I light a lamp in the whirlwind.
I am a stage of the caravan.
Peep into me
and listen to the ancient ballad.
It is endless…...
(from one of his poems)
Wherever Arjan Dev Majboor is at present, I know his ink stained fingers would be twitching for writing, for putting to paper what has remained unsaid, unfinished. The poetry of snow, silence and turbulence of longing will continue to resonate deep and far and remind us in which heart Majboor has taken a new birth. He will continue to live in our hearts, in the songs of our future generations. For now, he seems to have found some secret place to keep humming his soulful poetry, his songs of earth and solitude, of exile and longing.
Thursday morning news of Arjan Dev Majboor’s passing away has brought a flood of memories and a wound that will keep on bleeding. With the demise of Majboor, one of our greatest Kashmiri writers, something has died in all of us too, who love Kashmir and its ethos.
I often used to talk to him over literary issues. I used to do stories on his literary projects, often wondering about on his tremendous zest for life, youthful passion for writing, unexplained dynamism despite being ill. His insatiable urge to be creative even at the dusk of his mid 80 life was inspiring and humbling experience.
When I met him last, two years ago at his residence in Jammu, I pressed him for writing his autobiography- which would have been a priceless contribution, documenting literary ups and downs spanning, cultural movements, oral history of over six decades, from a man who had interacted with most of the stalwarts of Kashmir during last over half a century. He told me that he wanted to write, but due to illness, couldn't do so. He told me that if someone was ready to take dictation, he would go down the memory lane. I promised that I will try to find someone, but I could not. I regret.
Those days he was passionate about writing Vanwas (Exile), a novel intending to portray the saga of exile from the eyes of a poet, which he wanted to finish as early as possible, perhaps knowing well that his ill health won’t give him much time. I don’t know whether he has finished the novel or not.
I have many fond memories of this grand old man of Kashmiri literature. He used to come to our house in Jammu and my father used to visit him intermittently. He would sometimes scold my father affectionately for not visiting him often. I used to tell Kashmiri writers and scholars that Majboor has not been given his due credit and recognition, for what he has done and what he has achieved, especially on the part of authorities, who many a times embellish neophytes on their average books with awards.
One scholar even told me that had Majboor been from the “Other Faith”, he would have been in a much better place, and much better recognized and credited. I don’t know how much truth is in that, but posterity will have to answer such questions
His contributions are immense. Besides authoring over two dozen books, he also translated Neelmat Puran- the 6th-8th century AD Sanskrit text that depicts the then cultural and social history of people in ancient Kashmir, as part of a project by Jammu and Kashmir Academy of Art, Culture and Languages. The project was entrusted to Majboor, as he was among the very few scholars who were proficient in Sanskrit and Persian, besides being well aware about the history and culture of Kashmir. After three years of painstaking research, ailing Majboor completed the work in a 400 page manuscript.
When I talked to him about doing a story about it, he told me “Neelmat Puran is a historical work of immense importance, which had to be made available to wider readership in the Urdu world. It has given me tremendous satisfaction to translate this text from Sanskrit, which is one of the most quoted texts of Kashmir. I not only translated the 1400 verses of the Puran into Urdu, but also wrote nearly a 100-page introductory background about the Puran for the benefit of the Urdu readers, who may not be aware about the backdrop of the Puarn’’.
To make 3000 years of history available to people in Kashmir in their own mother tongue, he contributed in the mega project of translating Rajatarangini (River of Kings) into Kashmiri. The Jammu and Kashmir government took his services among others for the ambitious project in 2001-2002.
When I talked to him about the project, he told me, “Rajatarangini as a text holds very important place in the history of India as a whole, as writing history was generally not a tradition in ancient India. Though ancient literature is rich, it lacks history, with most of ancient texts dominated by sciences, philosophical, moral and metaphysical issues. In this light, Rajatarangini is a unique Sanskrit text which has all the ingredients of history”.
His infectious passion for literature and aesthetics was a source of inspiration for the budding writers in the state. For his wide knowledge of the Kashmiri literature over the last six decades, many people used to call him a walking encyclopedia of Kashmiri literature.
Though Majboor primarily wrote Kashmiri poetry, the contribution of this multi-faceted personality extended to other languages that includes Hindi, English, Sanskrit and Persian. Majboor’s first collection of poems Kalaam-e-Majboor was published in 1955, followed by Dashahaar in 1983, Dazavuni Kosam in 1987, Padi Samyik in 1993 and Tyoll in 1995’’.
Proficient in Sanskrit, Majboor was the first person to have translated Kalidas’s Meghadootam into Kashmiri verse. The English translation of his poems under the title Waves by Arvind Gigoo has been critically acclaimed by the literary community across the globe.
The best tribute to Majboor will be remembering him through his immortal works and bringing them to a wider readership. And introducing the young generations to life and works of this man, who defied age and its vagaries from touching his spirit.
I am reminded of his poem WILDERNESS……..from poetry collection Waves…
I spent my age
writing this legend.
But the pages
leapt towards the sky.
A dusty cobweb
Besieged me.
Time was at work.
The fault was not mine.
A few moments were given to me in trust.
The world maligned me.
Now
stranded in wilderness
I
wait for
the tree,
the water
and
the light.
I am the mosaic.
My glass-house will not crumble..
Each day
I light a lamp in the whirlwind.
I am a stage of the caravan.
Peep into me
and listen to the ancient ballad.
It is endless…...
