Gone are the good old days when a person was not considered educated and refined unless he knew Arabic and Persian. Even till the late 1960s, Arabic and Persian were compulsory subjects at our schools and students had to opt for either of them at secondary level. This writer, too, studied Arabic for three years at school from grade six to eight (though never being able to speak it fluently or comprehend it fully is another story – a sad one).

Then Persian was shunted out at school level and, alas, according to a report appearing in a section of the press some time ago, the departments of Persian at several Karachi colleges have been shut down for want of students. And now no college in Karachi offers Persian as an optional subject. What a fall for a nation that took pride in knowing Persian!

People with a good knowledge of Arabic and Persian in our society are now few and far between. These are, generally, the ones who studied these languages at school and some even at college. With the dwindling number of such persons, now the treasures of Arabic and Persian literature are looked down at and English pulp-fiction is conquering the world relentlessly.

In such circumstances when one finds a book in Urdu that discusses the slightly altered wordings of Quranic verses and Hadith quoted or paraphrased in Persian and Urdu poetry, one can only read on and be amazed. Amazed not only because the author has such a deep study of Persian and Urdu literature but also for his command over prosody and the Arabic language and a perfect eye for the religious texts quoted in Urdu and Persian poetry.

The book, thoughtfully titled Kajdar-o-Marez, borrows a Persian phrase for its name that means ‘tilt the cup but don’t let it spill.’ This is an allusion, of course, that refers to an order impossible to be obeyed or commands extremely difficult to follow. The title is apt as the book surveys the slightly divergent versions of Quranic verses and Hadith used in Persian and Urdu poetry and it is impossible to tilt the cup that holds the divine texts without spilling it.

One is also amazed for another reason: this is a touchy topic; the slightest alteration in any Quranic verse is tantamount to interpolation and hence profanity and is fraught with treacherous, even dreadful outcome. No Muslim in his senses can even think of changing the words of the Quran or the Hadith, the sayings of Prophet Muhammad (Peace be upon him). But as the author Abdul Aziz Khalid says, sometimes the poet has to slightly change the language in order that it fits into the prosodic frames.

This ‘law of necessity,’ writes the author in his preface, grants the lyricists a ‘poetic licence’ to practise a little irregularity at their disposal, quoting an Arabic axiom that says what is prohibited for others is allowed to the poets. But such departures are allowed to poets alone and prose writers must refrain from taking liberties when quoting religious texts.

This may be kind of asking for trouble as this writer too, like so many of you, feels that this is an encroachment that may not be allowed to anybody no matter how great a poet he or she is, as the scriptures and sacred books should not be treated like any other worldly book. But one is surprised to see that poets like Shams Tabrez, Rumi, Sanai, Attar Neshapuri, Jami and Saadi, who are more saints than poets, indulge in this practice quite frequently. From Urdu poetry we find, on top of all, a poet like Iqbal, whose leanings towards Islam and its Prophet (Peace be upon him) are too well-known to be explained otherwise, takes such liberties.

The author has quoted the verses of a great many poets of Urdu and Persian that either have a changed order of the sacred wordings or wherein, for poetical or technical reasons, the diacritic marks of certain Quranic verses have been changed.

Aside from the debate as to whether or not such deviations should be allowed in poetry, one has to acknowledge the hard work and the years of study that have gone into compiling a book like Kajdar-o-Marez. Abdul Aziz Khalid, eulogised for his vast study and profound knowledge of Arabic by a great authority like Prof Abdul Aziz Memon, is a veteran poet with a large number of poetry collections to his credit and is known for his diction and erudition.

Published by Sarmad Academy, Attock, the book is priced at a mere Rs200, which can easily be afforded if you just skip a trip to the fast food parlour around the corner.

Correction: Writers do make mistakes, as you know. But when I make one, it is important to put the record straight, of course. The response to my last week’s column on these pages (‘Ibn-i-Safi: the imam of Urdu detective fiction’) was not only warm and heartening for me but a bit educative too. Ahmed Safi Sahib, Ibn-i-Safi’s son, was kind enough to point out a couple of inaccuracies that crept in. Nooh Narvi, says he, was Ibn-i-Safi’s maternal uncle and not his maternal grandfather. Like a few other readers, he also has mentioned that the gentleman with whose collaboration Ibn-i-Safi launched Nikhat was not Ali Abbas Hussaini, the well-known progressive writer, but another fellow named Abbas Hussaini, who ran a book-selling and publishing business at Allahabad’s railway station.

I stand corrected and educated and am grateful to the readers who took out their precious time and e-mailed me. It also made my belief firmer that Ibn-i-Safi was a very popular writer and his fans miss him greatly even today, 28 years after his death.

drraufparekh@yahoo.com