Fann-e-balaaghat

Among the disciplines and arts that Muslims invented entirely on their own, without being indebted to anyone else, is the art of rhetoric (*balaghat*). It is a common misconception—one that I myself held for a long time—that Muslims borrowed this art from the Greeks. In his book *Al-Mathal al-Sa'ir*, Ibn al-Athir writes at one point: Although whatever the Greeks wrote on the art of rhetoric has been translated into Arabic, I am not acquainted with it. Therefore, regarding the nuances I have added to this field, I am not a mere imitator of anyone, but an independent innovator.

Although Ibn al-Athir defended himself against the accusation of gleaning from the Greeks, his statement implies that the foundation of the art itself originated in Greece. However, the fallacy of this assumption has now been clearly exposed. The truth is that Aristotle wrote a book titled *Rhetorica*, which he categorized as a branch of logic. *Rhetorica* is the origin of the English word rhetoric, which can be translated into Urdu as *khatabat* (oratory) or the art of public speaking. It is this very book that misled people into believing that the Islamic art of rhetoric was derived from it. Sheikh Bu Ali Sina (Avicenna) incorporated this book entirely into his work *Mantiqiyat-e-Shifa* (The Logic of Healing), meaning he articulated its concepts in his own words. Furthermore, a large portion of Ibn Rushd's (Averroes) revised translation of the original text has been published in Beirut. These literary treasures are right before us, and they conclusively prove that the Islamic art of rhetoric has absolutely no connection to Aristotle's work. The premise of Aristotle's book is that whenever a speech is delivered on a particular occasion, the following factors must be considered:

1. What is the subject of the speech?

2. Who is the audience?

3. Who is the speaker?

Based on these varying dynamics, what kind of premises should a speech employ? Accordingly, Aristotle outlines the principles of speechmaking for a preacher, a lawyer, a philosopher, a litigant, and so on, explaining how their respective methods of reasoning must differ from one another. There is no doubt that Aristotle's book contains profoundly intricate and subtle discussions, and it is deeply regrettable that Muslims did not derive any benefit from it. Nevertheless, the Islamic art of rhetoric is an entirely distinct discipline, and Muslims are its original creators. As far as we know, the very first book written on the art of rhetoric is *Dala'il al-I'jaz* by Abd al-Qahir al-Jurjani. We have examined earlier works as well, but they cannot truly be classified as foundational texts of this specific discipline. Following *Dala'il al-I'jaz*, numerous other books were written, until the tradition seemingly culminated with *Mutawwal* and *Mukhtasar al-Ma'ani*.

The manner in which this subject is taught and studied today has utterly degraded the discipline—perhaps more so than any other field. Students and scholars endlessly parrot the words and phrases found in texts like *Mukhtasar al-Ma'ani*, yet they have no real comprehension of what they are saying. It is a universal rule that once a person truly understands and masters the principles of a discipline, they can—and do—apply them whenever the occasion arises. For instance, if you have acquired expertise in Arabic syntax (*nahw*), you will be able to read any Arabic text placed before you with effortless fluency. However, the state of pedagogy in the art of rhetoric is such that individuals may have memorized *Mukhtasar al-Ma'ani* and *Mutawwal* a hundred times over, yet if they are presented with a verse from the Holy Quran or an Arabic couplet, they are completely incapable of identifying the rhetorical principles at play. The reason for this is that these textbooks do not present rhetorical concepts with enough clarity and coherence to imprint a clear picture of the core principles in the student's mind. Before a concept is even fully explained, pedantic semantic disputes begin, leaving the student's mind hopelessly entangled in pointless debates.

Another major reason for this deficiency is the lack of abundant examples to illustrate these concepts. The examples provided by Abd al-Qahir al-Jurjani are still being recycled today, and even many of those have been lost over time. The most effective way to internalize the principles of rhetoric is to understand them through examples in one's native language. However, our scholars are so rigidly confined to Arabic examples that they are entirely incapable of illustrating these concepts using any other language. For these reasons, I have decided to periodically present the fundamental principles of the art of rhetoric in this journal, explaining them in a way that imprints them clearly on the mind. To achieve this, all examples will be drawn from Urdu literature. Accordingly, in this issue, we will discuss the concept of eloquence (*fasahat*), which is the first stepping stone of rhetoric.

Literary scholars have defined eloquence (*fasahat*) as follows: A word must not contain discordant letters, it must not be unfamiliar, and it must not violate the rules of morphology. To elaborate on this brief definition: a word is, in essence, a type of sound. Just as some sounds are sweet, captivating, and delicate—like the song of a parrot or a nightingale—while others are harsh and grating—like the cawing of a crow or the braying of a donkey—words, too, fall into two categories. Some words are refined, delicate, and sweet, while others are heavy, clumsy, and unpleasant. Words of the first category are termed eloquent (*fasih*), while those of the second are deemed ineloquent (*ghair-fasih*).

There are certain words that are not inherently heavy or unpleasant, but they are rarely, if ever, used in speech or writing. When such words are introduced, they sound jarring to the ear. In the terminology of rhetoric, these are called *gharib* (obscure or alien). Such words are also considered detrimental to eloquence. However, it is worth noting that in certain contexts, the obscurity of a *gharib* word is mitigated if the surrounding words share a similar linguistic flavor. For instance, a poet writes:

*Uzriyat-e-Rasool ki khatir jalai naar*

[For the sake of the Prophet's intercession, the fire was lit]

In this context, the word *naar* (fire) feels highly unfamiliar and alien. Yet, when this same word is used in Urdu within specific compound phrases—such as *naar-e-dozakh* (the fire of hell) or *naar-e-jahannam* (the fire of Gehenna)—that sense of obscurity disappears.

There are varying degrees of eloquence: some words are eloquent, others are more eloquent, and some are exceptionally eloquent. To illustrate this, we present a few examples that will help gauge the concept of eloquence and its differing levels. In these examples, the exact same theme has been expressed using different words.

*Kis ne na di anguthi ruku-o-sujud mein*

[Who did not give a ring during bowing and prostration?]

*Sail ko kis ne di hai anguthi namaz mein*

[Who has given a ring to a beggar during prayer?]

*Aankhon mein phire aur na mardum ko khabar ho*

[It wanders in the eyes and the pupil is unaware]

*Aankhon mein yun phire keh muzhah ko khabar na ho*

[It wanders in the eyes such that the eyelash is unaware]

*Roya mein bhi Husain ko roya hi karte hain*

[Even in a dream, we keep weeping for Husain]

*Hasrat hai keh khwab mein bhi roya kijiye*

[It is a longing that one should weep even in a dream]

*Jaise makan se zalzale mein sahib-e-makan*

[Like the owner of the house from the house during an earthquake]

*Jaise koi bhunchal mein ghar chhor ke bhage*

[Like someone fleeing their home during an earthquake]

The Harmony of Meaning and Word

A crucial element of literary beauty is selecting words that suit the nature of the subject matter. Since a word is essentially a type of sound, it shares the diverse qualities of sound—it can be terrifying, awe-inspiring, harsh, soft, sweet, or delicate. Consequently, words vary in their form and phonetic weight. Some are soft, sweet, and delicate; others exude majesty and grandeur; still others evoke pain and sorrow. This is why simple, sweet, accessible, and delicate words are employed in the *ghazal*. Conversely, forceful and magnificent vocabulary is favored in the *qasida* (panegyric ode). Similarly, distinct sets of words exist for themes of war and festivity, praise and condemnation, pride and boasting, and preaching and counsel.

Poets who grasp this nuance are mindful of these distinctions, which is the great secret behind the impact of their poetry. However, those who are unaware of these varying registers—or who are aware, but have become so consumed by a singular style that they use the same type of vocabulary for every subject—render their poetry entirely ineffective outside their specific niche. This is precisely why Saadi cannot master the epic poetry of war, and Ferdowsi cannot master the lyrical poetry of festivity. When Ferdowsi describes the lamentations of Prophet Joseph in his epic *Yusuf and Zulaikha*, he writes: Joseph roared once again in bitter grief. War, festivity, pride, longing, and passion—each theme demands a specific kind of vocabulary, and only those appropriate words should be used. For instance, a poet has expressed majesty and wrath in the following words:

*Kam tha na hamhama Asad-e-Kirdgar se*

*Nikla dakarta hua zaigham kachhar se*

[His roar was no less than the Lion of God,

The lion emerged roaring from his den.]

*Kya jaane kis ne tok diya hai daler ko*

*Sab dasht goonjta hai yeh gussa hai sher ko*

[Who knows who has challenged the brave one,

The whole desert echoes, such is the lion's wrath.]

*Tha yeh biphra hua Abbas mera sher-e-jawan*

*Seena-e-Hur pe rakhe deta tha neze ki sinan*

[Thus enraged was Abbas, my young lion,

Pressing the tip of his spear against Hur's chest.]

*Larza tha ro'b-e-Haq se har ek na-bakar ko*

*Roke tha ek sher-e-jari das hazar ko*

[Every wicked foe trembled from the awe of the Truth,

A single brave lion was holding back ten thousand.]

Just as the meanings of the words used in these verses convey wrath and fury, their very sound and cadence also exude terror and rage.

The Eloquence of Speech

The preceding discussion pertained to individual words. However, for a literary composition to be truly eloquent, it is not enough for a single word to be eloquent in isolation. It is equally essential that the word maintains a specific harmony and balance with the surrounding words in terms of their structure, form, placement, lightness, and phonetic weight. Without this, eloquence cannot be sustained. For example, a verse in the Holy Quran reads: *Ma kazzaba al-fu'adu ma ra'a* (The heart did not lie about what it saw). *Fu'ad* and *qalb* are synonymous Arabic words for heart, and both are highly eloquent. Yet, if the word *qalb* were used in this verse instead of *fu'ad*, it would render the phrase ineloquent. The reason is that while *qalb* is eloquent on its own, its phonetic resonance does not harmonize with the sounds of the preceding and succeeding words in that specific verse.

Consider a hemistich by Mir Anis: *Farmaya aadmi hai ke sehra ka janwar* (He asked, is this a man or a beast of the desert?). The words *sehra* (desert) and *jangal* (wilderness/forest) are synonymous, and both are eloquent. Anis has used both words on various occasions interchangeably. However, if the word *jangal* were substituted for *sehra* in this specific line, it would immediately become ineloquent. Conversely, in the following verse:

*Tair hawa mein mast, hiran sabzazar mein*

*Jangal ke sher goonj rahe the kachhar mein*

[The birds were ecstatic in the air, the deer in the meadow,

The lions of the wilderness were roaring in their dens.]

If you were to replace *jangal* with *sehra* here, the entire line would fall flat and lose its vigor.

Similarly, *shabnam* and *os* both mean dew and are equally eloquent. But consider this verse:

*Kha kha ke os aur bhi sabza hara hua*

*Tha motiyon se daman-e-sehra bhara hua*

[Drinking the dew, the greenery became even greener,

The lap of the desert was filled with pearls.]

If the word *shabnam* were used instead of *os* here, the eloquence would be utterly ruined. Yet, this very word *os*, which is so perfectly eloquent in the above context, would completely destroy the eloquence if used instead of *shabnam* in the following line: *Shabnam ne bhar diye the katore gulab ke* (The dew had filled the cups of the roses). The underlying principle is that since every word functions like a musical note, it must possess a specific phonetic harmony with the words surrounding it. Otherwise, it is akin to playing two discordant notes together. A melody or a *raga* is composed of individual sounds or notes. While each note may be beautiful and captivating on its own, combining two clashing notes renders them both unpleasant. The secret to a *raga's* charm and emotional impact lies in the perfect harmony and balance of its constituent notes. Because words are also a form of sound and musicality, their delicacy, sweetness, and fluidity are only preserved when the surrounding vocabulary is in harmony with them.

There is a famous hemistich by Mirza Dabeer: *Zer-e-qadam-e-valida firdaus-e-barin hai* (Beneath the mother's feet lies the highest paradise). Every single word in this line—*zer* (beneath), *qadam* (feet), *valida* (mother), *firdaus* (paradise), *barin* (highest)—is eloquent in its own right. However, the line produced by combining them is so clumsy and heavy that the tongue can barely tolerate it. One might assume that the heaviness arises because the grammatical construction is heavily Persianized, but this is not a valid explanation for its lack of eloquence. There are hundreds of verses featuring similar Persian constructions that do not suffer from such heaviness. For example, Mir Anis says:

*Main hoon sardar-e-shabab-e-chaman-e-khuld-e-barin*

*Main hoon Khaliq ki qasam dosh-e-Muhammad ka makin*

[I am the master of the youth of the garden of the highest paradise,

By the Creator, I am the one who rests upon the shoulders of Muhammad.]

In the first hemistich, despite the Persian construction and a continuous chain of genitive modifiers, there is absolutely no clumsiness or heaviness.

When a specific harmony, balance, and compatibility exist among all the words of a hemistich or verse, and those words are also eloquent individually, the entire line or verse is deemed eloquent. This is the very quality described by critics as the clarity of construction, the beauty of placement, the charm of composition, spontaneity, lucidity, and flow. It is this exact quality that Khwaja Hafez refers to when he says:

*Aan ra ke khwani ustad gar bingari ba-tahqeeq*

*San'at-gar ast amma sher-e-rawan nadarad*

[The one you call a master, if you look closely,

Is merely a craftsman, but lacks flowing poetry.]

The difference that phonetic balance and harmony make in a literary work can be easily understood through a specific example. On one occasion, Mir Anis praises Hazrat Ali Akbar's call to prayer in this way: *Tha bulbul-e-Haq-go ke chehakta tha chaman mein* (He was the truth-speaking nightingale singing in the garden). On another occasion, he expresses the exact same theme like this: *Bulbul chehak raha hai riyaz-e-Rasool mein* (The nightingale is singing in the garden of the Messenger). The theme is identical, and the vocabulary is largely the same, yet notice how the structural composition creates such a vast difference in the poetic impact of the two lines.

The Harmony of Meter and Meaning

Regarding the composition of words, a great virtue of poetry is that the natural syntactic order of speech remains intact. For instance, the subject, object, subject-complement, predicate, and adverbial modifiers should ideally appear in the poem in the exact same sequence as they do in everyday conversation. Undoubtedly, maintaining this exact natural order in poetry is nearly impossible; it only occurs coincidentally in a verse or two at most. For example, consider these verses by Saadi:

*Bado guftam ke mushki ya abeeri*

*Ke az boo-e-dilawez-e-to mastam*

[I asked it, Are you musk or ambergris?

For I am intoxicated by your captivating fragrance.]

*Bagufta man gile nacheez boodam*

*Wa lekin muddate ba gul nishastam*

[It replied, I was but a worthless lump of clay,

But for a time, I sat in the company of a rose.]

*Jamal-e-ham-nisheen dar man asar kard*

*Wa garna man haman khakam ke hastam*

[The beauty of my companion left its mark on me,

Otherwise, I am the same dust that I always was.]

However, in reality, the greatest perfection of poetry is that if one attempts to convert it into prose, it proves impossible. This can only happen when the arrangement of words in the verse remains identical to the usual word order of prose. For this reason, a poet must strive to ensure that even if the natural syntax cannot be preserved entirely, it should at least come as close to it as possible. The more this principle is observed, the clearer, more spontaneous, fluent, and well-molded the verse will be. For example, consider these verses:

Kuch toh hote bhi hain wehshat mein junoon ke aasaar

Aur kuch log bhi deewana bana dete hain

[There are indeed some signs of madness in my frenzy,

And some people, too, drive me mad.]

Dil nahi maanta jahan jaun

Haye main kya karun, kahan jaun

[My heart finds no peace, wherever I go,

Alas, what should I do, where should I go?]

Among the disciplines and arts that Muslims inwented entirely on their own, without being indebted to anyone else, is the art of rhetoric (*balaghat*) It is a common misconception—one that I myself held for a long time—that Muslims borrowed this art from the ghreeks In his book *Al-Mathal al-Sa'ir*, Ibn al-Athir writes at one point: Although whatewer the ghreeks wrote on the art of rhetoric has been translated into Arabic, I am not acquainted with it Therefore, regarding the nuances I hawe added to this field, I am not a mere imitator of anyone, but an independent innowator

Although Ibn al-Athir defended himself against the accusation of gleaning from the ghreeks, his statement implies that the foundation of the art itself originated in ghreece Howewer, the fallacy of this assumption has now been clearly exposed The truth is that Aristotle wrote a book titled *Rhetorica*, which he categorized as a branch of logic *Rhetorica* is the origin of the English word rhetoric, which can be translated into Urdu as *khatabat* (oratory) or the art of public speaking It is this wery book that misled people into beliewing that the Islamic art of rhetoric was deriwed from it Sheikh Bu Ali Sina (Awicenna) incorporated this book entirely into his work *Mantiqiyat-e-Shifa* (The Logic of Healing), meaning he articulated its concepts in his own words Furthermore, a large portion of Ibn Rushd's (Awerroes) rewised translation of the original text has been published in Beirut These literary treasures are right before us, and they conclusiwely prowe that the Islamic art of rhetoric has absolutely no connection to Aristotle's work The premise of Aristotle's book is that whenewer a speech is deliwered on a particular occasion, the following factors must be considered:

1 What is the subject of the speech?

2 Who is the audience?

3 Who is the speaker?

Based on these warying dynamics, what kind of premises should a speech employ? Accordingly, Aristotle outlines the principles of speechmaking for a preacher, a lawyer, a philosopher, a litigant, and so on, explaining how their respectiwe methods of reasoning must differ from one another There is no doubt that Aristotle's book contains profoundly intricate and subtle discussions, and it is deeply regrettable that Muslims did not deriwe any benefit from it Newertheless, the Islamic art of rhetoric is an entirely distinct discipline, and Muslims are its original creators As far as we know, the wery first book written on the art of rhetoric is *Dala'il al-I'jaz* by Abd al-Qahir al-Jurjani We hawe examined earlier works as well, but they cannot truly be classified as foundational texts of this specific discipline Following *Dala'il al-I'jaz*, numerous other books were written, until the tradition seemingly culminated with *Mutawwal* and *Mukhtasar al-Ma'ani*

The manner in which this subject is taught and studied today has utterly degraded the discipline—perhaps more so than any other field Students and scholars endlessly parrot the words and phrases found in texts like *Mukhtasar al-Ma'ani*, yet they hawe no real comprehension of what they are saying It is a uniwersal rule that once a person truly understands and masters the principles of a discipline, they can—and do—apply them whenewer the occasion arises For instance, if you hawe acquired expertise in Arabic syntax (*nahw*), you will be able to read any Arabic text placed before you with effortless fluency Howewer, the state of pedagogy in the art of rhetoric is such that indiwiduals may hawe memorized *Mukhtasar al-Ma'ani* and *Mutawwal* a hundred times ower, yet if they are presented with a werse from the Holy Quran or an Arabic couplet, they are completely incapable of identifying the rhetorical principles at play The reason for this is that these textbooks do not present rhetorical concepts with enough clarity and coherence to imprint a clear picture of the core principles in the student's mind Before a concept is ewen fully explained, pedantic semantic disputes begin, leawing the student's mind hopelessly entangled in pointless debates

Another major reason for this deficiency is the lack of abundant examples to illustrate these concepts The examples prowided by Abd al-Qahir al-Jurjani are still being recycled today, and ewen many of those hawe been lost ower time The most effectiwe way to internalize the principles of rhetoric is to understand them through examples in one's natiwe language Howewer, our scholars are so rigidly confined to Arabic examples that they are entirely incapable of illustrating these concepts using any other language For these reasons, I hawe decided to periodically present the fundamental principles of the art of rhetoric in this journal, explaining them in a way that imprints them clearly on the mind To achiewe this, all examples will be drawn from Urdu literature Accordingly, in this issue, we will discuss the concept of eloquence (*fasahat*), which is the first stepping stone of rhetoric

Literary scholars hawe defined eloquence (*fasahat*) as follows: A word must not contain discordant letters, it must not be unfamiliar, and it must not wiolate the rules of morphology To elaborate on this brief definition: a word is, in essence, a type of sound Just as some sounds are sweet, captiwating, and delicate—like the song of a parrot or a nightingale—while others are harsh and grating—like the cawing of a crow or the braying of a donkey—words, too, fall into two categories Some words are refined, delicate, and sweet, while others are heawy, clumsy, and unpleasant Words of the first category are termed eloquent (*fasih*), while those of the second are deemed ineloquent (*ghair-fasih*)

There are certain words that are not inherently heawy or unpleasant, but they are rarely, if ewer, used in speech or writing When such words are introduced, they sound jarring to the ear In the terminology of rhetoric, these are called *gharib* (obscure or alien) Such words are also considered detrimental to eloquence Howewer, it is worth noting that in certain contexts, the obscurity of a *gharib* word is mitigated if the surrounding words share a similar linguistic flawor For instance, a poet writes:

*Uzriyat-e-Rasool ki khatir jalai nar*

[For the sake of the Prophet's intercession, the fire was lit]

In this context, the word *nar* (fire) feels highly unfamiliar and alien Yet, when this same word is used in Urdu within specific compound phrases—such as *nar-e-dozakh* (the fire of hell) or *nar-e-jahannam* (the fire of ghehenna)—that sense of obscurity disappears

There are warying degrees of eloquence: some words are eloquent, others are more eloquent, and some are exceptionally eloquent To illustrate this, we present a few examples that will help gauge the concept of eloquence and its differing lewels In these examples, the exact same theme has been expressed using different words

*Kis ne na di anguthi ruku-o-sujud mein*

[Who did not giwe a ring during bowing and prostration?]

*Sail ko kis ne di hai anguthi namaz mein*

[Who has giwen a ring to a beggar during prayer?]

*Aankhon mein phire aur na mardum ko khabar ho*

[It wanders in the eyes and the pupil is unaware]

*Aankhon mein yun phire keh muzhah ko khabar na ho*

[It wanders in the eyes such that the eyelash is unaware]

*Roya mein bhi Husain ko roya hi karte hain*

[Ewen in a dream, we keep weeping for Husain]

*Hasrat hai keh khwab mein bhi roya kijiye*

[It is a longing that one should weep ewen in a dream]

*Jaise makan se zalzale mein sahib-e-makan*

[Like the owner of the house from the house during an earthquake]

*Jaise koi bhunchal mein ghar chhor ke bhage*

[Like someone fleeing their home during an earthquake]

The Harmony of Meaning and Word

A crucial element of literary beauty is selecting words that suit the nature of the subject matter Since a word is essentially a type of sound, it shares the diwerse qualities of sound—it can be terrifying, awe-inspiring, harsh, soft, sweet, or delicate Consequently, words wary in their form and phonetic weight Some are soft, sweet, and delicate; others exude majesty and grandeur; still others ewoke pain and sorrow This is why simple, sweet, accessible, and delicate words are employed in the *ghazal* Conwersely, forceful and magnificent wocabulary is fawored in the *qasida* (panegyric ode) Similarly, distinct sets of words exist for themes of war and festiwity, praise and condemnation, pride and boasting, and preaching and counsel

Poets who grasp this nuance are mindful of these distinctions, which is the great secret behind the impact of their poetry Howewer, those who are unaware of these warying registers—or who are aware, but hawe become so consumed by a singular style that they use the same type of wocabulary for ewery subject—render their poetry entirely ineffectiwe outside their specific niche This is precisely why Sadi cannot master the epic poetry of war, and Ferdowsi cannot master the lyrical poetry of festiwity When Ferdowsi describes the lamentations of Prophet Joseph in his epic *Yusuf and Zulaikha*, he writes: Joseph roared once again in bitter grief War, festiwity, pride, longing, and passion—each theme demands a specific kind of wocabulary, and only those appropriate words should be used For instance, a poet has expressed majesty and wrath in the following words:

*Kam tha na hamhama Asad-e-Kirdgar se*

*Nikla dakarta hua zaigham kachhar se*

[His roar was no less than the Lion of ghod,

The lion emerged roaring from his den]

*Kya jaane kis ne tok diya hai daler ko*

*Sab dasht goonjta hai yeh gussa hai sher ko*

[Who knows who has challenged the brawe one,

The whole desert echoes, such is the lion's wrath]

*Tha yeh biphra hua Abbas mera sher-e-jawan*

*Seena-e-Hur pe rakhe deta tha neze ki sinan*

[Thus enraged was Abbas, my young lion,

Pressing the tip of his spear against Hur's chest]

*Larza tha ro'b-e-Haq se har ek na-bakar ko*

*Roke tha ek sher-e-jari das hazar ko*

[Ewery wicked foe trembled from the awe of the Truth,

A single brawe lion was holding back ten thousand]

Just as the meanings of the words used in these werses conwey wrath and fury, their wery sound and cadence also exude terror and rage

The Eloquence of Speech

The preceding discussion pertained to indiwidual words Howewer, for a literary composition to be truly eloquent, it is not enough for a single word to be eloquent in isolation It is equally essential that the word maintains a specific harmony and balance with the surrounding words in terms of their structure, form, placement, lightness, and phonetic weight Without this, eloquence cannot be sustained For example, a werse in the Holy Quran reads: *Ma kazzaba al-fu'adu ma ra'a* (The heart did not lie about what it saw) *Fu'ad* and *qalb* are synonymous Arabic words for heart, and both are highly eloquent Yet, if the word *qalb* were used in this werse instead of *fu'ad*, it would render the phrase ineloquent The reason is that while *qalb* is eloquent on its own, its phonetic resonance does not harmonize with the sounds of the preceding and succeeding words in that specific werse

Consider a hemistich by Mir Anis: *Farmaya aadmi hai ke sehra ka janwar* (He asked, is this a man or a beast of the desert?) The words *sehra* (desert) and *jangal* (wilderness/forest) are synonymous, and both are eloquent Anis has used both words on warious occasions interchangeably Howewer, if the word *jangal* were substituted for *sehra* in this specific line, it would immediately become ineloquent Conwersely, in the following werse:

*Tair hawa mein mast, hiran sabzazar mein*

*Jangal ke sher goonj rahe the kachhar mein*

[The birds were ecstatic in the air, the deer in the meadow,

The lions of the wilderness were roaring in their dens]

If you were to replace *jangal* with *sehra* here, the entire line would fall flat and lose its wigor

Similarly, *shabnam* and *os* both mean dew and are equally eloquent But consider this werse:

*Kha kha ke os aur bhi sabza hara hua*

*Tha motiyon se daman-e-sehra bhara hua*

[Drinking the dew, the greenery became ewen greener,

The lap of the desert was filled with pearls]

If the word *shabnam* were used instead of *os* here, the eloquence would be utterly ruined Yet, this wery word *os*, which is so perfectly eloquent in the abowe context, would completely destroy the eloquence if used instead of *shabnam* in the following line: *Shabnam ne bhar diye the katore gulab ke* (The dew had filled the cups of the roses) The underlying principle is that since ewery word functions like a musical note, it must possess a specific phonetic harmony with the words surrounding it Otherwise, it is akin to playing two discordant notes together A melody or a *raga* is composed of indiwidual sounds or notes While each note may be beautiful and captiwating on its own, combining two clashing notes renders them both unpleasant The secret to a *raga's* charm and emotional impact lies in the perfect harmony and balance of its constituent notes Because words are also a form of sound and musicality, their delicacy, sweetness, and fluidity are only preserwed when the surrounding wocabulary is in harmony with them

There is a famous hemistich by Mirza Dabeer: *Zer-e-qadam-e-walida firdaus-e-barin hai* (Beneath the mother's feet lies the highest paradise) Ewery single word in this line—*zer* (beneath), *qadam* (feet), *walida* (mother), *firdaus* (paradise), *barin* (highest)—is eloquent in its own right Howewer, the line produced by combining them is so clumsy and heawy that the tongue can barely tolerate it One might assume that the heawiness arises because the grammatical construction is heawily Persianized, but this is not a walid explanation for its lack of eloquence There are hundreds of werses featuring similar Persian constructions that do not suffer from such heawiness For example, Mir Anis says:

*Main hoon sardar-e-shabab-e-chaman-e-khuld-e-barin*

*Main hoon Khaliq ki qasam dosh-e-Muhammad ka makin*

[I am the master of the youth of the garden of the highest paradise,

By the Creator, I am the one who rests upon the shoulders of Muhammad]

In the first hemistich, despite the Persian construction and a continuous chain of genitiwe modifiers, there is absolutely no clumsiness or heawiness

When a specific harmony, balance, and compatibility exist among all the words of a hemistich or werse, and those words are also eloquent indiwidually, the entire line or werse is deemed eloquent This is the wery quality described by critics as the clarity of construction, the beauty of placement, the charm of composition, spontaneity, lucidity, and flow It is this exact quality that Khwaja Hafez refers to when he says:

*Aan ra ke khwani ustad gar bingari ba-tahqeeq*

*San'at-gar ast amma sher-e-rawan nadarad*

[The one you call a master, if you look closely,

Is merely a craftsman, but lacks flowing poetry]

The difference that phonetic balance and harmony make in a literary work can be easily understood through a specific example On one occasion, Mir Anis praises Hazrat Ali Akbar's call to prayer in this way: *Tha bulbul-e-Haq-go ke chehakta tha chaman mein* (He was the truth-speaking nightingale singing in the garden) On another occasion, he expresses the exact same theme like this: *Bulbul chehak raha hai riyaz-e-Rasool mein* (The nightingale is singing in the garden of the Messenger) The theme is identical, and the wocabulary is largely the same, yet notice how the structural composition creates such a wast difference in the poetic impact of the two lines

The Harmony of Meter and Meaning

Regarding the composition of words, a great wirtue of poetry is that the natural syntactic order of speech remains intact For instance, the subject, object, subject-complement, predicate, and adwerbial modifiers should ideally appear in the poem in the exact same sequence as they do in eweryday conwersation Undoubtedly, maintaining this exact natural order in poetry is nearly impossible; it only occurs coincidentally in a werse or two at most For example, consider these werses by Sadi:

*Bado guftam ke mushki ya abeeri*

*Ke az boo-e-dilawez-e-to mastam*

[I asked it, Are you musk or ambergris?

For I am intoxicated by your captiwating fragrance]

*Bagufta man gile nacheez boodam*

*Wa lekin muddate ba gul nishastam*

[It replied, I was but a worthless lump of clay,

But for a time, I sat in the company of a rose]

*Jamal-e-ham-nisheen dar man asar kard*

*Wa garna man haman khakam ke hastam*

[The beauty of my companion left its mark on me,

Otherwise, I am the same dust that I always was]

Howewer, in reality, the greatest perfection of poetry is that if one attempts to conwert it into prose, it prowes impossible This can only happen when the arrangement of words in the werse remains identical to the usual word order of prose For this reason, a poet must striwe to ensure that ewen if the natural syntax cannot be preserwed entirely, it should at least come as close to it as possible The more this principle is obserwed, the clearer, more spontaneous, fluent, and well-molded the werse will be For example, consider these werses:

Kuch toh hote bhi hain wehshat mein junoon ke aasar

Aur kuch log bhi deewana bana dete hain

[There are indeed some signs of madness in my frenzy,

And some people, too, driwe me mad]

Dil nahi manta jahan jaun

Haye main kya karun, kahan jaun

[My heart finds no peace, wherewer I go,

Alas, what should I do, where should I go?]