Selected and translated by Rakhshanda Jalil.

“... as a writer or an artist, even though I run no state and command no power, I am entitled to feel that I am my brother’s keeper, and my brother is the whole of mankind. And this is the relevance to me of peace, of freedom, of detente and the elimination of the nuclear menace. But out of this vast brotherhood, the nearest to me and dearest are the insulted and the humiliated, the homeless and the disinherited, the poor, the hungry and the sick at heart.”

Faiz Ahmad Faiz spoke for an entire generation of Urdu poets when he wrote this. It is against this background of making common cause, of speaking up, that these poems on war and peace culled from a broad swathe of poetry — from the First World War to the War of Independence and then the wars India fought with Pakistan — must be read. From Jang-e Europe to Jang-e Hind-o Pak, it has been a long journey.

The War in Europe and Indians

Shibli Nomani

Consumed with pride, a German said to me:

“Victory is not easy but it isn’t impossible either

The army of Britannia is less than ten lakh

And on top of that it is not even prepared

As for France, they are a bunch of drunks

And not even familiar with the art of warfare.”

I said your arrogant claim is all wrong

If not mad you are certainly not wise

We the people of Hind are ten times the Germans

You have no sense to differentiate big from small

He listened carefully to what I had to say

Then he said something that can’t be described

“By god, anyone will lay down their life for such simplicity

You are willing to fight but without even a sword in your hand!”

(Original title: Jang-e Europe aur Hindustani)





A warrant of arrest was issued against Shibli Nomani for writing this poem. However, he died on November 18, 1914 before the warrant could be used.

From Collected Works

Akbar Allahabadi

Real goods are those that are made in Europe

Real matter is that which is printed in the Pioneer

Though Europe has great capability to do war

Greater still is her power to do business

They cannot install a canon everywhere

But the soap made by Pears is everywhere

The Cleverness of the English Mind

Ahmaq Phaphoondvi

Look at the turmoil and the bloodshed among our people

The cleverness of the English mind is used up in all such schemes

This murder ’n mayhem, wars ’n battles, cruelties ’n malice

The country’s garden is barren, with nothing but dust and desolation

There are no flowers here nor any freshness or fertility

There is bloodshed in every direction and piles of corpses

Tyrants like Dyer and O’Dwyer rule in the manner of Changez

Shuddhi and Tableegh movements here, conch and calls there

Had these not been in our midst the British Rule would have been difficult

(Original title: Angrezi Zehn ki Tezi)





Thank You Europe

Agha Hashar Kashmiri



O earth of Europe, O cherisher of outer raiments

O rival of Asia, O lover of the spark in the harvest

Your idea of healing is throwing out everything

Because of you the world is a place of mourning

The eyes of freedom are damp with the tearsof longing

The tale is blood-drenched people are destitute

Your philosophy is contained in your Book of Oppression

Humanity is the passion of your civilised barbarity

Ancient greatness laments your recent behaviour

Your old beauty has been washed away by splashes of blood

You have turned the dignified theatre of the east into a wilderness

You have turned heaven on earth into a model of hell

A shout is rising from the dust of the downtrodden

Asia is crying out and telling the world at large

On my poor grave there are neither lamps nor flowers

And not the wing of the moth or the sad song of the nightingale

(Original title: Shukriya Europe)





After the two Great Wars, there seemed little doubt in the mind of most Urdu poets, especially the progressives, that war was justified as it would bring freedom. And, so, there was Makhdoom Mohiuddin, the poet from Hyderabad writing in Jang-e Azaadi (War of Independence):

Look, the red dawn is coming, the red dawn of independence

Singing the red anthem of independence, freedom and independence

Look, the flag is waving of liberty, freedom and independence

And there was Kaifi Azmi writing an ode to the new woman who must walk hand in hand with her mate, in Aurat (Woman):

Arise, my love, for now you must march with me

Flames of war are ablaze in our world today...

You must burn in the fire of freedom with me

But by far the most famous comment on the blood-soaked end to a prolonged war for freedom is contained in the immortal lines from Subah-e Azaadi by Faiz Ahmad Faiz:

This patchy light, this night-bitten dawn

This is not the dawn we had been waiting for

In a poem titled Maatam-e Azadi (The Lament for Freedom) written in 1948, Josh Malihabadi strikes a sombre note when he takes stock of the peace that comes at the end of a long and bloody struggle:

O friend, don’t ask me for the tale of Hindustan

Our throats were torn by the scratching of our songs

When we escaped the sword, we were beheaded by the veins of the rose

Majaz too had lost some of his youthful ebullience by 1948 when he wrote:

Hindu Muslim Sikh and Christian will shed tears of peace

Having played Holi with blood, they will now wash off these stains

By the time India celebrates its first Republic Day, Sahir Ludhianvi’s disenchantment with the new republic is already palpable.

In a poem titled Chhabees Janwary (26 January), Sahir invokes the beautiful dreams the nation had seen, dreams of a better tomorrow and asks some important questions.

Twenty-sixth January

Sahir Ludhianvi

Come, and let us ponder over this question

What happened to those beautiful dreams we had dreamt



When wealth increased why did poverty also increase in the country

What happened to the means of increasing the prosperity of the people



Those who walked beside us on the street of the gallows

What happened to those friends and comrades and fellow travellers



What is the price being set for the blood of martyrs

What happened to the punishable ones for whom we were ready to lay down our lives

Helpless nakedness does not even merit a shroud What happened to those promises of silk and satin



Cherisher of democracy, friend of humanity, wisher of peace

What happened to all those titles we had conferred upon ourselves



Why is the malady of religion still without a cure

What happened to those rare and precious prescriptions



Every street is a field of flames, every city a slaughterhouse

What happened to the principles of the oneness of life



Life wanders aimlessly in the wilderness of gloom

What happened to the moons that had risen on the horizon



If I am the culprit, you are no less a sinner

O leaders of the nation you are guilty too

Ali Sardar Jafri in Subh-e Farda (The Morning of Tomorrow) speaks of standing on the border (obviously between India and Pakistan) waiting for a new morning, the morning of tomorrow:

On this border of blood, tears, sighs and sparks

The sun, broken in pieces, had set on this border

On this very border the dawn of freedom was wounded yesterday

Where you had sown hatred and grown swords

This border that drinks blood and spits sparks

It slithers on the bosom of our soil like a serpent

It enters the battleground bedecked with the armaments of war

The wounds of Partition were revived after every war with Pakistan. Each time, the poet cautioned against war. Sahir, the most vocal pacifist said in a nazm titled Ai Sharif Insanon:

War itself is the problem

How can it then provide the solution?

Today it will give fire and blood

Tomorrow it will bring hunger and beggary

To end with Faiz, let us remember his epochal poem on the 1965 war India fought with Pakistan entitled Sipahi ka Marsiya (Ode to the Soldier):

Rise from the earth, wake up, my son

This beautiful elegy (hauntingly sung by Nayyara) is a tribute to the soldier who lays down his life fighting for the country. It is, to my mind, a fine example of the essence of the progressive spirit in Urdu poetry, of the poet’s humanity and concern for individual life that is precious.

Faiz’s elegy is for all the soldiers who die in war — any war.





This article originally appeared on Scroll and has been reproduced with permission.