town,
They loved Nushabaa for they knew of her wondrous renown.
Whenever she ordered to corvee the men would forsake
Their homesteads to labour, all ready to die for her sake.
When King Iskander with his legions appeared in the land,
The tents of her warcamps were countless, her army well manned.
He saw here a country of luxury, joyful and free,
The crops were amazing, the rivers a wonder to see.
He questioned the people: "Whose country of beauty is this?
And who is the sovereign who reigns in this country of bliss?"
They answered: "These riches, these confines you hardly can span,
Belong to woman, in courage exceeding a man,
A beautiful woman, in fearlessness resting secure,
Surpassing in beauty the pearls of the sea, and as pure.

[Virtual Afghans]

No person can equal this woman in wisdom and might,
The support in the masculine armour, her foes she defied,
She comes of the House of the brave Keyani, that's her pride!
She wears no Caucasian hat, but the crown of a queen,
A chieftain is she, though her soldiers she's never once seen.
Her numerous slaves are undaunted, the best of their race -
But none of these soldiers caught ever a glimpse of her face.
The Queen is surrounded by women, full-bosomed and fair,
With them she is apt to take counsel where men have no share."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Shah Iskander was surprised and well pleased with the story,
And wished to set eyes on this woman of beauty and glory.
He witnessed the wonders around him that made him aware
That this was a country unique, of prosperity rare.
The king Iskander thought it pleasant to stop here and rest,
They stayed and made merry - the sovereign himself and the rest.
The Queen was informed that an alien army was here,
That King Iskander had come down as a friend to her sphere.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The soul of the Padishah burst into bloom with desire
To meet this wise woman, to study her country entire,
To learn from the Queen of her secrets that made her great land
Yield fruits of the choicest, her forests and pastures expand,
And what were the bounds of this kingdom so vast to the view,
And whether the stories of all that he learned here were true.
They brought Shabdizaa, golden-shoed and the best of his breed,
'Twas morning. The sun of the Universe mounted his steed,
And all was prepared in advance for his trip to the Queen,
He went as an envoy the news he so longed for to glean.
As soon as the fane came to view with its walls tall and wide -
He stopped and dismounted to rest from his tedious ride.
The palace with towering arches appeared to his eye
So tall and so mighty, they seemed to be kissing the sky.
The maids of the Queen saw the envoy sent here by the Shah,
And ran to inform of this startling event Nushabaa:
"The camp of the eminent Shah has emitted a ray -
He honours our country by sending his envoy today!
He comes to Your Majesty, worthy and handsome and wise,
With news of his King that would make him sublime to your eyes.
Himself oh! so clever, polite and exceedingly fine,
He looks like a lamp that was hit by our Maker Divine!"
The Queen gave the order to clear and to deck her domain,
To clean and straighten the roadways that led to her fane.

[Virtual Afghans]

Her ladies in waiting put on their most gorgeous array,
The palace was smothered with flowers, voluptuous and gay.
The maidens of honour wore jewels, had musk-scented curls,
Their gowns were of silk decorated with diamonds and pearls.
The Queen, like a pheasant tripped lightly, with infinite grace,
And wondrously bright, as a lamp, was her pure, smiling face.
She mounted the throne and sat down, like a goddess arrayed,
And held a fine orange, tradition most strictly obeyed.
She ordered servants, as custom demands, to invite
The envoy of note to present himself to her sight.
Her faithful attendants were ready the Queen to obey,
They hastened her will to the envoy at once convey.
The "envoy" walked fearlessly in, without any constraint,
He mounted the throne - this brave lion, devoid of all taint.
Contrary to custom he kept on his belt and his sword,
And made no low bows as an envoy, this eminent lord.
He noticed the wisdom and grandeur, and fathomed their price,
A picturesque palace, built really to daze and entice!
He noted the stir and the bustle, the court maidens' grace,
The perfume of amber and musk, the content on each face.
The glittering jewels that decked them so dazzlingly bright,
Reminded the Shah of the stars on a dark moonless night.
The brilliant reflection of jewels on maiden and dame
Seemed likely to crown Iskander with a halo of flame!
It seems that the ocean itself, and each diamond mine
Had sent their best valuables here in her palace to shine.
The envoy's unseemly behaviour had outraged the Queen,
Who became very angry at what she had seen.
She thought: "He knows nothing of what our customs exact,
No notion has he how an envoy's expected to act!
This poor ignoramus should duly be kept in his place,
His negligent manner toward us is perfect disgrace!"
But, watching attentively, suddenly doubt stirred her mind,
She probed him like gold to find out what hidden behind.
She looked at him, guessed that himself Iskander Shah was there,
Made place for the King on her throne, glad her honours to share.

[Virtual Afghans]

She guessed Iskander had behaved so by way of joke,
And, wishing his presence beside her, Her Majesty spoke:

"Be welcome, a chieftain, be welcome, o great Iskander!
How quaint, you yourself are your envoy, come here from afar.
My sensitive heart has divined it. I see it this way:
Your royal demeanour and manners a sovereign betray.
No envoy are you, but a king, am I right, I demand?
No envoy are you but a sovereign to rule and command!
Your proper informant - your sword is the enemy's fear -
Unsheathe it before me, no other would dare, that is clear!
But it in my presence you draw it - your rights you exceed,
It means violating the bounds of convention, indeed.
Your sword will not help you, speak not of its valorous might,
Find other excuses to make yourself fine in my sight.
You come as a guest, but my nets draw around you secure,
Just think of it, think and reflect - you are not yet mature.
My luck brought you here, to my throne, to my land and rich and gay,
Long live this fair Luck that smiles down on my people today!"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her words were sincere, and her heart beat with joy in her breast,
Her throne, decorated with crystal, she left for the guest.
"My throne is your own, famous Shah, on this throne take your seat,
No place for two rulers to sit thus enthroned, 'this not meet!
From chess you must know that two kings with each other contest,
Their conflict is painful, of wit and endurance a test."
The beautiful Ruler stepped down from her sumptuous throne,
And honoured the Shah with the offer to make it his own.
Like somebody's bride, on a plain golden chair she sat down,
And said: "I am surely your slaveling on whom you may frown!"
The heart of the giant was thrilled by the speech he had heard,
He flushed and he paled, was excited by gesture and word:
He thought: "The sly queen, though a woman, has thought out her plan,
She seems to be able, and brilliantly wise, like a man!"

[Virtual Afghans]

Khosrau betrayed his vow, his word he broke, Sent to Farhad a hag, who dealt the fatal stroke.
I love the story of Shreen, Farhad, and Khusrau... It is an amezing story and i remeber watching the movie too.... Cant remember it well but yes i have seen a Shreen Farhad movie. :)
Thank u they were all beautiful.

[Virtual Afghans]

Ghazal by Nizami Ganjevi (1141-1209)

O radiant-faced beloved, whose cherished bride will you be?
Whose dignity will you praise, whose honour and pride will you be?

You are shaded this eve by the awning your master has spread,
Whose queen with your odorous tresses and grace will you be?

You are sweeter than honey, no sherbet is sweeter than you
Whose rill his course with love's wave lets to trace, will you be?

In the darkness of night you're a lamp with bright light, God guard you from evil eye,
Breath of life - o whose love caress and embrace will you be?

You are gone, how can poor Nizami live alone with his grief?
He is down now, whose healer his pain to appease will you be?
Wow.. that was a very sweet poem
Up until the last verse, where Nizamis mood becomes intolerably bitter

"Death lies on her, like an untimely frost upon the sweetest flower of all the field" - Romeo & Juliet