KISMET
Before our births, Kussam, who makes our fate,
Ordained us happy or unfortunate,
And wrote upon our brow and on our hands
The signs that tell to him who understands
Our Destiny, decreed for good or ill.
So pass the Wise, bending to Allah’s will,
Their lives into His mighty hands resigned.
One child is cherished; one to hands unkind
Is given; one dies in life’s first shining dawn;
One longs to die, but Death when called upon
Turns from the supplicating voice his ear;
One starves in poverty; one is Amir
And drives his elephant in lordly state;
One lives in love; one girdled round with hate
Dwells ever in a bitter world of strife;
One in the moment of this earthly life
Is ruler, sitting on a regal seat;
One crawls a slave, obedient at his feet.
And Allah changes all as He desires,
He is an artist whom His art inspires:
This world the picture He is painting still.
But with his share of fate He gave man will
To fashion circumstance by its control,
To make a path of healing for his soul,
To act, to think, to feel aright until
He knows his will as one with Allah’s will.
TANSEN
Tansen, the singer, in great Akbar’s Court
Won great renown; through the Badshahi Fort
His voice rang like the sound of silver bells
And Akbar ravished heard. The story tells
How the King praised him, gave him many a gem,
Called him chief jewel in his diadem.
One day the singer sang the Song of Fire,
The Deepak Râg, and burning like a pyre
His body burst into consuming flame.
To cure his burning heart a maiden came
And sang Malhar, the song of water cold,
Till health returned, and comfort as of old.
“Mighty thy Teacher must be and divine,”
Great Akbar said; “magic indeed is thine,
Learnt at his feet.” Then happy Tansen bowed
And said, “Beyond the world’s ignoble crowd,
Scorning its wealth, remote and far-away
He dwells within a cave of Himalay.”
“Could I but see him once,” desired the King,
“Sit at his feet awhile, and listening
Hear his celestial song, I would deny
My state and walk in robes of poverty.”
Then said Tansen, “As you desire, Huzoor,
Indeed ’twere better as a slave and poor
To come; for he, lifted above the things
Of earth, disdains to sing to earthly kings.”
Long was the road, and Akbar as a slave
Followed Tansen who rode towards the cave
High in the mountains. At the singer’s feet
They knelt and prayed with supplication sweet:
“Towards thy shrine, lo, we have journeyed long,
O Holy Master, bless us with thy song!”
Then Ostad, won by their humility,
Sang songs of peace and high felicity;
The Malkous Raga all ecstatic rang
Till birds and beasts, enchanted as he sang,
Gathered to hear. O’er Akbar’s dreaming soul
He felt the waves of heavenly rapture roll,
But, as he turned to speak his words of praise,
Ostad had vanished from his wondering gaze.
“Tell me, Tansen, what theme this is that holds
The soul enchanted, and the heart enfolds
In high delight”; and, when he knew the name,
“Tell me,” again he said, “could you the same
Theme sing to lure my heart to paths untrod?”
“Ah no, to thee I sing; he sings to God.”
Inayat Khan.
The high ambition of the drop of rain
Is to be merged in the unfettered sea;
My sorrow when it passed all bounds of pain,
Changing, became itself the remedy.