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'Iqbal in Masjid-e-Qartaba' |
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The poet, again, says to the Mosque that �you are the interpretation of the Momin�s dreams in the world, the exposition his high-mindedness and the exemplification of his soul in brick and mortar. �The hand of
Momin, in power and dominance, in the dispersal of difficulties
and the fulfillment of needs, is the Hand of God and an instrument of
Providence. Apparently, he is born of clay but in reality, he has the
nature of Light. There is the reflection of Divine Attributes in his
being. He is indifferent to the allurements of the world. His desires
are few but his aims are high. He is the embodiment of grace and
strength, love and sternness. He is gentle of speech but warmth in
quest. In peace he is soft like silk but in war he is hard as steel. Strength and felicity in life and
beauty and elegance in the world owe their presence to him. He is the
end and object of the pilgrimage of love and heart and soul of the
universe.� |
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Behold is thy stones are all the Believer�s secrets, Fire of passionate days, rapture of melting nights. High is his station and great his thoughts are, Ecstasy, burning desire, self-abasement and pride. The hand of the Momin is the Hand of Allah- Dominant, resourceful, creative, ensuring success. Fashioned of dust and light, slave with the Master�s attribute. His heart is indifferent to the riches of the worlds. His earthly hopes are few, his aims are high. Courtesy in his men, gaining all hearts with his glance; He is soft of speech but fierce in the hour of pursuit, In war and in peace, pure in thoughts and in art. The point of God�s great compass the Believer�s firm faith, All this universe else-shadow, illusion, deceit. He is the goal of love, he is the end of Love, He, in the circle of the firmament, sets all spirits aglow. |
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Iqbal proceeds to pay a tribute of never-fading charm to the Mosque. �Thou art the Mecca of the seekers of the Art.�, he says, �the place of pilgrimage for the devotees of love and the symbol of the glory of Islam. Thanks to thee, the soul of Cordova is vying for sacredness and elevation with the heavens. If anything can compare with thee it is the heart of the true Believer.� Here Iqbal loses control of his feelings. He looks in the distant past and centuries roll back in his imagination. He begins to live in the Muslim ascendancy in Spain. Combining romanticism with classicism he asks, �Where are the Moorish horsemen, the men of virtue, the embodiments of faith and the champions of truth? Where has their unrelenting caravan stopped? Where have the Arab rulers, the precursors of European Renaissance, gone whose government was another name for social justice and public welfare?�
Iqbal feels that Spain still bears the
floral imprint of Arab blood. Oriental charm, hospitality and sincerity
can even now be seen among its people. Its air is filled with the scent
of Najd and Yemen and the the music of Iraq and Arabia reverberates in
the atmosphere. |
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Shrine of the seekers
art! Glory of the manifest Faith! |
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The philosophy of Rousseau and Voltaire brought about the Revolution of France and set the stage for the emergence of the industrial era. Conservative Italy, too is showing signs of regeneration. Against his background Iqbal yearns for an Islamic revolution. He believes that the revolutionary spirit of Muslims is also uneasy but one does not know when it is going to assert itself. To Vadi-El-Kabir (Guadalquiver) he says: �On your bank a stranger is seeing the image of the future in the mirror of the past. Fascinating though the dream is, it is so intolerable to Europe that it cannot listen calmly to my plain-speaking.� The destination of
nations is forged in strife and revolt. Those who watch their steps
carefully and analyze their feelings and keep an eye on their mental
process are successful in life and make their mark in history. About art
and thought, poetry and literature, Iqbal once again emphasizes that a
philosophy which is not written with the blood of the heart is no more
than a mental exercise. The vital flame, the breath of life, is missing
from it. Likewise, the greatest works of art fade into oblivion if the
blood of the artist does not flow into them and music that does not
spring from the depths of the soul is transient and superficial. This is
Iqbal�s concept of art as well as of life. |
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Thy land is like the heavens in the
sight of the stars � For ages, alas, thy atmosphere has remained bereft of the Azan. In what dale and glen, in what stage of the journey, Love�s undaunted caravan now happens to be? Germany saw, long ago, Change and Revolution- Obliterating the old ways, sweeping away every trace; Holiness of the Pope fast became an erroneous word, Thought in its fragile boat launched on its dangerous course; The eye of France, also, has seen Revolution rage, That overturned the world, the Westerners had known; The Roman nation, old and tired with ancient traditions, With the joy of Rejuvenation discovered again her youth Now that tempest has seized even the soul of Islam, A Divine secret it is whose meaning cannot be told by the tongue. Watch! from the surface of this ocean what portents finally emerge, What new turn the blue revolving dome takes! |
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