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letter

Nazrul's Letter to Principal Ibrahim Khan

Translated by Subrata Kumar Das
***Ibrahim Khan (1894-1978), born in Tangail, was a prominent educationist and essayist. In 1926 he established Karatia Sadat College and served there as the Principal till 1947.
Principal Ibrahim Khan wrote a letter to Kazi Nazrul Islam (though the date was not mentioned, it is assumed that it was written in 1925). This letter carried many hopes against the fanatic attitudes created around for NazruTs rebellious poems. After about three years Nazrul, inspired by his literary friends, decided to publish the letter. He was also encouraged to publish a reply to that letter.
The letter of Principal Ibrahim Khan was published in Naoroj (Bhadra, 1334 B.S.) with the title Ekkhani Patra (A Letter) and NazruTs answer titling Chithir Uttarey (In Reply to a Letter) was published in Saogat (Pous, 1334 B.S.)
In this letter by Nazrul a reader can get a true explanation from the poet himself about his rebellion against God and other established values. Moreover, NazruTs sympathy and attitude to Muslim society have been properly delineated in the letter. One mav be introduced to NazruTs thought on literary theories and schools in it.
Translated by Subrata Kumar Das***
***Though we haven't met yet, we've heard not less about each other. I know you more, than you know me. I can blame only my bad luck for not meeting you yet. I donL hope to have any further possibility of meeting you as I haven't got that chance in my roaming about the whole country. Specially — when I'm eliminating myself from all my acquaintances.***
***No one will believe the existence of human blood in my veins if I deny my owe to the affection and love from the Hindu writers and public. Though due to envy some bad Hindu and Brahma writers are speaking ill and a few orthodox Hindu-sabha men are publicising bad rumours about me but their number is very few. Their envy is completely communal or personal.***
Respected Principal Ibrahim Khan Shaheb,
It Is said that Brohma's one day Is equal to our eighty years. Though I am not so great a creator. I am a creator undoubtedly, whatever small my area may be. So my one day is no less than three years. Others may not believe it, but I know you'll.
When I'm answering your letter of 1925. the year 1927 is going to meet the end. It is possible that with the end of 1927. my years will end. As a reason, getting the opportunity to reply you I'm speaking my last in response to some invisible urge. Because, none of my enemy will be able, let alone my friends, to prove that in the last three years I've written to anyone. I don't have that much courage to hear the news that my years are ending. Neither I believe it. But some members of the poetical community believe it and have tried much in respect of money and ability to make me believe it. But the sigh they control looking at my figure is not very small nor even of a believer s. Poor 1 am, I can't, some say to them, accept their attention gladly.
I feel sorry to consider them as my enemy even though people say so. Because once they were my best friends. If they sincerely desired my death today, then it is nothing but for my good. I believe wholeheartedly I haven't lost my faith in human whatever shock I get from them or in what quantity. When man's face gets overturned, he becomes a ghost or
when be becomes a ghost his face gets overturned but when man's heart is overturned he becomes more terrifying than the ghost — this I know well. After all these I respect him, love him. 1 haven't seen God. but I've seen human. I believe that this dusty, corrupt, helpless, sorrowful people will control the earth one day, unwrap all the mystery, bring down the heaven. I feel him in all the sorrows of the pitied people. I feel him in all the tears of them. I'm not exaggerating at all. I can visualize myself in the diamond tears of them. If I fail to do anything. I wish that I can at least cry' heartily with them.
But this is not your letter's reply. See. I’ve forgot the technique of writing letters for not writing long. I've been profited much for that. Though I reply to someone's letter instantly, s/he loses all his/her interests to respond me. Because, that becomes everything other than his/her letter's reply. The sufferers my talk in favour of it. So if this letter becomes some other thing than your letter's reply, that's not your fate's fault, but that is my hand's Infamy.
Though we haven't met yet. we've heard not less about each other. 1 know you more, than you know me. 1 can blame only my bad luck for not meeting you yet. 1 don't hope to have any further possibility of meeting you as I haven't got that chance in my roaming about the whole country. Specially — when I'm eliminating myself from all my acquaintances. But It has been better — at least from your part. I'll be able to bear my loss in the Joy that I'm not giving you the opportunity to be sorry thinking that your deep respect has been delivered to some worthless person. It's not my politeness. I’ve felt that those who have paid respect hearing about me. have been disappointed after seeing me. So. I'm Inwardly praying that I would let them stay away to relieve of the pains that I caused them while staying closer, otherwise my love for man is untrue.
Moreover, nearness has a cruelty. There's no disgrace in moonshine, the moon has Its own disgrace. The moon soothes our eyes from far. but none will possibly be happy after going to the dead surface of the moon. The sun-ray that enters our homes through the windows gives light but our eyes hurt with It. 1 adore the sun and the moon, but 1 become afraid when I hear about their visit to the earth. Brother, it has been better, because my disgrace could have been more if I had gone to you.
Now let me tell about respect. In that point also you don't have that possibility. If respect could have been measured by balance, we could get all solutions from one of our veteran editor who is an expert in measuring people's vices and virtues like a businessman. Due to the evil Influence of the stars, his balance never favours me; even then you would defeat. 1 can assert.
There is a reason for the sudden reference of the grocer, friend. You know well we are the customers of pennies. So whenever there Is some unfairness in weighing our heart shrieks. We don't know how much the grocer profits from it. but none but we — surely not the grocer — will realize our total loss. Even then when we see the grocer with the balance we get relieved because he will hesitate to cheat before our eyes; but whenever the low paid servants become the owners of die balances, there remains no hope. Ive told before, we are the poor buyers. If we had riches like the biggies, we would not complain.
The payabhari (having weighty leg : vainglorious) have some advantages, whether the glory is for phileria or the weighty legs. We are to lift them over our shoulders or we have to go to them bending our heads at land level. Those who understand business do not hesitate to spend all the oil of their shops to the weighty legs though they envy the customers of other shops and thus hate them. If necessary, his kids rush with the oil pots to pour oil on his legs across the river Rupnarayan even if his leg fixes immovably. He does not forget to takev ( the clown and the panegyrist with him.
Let's stop these silly talks. I'm to give answer of your question.
Hope, you will not be offended by my less affectionate addressing. I am a mere truant village boy. moreover I don't have anything named learning in me, I could address one Khaja Ibrahim more intimately, but my hands and legs have entered into my belly hearing the name of a Principal. How terrific. I feel thirsty even when I remember a Headmaster, then a college Principal! Not even the last boy who got one mark less than I could blame me of reading sitting on the bench in the class room. My legs never moved from the high benches and thus I had permanent arrangement with them. Possibly for that reason when I am made to speak on the dais, it seems the Headmaster have made me to do it.
You can't make me address you more cordially from such a teacher-stricken person.
Now let's begin. For a long time I feel that the Bengali Muslim society is much poor psychologically, though not financially. I've received the title kajer (infidel) that the Muslim society has given me. I can't remember if 1 have ever complained about Its unjustness. But I've felt shy that I'm not that much great to be ornamented with such a title. In spite of that I've been placed in the row of Haflz-Khalyaum and Monsoor.
No one will believe the existence of human blood in my veins if I deny my owe to the affection and love from the Hindu writers and public. Though due to envy some bad Hindu and Brahma writers are speaking ill and a few orthodox Hlndu-sabha men arc publicising bad rumours about me but their number is very few. Their envy is completely communal or personal, rd not blame the whole Hindu society for these few devilish activities. Moreover, at the present fanatic days my Muslim identity has been a crime to some Hindu people — how much non-communal I am.
I don't deny that the first storm of rebukes came from my own society i.e. the Muslim society; though it does not mean that the Muslims did not appreciate me at all. All the thorn of depreciation have gone underneath by the deep love and warm welcome of the Muslim young friends. May be. I did , not get the blessing from the seniors, but I got the love and hearty garlands from the youths. I've plucked flowers In my loss-field.
These youths are led by Ibrahim Khan. Kazi Abdul Wadud, Abul Kalam Samsuddln, Abul Monsoor, Wazed Ail, Abul Hossain. And these friends have made me great, have made a seat in the hearts of the youths for me — seat of love. They were youths who received me with their garlands In Dhaka, Chittagong. Noakhall. Faridpur. Though these youths were of no specific community — they are of all the nations.
You've called me to arouse all. I think before your call 1 tried with my small but all power to arouse them — with my life and life-force.
My ability Is small, but during the last eight years I've been roaming through the towns and villages with the farmers and labourers. I've written, talked, sang through the paths like the minstrels. I don't have money, but 1 know you won't — whoever others will — blame me that I've ever hesitated to spend my capability. The government has been much interested in me for all my services to my country and society. My most circulated books have been banned. Some days ago the police has notified me that if my recently published book Rudra-Mongal (The Violent Good) is sold more, they'll arrest me for sedition. If I speak out in the same tone of the sage Whitman :
"Behold, 1 do not give a little charity.
When I give. I give myself
Please don't misunderstand it as my pride
You've called the society as 'abandoned and pitiable'. I myself also take our society as an abandoned and 'demoralized' one but I can't take it as pitiable. From my own experience 1 consider my 'sdc(ety as fearful. This Society is always with an iron rod held high, if one discusses about its vices and virtues he is to be embarrassed. May be, you're laughing, but I know, how many stones were thrown to my head.
You know what I think? This rotten society can't be bettered only by caressing. If any one have that power of psychic cure, he may try. When an abscess matures and worsens, the patient then fears the surgeon most. A quack may console him that he would relieve him only by touching his hands and the patient may be happy hearing this. But the poor doubtful surgeon won't believe it. He operates with his knives deeply; the patient shouts, throws his hands and legs, scolds him. But the surgeon goes on with his activity. Because he knows, today the patient is speaking ill about him, he'll come to greet him after some days when his pain is eradicated.
What do you say? I myself is in favour of the surgeon. The society will throw its hands and legs, will speak ill; but those who don't have that capacity to bear It, they needn't try to work for social welfare. So. time and again I'm calling the brave and devoted youths. This purification is possible only by them. They don't hanker after fame, they don't beg honour. If anyone have such a stomach to bear this poverty, have back to bear attack, they are the youths. It is they who will create new literature, who will bring new wave, who will sing for the fresher.
May be, you have identified me as the pioneer of them. But like you I also think, till now. who will be the pioneer of them. It seems to me that-fortunate hasn't yet arrived. I've previously told repeatedly that I haven't seen that-fortunate, but whenever I'll see him I'll be able to identify him. My words are only the welcome-songs to him. I'll be only the trumpeter of him. 1 think. I'm singing only the awakening song at the wink of him. From all quarters around attacks, dishonour, disgrace are bestowing over me, but I won't stop my trumpet. I don't know from where or from whom I've attained this belief. I only think that someone's order or blink is always singing in my sad Inner mind. 1 always hear his footsteps in my heart, in my breaths.
Well, I also believe that anyone of ours may take that leadership.
Till now I've looked for him above me. May be. I've looked for him in me. I don't like to say that I've met him, but I don't hesitate today to say that gradually I've felt his nearness. Many times it seems that I might catch him extending my hands a little further.
I'm brooding over your request to extend my hands. So I'm hunting for that undisturbed peacefulness in all hopelessness and despair thinking that I'll discover my neglected existence in myself. 1 don't know whether I'll get that peace in my lifetime but if I get I'll answer your last question on that day.
Now I'll try to account for some of your complaints.
Are the responsibilities that you have mentioned — regarding my creation of poetry or purification of the society. I don't kno^ the concrete definition of art. if I know I don't believe.
A true artist feels troubled to obey that art will be most beautifully expressed when 'art will sustain if this is created or art will perish if that is created' and likewise formulas are maintained. 1 know the school of-classic will get furious and their pen will turn into arrows if they hear it. The true picture has turned so by this time. Even then writers of the new wave must say this today. Those whoever have jumped the barriers of the critics have always received kicks and been dashed-to 2nd class from the 1st.
Every time they have been critized as crazy people. And they are larger in number. They always shout even at the time of cry that 'that cry in not every artistic, cry again artistically and dancingly'. For this criticism to sorrow by the lifeless gate-keepers of art the great poet Whitman was also grouped in the non-poets. My condition is liothing better than to swallow the pillow. When I write Sarbahara (The Proletariat) they say it's no poetic at all. When I write Dolonchanpa (The Yellow Flower), Chhayanot (The Raga Chhayanot) they say it's silly. What will that meaningless sounds matter? What loss would be if I didn't write it.
They say lyric must be about love and war. There is no war in our country (except the Hindu — Muslim war); so if one writes poems about the suffering of humanity it becomes 'ugly-rebellious feeling to them'. The present day writers write about It because it as easy to get praise, they say.
Possibly no poet can tolerate this my poetry is not poetic, I am not a poet'. So those who were appreciating man's suffering are now creating lifeless beauty. Certainly there was an ear — possibly the earliest ear — when the volume of suffering was smaller than that of the present day. The people got much opportunity to recite the Vedic hymns in Tapabon. But when people began to be oppressed, then began the creation of epics of suffering — Ramayana, Mahabharat, Illiad etc. Consequently what they wrote were full with ugly-rebellious feelings but will anyone say that they were not poems?
The new literateurs have to create new throngs singing about this sufferings. If they don't get room to sit in the same row of Kalidasa, Yeats or Rabindranath, they will get place in the dusty rows of Pushkin, Dostoyevosky. Whitman, Gorky, .Johan Bojer.
It's our long worship that this dusty rows will mortify those golden thrones.
I have sung, being one of the distressed and sufferers, may be that song could not expose their colours properly due to my lack as a painter; but how does a man be so low to disgrace the pain of It? And see. there is no protest against all these ill talks.
But today I feel I shouldn't have been so much disturbed receiving the arrow. 1 should have possessed the belief that my day's sun may be shadowed for this arrow, but for a moment, not for ever. Yet I don't feel pity for that. At least I know this is merely the beginning of my life, beginning of my literary career. Why should I leave my demand of my way? If they don’t let me pass through their kingly path, then 1 must take my thorny way welcoming all attacks. At least 1 must proceed to the middle of the road, how can I disgrace the garlands with which my naive friends have decorated me? You've spoken rightly — I'll contemplate now — contemplation for my way.
The victory mark of Bidrohi (The Rebel) has been imprinted permanently on my forehead by my young friends. Many have mistaken It as the disgrace mark, but I haven't. Have I protested against the truth, the beauty as I've sung about the sorrow, the beauty I've rebelled — rebelled against injustice, against oppression — against every thing what Is false. Impure and back-dated. I've rebelled against deception in the name of religion, against superstition. May be. I couldn't express every thing with much politeness, I couldn't show the glittering sheath hiding the sword — and this Is my fault. For this I've been termed rebellious. I've rebelled against all misdeeds thinking It right to go over all the walls of superstitions of the society.
See. as I've told earlier that sleeping society can only be aroused by hitting. It won't get the true conscience unless a group of progressive revolutionaries arrive. The policies that you have mentioned to titillate the Kumbhakarna's feet are not every easy. Let the boys try those policies. What harm will it do? You'll say. Kumbhakarna may awake but after awaking he will open his mouth, which is not every small. 1 think Kumbhakarna will then finish his refreshment with them who went to arouse him.
Many have died, let more one/two die. You'll say. that's the problem, who'll bell the cat? I say, if none of us possesses that courage, then let us all like Ashab Kahf till the dobirfsday.. Give up all you hopes to awaken the society. The religious community may believe but we don't It is not possible that no one will lose anything, everything will remain as usual and the society will awaken.
My words may sound as moribund, but I’m speaking thus after much experience. So 1 say 'Dear, you will be killed either by Rama or Ravana. If you are to die. then die by one of these two after fighting. Why do you go to die at the hands of Hanumana? It is better to die in the action of arousing Kumbhakarna than at the hands of Hanumana. When I deliver this idea people clap with 'Allah Akbar' and Bandemataram' slogans.
I do agree, discipline is necessary to build up something. But destruction needs no rules. I destroy because 1 want to build up — my destruction is not for the sake of destruction. I destroy as soon as I can in the hope to build up early — I struck down all the old and obsolete. I know Taimur or Nadir didn't come to destroy, to reconstruct. They had no difference between the old and the new. They destroyed for the sake of destruction. But Babar destroyed Delhi to build up the monument Tajmahal at Agra. My rebellion is not of something that my mind wants, it is of the expression of my pleasure to be fred from everything from the Omniscient God.
Many Muslim authors will debate on your term Muslim Literature’. Does it mean literature by Muslim people or literature having Muslim feeling. If it is real literature, it will be for all nations. True, it'll have a religion outwardly. Poetry may be created basing the truth of Islam, but not the religious books. I don't believe that no poetry can be religious belief, neither on Islam. The main life — force of Islam Is its sovereignty, democracy, universal fraternity and socialism.
I do believe in the novelty and superiority of Islam People of non — Muslim community also do. Epics, not only poems, may be written having the great truth of Islam as the main idea. I'm a small poet. I've praised this greatness of Islam through a lot of my write-ups. But the tone of it could not supersede the poetry. It can't. If it can. then it doesn't remain poetic. I believe that if the Intention exceeds the poetry then it hampers the poetry. I know what you want but I'm unable to create what the society wants. The religious rhymes are poetic to them. Nothing is understandable. We are saved, but poetry is not saved. It is to stay on the other side of the river. And here lies the cause of quarrel. Those who've swallowed the taste of poetry say whatever you do, do it in proper rhythm. In such a situation what will I write? — Huzzatul Islam or real poetry? They only read Huzzatul Islam. I won't say, but I've seen them cry reading anything about Islam. Friend. I’m not ridiculing, it Is the Joyous hail stone mixed with tears. If my writing can give consciousness to the dying society, then I'll belittle my poetic Ideals for its welfare. But the question is whether they'll bear the assault on them. The Hindu writers have written much about the faults and lac ks and superstitions of their soclcu. but they haven'i lost the respect oi their society.
But there is no way of telling about the faults of the poor Muslims. If any writer wish to correct it. let alone to purify it. they may stab him. The Hindu society has turned into a new forceful nation because of the sharp writings by their valiant writers.
1 know well, the greatest welfare of the nation lies in the incident to develop the Bengali Muslim society. Due to their lack of selfconsciousness. the door of Independent India is yet closed.
I do agree, this poor country will face no development If we fail to eradicate disrespect to each other In both the Hindus and Muslims. And I also know that only through literature this disrespect may be eradicated. But Isn’t it very tough to express the culture-education-history of Islam in poetry?
I think it'll be better if our new workers of literature take different parts of it for research and discussion. I've told before. I've never enjoyed the full peace of undisturbed life. I pray, if I get it. may God give me the power to fulfil your request.
I don't believe that they who become furious reading my Bidrohi (The Rebel) pay respect to Hafiz or Rumi. I think they are more rebellious than me. Do they think if anyone utters the names of Hindu gods and goddesses is a kafer (irreligious person)? Then Bangla literature will never be enriched by Muslim authors — except the manuscripts of Jolgun Bibi.
Bangla literature is a foster daughter of Sanskrit, if not own daughter. So Hindu ideas are so intermingled with it that if it is excluded, half force of Bangla language will diminish. None can think to exclude Greek mythology from English literature. Bangla literature is the joint product of both Hindus and Muslims. It is injustice to be angry if any Muslim sees that names of gods and goddess as in it. as it is same for the Hindus if everyday — Muslim words are used in their literature. I believe in the unity of Hindus and Muslims. So. I use Muslim — words to hurt their prejudice, or use the name of Hindu gods and goddesses. True, for it. beauty in mans' parts of my poetry has ceased. But I've done it previously knowing about it.
But. friend, is it my own duty only? As you do admire my power. I do believe and respect your power. Why don't you begin to write plays about Muslim lives avoiding to write Kemal Pasha. 1 think, you have no parallel in this respect at last among us. Kemal Pasha is necessary. I know, but more necessary is to expose the tragedies of our lives. We are not in want of essayists and poets. You are to fulfil the vacancy of playwrights. We mostly lack fiction-wnu is. \o light of hope, do I see. about n in anyone around. But the fact is — without fiction no one 'will be able to express our lives and ideals. Regarding translations we re also lacking back, let alone music, fine arts and performing arts.
Dear, what of the above lacks will I satisfy? Though, 1 myself have touched many things, and possibly none of them are done well by me.
Whatever painful my life is. I'll contribute with songs of joy and sorrow, distribute myself among others, survive among all alive. This Is my vow. this is my devotion, this is my austerity.
In response to your beautiful letter, mine one is very poor. If I inflict you any pain for the lack of my capability arranging ideas well, you will forgive me. even if I don't ask your forgiveness. I believe.
1 wholeheartedly pray that your high aspiration be fulfilled in some other one. if not in a small one like me.
Kazi Nazrul Islam