Part II : Gryees Naameh: Maqbool Shah Kralwaeri

 

Greeis naamah:

Gryuus in local parlance is one who works in a farm and his subsistence is mainly dependent upon this profession. He is tied to his land for his subsistence and mostly doesn't do anything than farming. This results in his little exposure to outside world and its ethics and etiquettes. Resultantly he is very short sighted and self centred. This Masnavi by Maqbool Shah Kralwaeri depicts the nature of such person.

14th couplet I could not decipher.

One treads with firmness on Islam’s bright way,

Another burns with wrath when Islam they say.

The farmer’s tribe, of faith devoid and cold,

Their hearts like frost, no piety they hold.

No fear of God, no dread of faith’s decline,

No knowledge theirs, nor acts of law divine.

Magicians all, in worldly guile they dwell,

In fraud and slander they their souls compel.

They know not faith, nor sainthood’s holy flame,

Nor human grace, nor honour’s noble name.

No shame within their eyes, no veil of grace,

Their hearts unlit, their souls a barren place.

The village folk are jealous, coarse of mind,

No virtue in their hearts you’ll ever find.

The farmer’s back the wrath of heaven bore,

Take off thy shoe; chastise him evermore.

He vows his life when need and peril near,

Yet ere the dusk, his pledges disappear.

A fox before thee, lion when unseen,

His tongue now silk, now sword, now fierce, now keen.

To might he bends, in awe his spirit shakes,

But gentle souls he scorns and soon forsakes.

Before the strong he humbles, dust and clay,

Yet lurks in shadow, waiting for his prey.

Whom he may use, to him he homage pays,

With honeyed words and flattery’s soft phrase.

But once his wish fulfilled, his mask is thrown,

He knows thee not; thy kindness all unknown.

He plights his troth yet faith he shall betray,

Through cunning gains till end of day.

If joy befall thy lot, his heart shall mourn,

With envy’s flame his soul is torn.

Before a saint he bows with feigned esteem,

Extracts his secret, ends the dream.

No greeting then he offers, nor respect,

Such is the farmer’s heart; devoid, abject.