On the 65th Anniversary of the Nazi German attack on the USSR
Jābir Jambūl
Makhdoom Mohiuddīn
The revolutionary poet Makhdoom Mohiuddīn rendered this poem of the Tartar poet of Kazakhstan, Jābir Jambūl into Urdu, using the technique of free translation. The following is a literal translation of Makhdoom’s poem.
Our leader is face to face with the lines of enemy,
Stalin!
The bright star of the eyes of Mother Russia,
The gleam of whose radiance is illuminating the earth.
That land, that country,
Whose freedom is ensured by the blood of martyrs;
In whose foundation is the spirit of its people,
Their labour, their brotherhood and love;
That land
Her majesty
Her grandeur
Could I be a silent spectator of this battle-field?
Could I hand over this heaven to hell?
Shouldn’t I be a soldier?
Shall I not take up my sword for my motherland?
For my beloved, heaven-like motherland?
In the tumult of Doom, wouldn’t my passionate song,
In the form of life and happiness,
Permeate the hearts of my fellow countrymen?
The comfort for my eyes! My love! My sons!
Where is my lightning-footed horse, fetch it.
Where is my bloodthirsty sword, fetch it.
My songs will echo there
Where my Commander, Stalin lives.
That youthful country of mine
That youthful ewer of red-wine
The world of my new-born happiness
My sweetheart with graceful gait,
My young country,
Upon whose land the sons of crime,
miscreant beasts have stepped
With their dirty designs.
A new-sprung bud, a rising nation,
My youthful country!
They truly say, ‘The worms of the earth
Frightened by their untimely, approaching death,
Are swarming out of their holes–
Shaking, terrified, unnerved.’
Fill the mouths of their holes with your bullets
And tell the fascist jackals
There is left for you the only morsel – first and final.
The comfort for my eyes! My love!
O my sons!
Where is my lightning-footed horse, fetch it.
Where is my bloodthirsty sword, fetch it.
My songs will echo there
Where my Commander, Stalin lives.
There is the tumultuous place, the conflict ground of two worlds
One, an old world,
The other a new.
One, a lame foot of a decrepit old hag,
a receding shadow.
The other, the youth of developing young breasts,
the strong and fierce liquor.
These filthy, these lewd porpoises crawling on their bellies,
These beasts and tyrants of the age of horror,
With their open greedy mouths and clamp of destruction
Are swarming, be it day or night
Against my Falcon.
My songs will never be vain,
And the songs of my fellow countrymen.
My eagle will ever remain victorious, triumphant
And the porpoises will be thrust back into the graves.
My Falcon, my Stalin.
The little ones of my Falcon who are yet to be named
Triumphantly are hovering high in the skies
With their heads held high.
Yes, O my fellow countrymen!
Go, and spur your steeds,
Join the Red Army.
Be an exuberant river, be a flood of lightning, and flow
Like a sea of burning, molten steel.
Be a raging vortex,
And send to hell the fascist hogs.
O my Balkhash, where is your red copper
Ask it to fall upon the heads of enemy as a shell
O fishermen of the Green Sea! O divers!
Fetch your stocks
And sacrifice them upon your motherland.
Tell the mines, call upon the fields
To bring their produce of the year
And sacrifice it over their motherland.
These are horses, these pashmīna, and these stacks,
My beloved country!
These are for you, all for you.
Stalin has called us into the field,
Sent us the message of effort and struggle:
Drive away the enemy from your holy-land.
O Kazakhstan!
Motherland!
Rise! With all your strength
Rise! With all your majesty, grandeur and wrath,
With plenty of magnificence, rise!
United into one soul, one body.
Blow out the ashes of the filthy enemy!
Urdu text from Bisāt-e Raqs
Translation from the Urdu: Arjumand Ara
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