Tha-rah tha-rah chham ma-rah sha-yad shar meh ji-gu-rook drav-nai Khosh yi-von nunda-bon, ve-si-yae Myon dil-bar aav nai I am all ashake, I may die/my heart’s wish has seen no fulfillment that lovely, pleasing, my heart throb/he hasn’t come, ah Dear! Rasul Mir, that skilled decanter of love, has a raging controversy shrouding his age. The local traditions recorded in 1940’s of by Ab Ahad Azad, spoke of a death in his prime. Folk history has it that, Mahmood Gani predicted his youthful death (Amis Chhi jan- h-margi handi koder). His poetry, its fervent youthfulness, its vibrant tenor, its tone of hearty yearning, its pristine emotions, all point to a poet, untouched by the cares of decaying age. Rasul Mir was said to have been alive in 1855 AD when Mahmood Gani passed away and died a few years before- Maqbool Shah Kralawari (d.1874). Accordingly his demise was reckoned between 1867-1870). Rasul Mir was thus said to have lived between 1820s and 1870s. Mr. Teng in his Kuliyati Rasul Mir, refers to a document, in revenue records at Anantnag, which bears the signature of Rasul Mir, as Nambardar and is dated 5th of April 1889. On this basis, Rasool may have lived into the last decade of 19th century.That is as close to factual certainity as researches have gotten to. For the rest, there is his poetic legacy, and, ah again oral traditions. Oral traditions say, Rasul Mir was tall, handsome fair complexioned person, and sported moustaches that tapered far into the face. He was graceful, fashionable fellow, with a youthful heart that throbbed with love, love, and lots of love. Yi chho Rasul Mir Shahabad Doo-rey Tami chho trov- mut lo-la du-kaan Yi-vu aash-qow che-vu tor-re tor-rey Mai chho moor- rey la-la-vun naar. This is Rasul Mir, at Shahabad, Doru. He has opened a love-kiosk. Come ye lovers, drink free cup. Love’s fire burns me deep Love, is the waft and whoop, the craft and creed of Rasul Mir(He lived love, sang love, and lives for his love-ful passion). Love, the first strings of human heart that present the whole universe as an undulating poem. Love is the creed, beloved is the god and lyrics rush forth in bubbling streams to worship the deity. Singing, sighing and singing again they cascade over the expanses of life, in undating it in its fervor.
Posted on: Sun, 15 Sep 2013 14:57:34 +0000
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