The
Temple and The Mosque
Kazi
Nazrul Islam
Translated
and introduced by: Joseph T. O'Connell
Courtesy: Nazrul Institute Journal [Vol. 2, April 1993, pp. 106-114]
Originally published in St. Michael's College Journal (Toronto), Fall 1974
issue.
The Introduction by the translator
[Nazrul
Islam is a Bengali poet whose voice and pen stirred millions of Bengalis,
Hindus as well as Muslims like Nazrul, to defy the foreign occupation of the
British. Nazrul has lived for many years now in Calcutta, his health broken.
unable to speak. a living shell of the fiery rebel he was in his reckless
youth. The results was of his ceaseless demands for liberation and justice are
to be seen outside India, east of Calcutta, in the fact that the Muslim
peasants of East Bengal chose to join the Muslims of the Punjab and other
Western provinces in it single state of Pakistan.
This
fact is ironic though not surprising if we recall the context. The Muslim
peasants of Bengal and their forebears for generations had endured the
exploitation of imperial masters, the Mughals or the British, and local
landlords and money-lenders, mostly Hindus. As independence approached there
emerged the fear that democracy would leave the. Muslims a relatively weak
minority in the new India which would be dominated politically as well as
economically by the Hindus. This prospect was viewed as no freedom at all by
those Muslim leaders who were urging that the aspirations of the Bengali
Muslim peasants be merged with demand being voiced by economically and
militarily more powerful Muslims in the western and northern parts of British
India. That demand, heralded, incidentally, by another poet, Muhammad Iqbal,
was for a separate independent state for Muslims, what since has come into
being as the Islamic Republic of Pakistan.
The
irony - and, as it now appears, the tragedy - of the Bengali Muslims' decision
to join with the Punjabis and the others in the single Muslim state becomes
evident when read a bit of Nazrul Islam, the prophetic voice of the Muslims of
Bengal. Nazrul wrote and sang tirelessly for the liberation of all humanity,
not just the Muslims; he challenged vested interests whatever their type
political or religious, foreign or domestic, Hindu, Muslim, Christian or
whatever the mock behind which Satan might instigate fanatic violence. Yet the
audience and the historical scene to which he spoke channeled into an equally
passionate surge toward the ideal of a separate state for Muslims. But in
opting for the separate Muslim state the Bengali Muslims retained, I think.
much of the iconoclastic prophetic spirit of Islam that is found in Nazrul's
searing essay, 'The Temple and the Mosque'. There is reason to believe that
the typical Bengali Muslim's ideal of a Muslim state is one that is
constitutionally quite open and tolerant of non-Muslim participation. that is
in significant respects secular in form, but a state that gives voice and
teeth to the divine injunctions of justice, care of the poor. and destruction
of exploitation and idolatry that lead to human degradation.
The
typical ideal of the Muslim state brought by the Punjabis and some of the
other groups comprising West Pakistan is quite different, and in fact is
deeply divided into two types. The one is quite westernized. It favors a great
deal pf modernization, economic development, and relaxation of social customs.
It is not .in principle incompatible with the more prophetic humanistic
aspirations of the Bengali Muslims, In practice however. the strategy of
economic development adopted by this ruling elite has called for holding back
the Bengali wing of the country while building up fast the more easily tapped
resources of West Pakistan. The outcome of this strategy: whatever its
motives, has. of course, run directly counter to the Bengali demand for an end
to exploitation be it by Hindus, Europeans or Punjabi Muslims.
The
ideal of the Muslim state shared by the bulk of the West Pakistani population,
at least until the recent emergence of leftist parties into prominence there,
has been radically different from that of the Bengali rebels and modernising
elite. It calls for revival of precisely those values, norms and
procedures set out concretely in the revealed Qur'an in or in the precedents
set by the seventh century Arabian Muslims. This ideal calls for an Islamic
state that explicitly incorporates the revealed law into its constitution and
legislation. And the ideal is such that any action against the state is viewed
as an offense against God. The rebel is an apostate. one who has broken faith,
or in current Pakistani parlance, a 'miscreant'. In the eyes of the west Pakistani
revivalists, the readiness of Bengali Muslims to fraternize with their Hindu
neighbours, to enjoy Bengali literature written by non-Muslims, to espouse Six
points for autonomy which make no mention of special safeguards for Islam can
be seen as treachery and backsliding, as being duped by the Hindu minority who
are cast in the role of an Indian fifth column. For the Bengali Muslim on the
other hand such accommodation with neighbours who share the same language and
culture is all considered quite normal and within the bounds of an acceptable
understanding of Islam, a religious faith that is supposed to effect
brotherhood and liberation.
I
have translated Nazrul Islam's "Mandir O Masjid" to provide an
illustration of the intensity of the Bengali passion for justice and
rebellion. for a radical humanism that in its iconoclasm stops short of
denying God, but which unleashes a savage critique of those institutions which
claim to link God and man. but tend in practice to imprison God. The
skull-cracking of a generation ago between Bengali Muslims and Bengali Hindus
is not, to the best of my knowledge, a major factor in the present exodus of
refugees from East Bengal, Such communal fanatism as Nazrul excoriated has
been remarkably absent within India where millions of Muslims would be in
jeopardy should the admirable restraint of there months even give way to
reprisal for what the Punjabi Muslim's have one. But the eyes of helpless
Bengali mothers watching there infants die are piercing more desperately than
ever.]
The
Temple and the Mosque
'Kill
the damn foreigners'. 'Kill the damn infidels' The Hindu-Mussulman [the word
of Muslim, in South Asia] affair has broken out again. First verbal abuse
began. then the cracking of skulls. But I have noticed that those who so long
have been screaming madly about saving the 'prestige' of Allah or of Mother
Kali, quit mentioning the name of Lord Allah or Queen Kali when violence turns
upon them. Then Hindus and Muslims living side by side give out the same cry
of pain. 'O Father! O Mother!' Like two children of different religions
abandoned by their mothers they cry for their mothers in the same words.
I
have noticed that amid the cries of those struck dead the mosque did not stir
nor did the stone deity of the temple respond. Their sanctuaries simply
remained for a long time polluted with the blood of foolish men.
O
Hero. who will wipe away the bloody mark of disgrace that is written on
forehead of mosque and temple?
For
that the future stands ready. That Rudra (Rudra is a Hindu name for God
as destroyer of the world at the end of each eon.] is coming to destroy these
temples, mosques and churches,. these dens of religious madman, and assemble
all mankind beneath the one dome of heaven.
I
know that the self-appointed private secretaries of the Creator will threaten
me as they doff their hats, raise their caps and wave their tufts of hair. But
their fall will come. They are drunk with religion [Dharma]. They do not drink
the light of truth: they have imbibed the alcohol of texts,
Marching
against the madmen of pussyfoot Johnson; many got themselves killed
[Presumably a British officer].
Of
those who attacked Muhammad and of all those cracked with religion who
tormented Jesus and Moses their descendants now are attacking humanity, humanity
like Jesus, Moses and Muhammad.
Where
today are all those avatars [Descents. Divine incarnations] and prophets who
came to free humanity from violence and have undergone violence? Today the
disciples even of those who came to do good to humanity have sprung up like
animals solely for the harm of mankind.
He,
the God of all mankind, today is the prisoner of the temple's dungeon, the
mosque's lockup, the church's jail. Molla, priest, padre and monk keep
watch over Him like wardens of a prison. [Molla et. aI, are Muslim.
Hindu. Christian, and Buddhist religious specialists respectively.]
On
one occasion I saw fifty-one Hindus, educated and uneducated alike, together
give a merciless beating to an emaciated Muslim day laborer and elsewhere I
have seen almost as many Muslims together beating a single weak Hindu as if he
were an animal. At the hands of two groups of beasts weak and helpless mankind
is being brutalized. They ate tormenting humanity like savages of the jungle
as they hunt and kill the boar. The face of each is more terrifying than
Satan's, uglier than the boar's. The stench of endless hells is in their
bodies, thanks to their foul brutality.
There
is a single leader for both these groups, his name is Satan. Hiding his name
he sometimes puts on the cap and wears a beard and incites the Muslims.
Sometimes wearing a tuft of hair he inflames the Hindus. And again in the
guise of white soldiers or Gurkha soldiers he fires upon the Hindus and
Mussulmans with bullets. His tail reaches across the sea. His face is red like
the savage ape across the sea [the British].
I
have noticed that Allah did not come to salvage the mosque of Allah. Nor did
Mother Kali come to guard her temple. The pinnacle of the temple broke off:
the dome of the mosque cracked. There was not the least sound from Allah and
Kali. No bolt of lightning crashed from heaven upon the head of the Mussulman.
No shower of baked clay fell on the heads of the Hindus. [Reference to the
Qur'an 105:4]. In the midst of the uproar several Hindu lads thought that
Khayru Mia, killed in the battle, was a Hindu, because his moustache and beard
were shaven off. Singing "Bol Hari, Hari bol" - Hindu prayer at
funeral, 'say Hari (God)', they carried him to the cremation grounds for
burning. Several Mussulman lads think that Sadanand Babu, who wore a beard,
was a Mussulman killed by bullets. Reciting, "La ilaha illa Allah"
['There is no God but God' - a Muslim prayer], they took him for burial.
Temple and mosque began to crack. I suspect because glancing at one another
they were laughing.
The
fighting goes on. In the midst of it a worn out thin begging woman holds at
her breast a new born infant as she begs a penny in alms. The infant's
umbilical cord is not cut. It is as though in his weak helpless voice he is
protesting, arrival in this world of suffering. The begging woman says:
"Sir, I am unable to give milk for my child. My child has just been born.
There is not a drop of milk in my breast." It is as though the mother of
the universe cries out in her voice. Off to the side a man gestures and speaks
up in a mocking voice. 'Sir, what a sight/ There is not a drop of blood in her
body, yet she wants a child!' The begging woman remains staring toward the man
with unblinking eyes. What a stare! Her two eyes begin to glow like stars. As
if concentrating in these silent eyes the accusation of all woman left
helpless she stares at the one who had caused her downfall. I could surmise
the meaning of her gaze. She wished to say, "The hunger in my stomach is
so great that I sell my body for less than it takes to satisfy the
hunger." This man who was mocking is perhaps himself the unknown father
of this child. If not, then some friend or relative or some other person like
him is the child's father. This is the way Sita, abandoned by Rama
had begged in the forests, clutching Lava and Kusha to her breast. [Sita et.
al. are personages in the sacred Hindu epic, the Ramavana] The stars of
the one sky are the eyes of unfortunate victims of hunger like her, forever
questioning the inhabitants of the world whose hunger is satisfied.
Three
days later I saw the same begging woman standing by the road. This time her
breast was empty, her eyes too were empty. On the day when the child was at
her breast I had seen in her eyes the affection of the universal mother. The
accumulated love of countless women that day had welled up in the pupil of her
eye: thus on that day she had been begging with such an earnest most
voice. This day I supposed the mother in her heart was dead together with her
infant. This day also she begged for alms, but that earnestness was no longer
in her voice. This day she seemed to beg just for the sake of begging.
She
recognized me. That other day I had given her my six cents tram fare. In the
begging woman's dry eyes suddenly a flood of tears welled up. I asked. 'Where
is your child?' She indicated by pointing upwards with her finger. Then after
a moment's silence she said: 'Sir, will you come with me a bit?' I walked
along with her. By the side of the road there is a Krishnachura tree. Next to
it is a dustbin. All the city's refuse is piled up in this dustbin. I began to
tremble. The begging woman moved a lot of rubbish in the dustbin and lifted up
something wrapped in soiled rags and saying 'My darling. My Shona.' began to
kiss it like a mad woman. This was her child, this her darling, her 'Shona'. [Shona
is a proper name meaning 'golden'.] The begging woman stood motionless for a
little while, then depositing the baby again in the dustbin she started to
speak, 'Sir. the other day I took the several cents and bought a can of barley
that was going bad. These few days I have given the baby only cold water with
the spoiled barley mixed in. I ate a little myself too, to bring milk to my
breast. No milk came to this body of skin and bones. My baby did not get a
drop of milk during these three days. Finally I was unable to give even any
barley; today he went. It was just as well. if my baby is born again into a
very rich man's house, he will get a little milk into his stomach and live.'
The begging woman walked off to beg for alms.
Taking
up the begging woman's baby from the dust bin. I went off toward the burial
ground carrying him at my breast. Time, in the same way every year carries off
toward the cremation ground or down the road to the cemetery the dead bodies
of one million children of Bengal.
Going
along I noticed on that day too that the Hindus and Mussulmans were attacking
each other equally with the piles of bricks and stones from the temple and the
mosque. With the baby's corpse at my side I stood there for a long time. The
infant's corpse began to appear as a prayer for retribution, a demand for
explanation. But there was no opportunity then for those blinded with the
intoxication of religion to look toward the baby's corpse; they had begun the
frightful orgy of brick and stones. So it is that time after time they ignore
humanity while getting excited over brick and stones. Killing humans they
stockpile brick and stone. Year after year the mother of Bengal walks past
them bearing the bodies of her million children, withered from lack of food,
emaciated by disease, prematurely dead. They do not so much as notice.
They think brick and stone much purer then humanity. They worship brick. They
are devotees of stone. Their temple has possessed them like an evil spirit,
and mosque likewise. They shall have to suffer much.
Those
million human dying every year in Bengal alone are not simply Hindus, not
simply Mussulmans; they are humans, the Creator's favorite creation. It is for
the good of mankind that these places of worship are constructed. Man is not
created for the sake of the places of worship. If today on account of our
madness those very places of worship which were intended as a causeway between
heaven and earth become the cause of harm to mankind, then destroy the temple
and the mosque. Let all humanity come and stand beneath the single canopy of
the sky, in the courtyard of the one great temple illumined by the moon and
sun and stars.
Man,
forming bricks from clay pressed by his holy feet, has fashioned temple and
mosque. If a couple of bricks have fallen from the temple and the mosque, must
the heads of two hundred humans foil on that account? Whoever would say 'Yes'
should first consider. If the debt for two bricks is to be absolved by the
heads of two hundred humans, then how many millions of heads will be needed to
absolve this great debt, the million humans yearly falling from the vast
temple-body of the Bengali people the mortar and pestle of oppression? The
pinnacles of the temple and the mosque will rise again from the clay pressed
by the feet of humanity. Only they will never rise who failed to get a little
light, a little breeze, a drop of medicine, two spoons full of barley-water.
As they die bit by bit as a penance for the meanness of heart of the race, the
whole race dies bit by bit in their death.
I
wonder why, when the corpses of the million victims of hunger who are wasted
by disease, dried up with fever, pained by lack of food, wanting clothing,
hungry, having lost everything, go past the mosque and temple day after day,
why do not then these houses of worship, useless to mankind, disintegrate? Why
does no tremor strike the earth? Why does the Rudra not come to pulverize
these houses of worship, these dens of dogs and zealots who prey upon human societies
and to scatter these tufts of hair and these human trademarks? The temple
and mosque will be restored by playing music in front or them. For that there
will come thousands of coins, for that there will come tumbling in a host of big shots
like the decent, vultures where lies a cow's carcass. Only for the one million
dead bodies will there be no restoration. Taking advantage of the bestial
aspects of humanity by stirring up these blinded with religious intoxication!
How many base persons today have become big men!
In
every country in every age the youth overcome all gain and greed. O company of
youth of Bengal, O my brothers unafraid to play with fire, look at the
hundred thousand corpses of those dead before their time standing at your
door. They seek redress. You are not a flock of vultures. You are the flame of
fire. You bear no prejudice. You are of the light, you are of song, you are of
happiness. Come out this evil day, attack the swarm of vultures
descending upon the cow's carrion. I hear the mosque's call to prayer and the
sounding conch shell in the temple. They rise up in unison toward the
Creator's throne above. I can see the whole sky growing joyful.