Art by Salvador Dali (1904-1989). From Public Domain
Humans for a long time lived in a world that was centred around them. The planets, plants, animals existed to serve them. The resultant effect was not exactly what could be called ‘pleasant’. Climate change and extinctions are proof of that. One cannot of course be held responsible for the extinction of giant dinosaurs for they were long gone before us. Would we have existed in our current form if they had not become extinct?
Perhaps, part of evolution is extinction of the old and birth of the new. However, we are the only species to have used the planet to suit our own needs. We evolved technology. Technology birthed computers and eventually, artificial intelligence. Almost a century ago, Isaac Asimov spun out science fiction about robots terraforming worlds for men. In these novels, he had instituted the laws of robotics, so that they would not harm humans. His robots were humanoids with AI.
As humanity races towards a tech savvy existence with AI taking on roles which were essentially human tasks, perhaps, we have to ask ourselves some salient questions. Ravi Varmman K Kanniapan has voiced such valid concerns over the deployment of AI in his essay. He writes: “The question should not merely be whether artificial intelligence can make institutions faster, cheaper, or more productive. The deeper question is, for whom?” While pondering over this issue, if we take a look at Farouk Gulsara’s experiences pedalling through Kyrgystan and Kazakhstan, one wonders if AI impacts the whole world or will it deepen divides between technocrats and people who live closer to nature! Sailing through the Australian seas, Meredith Stephens takes us on an adventure to Port Hedland. Her narrative is accompanied by beautiful photographs by Alan Noble.
While Suzanne Kamata introduces us to mores on the artistic ethos of Japan, Jun A Alindogan expresses concerns over linguistic forays. Saeed Ibrahim steps into nostalgia taking us to a tiny town called Deolali and Kuldip Raj Chopra muses philosophically gazing back and forth to reflect on life lessons. In a contrary vein, Devraj Singh Kalsi splashes comic frivolity as he describes his attempts at purchasing bedsheets!
Niaz Zaman has shared a learned essay on women writers in Nazrul’s magazine, Dhumketu (Comet), in the early twentieth century, while Professor Fakrul Alam has translated the lyrics of a song by the poet from Bengal. Fazal Baloch has brought to us a powerful Balochi poem by the late Ghulam Hussain Shohaz in English. Isa Kamari has shared the third chapter of his self-translated Malay novel, The Throne, weaving in life in the newly-minted Singapore of the mid-twentieth century. Ihlwha Choi has translated his own Korean poem on how he found poetry. Winding up the translations, is a poem by Tagore called Pothik (traveller).
We have an interesting excerpt from a ‘The Brown Hand’, a spooky story by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle from The Raj in Ghostly Light, edited by B.C.Dutt. One has to realise while reading such stories that what is seen as a controversial attitude in today’s world could well have been an accepted norm a century or two ago. We have another excerpt from a more modern non-fiction — Bhaskar Parichha’s recent translation from Odia of Janaki Ballav Patnaik: An Unfinished Memoir. Describing the art of tattooing is yet another excerpt from a story by Hannah Stevens, a writer shortlisted for the W&A Working Class Writers’ Prize, which follows her conversation with Keith Lyons.
Short stories have wound their way into our reviews section too. Somdatta Mandal has discussed Geetanjali Shree’s Once Elephants Lived Here: Stories, translated from Hindi by Daisy Rockwell. Mandal writes: “The book…presents a great challenge to the layman reader who cannot simply pick it up and start reading at leisure. One must read meticulously, ponder over the distortion of the usual short story genre, keep track of the convoluted or sometimes half-finished sentences and wonder where the narrator or the protagonist of the story is leading you – sometimes round and round and without reaching a denouement. All said and done, one must pick up this book to savour how post-modern storytelling can become an art in itself.” Rakhi Dalal has written about Teresa Rehman’s Her Hajj Story: Travel Diaries of Women Pilgrims from Assamwhile Farah Imam elaborates on Raina/Rituparna Khan’s Her Story: Beyond Dimension. Parichha has brought to us Reetika Khera’s Freebies or Rights: Rethinking India’s Social Policy. He writes: “Freebies or Rights presents a case for seeing social protection not as charity, but as part of the infrastructure of a democratic society. Its central message is both simple and consequential: dignity cannot be secured by economic growth alone. For millions of Indians, it also depends on whether the state can make basic rights real in everyday life.”
Though we reflect on diverse themes in this issue, the collective concern is for the welfare of our species, our planet and our very existence, occasionally drizzled with humour. Do pause by our contents page to browse on our October issue.
We are hugely grateful to all the contributors, our team who step in to help create the content and put it before all our readers, especially Sohana Manzoor for her wonderful artwork. We remain thankful to all our readers without who our efforts would be in vain.
Nazrul’s magazine, Dhumketu, and Nazrul (1899-1976). From Public Domain
Dhumketu[1]was a bi-weekly Bangla paper edited by Kazi Nazrul Islam. It started publication on 26 Sravan 1329 /11 August 1922, in a four-page format, but later expanded to eight pages. Rabindranath’s poem, hailing the launch of this paper, was used as an epigraph. The paper contained several of Nazrul’s own writings – apart from the editorial – such as a reprinting of ‘Bidrohi[2]’ in the inaugural issue, the poem Muharram in the Muharram issue of 20 pages (1329 /August 1922), ‘Agamoni[3]’ and ‘Anandamoyeer Agamone[4]’ in the 9 Ashwin/ 26 September 1922 issue. The police raided the office of Dhumketu on 8 November, but Nazrul was not there. He was finally arrested on 23 January 1923 on charges of sedition. The paper dated 13 Magh 1329/27 January 1923 contained his ‘Rajbandi’r Jabanbandi[5]’ along with poems and pieces on him. Nazrul was jailed for a year, and the paper was suspended for a time. It appeared later under the editorship of Biren Sen Gupta and Amaresh Kanji Lal, but it did not have the earlier revolutionary fervour. It became irregular and from March 1923 publication stopped.
Selina Bahar Zaman retrieved the facsimiles of the issues of Dhumketu. From this valuable collection we realise that from the very beginning, the paper was not only meant to voice Nazrul’s anti-British views but also to reveal his non-communal and non-gendered outlook.
The contributors to the paper included both Muslim and Hindu writers, male and female. The advertisement of Himani Snow on the cover of the inaugural issue – and in many subsequent issues – suggests that Nazrul expected the paper to be read by women as well as men. From the inaugural issue the presence of women writers is noticeable.
Some women writers wrote a number of times, but there were at least ten women who wrote at least once. One of these included a ten- or eleven-year-old girl as well as a thirteen-year-old girl, the former Hindu, the latter Muslim. Sri Birajsundari Devi, Promila’s aunt, whom Nazrul called “Ma”, and who would help him break his fast at Hooghly Jail and to whom the poet later dedicated his book Sarbahara (1926)[6], gave him her blessings in ‘Mayer Ashish’ [7]in the inaugural issue of Dhumketu. She also wrote a piece – ‘Nari Kalyan[8]’ – for the issue. Masuda Rahman (1885-1926) wrote several times – always appearing as Mrs. M. Rahman; Roquiah Sakhawat Hossein (1880-1932) –– writing as Mrs R. S. Hossein – contributed the excerpt of an essay and a poem.
Roquiah Sakhawat Hossein was born and brought up in a conservative Muslim family of Pairaband, Rangpur. Forbidden to read and write Bangla or English as a child, she managed to learn both so well that she could write fluently in both. For women of her generation, she was a beacon of light, extolling the importance of education in improving the lives of women. Roquiah Sakhawat Hossein was greatly helped by her brother and later by her husband, Sakhawat Hossein, to learn how to read and write, both Bangla and English.
Knowing her passion for education, Sakhawat Hossein left her a considerable sum of money to start a school. Five months after her husband passed away on 3 May 1909, she started a school in his name at Bhagalpur where she was residing at the time. However, she was unable to continue to live there and moved to Kolkata, where, two years later, on 16 March 1911, she re-started Sakhawat Memorial School at 13 Wellesley Lane. At the time of her death on 9 December 1932, there were more than 100 girls studying at the school.
A newer version of the book with a portrait of the author. Originally published in 1905. From Public Domain
Apart from teaching, she also wrote, in Bangla and English, in Kolkata magazines about her concerns for women, about purdah, and about her school. Roquiah’s first publication was not in Bangla but in English. Her story, “Sultana’s Dream”, for which she is well-known internationally today, appeared in the Indian Ladies Magazine (Madras) in 1905. Three years later, her Bangla translation of this story came out in book form from S. K. Lahiri and Co., Kolkata.
Perhaps the earliest Bangla essay of hers that was published was ‘Pipasha (Thirst)’. This piece about Muharram was published in Nabaprabha in Falgun 1308 (mid-February to mid-March 1902). She also wrote in other journals such as Mahila, Nabanur, BharatMahila, Al-Eslam, Bangiya Mussulman Sahitya Patrika, Saogat, Sadhana, Naoroz, Mohammadi, Sahityik, Sabujpatra, Muezzin, Bangalakshmi, Gulistan, Mah-e-Nau. It is not known whether Nazrul and Roquiah ever met in person, though in Nazrul’s novel Bandhon Hara[9] (published serially in Moslem Bharat from 1921) many of the sentiments voiced by the women letter writers seem to presage what Roquiah would later say in her essay ‘Subah Sadek[10]’ in Muezzin (Asharh-Sravan 1337/mid-July-mid-August 1930.)
A sizable extract from Roquiah’s essay ‘Pipasha’ is included in the Muharram issue of Dhumketu. A poem of hers, ‘Nirupam Bir[11]’, was also published in Dhumketu that year. In ‘Pipasha’, she reflects on the plight of the group of warriors, women, and children accompanying Hazrat Imam Hossain on his tragic journey to Karbala. In an age when copyright was not taken seriously and essays, stories, and poems were freely published in different journals, it is not clear whether Nazrul took permission from Roquiah to republish this piece. Though the essay is about Muharram, the piece is divided into two sections, with the second part describing the grief after a loved one died without having a last sip of water. Dhumketu included only the first part in which the focus is on the tragedy of Karbala.
The only other piece by Roquiah to appear in Dhumketu was a poem, ‘Nirupam Bir’, published on 5 Ashwin 1329/22 September 1922. Unlike ‘Pipasha’, the poem does not seem to have been published before.
‘Nirupam Bir’ is a remarkable poem from a woman who has been called an “Islamic Feminist.” The 1 Bhadra 1329/ 18 August 1922 issue of Dhumketu had published a photograph of the revolutionary Kanailal Dutt (1888-1908). Perhaps this inspired Roquiah to write the poem. Kanailal was a revolutionary belonging to the Jugantor Group. Arrested with a number of other revolutionaries, he was imprisoned in Alipore Jail. There, along with another revolutionary, he succeeded in assassinating Narendranth Goswami, a government approver. Kanailal was hanged on 31 August 1908. He was the second revolutionary to be hanged by the British after Khudiram Bose – whose picture also appeared in Dhumketu.
In her poem, Roquiah eulogises Kanai as the dauntless warrior. The poem begins with the magistrate ordering Kanai to be hanged. But Kanai – addressed here as Shyam, another name of Krishna – laughs. The one who willingly sacrifices his life does not fear hanging. “Moriya kanai hobe omor/ Shadhyo ki bodhe tarey?” (By dying Kanai will become immortal. Who can slay him?) The poem ends with a strident call: “Bolo bolo ‘Bande Shyam,’” (Proclaim, proclaim, ‘Long Live Shyam’). It was a very brave piece of writing by Roquiah, the widow of an official who had served the British and the founder of a school for Muslim girls.
Unlike Roquiah who appeared only twice in Dhumketu, Mrs. M. Rahman appears frequently. Her first name was Masuda, but she wrote as Mrs. M. Rahman for Dhumketu.
Masuda Rahman was the daughter of Hooghly’s Public Prosecutor Khan Bahadur Mazharul Anwar Chowdhury. Apart from learning how to read the Quran, she learned some Bangla and Urdu at home. At the age of eleven, she was married to Kazi Mahmudur Rahman, Zamindar of Furfura, who was at the time Registrar of Calcutta. Her early marriage did not deter her from following her own interests. She wrote essays and also a novel Ma O Meye[12].
It is not known how Masuda Rahman met Kazi Nazrul Islam, but Professor Rafiqul Islam says she treated “Nazrul like a son.” (Nazrul had been estranged from his mother for some time. Perhaps, the longing for a mother led him to call Mrs. M. Rahman and Birajsundari Devi “Ma”. He would dedicate two of his books to them.)
Mrs. M. Rahman played a prominent part in Nazrul’s marriage. Nazrul had fallen in love with a girl named Ashalata – whom he would rename Promila after their marriage – and brought both Ashalata and her mother Giribala to Kolkata in 1924. Nazrul was 23, Ashalata just 16. There were obvious difficulties in this marriage between a Muslim man and a young girl of a different faith[13]. It was Mrs. M. Rahman who organised the wedding which took place on 25 April 1924, according to Muslim rites, though Ashalata did not change her religion. Seven years later, Nazrul dedicated his book Bisher Banshi[14] to Mrs. M. Rahman:
Fiery serpent girl of Bengal, the pride of Muslim women The manifestation of my mother on Earth, Mrs. M. Rahman sahiba, I lay this at your feet. (Translated by Nashid Kamal)
Before Mrs. M. Rahman got involved in Nazrul’s personal life, she was publishing frequently in Dhumketu. In fact, in the 29 Agrahayan 1329/15 December 1922 issue of Dhumketu, her name and the title of her piece are prominently displayed on the cover of the magazine. In the Muharram issue of Dhumketu, in which Roquiah’s ‘Pipasha’ also appeared, she wrote an essay titled ‘Amader Abhab Abhijog[15]’ for the section ‘Sandhya Pradeep[16]’. In this piece she points out that women are not weak, that they do not always need the support of a tree like a weak vine. They want freedom and independence.
In an earlier issue of Dhumketu for ‘Sandhya Pradeep’ she wrote ‘Amader Swarup[17]’, calling upon women to awaken. She writes that the call to awaken is everywhere, and quotes lines from a poet, Parimal Kumar, who calls upon the sisters and mothers of Bengal to awaken. A few paragraphs later she reminds women that they have a lot of work to do: “Narir sharthak korar sahasra poth achhey. Bibaho chharao korbar kaj achhey.” (There are many ways to make women feel fulfilled. Apart from getting married there are many things for women to do.) In ‘Panch Mishali’[18] in the 21 Kartik 1329/ 31 October 1922 issue of Dhumketu, she begins by saying she is out of sorts and therefore will provide some humorous anecdote.
Apart from Mrs M. Rahman, other women also wrote for the column ‘Sandhya Pradeep’. In the 14 Kartik 1329/31 October 1922 issue of Dhumketu, Sri Mahamaya Debi wrote an essay titled ‘Narir Mukti Kon Pothe[19]’. This essay was continued in the 1 Agrayahan 1329/17 November issue of Dhumketu in the same column along with two other essays by Srimati Nonibala Debi (‘Boneder Kotha’[20]) and Charushila Mitra (‘Narir SarthakothaKisher[21]’) In the 26 Agrahayan/12 December issue, Srimati Saktibala wrote a poem “Boner Dabi” which begins with the lines “Mukti dao/ Mukti dao/Supti dao/Bhai tora[22].” The second stanza reads: “Swadhinatao dao/Dao go dao/ Dao go dao/Pran bhora.” Srimati Nalini Basu and Srimati Chanchala Debi wrote ‘Mayer Bodhon’[23]under ‘Sandhya Pradeep’ in the issue of 30 Ashwin 1329/17 October 1922 welcoming the Goddess Durga. Young girls, Hindu and Muslim, were also writing. Srilila Mitra, who was ten or eleven years old, wrote two poems: ‘Bangali’ – “Ay, ay/Chhute ay/Ay tora /Bangali[24]” – in the 26 Ashwin/13 Oct issue of Dhumketu and ‘Khun-Khoshroj[25]’ in the 30 Ashwin/ 17 October issue. Rizia Begum, the thirteen-year-old daughter of Abdur Rahim of Noakhali also contributed a poem titled “Arab” in the 14 Kartik/Oct 31 issue of Dhumketu. Srisarashibala Basu wrote the poem “Bhai-Phonta[26]” in the 3 Kartik/ 20 October issue of Dhumketu.
Generally, Nazrul alone is associated with Dhumketu, but, as seen from these examples, women too were writing for the paper. And, if the ad for Himani Snow – which appeared on the cover of the inaugural issue of Dhumketu and continued to appear in other issues as well – suggests the desire of women to beautify themselves for men, it also stresses that the paper was meant for women readers, not only men. Significantly, the women writers who wrote for Dhumketu not only demanded rights for women, but they were also inspired by Nazrul’s revolutionary fervour to call upon men and women alike to rise against the British and demand freedom.
(First Published in Daily Star)
Selected Bibliography:
Hossein, Roquiah Sakhawat. Rokeya Rachnabali, ed Abdul Mannan Syed et al. Second ed. Dhaka: Bangla Academy, 1999.
The many faces pf Kazi Nazrul Islam. From the Public Domain
The abiding image of Kazi Nazrul Islam (1899-1976) is that of the “Rebel Poet,” who defines himself as a fiery comet streaking across the firmament, emblazoning in the sky a message of revolutionary change. Unlike Rabindranath Tagore, Nazrul was not born into social and intellectual privilege. He has been described, in fact, as “the ‘other’ of the elite Kolkata bhadralok”.[1] Born in Churulia village in the Bardhaman district of Bengal, Nazrul was the son of the head of a mosque, studied in an Islamic school, and during his youth, joined a Leto group, a travelling band of local performers. When in high school, he was recruited into the British army, and served in Karachi. Even after he returned to Bengal as a young poet who had already acquired fame and repute, he remained something of an outsider to the intellectually sophisticated world of the literati. It was from this position of an outsider that he fashioned his own image as the bidrohior ‘Rebel poet’ who challenged the structures of the political, social, cultural and literary establishment with the sheer force of his iconoclastic writings.
Though best known as a poet, composer and revolutionary, Nazrul’s oeuvre also includes novels, essays, stories, editorials and journalistic pieces on a remarkable variety of topics. He was also a lyricist and composer, creator of the iconic genre called “Nazrulgeeti”. Nazrul’s brilliant literary career lasted from 1919 to 1942, when illness brought it to a sudden end. During this short span of time, he wrote on an amazing range of subjects, including politics, nationalism, social change, religion, communalism, education, philosophy, nature, love, aesthetics, literature and music. He saw it as his mission to arouse public awareness about pressing issues, and to jolt them out of their complacency and general apathy. Remembering Nazrul on the 48th anniversary of his death, it is daunting to think about his extraordinary legacy, but also a timely moment to reflect upon his significance for our own times.
In his political stance, Nazrul argued passionately in favour of armed struggle for total independence from colonial rule, rejecting the Gandhian path to advocate a freedom won via armed resistance. The trope of violence recurs in his writings. Yet his apparent espousal of the principle of destruction springs from a utopian dream of constructive change. “Reform can be brought about, not through evolution, but through an outright bloody revolution,” he says in the essay ‘World Literature Today’. “We shall transform the world completely, in form and substance, and remake it, from scratch. Through our endeavours, we shall produce new creation, as well as new creators”.[2]
Nazrul’s ideas on education counter the colonial pattern, advocating instead a curriculum that draws on indigenous contexts and models. He feels that the new education policy should emphasise empathy, inclusiveness and heterogeneity, with a special focus on psychological and emotional development. “It is our desire that our system of education should be such that it progressively makes our life-spirit awakened and alive,” he says in ‘A National Education’, adding: “… We would rather produce daredevils than spineless young men.” [3]
Inclusiveness and acceptance of heterogeneities are central to Nazrul’s vision. During his stint as a soldier in Karachi in his young days, he became interested in Marxist thought. The influence of this line of thinking can be felt in his emphasis on economic egalitarianism, and his passionate support of the cause of the downtrodden peasantry, particularly in his journal Langal. Following the 1926 riots in Kolkata, he expresses his anguish at the communal antagonism between Hindus and Muslims, critiquing different forms of orthodoxy in both religions. In the poem ‘Samyabadi (Egalitarian)’ [4], he declares:
I sing the song of equality— Where all divisions vanish and barriers dissolve, Where Hindu-Buddhist-Muslim-Christian merge and become one …
Nazrul was also a supporter of women’s rights. In his poetry, he speaks of equality between men and women. In ‘Nari (Woman)’ he argues: “If man keeps woman captive, then in ages to come, / He will languish in a prison of his own making”.[5]
Not surprisingly, Nazrul’s fearless, unconventional attitude aroused hostility in many quarters. His bold, outspoken magazine Dhumketu enraged the British. The journal was banned, and Nazrul condemned to rigorous imprisonment. At his trial in 1923, he delivered a resounding rejoinder in his speech ‘Rajbandir Jabanbandi (Deposition of a Political Prisoner)’. He remained a thorn in the flesh for the British administration because of his revolutionary views. Nazrul’s religious views also raised many hackles. He married Ashalata Sengupta, or Pramila, who belonged to the Brahmo Samaj. This antagonised conservative Hindus as well as orthodox Muslims.
Nazrul’s success as a writer, especially Rabindranath Tagore’s appreciation of his work, also caused jealousy among contemporary writers. For Tagore had dedicated his play Basanta to Nazrul, and also sent a telegram to him when he was in prison, exhorting him to give up his hunger strike. In 1922, Tagore had written a poem addressed to Nazrul, which appeared in successive issues of the journal Dhumketu[6]:
Come, O shining comet! Blaze Across the darkness, with your fiery trail. Upon the fortress-top of evil days, Let your victory-pennant sail. What if the forehead of the night Bear misfortune’s sinister sign? Awaken, with your flashing light, All who lie comatose, supine.
Rabindranath Tagore’s recognition of Nazrul’s talent created a lot of envy in literary circles. In 1926-27, parodies of Nazrul’s poetry started appearing in Shanibarer Chithi, a journal published by the Tagore circle. It came to be rumoured that Tagore had not liked Nazrul’s use of the Persianate word khoon (blood) instead of the Sanskritised word rakta, in his composition ‘Kandari Hushiar’. This gave rise to a controversy that became known as khooner mamla (the bloody affair), which drew a strong reaction from a deeply perturbed Nazrul, in the shape of an essay ‘Boror Piriti Balir Baandh” (A Great Man’s Love is a Sandbank)’, in which he blamed Tagore’s followers for the entire misunderstanding. The situation was resolved through the mediation of friends, and relations between Tagore and Nazrul remained cordial. When Tagore died in 1941, Nazrul broadcast a moving elegy, “Robi-Hara”, on Calcutta Radio.
In some ways, Nazrul was ahead of his time. Not many people know that he was aware of environmental issues and the threat of climate change, pressing problems in our own times. In ‘The Day of Annihilation’, he writes in a prophetic vein, of global warming, dissolving ice-caps and a changing ecology, cautioning his readers that if humans exploit the planet, we will eventually be responsible for the destruction of life on earth.
In Nazrul’s life and writings, we encounter the constant pull of contraries.His consciousness was simultaneously rooted in local culture, and infused with a broad transnational spirit. He felt inspired by movements in other parts of the world, such as the Turkish Revolution, the Irish Revolution and the Russian Revolution. In the essay ‘Bartaman Viswasahitya (World Literature Today)’, we discover his awareness about literary developments across the globe.In his political writings he espouses the path of violence, but he also composes exquisitely tender love songs, devotional songs drawing on both Hindu and Muslim imagery, and songs about the beauty of nature.
Nazrul’s style is a volatile mix of colloquial, idiomatic expressions, formal Bengali, Sanskrit and Persianate vocabulary, a smattering of English, and multiple registers of language. His polyglot sensibility also surfaces in his practice as a translator. He translated Omar Khayyam and Hafez from Persian into Bengali. His translations from Arabic into Bengali include 38 verses of the Qu’ran, part of the Mirasun Nagmat (a treatise on Hindustani classical music) and some poems. He translated Whitman’s ‘O Pioneer’ from English into Bengali. He is also known for his innovative ghazals in Bengali.
In 1942, Nazrul suddenly lost his speech. His illness brought his literary life to an abrupt end. All the same, the impact of his writings continued to be felt. In the Bangladesh Liberation War of 1971, the freedom fighters adopted Nazrul’s music as a source of inspiration. He was later declared the National Poet of Bangladesh. Today, while Nazrul’s poems and songs continue to delight and inspire, the true extent of his achievement remains in shadow. It is time for a comprehensive reappraisal of this much underestimated literary genius, because his writings have so much to offer us in our present world.
[1]The Collected Short Stories of Kazi Nazrul Islam, ed. Syed Manzoorul Islam and Kaustav Chakraborty (Hyderabad: Orient Blackswan, 2024), p. xviii. Bhadralok translates to gentleman
[2]Kazi Nazrul Islam, Selected Essays, translated by Radha Chakravarty (New Delhi: Penguin Random House, 2024), p. 137.
[3] Kazi Nazrul Islam,Selected Essays, trans. Radha Chakravarty (2024), p. 60.
[6]The Essential Tagore, ed. Fakrul Alam and Radha Chakravarty. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 2011, pp. 115-116; Translation mine.
Radha Chakravarty is a writer, critic, and translator. She has published 23 books, including poetry, translations of major Bengali writers, anthologies of South Asian literature, and critical writings on Tagore, translation and contemporary women’s writing. She was nominated for the Crossword Translation Award 2004.
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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
[In 1922, Kazi Nazrul Islam, the famous ‘Rebel Poet of Bengal’, aroused the wrath of the British administration for the revolutionary anti-imperialist writings published in his magazine Dhumketu (Comet), published in Kolkata. The Dhumketu office was raided by the police, Nazrul’s anthology Jugabani was banned, and on 23 November 1922, Nazrul was arrested and imprisoned in Presidency Jail. On 16 January 1923, Nazrul delivered his famous speech “Rajbandir Jabandandi” (Deposition of a Political Prisoner), at his trial. Sentenced to a year’s rigorous imprisonment, Nazrul was confined first in Alipore Jail and subsequently in Hooghly Jail. In February, Tagore dedicated his play Basanta to Nazrul, and later sent him a telegram urging him to call off his hunger strike. Nazrul never received the telegram, and was released from jail in November 1923.]
I am accused of treason. Hence, I am a prisoner of the state, as indicted by the state.
On one side stands the royal crown, and on the other, the flame of the comet. One represents the king, holding the sceptre; the other stands for the truth, holding the rod of justice. On the side of the king are the salaried employees of the state. On my side is the King of kings, Judge of all judges, true from the beginning to the end of time—the living divinity.
Nobody has appointed my judge. In the eyes of this Supreme Judge, all are equal—ruler and subject, rich and poor, the happy and the unhappy. At His throne, the ruler’s crown and the beggar’s musical instrument, the ektara, are placed at par. His laws are the laws of nyaya or justice, and dharma. That law has not been created by any victor for any conquered race, but from the true insights of global humanity. It is the law of universal truth, of omnipresent, all-pervading divinity. On the side of the king is a fragment of creation, minute as an atom; and on my side, the Creator Himself, whole and indivisible without beginning and end.
Behind the king are the insignificant, and behind me, stands the divine force of Lord Shiva himself. The one who backs the king has selfish goals; the one who supports me aims for the truth, to gain perfect bliss.
The king’s words are mere bubbles; my words, the boundless ocean. I am a poet, inspired by the Lord to reveal the hidden truth, to give form to formless Creation. Through the voice of the poet, the Lord makes himself heard. My utterance is the medium that publicly announces the truth, the utterance of the Lord. That utterance can appear as treason in the judgement of the state, but in the judgement of nyaya, that utterance is neither a rebellion against nyaya, nor against the truth. That utterance may be punishable in the king’s court, but in the light of dharma, at the court of nyaya, it is guiltless, untainted, unblemished, clear, inextinguishable, like truth itself.
The truth is self-revealing. It cannot be stopped by an angry, red-eyed royal sceptre. I am the veena, the instrument of that unceasing self-revelation, the veena that resonated as the voice of eternal truth. I am the veena in the hands of the Lord. It may break if it must, but who can break the Lord? It is an eternal truth that the truth exists, and so does the Lord—since the beginning of time, and forever. The one who obstructs the voice of truth today, who wishes to silence that voice, is also one of the minutest atoms of the Lord’s creation. It is by Lord’s signs, signals and wishes that such a person exists today, or may not exist tomorrow. There is no end to the hubris of the foolish mortal: he wants to imprison and punish his own Creator! But one day, this hubris is bound to drown in tears!
As I was saying, I am an instrument for the revelation of truth. There may be heartless powers that imprison that instrument, or destroy it; but the One who plays that instrument, who expresses His fiery message through that veena – what power on earth can confine Him? What power on earth can destroy the vidhata, the supreme arbiter of our destinies? I am mortal, yes, but my vidhata is immortal. I will die, so will the king, for many traitors like me are dying, and so are many kings who summon up such accusations against them, but through the ages, at no point in time, and for no reason, has the manifestation of truth been suppressed – the voice of truth has never perished. Today, too, in the same way, it continues to express itself, and will continue to do so forever. This utterance of mine, stifled by authority, will be heard again, in the voice of another. If you snatch away my flute you do not kill my music, for I can take up another flute, or create a new one, and bring the music back to life. The music does not belong to the flute, you see, it exists in my soul, and in the art of my fashioning of the flute. Hence the fault lies not with the flute, nor with the tune; the fault lies in me, the player of the flute. Likewise, for the utterance that emerges through my voice, I am not responsible. The fault lies not in me, or in my veena. It lies with the One who plays his veena through my voice. Hence, I am not the traitor against the state; the ultimate traitor is that same Lord, the player of the veena. There exists no royal authority or second divinity who has the power to punish Him. No police force or prison has yet been created, that has the power to imprison the Lord.
The royal translator deployed by the king is simply translating the language of that utterance, not its soul. His translation projects that utterance as treason, for his aim is to satisfy the king. But my writing expresses the truth, radiance and the very spirit of life, for my aim is to offer my devotion to the Lord. For the tormented, anguished dwellers on this earth, I appear as a shower of truth, the tears that rain from the Lord’s eyes. I have not revolted against the king, but against injustice. …
[From Kazi Nazrul Islam: Selected Essays, translated by Radha Chakravarty. New Delhi: Penguin Random House, 2024.]
About the Book: Selected Essays reveals to us the extraordinary versatility of Nazrul as an essayist. Addressing subjects as diverse as social reform, politics, communal harmony, environmental concerns, education, aesthetics, ethics, and philosophy, this rich collection showcases Nazrul’s dynamic vision and unique use of language as an instrument of change. The essays chart his evolving consciousness as a thinker, writer and activist, offering vivid glimpses of the ethos of his times, his relationships with leading figures such as Tagore and Gandhi, and his active engagement with social, political and cultural processes. These new translations bring Nazrul’s powerful voice to life, all its vibrant immediacy.
About the Author:
Kazi Nazrul Islam (1899-1976) is widely remembered as the fiery iconoclast who fought against the structures of oppression and orthodoxy. The iconic ‘rebel poet’ of Bengal and the national poet of Bangladesh, Nazrul continues to be loved for his songs and poetry. But he was also a writer of powerful short stories, novels, essays, journalistic editorials and articles. In his literary career, which lasted from 1919 to 1942, Nazrul achieved both fame and notoriety, for his fiery, forthright, unorthodox approach to life and art.
About the Translator:
Radha Chakravarty is a writer, critic, and translator. She has published 23 books, including poetry, translations of major Bengali writers, anthologies of South Asian literature, and critical writings on Tagore, translation and contemporary women’s writing. She was nominated for the Crossword Translation Award 2004 and the Pushcart Prize 2020.
Roquiah Sakhawat Hossein was born in 1880, Kazi Nazrul Islam in 1899. Apart from their difference in gender, there could not have been more differences in the circumstances of their class and upbringing. Roquiah was born and brought up in an affluent Muslim family of Pairaband. Her brothers went to elite schools in Kolkata. Though she was forbidden to read and write Bangla or English as a child, her brother Ibrahim Saber helped her to learn both languages so that she could write fluently in both. Later, her husband, Sakhawat Hossein, encouraged her to read and write, both Bangla and English.
Kazi Nazrul Islam was born in an impoverished family in the village of Churulia in the district of Bardhaman in West Bengal. Nazrul’s father was the khadim or caretaker of a mosque next to his small mud hut. The death of several earlier children led to Nazrul’s being given the nickname “Dukhu Miah,” the sorrowful one, perhaps also to cast off the evil eye. Initially, Nazrul studied in a maktab, an Islamic elementary school. When Nazrul was about nine, his father passed away, and the young boy was obliged to support his family. This might have meant teaching the children at the maktab, cleaning the mosque, and participating in religious rituals which entailed reciting the Quran.
Sometime in 1915, Nazrul got admitted to Searsole Raj High School, and studied there till 1917. This was the longest time he had spent in one place and in one school. However, he did not sit for the matriculation examination, but went off to join the British Indian Army which had started recruiting Bengalis. Posted to Karachi, Nazrul started subscribing to Kolkata papers and also writing for them.
Begum Roquiah (1880-1932) with her husband, Sakhawat Hossein, in 1898
In 1898 – a year before Nazrul was born – Roqiuah Khatun was married to Sakhawat Hossein, an Urdu-speaking widower from Bhagalpur. A civil servant under the British Raj, Sakhawat Hossein, not only encouraged his wife to read and write but was so amazed at her piece of English writing that he showed it to Mr. Macpherson, Commissioner, Bhagalpur. Mr. Macpherson commended the quality and content of the writing. We do not know whether Roquiah sent the story herself to Indian Ladies Magazine (Madras) or whether her husband did so. Nevertheless, Roquiah’s first published writing appeared in the magazine in 1905. Three years later, her Bangla translation of the story – with some changes – was published as a small book by S. K. Lahiri and Co, Kolkata.
Sakhawat Hossein passed away on May 3, 1909, leaving a large sum to his widow to start a school. Roquiah initially started the school in Bhagalpur but was unable to continue there and moved to Kolkata. It was there that, onMarch 16, 1911, she re-started Sakhawat Memorial School at 13 Wellesley Lane. Besides persuading Muslim parents to let their daughters enrol in her school and running it, she also had to write letters explaining why certain things were being done or not being done in her school. In addition to these activities, she started writing for local Kolkata newspapers and journals.
Perhaps the earliest Bangla essay of hers that was published was “Pipasha.” This piece about Muharram was published in Nabaprabha in Falgun 1308 [1](Bangla) corresponding to mid-February to mid-March 1912. She also wrote in other journals such as Mahila, Nabanur, BharatMahila, Al-Eslam, Bangiya Mussulman Sahitya Patrika, Saogat, Sadhana, Naoroz, Mohammadi, Sahityik, Sabujpatra, Muezzin, Bangalakshmi, Gulistan, and Mah-e-Nau. News about her school was published in The Mussulman under her initials, Mrs. R. S. Hossein.
During his deployment in Karachi, Nazrul subscribed to Bangla journals from Kolkata and also sent them some of his writings. His first publication was a short story “Baundeler Atmakahini” [The Autobiography of a Vagabond], which was published in Saogat in May 1919. The short stories “Hena” and “Byathar Dan” [The Gift of Sorrow] were published in Bangiya Mussalman Sahitya Patrika in November 1919 and January 1920 respectively. Roquiah’s writings too were being published in Saogat and Bangiya Mussulman Sahitya Patrika. Though it is not known whether Nazrul and Roquiah actually met, it is impossible that they did not know about each other’s writings.
A few years ago, I asked Majeda Saber, Roquiah’s grandniece who has written considerably on her grandaunt, whether Nazrul and Roquiah had ever met. Majeda Saber did not know. However, even if they did not meet, it is quite evident that Nazrul and Roquiah did meet in print and that they shared some common ideas. Nazrul reveals a deep empathy for women in both his poetry and his fiction. The short story “Rakshushi[2],” about a woman who has killed her husband and gone to jail for her crime, is a sympathetic portrayal of a murderess in her own voice. Nazrul’s poem “Nari[3]” demands equality for women.
I sing of equality. In my eyes, there is no difference Between a man and a woman. Whatever is great and blessed in this world, Has come equally from both, man and woman.
(Translated by Selina Hasib)
His song, “Jaago Nari Jaago” [Rise Up, Women], gives a clarion call to all women to rise.
Rise up women – rise up like the flaming fire! Rise up, O wife of the Sun god, with the mark of blood on your forehead!! ...
Like the fire blazing out of a smouldering heap, rise up – all you mothers, daughters, wives, sisters! (Translated by Sajed Kamal)
In his epistolary novel, Bandhon Hara [4]– which began to be serialized in Moslem Bharat from mid-April 1920 and was published as a book in 1927 – the feelings of the women letter writers reflect Roquiah’s ideas.
The narrative of Bandhon Hara seems to focus on the soldier-protagonist Nuru. However, the letters of the women not only contribute to the narrative of the triangular love story but also reflect on the condition of Muslim women in seclusion. For example, Mahbuba writes to Sophie – her friend, who, like her, is also in love with Nuru – about the claustrophobic nature of the inner quarters where women reside. It is a place where even the sun may not enter. But women are not criminals, Mahbuba says. “We are entitled to some freedom, for are we not human beings? Are we not made of flesh and blood, don’t we have feelings? Do we not possess a soul?”
After Mahbuba gets married, she writes to Shahoshika, a Brahmo teacher and a family friend, that women are supposed to be self-sacrificing. She tells Shahoshika that she has no wish to be renowned for self-sacrifice. She would like to die but refuses to die locked up in the inner quarters. “If I have to die, I would wish to have all the doors and windows around me open wide . . . I want to die looking straight at Mother Earth”.
In her essay “Subeh Sadek” [Dawn], published in Muezzin between mid-July-mid-August 1930, Roquiah asked women to proclaim aloud that they were human beings, not possessions. “Buk thukiya bolo ma! Amra poshu noi. Bolo bhogini! Amra asbab noi. Bolo konye! Amra jarau olonkar rupe lohar sinduke aboddha thakibar bostu noi. Sokole somoswore bolo,Amra manush. Mother, proclaim aloud, we are not animals. Proclaim, sister, we are not inanimate objects. Proclaim daughter, we are not ornaments set with precious gems to be locked up in iron trunks. Proclaim together, we are human beings.” In Aborodhbashini [The Secluded Ones], published in 1931, several years after Bandhon Hara, she described the claustrophobic, unhealthy, and often fatal conditions of extreme purdah.
Dhumketu edited by Nazrul
These similarities might simply be coincidences. However, it is clear that Nazrul thought highly of Roquiah and that she too reciprocated that feeling. Roquiah had been contributing to several Kolkata journals. In 1922, she contributed two pieces to the newly founded bi-weekly paper, Dhumketu[5], edited by Nazrul. The paper started publication from 26 Sravan 1329 BS/11 August 1922. A month later, a large extract from Roquiah’s essay “Pipasha”[Thirst] was published in the Muharram issue of 16 Bhadra 1329/ September 2, 1922.
Thanks to Selina Bahar Zaman[6], we have facsimiles of Dhumketu. From this valuable collection we realise that, from the very beginning, the paper not only voiced Nazrul’s anti-British views but also displayed his non-communal and non-gendered outlook. Many of the contributors to the paper included Hindu writers as well as women. There were at least ten women who wrote at least once. One of these included a ten- or eleven-year-old girl as well as a thirteen-year-old girl, the former Hindu, the latter Muslim. Mrs. M. Rahman, to whom Nazrul dedicated his book Bisher Banshi[7], wrote several times. Roquiah – as Mrs R. S. Hossein – was published twice in Dhumketu.
We do not know whether Roquiah sent the extract from “Pipasha” herself or whether Nazrul asked her for the piece for the special issue of twenty pages. The extract published in Dhumketu reflects on the plight of Hazrat Imam Hossain and the group of warriors, women and children, who accompanied him on his tragic journey to Karbala.
The only other piece by Roquiah to appear in Dhumketu was a poem, “Nirupam Bir” [The Dauntless Warrior], published on 5 Ashwin 1329 BS / September 22, 1922. Unlike “Pipasha”, the poem does not seem to have been published before. This time, Roquiah might herself have sent the poem to Dhumketu. She would not have had to go in person to the office of Dhumketu. With a good postal service, contributions were mailed to journals.
“Nirupam Bir” is a remarkable poem from a woman who has been called an “Islamic Feminist.” The 18 August issue of Dhumketu had published a photograph of Kanailal Dutt (1888-1908). Did this inspire Roquiah to write the poem? Kanailal was a revolutionary belonging to the Jugantor Group[8]. Arrested with a number of other revolutionaries, he was imprisoned in Alipore Jail. There, along with another revolutionary, he succeeded in assassinating Narendranth Goswami, a government approver. Kanailal was hanged on 31 August, 1908. He was the second revolutionary to be hanged by the British after Khudiram Bose – whose picture also appeared in Dhumketu.
In the poem, Roquiah eulogises Kanai as the dauntless warrior. The poem begins with the magistrate telling Kanai that he will be hanged. But Kanai – addressed here as Shyam, another name of Krishna – laughs. The one who willingly sacrifices his life does not fear hanging. “Moriya kanai hobe omor/ Shadhyo ki bodhe tarey? By dying Kanai will become immortal. Who can slay him?” The poem ends with a strident call hailing Kanailal: “Bolo bolo ‘Bande Shyam[9].’” It is a brave poem by a woman who was the widow of a government servant, a woman who ran a school for Muslim girls and promised their parents that purdah would be observed.
There were no Muslim revolutionaries at the time – though Nazrul’s friend Muzaffar Ahmad was a communist – and in Mrityukshudha Nazrul would describe a Muslim Bolshevik and in Kuhelika[10] he would portray a Muslim revolutionary. In his two poems on Durga, “Agamoni[11]” and “Anandamoyeer Agamone”, published in the Puja issue of Dhumketu on 9 Ashwin 1329 BS /September 26, 1922, Nazrul used the legend of the goddess to call for the overthrow of the British. In his editorial in the thirteenth issue of Dhumketu, 26 Ashwin 1329 BS / October 13,1922, Nazrul called for complete independence from the British: “‘Dhumketu’ bharater purno swadhinata chay.[Dhumketu wants India’s complete independence]” He quoted a line from his poem “Bidrohi”: “Ami aponare chhara kori na kahare kurnish [I bow to no one but myself].” Unlike Khudiram and Kanai, Nazrul did not resort to bombs or pistols, but to soul-stirring words. Just as in some of his writings, Nazrul revealed the feminist perspectives of Roquiah; in “Nirupam Bir”, Roquiah approached the revolutionary spirit of Nazrul.
Selected Bibliography
Hossein, Roquiah Sakhawat, “Subeh Sadek.” Rokeya Rachanabali ed. Abdul Mannan Syed et al, revised edition. Bangla Academy: 1999.
Islam, Kazi Nazrul. Unfettered (translation of Bandhon Hara).Translated by The Reading Circle Nymphea Publication: 2015.
Niaz Zaman is an academic, writer and translator from Bangladesh. She has published a selection of Kazi Nazrul Islam’s work in the two-volume Kazi Nazrul Islam: Selections. In 2016, she received the Bangla Academy Award for Translation. This essay was first published in In Focus, the Daily Star, December 12, 2022.
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