Sadiqullah’s The Fragrance of Seven Colours (Pehla Puur) has recently been published by Punjab Institute of Language, Art and Culture (Pilac), Lahore in three scripts. Mr. Muzzaffar Ghaffar, as far as I remember, was the first to use three scripts for his master series of edited classics and ancient texts. The book is welcome because English translations of contemporary poetry are far and few, and of good poetry fewer.

Imagine a little of Najam Husain Syed has been translated into English who pioneered deconstructing our colonial past that has shaped our present-day life. As to the view that poetry is what is lost in translation one should not forget that the best of poetry from foreign languages and cultures has reached us through translation because the best is never lost. It is colloquial and purely local which refuses to be rendered. But the translator should be competent.

When Rabassa’s translation of One Hundred years of Solitude came out, it took the world by storm and Marquez said that it was better than his original. But most people take translation as drudgery rather than a piece of creative work.

Note on the poet says; “Raja Sadiqullah, a poet and writer, was born in Wazirabad. His ancestors belong to a princely state from Rajouri in the Pir Panjal Range of Kashmir where they had lived for more than 650 years. They were deposed and forcibly expelled when Kashmir was sold to Gulab Singh. This painful legacy of displacement and exile has left an indelible mark on Raja Sadiqullah, which is clearly reelected in his writings.”

Apart from his literary pursuits, Sadiqullah is a retired banker and a cricketer who played at first class level. However his true passion lies in promoting and preserving Punjabi language and literature. Raja Sadiqullah has two published books of Punjabi to his credit– With two more– one of poetry and another of prose- currently in the pipeline for publication. His father and grandfather were also poets and writers.

It’s interesting to note that Wazirabad is located on the Grand Trunk Road, which is one of the oldest and the longest highways that connects India (Pakistan as well) to Central Asia. It touches important power centres such as Kolkata, Delhi, Amritsar, Peshawar, and a score of other cities. It can be described as a subcontinental information highway. Those who lived close to it were rightly thought to be socially and politically more aware because of their easy access to what was happening in the centres. Trade caravans raised dust on the road, invaders peel it off, scholars and mystics, in search of refuse, enliven its silence with their stories. Rebellions against tyrannical rajas reached the people quickly.

Another feature of this town is that a big nullah, Palkho Nullah, brushes past it. It carries quite a quantity of water which is a sanctuary of a large number of local and migratory birds. Just beyond it flows ‘love river’ Chenab which has been home to the largest number of classical tales such as Sohni Mahiwal, Heer Ranjha, and Sahiba Mirza. “We are transferred from place to place / We know each other / We have similar appearances / We have the same names / And we belong to the same place / We are under the deep shadow of generations / Beyond the Palkhoo stream is our village / Where flows the eternal river Chenab.” The intimacy of the acts as tactile feeling These are the landscapes where his topophilia come from. “We can also talk of those Mallard / who, after the winter snow, embarked from Siberia on a long -haul flight /Seeking warm sunshine over blue waters / Now with their eyes, perched on shadow’s edges, they stare at our dampened selves / Those multi-colours sparrows whose singing was laden with wailing / They came in search of food / along with butterflies, they too were hovering over Spring flowers / Now cages within the confines of of our children infatuation, they will weep and weep till the children grow up or to the time when the cage, the birds, and the flight will merge imperceptibly.” What a wonderful translation free of sentimentality and saccharine whispers.

Saqidullah poetry evokes images and scenes lived and forgotten in a world that is as somnolent as it is wakeful, and dreaming. Sometimes the strangest of them. “Just a single look came to annihilate it all / She turned her eyes and everything was transformed / This is the appearance of someone else / This is the sprouting season like a shine / Tweeting of of the birds their feed / Again the eye changed / And as if the dust has made its assault / Drizzle / The crow got tired, waiting / It was a fleeting moment / Her look is making the concealed visible / The look of that eye itself made all the difference.”

A good translator needs good poetry and good poetry needs a good translator. Enjoy the book. soofi01@hotmail.com

Published in Dawn, November 24th, 2025