Urdu Shayari Ki Adabi Samaajiyaat

When Nizami Bidari wrote *Kadam Rao Padam Rao*, the first *masnavi* in Urdu, he likely had no idea that he was establishing a new tradition in Urdu poetry. The form and structure of this tradition were derived from the framework of Persian poetry. The poetic meters, the crafting of the lines, the chime of the rhymes, and the rhythmic connection between the verses were all inherited from the Persian tradition. However, the soul that animated this poetic form belonged to indigenous traditions, and the story it narrated was that of two Indian hearts. Many subsequent *masnavis* were modeled after Nizami Bidari’s work, and this style became an established tradition, at least among the *masnavis* of the Deccani period. In fact, when analyzing Urdu *masnavis*, Dr. Syed Abdullah recognized this distinct style as a unique literary expression.

All *masnavis* of this kind share several common characteristics. They feature versified romantic tales, which were generally drawn from already well-known folklore and traditions. By versifying these stories, the poet's purpose was not merely narrative; rather, it was to provide their era with a medium for social expression. (2) Typically, through such tales, the poet sought to emphasize a specific aspect of human nature or morality. Accordingly, they would make appropriate alterations to the stories, molding them to suit their needs and giving them a clear, purposeful direction.

The characters presented in these tales are highly idealized, and their emotions and feelings possess immense power and intensity. These clearly defined characters are seen striving for clear objectives, battling through tangible means.

The concept of love presented here is not merely one of worldly pleasure. Instead, steadfast loyalty is considered the core of faith, and sacrificing one's life for it is viewed as a very minor feat. Alongside these stories are *masnavis* that narrate religious miracles or magical, talismanic tales. Although the religious miracles are astonishing and make extensive use of supernatural elements, they present a lofty ideal where the power of faith overcomes all difficulties. The third category of *masnavis* was the epic (*razmiyah*), which contained accounts of wars. These battles were not imaginary or fictional; they were actually fought across various regions of the Deccan between different political factions. It is true that poets wove fictional tales into these accounts and incorporated popular local legends. As a result, these events did not remain mere reflections of historical truth; rather, they became portraits of reality colored by imagination, with creative alterations and additions made throughout. However, the characters in all these *masnavis* remain one-dimensional. They possess action, but no thought; they have an exterior, but no inner life. They are embodiments of pure action from head to toe, and their inner selves are devoid of any internal conflict. They are paragons of beauty, bravery, and justice, embodying every moral virtue.

The battles they fought were real, and their battlefields were not merely fictional. If one doubts this, they need only read the scene in Nusrati’s *masnavi*, *Ali Nama*, which depicts the battlefield following his patron’s victory. Here, hundreds of unburied and unshrouded corpses lie scattered. One is missing a head, another a torso; the earth is turned into a field of red tulips by the blood of some, while vultures tear at the flesh of others. Yet, the poet describes this gruesome sight as a scene of joyous celebration, where jackals and man-eating beasts are the wedding guests, and death itself sings the festive songs. Every agonizing sight is transformed into an ecstatic spectacle, and the poet, intoxicated by the triumph of war, continues to describe it all through poetic similes and metaphors. Alongside these, there is another category of *masnavis* dominated by the style of the *dastan* (traditional epic romance). Whether it is the *Qissa-e-Abu Tamim Ansari* or the *Tuti Nama*, this narrative style prevails in both.

In the *Qissa-e-Abu Tamim*, events unfold as stories within stories, to the point where the actual battles and campaigns of Hazrat Abu Tamim are reduced to a secondary plot within the *masnavi*. In the *Tuti Nama*, a parrot prevents a merchant’s wife from betraying her husband by telling her a new tale each night; these nightly stories weave the entire fabric of the *masnavi*. In short, the entire corpus of Deccani *masnavis* is a rich gallery of historical and semi-historical, fictional and romantic, epic and lyrical elements. It clearly reflects the intimacy of social relationships and the captivating charm of traditional folklore.

Here, too, the *masnavi* writer acts as the voice and mirror of their era. Original plots were not their domain; instead, they either drew stories and characters from the reservoir of tradition—bringing them to life and making them radiant through their imagination and style—or they gleaned material from history. The culmination of this era is Siraj Aurangabadi’s *masnavi*, *Siraj-e-Sukhan*, which narrates a famous tale of its time. Beyond the fluency of its expression, its true beauty lies in its depiction of the elegance of beauty and the overwhelming, uncontrollable nature of love. Here, love may begin with physical pleasure, but it does not end there. It leaves behind a wondrous intoxication, restlessness, and agitation that can lead to spiritual gnosis—a state that, in Sufi terminology, attains the rank of *Qantarat-ul-Haqiqat* (the bridge to Ultimate Truth). When this flame of love flares up, it burns away all worldly debris, reducing everything other than the Divine to ashes. Freed from the filth of worldly attachments, the human personality is purified into solid gold. A substantial addition to this corpus of *masnavis* later occurred in Delhi and Lucknow. This period saw the creation of *masnavis* by Mir Asar and Mir Taqi Mir, followed by Mir Hasan’s *Sihr-ul-Bayan*, Mushafi’s *Bahr-ul-Mahabbat*, Taqi Khan Havas’s *Laila Majnun*, Daya Shankar Nasim’s *Gulzar-e-Nasim*, and the *masnavis* of Nawab Mirza Shauq.

Prior to these, the only notable achievement in North India was Afzal’s *Bakat Kahani*, which clearly displays a collective harmony and a strong folk flavor. Afzal remains surprisingly close to the popular ethos; his descriptions of the seasons and the fragrance of the earth are truly captivating. Mentioning the shorter *masnavis* of Quli Qutb Shah, Hatim, Nazir, and other poets would be redundant here. Nevertheless, they too represent a distinct form of poetic expression. In particular, the continuous poetic masterpieces of Quli Qutb Shah and Nazir laid the foundation for the *nazm*, which later flourished as an independent literary genre.

A collective sensibility also dominates the *masnavis* (narrative poems) of Delhi and Lucknow. However, with the exception of Mir Taqi Mir’s *masnavis*, they lack that overwhelming intensity of emotion, that idealized concept of love, and that deeply romantic disposition. These *masnavis* are either based on the well-known tales of their time or are versifications of traditional stories. The characters belong either to royalty or the merchant class, and all these poems exhibit a sense of passionate devotion and surrender—more so in the *masnavis* of Delhi and less in those of Lucknow. For instance, even in Mir’s *masnavis*, the stories are either traditional, based on contemporary hearsay, or, in at least one case, autobiographical. Yet, they lack any entirely original creative element, at least in terms of plot and character development. Nevertheless, a new element did emerge in them: a deeply personal and individualistic tone, which was previously rare. It was this individual tone that not only made Mir the greatest poet of the evolving *ghazal* genre but also introduced a new cadence to the poetic expression of his era. Aside from Mir, this individualistic voice did not feature prominently among other poets of the time. Instead, their *masnavis* remained preoccupied with infusing old tales with new moral and mystical significance. The clearest example of this is Mir Asar’s *masnavi*, *Khwab-o-Khayal* (Dream and Imagination). Although Altaf Hussain Hali considered it to have stooped to a base and vulgar level by depicting the physical aspects of beauty and romance, Mir Asar actually wrote it to harshly critique worldly love (*ishq-e-majazi*) and to extol the majesty of divine love (*ishq-e-haqiqi*). He himself writes:

Baat hai be-sarishta o be-asal

Hijr kidhar ka aur kahan ka wasl

[The matter is baseless and without foundation,

What is this talk of separation, and where is the union?]

Jalwa pardazi-e-jahan-e-misal

Naam is ka yahi hai khwab-o-khayal

[It is but the illusion of the world of appearances,

Its very name is dream and imagination.]

Hain ge saudaiyon ke halatein

Shorish-e-ishq ki kharafatein

[These are merely the states of the madmen,

The absurdities of the tumult of love.]

Further on, he writes:

Ishq-e-soori bari malamat hai

Hasil is se yahi nadamat hai

[Superficial love brings great reproach,

Its only reward is regret.]

Kehte hain is ko hi zalal-e-mubeen

Nafa duniya hai kuch na hasil deen

[This is what is called a manifest error,

It yields neither worldly gain nor religious reward.]

Sirf khusran-e-deen-o-duniya hai

Manfaat is mein aur toh kya hai

[It is merely the ruin of faith and the world,

What other benefit could there be in it?]

Gar mulaqat ho toh kya hasil

Hijr aur wasl dono la-hasil

[Even if a meeting occurs, what is gained?

Both separation and union are ultimately futile.]

And continuing further, he writes:

Bulhawas hain hawa parast nafs

Ishq woh hai jo ho shikast-e-nafs

[The lustful are slaves to the desires of the self,

True love is that which defeats the ego.]

Nafs-e-kafir ko koi maar sake

Yeh toh maare mare na kaate kate

[Can anyone truly kill this infidel self?

It neither dies when struck, nor is severed when cut.]

Aap hi apna hareef hai nahin ghair

Hai khudi se yahan khudai se bair

[It is its own rival, there is no other,

Here, ego breeds enmity with the Divine.]

Apne hathon yeh kaun marta hai

Kaam fazl-e-khuda hi karta hai

[Who can kill it by their own hands?

Only the grace of God accomplishes this task.]

Madad-e-peer se halak kare

Misl-e-akseer maar khaak kare

[With the help of the spiritual guide, one destroys it,

Like an elixir, it strikes and turns it to dust.]

Jis qadar peer par ho apne fida

Is qadar hue hai fana o baqa

[To the extent one is devoted to their guide,

To that extent they achieve annihilation and eternal life.]

Aur is ke siwa hai sab ulfat

Hai sarasar kadoorat o kulfat

[And any affection other than this,

Is entirely bitterness and sorrow.]

Yet, Mir Asar narrated the tale of this bitterness and sorrow with great relish. He left no aspect unexplored. However, aside from its uninhibited depiction of romantic encounters, Mir Asar’s *masnavi* is rather weak in terms of plot, and its standard of characterization is equally unimpressive. It seems as though the social conditions in Delhi were no longer conducive to the art of the *masnavi*.

Why, then, did the *masnavi* not evolve in tandem with other forms? Instead, wherever the *masnavi* flourished, the tradition of high-quality *ghazals* declined. In Delhi, Mir’s *ghazals* reached their zenith, but the *masnavi* lost its vitality; even the stylistic nuances in Mir’s own *masnavis* diverged from the genre's conventional path. Conversely, when the *masnavi* thrived in Lucknow, the *ghazal* lost its luster. While many *ghazals* were composed, they lacked their former depth and essence. There appears to be an obvious reason for this: the *masnavi* is the expressive medium of a cohesive, closely-knit society where stories circulate freely, and traditional tales and legends are readily available. In such a setting, the poet shares a profound bond with society and possesses the means to mold this deep connection into new poetic forms. The *ghazal*, on the other hand, is the expressive medium of a fragmenting society, where the social fabric is gradually unraveling and communal ties are slowly fading. While the *ghazal* is undeniably the personal narrative of the individual, its inherent universality transforms it into the story of others as well. The *ghazal* demands an internal emotional state, subjectivity, and an intimate tone; without these, it cannot truly flourish merely through the expression of collective traditions.

Thus, the rise of the *ghazal* stood in stark contrast to the rise of the *masnavi*. Lucknow did not merely become the epicenter of the *masnavi*; it was also here that the *marsiya* (elegy) reached its zenith. Lucknow was lulled into an artificial sense of security. Following the Battle of Buxar, the Nawabs of Awadh remained nominally subordinate to Delhi, but in practice, the forces of the East India Company had assumed control of the administration. Awadh was perpetually lost in a sweet reverie. Although the political and economic foundations of the state had been hollowed out, neither the general populace nor the poets and writers grasped the magnitude of the looming threat hovering over them. The emotional and intellectual temperament of Awadh is perfectly mirrored in Mir Hasan’s *Sihr-ul-Bayan*, Daya Shankar Naseem’s *Gulzar-e-Naseem*, and later, Nawab Mirza Shauq’s *masnavi*, *Zahr-e-Ishq* (The Poison of Love).

*Sihr-ul-Bayan* and *Gulzar-e-Naseem* are manifestations of this very refinement and artificial stagnation. While these *masnavis* are tales of the supernatural, the imprint of a collective sensibility is clearly visible upon them. Furthermore, the culture reflected within them is the Indo-Persian civilization, a hue that colors everyone from princes and princesses to jinns and fairies. Their attire, appearances, and features clearly indicate a seamless blending of Indian and Persian cultures. Here, Najm-un-Nisa takes on the guise of a *jogan* (Hindu female ascetic), while Gul Bakaoli converses like a princess of Awadh. A non-religious tone and a secular atmosphere pervade these *masnavis*. However, what they lack is depth and earnestness in love. The entire enterprise of romance exists merely on the surface of life. Although the lover and the beloved verbally profess to die for one another, there is neither true emotional intensity nor sincerity; instead, hedonistic pleasure has become the very essence of existence.

It appears that the society for which these *masnavis* were written had resigned itself to a superficial aestheticism. Moreover, the flight of imagination in these poems is unmistakable. It is evident that the poet is using the canvas of imagination as a means of escapism, seeking to attain emotional fulfillment by acquiring in fantasy what he could not achieve in reality. The Nawabs and Kings of Awadh themselves were not immune to this sentiment. Historical evidence suggests that when the last king, Wajid Ali Shah, attempted to involve himself in state affairs and faced opposition from the British Resident, he masked his sense of helplessness behind a veil of frivolity, dance, and music. A similar situation had previously befallen Asaf-ud-Daula and Saadat Ali Khan. These *masnavis* provided emotional solace to Lucknow’s underlying sense of defeat. Ultimately, much like the helpless heroine of *Zahr-e-Ishq*, this delicate, fragile, and refined civilization was forced to commit suicide just to preserve its illusion of dignity.

The *marsiya* (elegy) was also a product of this same imaginative escapism. In the *marsiya*, events and characters took on an Indian hue; the narrative was semi-religious, semi-historical, and semi-traditional. The poet's imagination embellished it as desired, but the nature of the *marsiya*'s fundamental conflict was quite extraordinary. Its virtuous characters were prophet-like: their spiritual power was unparalleled, their moral virtues matchless, their bravery unparalleled, and their beauty and grace unique. They embodied the highest human values and were such devout servants of God that their prayers were answered the moment they raised their hands. Yet, despite all this, these righteous and praiseworthy figures were innocently martyred and suffered defeat. Their defeat was, in fact, the divine will, which they accepted without question, despite their personal valor and unparalleled wisdom. The socio-political system of that era faced a very similar predicament. Lucknow was the ultimate center of refinement, culture, and elegance, yet political defeat had become its inevitable fate. The *marsiya* writers were mourning a civilization that was dying before their very eyes, yet they were also validating the sacrifices of the righteous through the lens of faith and contentment. In this respect, the *marsiya* was fulfilling a crucial need of its time.

(2)

In Delhi, this cultural chessboard was being overturned even more rapidly, and consequently, the reign of the *masnavi* gave way to the *ghazal*. And what a *ghazal* it was—brimming with pathos, steeped in experience, and overwhelmed by intense emotion. Behind this *ghazal* lay the resonance of deep introspection. Its tone was intimate and personal. While one layer of its themes consisted of tradition, another layer comprised the lived experiences that were causing upheaval in the lives of both the individual and society. The voice of the *ghazal* was emerging from a society that was socially and economically distinct from the milieu that had previously popularized the *masnavi*. This new society possessed neither peace of mind nor stability—though it is a separate matter that poets like Sauda and Mir also wrote *masnavis* and *marsiyas*. This mood of the *ghazal* dominated Delhi from the era of Mir to the era of Ghalib, and it dominated so completely that no other literary genre could hold a candle to it.

What was the *ghazal*? The *ghazal* was a poetic form that completed a thought within a two-line couplet, utilizing a consistent meter and rhyme scheme. It employed specific symbols and was inherently introspective and lyrical in nature. This genre did not emerge in India overnight; it was backed by the cultural heritage of Iran, and its symbolic system was rooted in centuries of history. To truly understand the *ghazal*, one must examine its symbolic framework. Through this framework, we might successfully comprehend the *ghazal*'s cultural temperament and its class character. We can also observe why its symbolic system underwent periodic changes in response to shifting circumstances, and identify the social catalysts and class conflicts driving these transformations.

The story of the *ghazal* is still unfolding. It is true that the contemporary *ghazal* is popular, but its continuity and progression have taken on a new style, and the traditional rhythm of the classical *ghazal* has largely fractured. While the voice of the individual did emerge in the *ghazal*, it did so against the backdrop of a society nurtured in the cradle of shared symbols—a society bound by a collective cultural destiny. Its standards of romance, as well as its concepts of beauty and the beloved, were largely universal. Behind these lay the multifaceted splendor of a new civilization, where every individual could find fragments of their own story within themes of mysticism, love, asceticism, and compassion. Unlike the *masnavi* and the *marsiya*, the *ghazal* did not rely on a shared heritage of traditional narratives; rather, it relied on a legacy of shared symbols. With the help of just a few allusions and select symbols, a *ghazal* poet could conjure an entire world of meaning.

The entire structure of this legacy was rooted in an urban civilization, a civilization heavily influenced by the lives of artisans and craftsmen. Although, by our current era, the voices of various social classes have begun to echo within the *ghazal*, its urban essence remains intact. The shifting shadows behind its symbols have yet to sever this foundational connection. Just as the *dastan* (epic romance) had made room for original creative elements while maintaining its ties to the collective rhythm and traditional elements of society—forging new paths for the imagination—the *ghazal*, too, maintained its connection to collective rhythms and traditional elements while simultaneously expanding its canvas to accommodate imagination and creativity.

(3)

The *ghazal* suffered its greatest blow around 1874, when Maulana Muhammad Husain Azad’s Anjuman-e-Punjab organized a *mushaira* (poetry symposium) where continuous, thematically linked verses on specific subjects were recited under the title of *nazm* (poem). This new genre quickly gained popularity in literary circles, dominating magazines and newspapers, and found champions in critics like Hali and Shibli. In this form, it was not the individual that took center stage, but rather society. The same call for social reform that had given birth to the Urdu novel became the focal point of the *nazm*. The tone and rhythm of natural poetry underlying the poems of Hali and Azad repeatedly heralded the new way of life emerging under the influence of Sir Syed Ahmed Khan and his contemporaries. This was not merely an imitation of the West; rather, it was a response to the economic and cultural challenges confronting Indian society following the establishment of British rule.

A new social class was now emerging, one distinct from the traditional urban artisans. This class required modes of expression that could satisfy the individual who was becoming alienated from traditional society—a medium in which they could see not only themselves but also a reflection of a society where the individual was gradually assuming a central role. The mystical undertones that had emanated from the *ghazal* began to fade, the resonance of its symbols grew quiet, and gradually, new stylistic approaches began to emerge within the *nazm*. Initially, narrative poetry gained prominence, featuring depictions of natural landscapes, the greatness of the homeland, the blessings of freedom, and the virtues of knowledge. The underlying purpose was simply that the individual now wished to observe the world through their own eyes. Rather than remaining tethered to society and its traditions, the individual now sought to reshape them according to their own needs. Later, as political turbulence intensified, its impacts were also felt in literature. The *nazm* journeyed from Hali’s *Musaddas*, gradually reaching Chakbast and Iqbal. Following this, the romanticism of Josh and Akhtar Shirani, along with the social relevance of the Progressive poets, steered it in an entirely new direction. In terms of style and form, imagination, emotion, and intellect completely transformed the landscape of this new genre, and by the time it reached Akhtar-ul-Iman, a new standard of literary excellence had begun to shine through.

This new standard can be briefly outlined. In the era of Hali and Azad, the emphasis was merely on the thematic continuity of the *nazm* (poem). Generally, presenting a single topic in different contexts was considered sufficient. For instance, a poem might explore how patriotism manifests in birds, what form it takes in humans, and how it varies across different social classes. It was as if the poem was a collage of images capturing a central concept from various angles, reducing it to a sort of versified essay. Because the focus was heavily on description—where observation played a key role and imagination was used primarily to gather these diverse observations—mood and structural integrity did not hold a foundational place in the poem. Instead, the poem emerged as a reflection of life scattered in all directions.

The poet was content to adopt the role of a photographer. Shibli’s political poetry shares this characteristic. Chakbast’s narrative poems and Iqbal’s nature poems also belong to this category. Gradually, however, instead of relying on the description of scenery to create a focal point, poets began using concepts and ideas to establish continuity and centrality. The finest examples of this shift are found in Iqbal’s Masjid-e-Qurtaba (The Mosque of Cordoba) and Saqi Nama (Book of the Cupbearer). Masjid-e-Qurtaba opens with philosophical reflections. It pauses briefly for a descriptive segment, only to use that description as a launching pad for a new philosophical—or rather, semi-political and semi-cultural—vision, ultimately concluding with a universal insight into human life.

Josh Malihabadi transformed repetition into a poetic technique by using similes and metaphors to revolve around a single concept. In his work, it seemed as though thematic continuity and unity of thought were paramount, while the actual evolution of thought was secondary—a progression that was later introduced by the poems of Akhtar ul Iman. Along this evolutionary journey, we also encounter the beautiful, epoch-making poems of Faiz, as well as the works of Majaz, Sardar Jafri, Jan Nisar Akhtar, and Makhdoom, all of whom infused the *nazm* with fresh energy and a novel structural framework.

The *nazm* was no longer confined to a single style; it began to exhibit a variety of shades. Unfortunately, however, the direct, essay-like approach still largely dominates the form. In our contemporary era, the *nazm* has expanded in multiple directions and now even seems to embrace versified storytelling. For instance, Faiz’s poem *Mujh Se Pehli Si Mohabbat Mere Mehboob Na Maang* (Do Not Ask of Me, My Love, That Same Love As Before) could have been written in fragmented segments. Sahir’s *Parchhaiyan* (Shadows) or Akhtar ul Iman’s *Baazdeed* (Revisit) could be structured as distinct, impressionistic fragments akin to a cinematic montage. Akhtar ul Iman’s poem *Mir Nasir Husain* could take the form of a single-character satirical monologue, while his poem *Ek Ladka* (A Boy) could be crafted as a delicate allegory in a highly symbolic mode. Alternatively, a poem could be composed entirely of dialogue, or it could plunge into the middle of a narrative, leaving a single character to recount the missing links. In short, the *nazm* achieved not only breadth and diversity in technique and style but also a profound maturity. This was because the social classes responsible for nurturing this new genre were themselves reaching a stage of intellectual maturity.

It was during this period that free verse (*azad nazm*) gained currency. Behind free verse was the voice of a new social class that had come of age amidst modern mediums of expression. In his book *Understanding Media*, Marshall McLuhan explored how mediums such as film, radio, the press, and magazines impact the creative process. Free verse was not meant for the performative stage of the *mushaira* (poetry symposium); rather, it belonged to the realm of the printed page. The goal was to break away from the traditional cadence of meter and rhyme to discover a new rhythm—one that would bridge the gap between poetry and everyday life, allowing verse to capture the diversity and expansiveness of the modern age. In free verse, as well as in the subsequent blank verse (*mo'arra nazm*) and contemporary prose poems (*nasri nazm*), we see the reflection of a poet deeply entrenched in industrialized life. Instead of remaining an integrated unit within traditional social structures, this poet is gradually drifting away from them. His distinct individuality, his restless inner self, and all his internal turmoil and anxiety manifest in these poems as vivid images bearing the deep imprint of his unique persona. It is as if we have arrived at the exact opposite end of the *masnavi* era—a point where the individual is entirely severed from society, held captive within his own isolation.

Sometimes, this alienation grows so profound that the poet's symbols become entirely private, rendering his expression ambiguous, convoluted, and incomprehensible. As the pace of industrial development in India accelerates, the traditional social order fractures and disintegrates. The fabric of rural and provincial life unravels. Correspondingly, the individual caught in the relentless hustle of the city feels increasingly isolated and disconnected from society. In his poetry, the inner layers of his psyche become far more prominent. The private pain and suffering of the individual replace collective narratives, and instead of melody, lyricism, and traditional romanticism (*taghazzul*), much harsher and bolder realities are forged into new poetic forms.

This transformation in poetic structures and the shift in stylistic expression are not merely the result of literary demands or cultural influences; rather, they are driven by shifting economic and cultural forces. Embedded within them are new economic realities that give rise to new social classes and class relations. The entire fabric of art and literature is profoundly impacted by these evolving class dynamics. It would perhaps not be unreasonable to conclude that the emergence of new literary genres is intrinsically linked to the rise of new social classes. However, tracing this connection requires a much closer and more attentive analysis of the inherent nature of these genres and the evolutionary processes they undergo.

This discussion reveals that the rise of the *masnavi* in Urdu poetry was no mere coincidence. It was, in fact, the product of a profound cultural synthesis occurring between various elements of Turko-Iranian and Indian civilizations. This synthesis was catalyzed by India’s administrative framework, which, driven by commercial imperatives, leaned heavily toward centralization and internationalism (fostering deep trade relations across India, Iran, and Western and Central Asia). The economic demands of that era spurred the growth of cities and towns. Artisans, craftsmen, and masters of various trades from surrounding villages and neighboring countries began to congregate in these urban centers. This convergence gave rise to a new culture and a refined urbanity. The collective rhythm of this new society forged a connection with the narrative traditions of the *masnavi* and the *marsiya* (elegy), ultimately bringing into existence a literary genre perfectly equipped to meet the cultural demands of its time.

Gradually, this civilization began to disintegrate. This collapse occurred first and most rapidly in Delhi. The communities of artisans and craftsmen began to scatter, and with the growing encroachment of the East India Company, the scope of local crafts and handiwork shrank. Markets were deserted, and the wealth generated by trade and industry began to drain out of the country. However, a false prosperity and artificial contentment lingered in a few centers like Lucknow, where the tradition of the *masnavi* stayed alive. But in Delhi, the crumbling society bid farewell to the *masnavi*, and the *ghazal* gained primacy over all other poetic genres. The *ghazal* viewed life through the lens of the individual rather than the collective. Yet, even here, the individual remained connected to the collective to some extent, and his literary symbols remained acceptable and comprehensible to his own class. His fundamental interest remained rooted in interpersonal human relationships, and the changing dynamics of these connections were deeply explored—a thematic focus that came to be known as *muamalat* (affairs of the heart). Love, too, was a manifestation of these relationships. The poet, operating within the boundaries of his specific symbols and themes, remained an observer of the shifting light and shadow of human connections.

Later, when the rule of the East India Company completely overturned this cultural chessboard, and the individual's bond with society was severed even further, a new poetic genre emerged: the *nazm*. In its early stages, the *nazm* sought to establish its identity through the pursuit of social reform. Eventually, it discovered new stylistic avenues. One path led to patriotic poetry, another to natural poetry, a third moved toward romanticism, and a fourth paved the way for the kind of profound intellectual poetry that is synonymous with the name of Iqbal. As the pace of these economic changes accelerated, and industrial progress further alienated the individual from the collective, the *nazm* continued to cross new milestones in style and technique. It journeyed toward free verse (*azad nazm*), eventually evolving into the symbolic and prose poems (*nasri nazm*) of today. This journey continues to this day, marching in tandem with ongoing economic and material transformations.

When Nizami Bidari wrote *Kadam Rao Padam Rao*, the first *masnavi* in Urdu, he likely had no idea that he was establishing a new tradition in Urdu poetry. The form and structure of this tradition were derived from the framework of Persian poetry. The poetic meters, the crafting of the lines, the chime of the rhymes, and the rhythmic connection between the verses were all inherited from the Persian tradition. However, the soul that animated this poetic form belonged to indigenous traditions, and the story it narrated was that of two Indian hearts. Many subsequent *masnavis* were modeled after Nizami Bidari’s work, and this style became an established tradition, at least among the *masnavis* of the Deccani period. In fact, when analyzing Urdu *masnavis*, Dr. Syed Abdullah recognized this distinct style as a unique literary expression.

All *masnavis* of this kind share several common characteristics. They feature versified romantic tales, which were generally drawn from already well-known folklore and traditions. By versifying these stories, the poet's purpose was not merely narrative; rather, it was to provide their era with a medium for social expression. (2) Typically, through such tales, the poet sought to emphasize a specific aspect of human nature or morality. Accordingly, they would make appropriate alterations to the stories, molding them to suit their needs and giving them a clear, purposeful direction.

The characters presented in these tales are highly idealized, and their emotions and feelings possess immense power and intensity. These clearly defined characters are seen striving for clear objectives, battling through tangible means.

The concept of love presented here is not merely one of worldly pleasure. Instead, steadfast loyalty is considered the core of faith, and sacrificing one's life for it is viewed as a very minor feat. Alongside these stories are *masnavis* that narrate religious miracles or magical, talismanic tales. Although the religious miracles are astonishing and make extensive use of supernatural elements, they present a lofty ideal where the power of faith overcomes all difficulties. The third category of *masnavis* was the epic (*razmiyah*), which contained accounts of wars. These battles were not imaginary or fictional; they were actually fought across various regions of the Deccan between different political factions. It is true that poets wove fictional tales into these accounts and incorporated popular local legends. As a result, these events did not remain mere reflections of historical truth; rather, they became portraits of reality colored by imagination, with creative alterations and additions made throughout. However, the characters in all these *masnavis* remain one-dimensional. They possess action, but no thought; they have an exterior, but no inner life. They are embodiments of pure action from head to toe, and their inner selves are devoid of any internal conflict. They are paragons of beauty, bravery, and justice, embodying every moral virtue.

The battles they fought were real, and their battlefields were not merely fictional. If one doubts this, they need only read the scene in Nusrati’s *masnavi*, *Ali Nama*, which depicts the battlefield following his patron’s victory. Here, hundreds of unburied and unshrouded corpses lie scattered. One is missing a head, another a torso; the earth is turned into a field of red tulips by the blood of some, while vultures tear at the flesh of others. Yet, the poet describes this gruesome sight as a scene of joyous celebration, where jackals and man-eating beasts are the wedding guests, and death itself sings the festive songs. Every agonizing sight is transformed into an ecstatic spectacle, and the poet, intoxicated by the triumph of war, continues to describe it all through poetic similes and metaphors. Alongside these, there is another category of *masnavis* dominated by the style of the *dastan* (traditional epic romance). Whether it is the *Qissa-e-Abu Tamim Ansari* or the *Tuti Nama*, this narrative style prevails in both.

In the *Qissa-e-Abu Tamim*, events unfold as stories within stories, to the point where the actual battles and campaigns of Hazrat Abu Tamim are reduced to a secondary plot within the *masnavi*. In the *Tuti Nama*, a parrot prevents a merchant’s wife from betraying her husband by telling her a new tale each night; these nightly stories weave the entire fabric of the *masnavi*. In short, the entire corpus of Deccani *masnavis* is a rich gallery of historical and semi-historical, fictional and romantic, epic and lyrical elements. It clearly reflects the intimacy of social relationships and the captivating charm of traditional folklore.

Here, too, the *masnavi* writer acts as the voice and mirror of their era. Original plots were not their domain; instead, they either drew stories and characters from the reservoir of tradition—bringing them to life and making them radiant through their imagination and style—or they gleaned material from history. The culmination of this era is Siraj Aurangabadi’s *masnavi*, *Siraj-e-Sukhan*, which narrates a famous tale of its time. Beyond the fluency of its expression, its true beauty lies in its depiction of the elegance of beauty and the overwhelming, uncontrollable nature of love. Here, love may begin with physical pleasure, but it does not end there. It leaves behind a wondrous intoxication, restlessness, and agitation that can lead to spiritual gnosis—a state that, in Sufi terminology, attains the rank of *Qantarat-ul-Haqiqat* (the bridge to Ultimate Truth). When this flame of love flares up, it burns away all worldly debris, reducing everything other than the Divine to ashes. Freed from the filth of worldly attachments, the human personality is purified into solid gold. A substantial addition to this corpus of *masnavis* later occurred in Delhi and Lucknow. This period saw the creation of *masnavis* by Mir Asar and Mir Taqi Mir, followed by Mir Hasan’s *Sihr-ul-Bayan*, Mushafi’s *Bahr-ul-Mahabbat*, Taqi Khan Havas’s *Laila Majnun*, Daya Shankar Nasim’s *Gulzar-e-Nasim*, and the *masnavis* of Nawab Mirza Shauq.

Prior to these, the only notable achievement in North India was Afzal’s *Bakat Kahani*, which clearly displays a collective harmony and a strong folk flavor. Afzal remains surprisingly close to the popular ethos; his descriptions of the seasons and the fragrance of the earth are truly captivating. Mentioning the shorter *masnavis* of Quli Qutb Shah, Hatim, Nazir, and other poets would be redundant here. Nevertheless, they too represent a distinct form of poetic expression. In particular, the continuous poetic masterpieces of Quli Qutb Shah and Nazir laid the foundation for the *nazm*, which later flourished as an independent literary genre.

A collective sensibility also dominates the *masnavis* (narrative poems) of Delhi and Lucknow. However, with the exception of Mir Taqi Mir’s *masnavis*, they lack that overwhelming intensity of emotion, that idealized concept of love, and that deeply romantic disposition. These *masnavis* are either based on the well-known tales of their time or are versifications of traditional stories. The characters belong either to royalty or the merchant class, and all these poems exhibit a sense of passionate devotion and surrender—more so in the *masnavis* of Delhi and less in those of Lucknow. For instance, even in Mir’s *masnavis*, the stories are either traditional, based on contemporary hearsay, or, in at least one case, autobiographical. Yet, they lack any entirely original creative element, at least in terms of plot and character development. Nevertheless, a new element did emerge in them: a deeply personal and individualistic tone, which was previously rare. It was this individual tone that not only made Mir the greatest poet of the evolving *ghazal* genre but also introduced a new cadence to the poetic expression of his era. Aside from Mir, this individualistic voice did not feature prominently among other poets of the time. Instead, their *masnavis* remained preoccupied with infusing old tales with new moral and mystical significance. The clearest example of this is Mir Asar’s *masnavi*, *Khwab-o-Khayal* (Dream and Imagination). Although Altaf Hussain Hali considered it to have stooped to a base and vulgar level by depicting the physical aspects of beauty and romance, Mir Asar actually wrote it to harshly critique worldly love (*ishq-e-majazi*) and to extol the majesty of divine love (*ishq-e-haqiqi*). He himself writes:

Baat hai be-sarishta o be-asal

Hijr kidhar ka aur kahan ka wasl

[The matter is baseless and without foundation,

What is this talk of separation, and where is the union?]

Jalwa pardazi-e-jahan-e-misal

Naam is ka yahi hai khwab-o-khayal

[It is but the illusion of the world of appearances,

Its very name is dream and imagination.]

Hain ge saudaiyon ke halatein

Shorish-e-ishq ki kharafatein

[These are merely the states of the madmen,

The absurdities of the tumult of love.]

Further on, he writes:

Ishq-e-soori bari malamat hai

Hasil is se yahi nadamat hai

[Superficial love brings great reproach,

Its only reward is regret.]

Kehte hain is ko hi zalal-e-mubeen

Nafa duniya hai kuch na hasil deen

[This is what is called a manifest error,

It yields neither worldly gain nor religious reward.]

Sirf khusran-e-deen-o-duniya hai

Manfaat is mein aur toh kya hai

[It is merely the ruin of faith and the world,

What other benefit could there be in it?]

Gar mulaqat ho toh kya hasil

Hijr aur wasl dono la-hasil

[Even if a meeting occurs, what is gained?

Both separation and union are ultimately futile.]

And continuing further, he writes:

Bulhawas hain hawa parast nafs

Ishq woh hai jo ho shikast-e-nafs

[The lustful are slaves to the desires of the self,

True love is that which defeats the ego.]

Nafs-e-kafir ko koi maar sake

Yeh toh maare mare na kaate kate

[Can anyone truly kill this infidel self?

It neither dies when struck, nor is severed when cut.]

Aap hi apna hareef hai nahin ghair

Hai khudi se yahan khudai se bair

[It is its own rival, there is no other,

Here, ego breeds enmity with the Divine.]

Apne hathon yeh kaun marta hai

Kaam fazl-e-khuda hi karta hai

[Who can kill it by their own hands?

Only the grace of God accomplishes this task.]

Madad-e-peer se halak kare

Misl-e-akseer maar khaak kare

[With the help of the spiritual guide, one destroys it,

Like an elixir, it strikes and turns it to dust.]

Jis qadar peer par ho apne fida

Is qadar hue hai fana o baqa

[To the extent one is devoted to their guide,

To that extent they achieve annihilation and eternal life.]

Aur is ke siwa hai sab ulfat

Hai sarasar kadoorat o kulfat

[And any affection other than this,

Is entirely bitterness and sorrow.]

Yet, Mir Asar narrated the tale of this bitterness and sorrow with great relish. He left no aspect unexplored. However, aside from its uninhibited depiction of romantic encounters, Mir Asar’s *masnavi* is rather weak in terms of plot, and its standard of characterization is equally unimpressive. It seems as though the social conditions in Delhi were no longer conducive to the art of the *masnavi*.

Why, then, did the *masnavi* not evolve in tandem with other forms? Instead, wherever the *masnavi* flourished, the tradition of high-quality *ghazals* declined. In Delhi, Mir’s *ghazals* reached their zenith, but the *masnavi* lost its vitality; even the stylistic nuances in Mir’s own *masnavis* diverged from the genre's conventional path. Conversely, when the *masnavi* thrived in Lucknow, the *ghazal* lost its luster. While many *ghazals* were composed, they lacked their former depth and essence. There appears to be an obvious reason for this: the *masnavi* is the expressive medium of a cohesive, closely-knit society where stories circulate freely, and traditional tales and legends are readily available. In such a setting, the poet shares a profound bond with society and possesses the means to mold this deep connection into new poetic forms. The *ghazal*, on the other hand, is the expressive medium of a fragmenting society, where the social fabric is gradually unraveling and communal ties are slowly fading. While the *ghazal* is undeniably the personal narrative of the individual, its inherent universality transforms it into the story of others as well. The *ghazal* demands an internal emotional state, subjectivity, and an intimate tone; without these, it cannot truly flourish merely through the expression of collective traditions.

Thus, the rise of the *ghazal* stood in stark contrast to the rise of the *masnavi*. Lucknow did not merely become the epicenter of the *masnavi*; it was also here that the *marsiya* (elegy) reached its zenith. Lucknow was lulled into an artificial sense of security. Following the Battle of Buxar, the Nawabs of Awadh remained nominally subordinate to Delhi, but in practice, the forces of the East India Company had assumed control of the administration. Awadh was perpetually lost in a sweet reverie. Although the political and economic foundations of the state had been hollowed out, neither the general populace nor the poets and writers grasped the magnitude of the looming threat hovering over them. The emotional and intellectual temperament of Awadh is perfectly mirrored in Mir Hasan’s *Sihr-ul-Bayan*, Daya Shankar Naseem’s *Gulzar-e-Naseem*, and later, Nawab Mirza Shauq’s *masnavi*, *Zahr-e-Ishq* (The Poison of Love).

*Sihr-ul-Bayan* and *Gulzar-e-Naseem* are manifestations of this very refinement and artificial stagnation. While these *masnavis* are tales of the supernatural, the imprint of a collective sensibility is clearly visible upon them. Furthermore, the culture reflected within them is the Indo-Persian civilization, a hue that colors everyone from princes and princesses to jinns and fairies. Their attire, appearances, and features clearly indicate a seamless blending of Indian and Persian cultures. Here, Najm-un-Nisa takes on the guise of a *jogan* (Hindu female ascetic), while Gul Bakaoli converses like a princess of Awadh. A non-religious tone and a secular atmosphere pervade these *masnavis*. However, what they lack is depth and earnestness in love. The entire enterprise of romance exists merely on the surface of life. Although the lover and the beloved verbally profess to die for one another, there is neither true emotional intensity nor sincerity; instead, hedonistic pleasure has become the very essence of existence.

It appears that the society for which these *masnavis* were written had resigned itself to a superficial aestheticism. Moreover, the flight of imagination in these poems is unmistakable. It is evident that the poet is using the canvas of imagination as a means of escapism, seeking to attain emotional fulfillment by acquiring in fantasy what he could not achieve in reality. The Nawabs and Kings of Awadh themselves were not immune to this sentiment. Historical evidence suggests that when the last king, Wajid Ali Shah, attempted to involve himself in state affairs and faced opposition from the British Resident, he masked his sense of helplessness behind a veil of frivolity, dance, and music. A similar situation had previously befallen Asaf-ud-Daula and Saadat Ali Khan. These *masnavis* provided emotional solace to Lucknow’s underlying sense of defeat. Ultimately, much like the helpless heroine of *Zahr-e-Ishq*, this delicate, fragile, and refined civilization was forced to commit suicide just to preserve its illusion of dignity.

The *marsiya* (elegy) was also a product of this same imaginative escapism. In the *marsiya*, events and characters took on an Indian hue; the narrative was semi-religious, semi-historical, and semi-traditional. The poet's imagination embellished it as desired, but the nature of the *marsiya*'s fundamental conflict was quite extraordinary. Its virtuous characters were prophet-like: their spiritual power was unparalleled, their moral virtues matchless, their bravery unparalleled, and their beauty and grace unique. They embodied the highest human values and were such devout servants of God that their prayers were answered the moment they raised their hands. Yet, despite all this, these righteous and praiseworthy figures were innocently martyred and suffered defeat. Their defeat was, in fact, the divine will, which they accepted without question, despite their personal valor and unparalleled wisdom. The socio-political system of that era faced a very similar predicament. Lucknow was the ultimate center of refinement, culture, and elegance, yet political defeat had become its inevitable fate. The *marsiya* writers were mourning a civilization that was dying before their very eyes, yet they were also validating the sacrifices of the righteous through the lens of faith and contentment. In this respect, the *marsiya* was fulfilling a crucial need of its time.