Dear readers, here is another
post on that great folk tale of Punjab. It already appeared in Adil Najam’s blog.
Even then I reproduce this for you, as I think Mast Qalandar is a guy who has
done full justice to the leading Sufi poet of Punjab when he details this ever
living legend in a very lucid, very absorbing style, especially as a writer who
is not a native of Punjab. I myself would never have cast an iota of a doubt
over his being not a native had he not divulged it himself in this very write
up. I personally am an avid fan of his writings and this reproduction is a
testimony of my feeling for his forceful pen in general and this story on Waris
Shah in particular. Once you complete the read, I am sure you too will agree
with me. Of all the folk tales of Punjab, Waris Shah’s Heer is the most widely
read, recited (actually, sung), commented upon and quoted love story. People
have even done Ph.Ds on it. It is a very long poem, written in the Punjabi baint
meter, comprising of 630 odd stanzas of 6 to 12 or more lines each. Waris Shah
wrote it sometime in the 1760s. Rural folks in Punjab routinely gather, as they
always did, at the end of a hard day’s work, under a tree or a chappar (thatched
canopy) to smoke hukka and discuss and share the daily news, views and common
problems. It is not uncommon at such gatherings for someone to sing a few
passages from Heer. Folks listen to it, mesmerized both by the melody and its
contents. Older people would often quote a line or two from Waris Shah’s Heer as
a piece of wisdom in their conversations. In fact, Heer is quoted by the rural
folks more often than any other traditional book of wisdom. The story of Heer
and Ranjha, like all such stories, is partly true and partly fiction. But it
continues to have such a powerful hold on the imagination of rural folk that
they want to believe it to be true. Numerous people have written the story of
Heer before and after Waris Shah, the earliest being Damodar and probably the
latest being Ustad Daman. But it is only Waris Shah’s Heer that the world knows
about – or cares to know about. By writing Heer, Waris Shah not only told a
fascinating story but also raised the status of Punjabi from that of a rustic
language, which was mostly a spoken language, to that of a language of
literature. Many believe Waris Shah is to Punjabi what Chaucer and Shakespeare
were to English or Sa’di was to Persian. Waris Shah was born in a village in
district Sheikhupura but studied at Kasur. He was a contemporary of Bulleh Shah
and they are supposed to have studied at the same madrassah (not necessarily in
the same class) under the tutorship of one Hafiz Ghulam Murtaza Makhdumi Kasuri.
Waris Shah by all accounts was a spiritual man, well versed in Islamic theology,
but he was more of a mystic than a “maulvi”. In fact, going through his Heer one
cannot help but wonder if Waris Shah were alive today would he be able to, or
allowed to, write a daring epic like Heer? He wrote the story while staying at
the hujra (quarters) attached to a little mosque in village Malka Hans, which
falls in district Pak-Pattan (old district Sahiwal). It is said when Waris Shah
completed Heer he showed it to his teacher. The latter was rather disappointed
to see his talented student, instead of writing something on fiqh or shariah,
had chosen to write a love story. He is reported to have said: “Warsa
(deflection of the name, often used in Punjabi to address juniors in age or
rank), I am saddened to see that my efforts have gone waste. I taught both you
and Bulleh Shah. He ended up playing the sarangi (a string instrument) and you
have come up with this.” Waris Shah then opened the book and started reciting
Heer. As the teacher listened, the words slowly started sinking in. He wasso
touched by the language, the poetry, the powerful imagery, the intensity of
emotions, and the melody that he is famously reported to have said, “Wah! Waris
Shah, you have strung together precious pearls in a twine of “munj” (a coarse
string of hemp or jute).” Some commentators interpret the “pearls” in the
teacher’s comment as the deeper spiritual meanings and the “twine of munj” as
the coarse theme of physical love. In other words, they say, you would, if you
care to, find profound meanings beneath the superficial words of the story.
However, others interpret the comment to mean that such beautiful thoughts and
powerful images are expressed in a language (Punjabi) that was considered coarse
or not quite as sophisticated at the time. Having myself sped through the book I
tend to agree with both the views. (I must confess, however, that, Punjabi not
being my native tongue, it was not easy for me to fully understand the text. I
had to rely mostly on the Urdu translation provided alongside the Punjabi text.)
Shorn of all the embellishments and detail – the devil, in this case, though,
literally lies in the embellishments and the detail – here is the story for
those who may not have read it or heard it before. The events of the story are
supposed to have occurred sometime in the middle of the 15th century. Ranjha
(his given name was Deedho. Ranjha was his clan) was born in Takht Hazara, a
town in district Sargodha, to a local landlord. He was the youngest of eight
sons, and his father’s favorite. While others went about their daily chores
Ranjha whiled away his time playing the flute that he loved so much. He grew
long hair – longer than men usually wore those days – and was a very handsome
young lad. When their father died, a dispute arose between Ranjha and his
brothers over the distribution of land. The brothers had apportioned the best
land to themselves and gave Ranjha only the barren land. Ranjha, after a heated
argument with his brothers, left home in protest. He headed aimlessly southward
along the River Chenab until he reached somewhere near the present day Jhang
where the Sayyal tribe ruled. An incident that stands out during this part of
the story, which has been described in great detail by Waris Shah, is when
Ranjha stays in a village mosque for the night. In the quiet of the night, tired
and distressed that he was, Ranjha starts playing the flute. The village folks,
when they hear the poignant notes are attracted to the mosque. The maulvi of the
village also turns up, not to listen to the flute, though, but to scold Ranjha
for desecrating the mosque. The maulvi denounces Ranjha for playing the flute in
the mosque and also for his long-haired looks, and tells him to leave the
mosque. Ranjha is not intimidated and replies: “You and your kind, with your
beards, try to pretend to be saints, but your actions are that of the devil. You
do evil deeds inside the mosques and then mount the mimbar (rostrum) and quote
scriptures to others …” (In fact, Ranjha is more explicit than what I have been
able to paraphrase.) The back and forth denunciations between the maulvi and
Ranjha continue for some time. Interestingly, the village folks don’t seem to
share the maulvi’s enthusiasm in denouncing Ranjha. They simply watch the scene
as silent spectators. (Fortunately for Ranjha the blasphemy law was not in vogue
then.) Anyway, Ranjha spends the night in the mosque and leaves early next
morning. After a few days he ends up in Jhang. The chief of Jhang at the time
was one Chuchak Sayyal who had an extraordinarily beautiful and a headstrong
daughter named Heer. Waris Shah describes her beauty and physical attributes,
literally from head to toe, with the usual poetical exaggeration. Some of the
analogies and metaphors he uses may sound a bit unfamiliar and even strange to
the present day readers. For example, Waris Shah says: “Can any poet
sufficiently praise Heer’s beauty? Her face shines like the full moon. Her eyes
are like the narcissus flower. Her eyebrows are like a Lahori bow (I didn’t know
that Lahore was ever known for making bows). The kohl (kajal) in the corner of
her eyes suggests as if the armies of Punjab have invaded Hind (India). Her lips
are like red rubies. Her chin is like a selected apple from the King’s orchard.
Her nose is like the pointed end of the sword of Hussain (!). Her teeth are like
the white petals of champa flower and sparkle like pearls. She is tall and
straight like a cypress in the garden of Paradise. Her neck is like that of a
koonj (a species of cranes). Her hands are smooth and soft like a chinar leaf
(similar to maple leaf) and her fingers like lobiay ki phallian (pods of beans,
which are longer than most other pods). In short, her features are like a
beautifully calligraphed book.” Heer, when she meets Ranjha, is instantly taken
by his wild and romantic looks and the soulful tunes of his flute. She persuades
her parents to hire Ranjha as a cowherd for their cattle. Ranjha is hired, and
thus kindles a blazing romance between Heer and Ranjha that lasts for several
years, and has since been recounted and sung for almost 250 years. The two
lovers often meet in the forestland along the river (known as bela in Punjabi)
where Ranjha takes the cattle to graze. While the cattles graze Ranjha plays his
flute. And Heer listens by his side. The days and months pass in total bliss –
and very fast. Heer’s uncle, Kaido, becomes suspicious and starts spying on her.
He gathers sufficient evidence to report the matter to her parents. The parents
admonish Heer on her conduct and warn her of terrible consequences. When Heer is
not deterred they call in the village Qazi (a Muslim judge who decides disputes
between people in the light of Sharia and also solemnizes marriages) to counsel
her. The Qazi tells her mildly that good girls, when they come out of their
home, keep their gaze lowered; that they always keep their families’ honor
uppermost; that they better spend their time in tiranjans (places where village
women gather to spin yarn on spinning wheels and chat). He also reminds her
that, being from a higher caste and a renowned family, it is unbecoming of her
to mingle with family servants like Ranjha. Heer is not convinced and tells the
Qazi: “You cannot wean away an addict from the drug. It is not possible for me
to walk away from Ranjha. If it is our destiny to be together then who, other
than God, can change it?” And then she adds rather philosophically: “True love
is like a mark that a hot iron burns on to the skin or like a spot on a mango
fruit. They never go away.” Seeing that Heer is admant the Qazi threatens her
with a fatwa of death. But Heer remains unshakeable. Exasperated, Heer’s parents
decide to marry her to a man named Saida Khairra from village Rangpur (Muzaffargarrh
district). Nikah ceremony is arranged and the Qazi is invited to perform the
ceremony. As is customary, the Qazi first asks the bridegroom if he would accept
Heer as his wife, which, of course, the bridegroom readily does. Then the Qazi
asks Heer and her answer is a loud No. When the Qazi insists for an affirmative
answer, Heer says forcefully: “My nikah was already made with Ranjha in heavens
by no less a person than the Prophet himself, and was blessed by God and
witnessed by the four angels, Jibraeel, Mikael, Izarael and Israfeel . How can
you dissolve my first nikah and marry me a second time to a stranger? How is
that permissible? “. The Qazi is dumbfounded and angry, and tells Heer to shut
up or “he will have her lashed with the whip of Sharia”, and goes ahead and
solemnizes the marriage, anyway. After the ceremony Heer, in tears, is bundled
off to Rangpur amidst great pomp and celebrations. Ranjha, alone and
heartbroken, takes to the jungle and joins a group of jogis (yogis). Dressed
like a jogi, with ash rubbed on his body, wearing large earrings and carrying a
begging bowl, he goes from house to house and village to village seeking alms –
and also trying to find the whereabouts of Heer. Meanwhile, Heer languishes in
Rangpur, pinning for Ranjha. Waris Shah uses a lot of ink and a lot of pages in
describing the heartache and anguish that both Heer and Ranjha suffer during
this period. Amrita Pritam (died 2005), a great Punjabi poet and novelist refers
to this pain and anguish, in a different context, though, in her memorable poem,
when she addresses Waris Shah in these words: Ik roi si dhee Punjab di, Toon
likh likh maare vaen Aj lakkhan dheeyan rondiyan, Tainu Waris Shah noon kehn
When one daughter of the Punjab wept You penned a thousand dirges of lament
Today a hundred thousand cry out to you To make another statement Eventually,
Ranjha finds Heer’s village and Heer also comes to know through her friends that
the young handsome jogi in town was no one else but Ranjha. The two meet and,
with the help of Heer’s friends and her sister-in-law, Sehti, manage to elope
one night. The Khairras follow them and capture them in the territory of one
Raja Adli (a raja, not to be confused with Ranjha of the story, is a ruler of a
territory or state). The lovers are brought before the raja. He asks the local
Qazi to decide the case according to the Muslim law. The Qazi, without much ado,
declares that Heer belongs to Saida Khairra, her “lawful” husband. Heer and
Ranjha are both devastated, but helpless. When Heer is being forcibly taken back
by the Khairras to Rangpur a forlorn Ranjha, still dressed as a jogi, raises his
hands skywards and begs loudly: “Oh, Lord, you are also Qahar and Jabbar.
Destroy this town and these cruel people so that justice may be done.”
Coincidentally, a huge fire erupts in a part of the town. The village folks as
well as the raja, being superstitious, are convinced that the fire was the
result of the jogi’s prayer and might consume the whole town. The raja
immediately proceeds to undo the “wrong” administered by the Qazi, stops the
Khairras from taking Heer away and holds court to hear the case anew. After
listening to all the sides he decides to allow Heer to go with Ranjha. Joyful,
Heer and Ranjha leave for Jhang Sayal expecting to live happily thereafter.
However, the Sayyals, believing their honor was soiled by the unconventional
behavior of Heer, conspire to “cleanse” their name of this ugly stain. While
appearing to welcome the couple they suggest that Ranjha go home and bring a
barat to take Heer as a wife in a proper conventional manner. Ranjha happily
agrees and goes back to his brothers in Takht Hazara, who by now have forgotten
their old quarrel and are also remorseful. He informs them of his planned
marriage. Preparations begin for taking a colorful barat to Jhang and bring Heer
home. Meanwhile the Sayals quietly poison Heer. She dies. A messenger is sent to
Takht Hazara to inform Ranjha of the unexpected and sudden death of Heer. On
hearing the news Ranjha collapses and dies there and then. Thus ended the lives
of Heer and Ranjha. But they continue to live in the hearts and hearths of the
people across Punjab and elsewhere – and so does Warish Shah.