Classic Poem

Until his vengeance he has wrought upon his foe,
Neither sleep, nor food, nor rest knows a true man.
Who has no concern for his own honour,
Little respect will be paid to such an one.
If ability and honour and pride be in him,
Consider even a slave better than his lord.
Slowly his steps planting he mounts upwards;
With one bound no one mounts up to the roof.
By careful search, if thou relax not, believe me,
The water of life wilt thou find in thy pursuit.
Every day is not quite like another,
Sometimes time brings pain, sometimes its cure.
Twixt manliness and meanness is no sympathy,
Distinct from one another are they in thought and action,
What is within another's reach is his own;
A man himself holds the reins of his own fancy.
Who by birth from his ancestors wields the sword,
Well befits him the trade of the unbending glaive.
My grief at Gunbut came from forth my heart,
When at Doda God granted me my desire of victory.
Abad Khan is one to whose face victory hastens,
In every place his father's name has he renewed;
May God grant he rival his father in life and name and deeds,
May his hands over the enemy ever be victorious;
Let his enemies beware of him if they be wise,
For his sword is a Dragon blood-drinking;
Since God has given them such a valiant brother,
Let all his brothers make their boast of him.
The work of armies is no such easy task,
That by every man it can be ordered well;
He who has but a few lucky hairs on his head,
Ever will victory hasten to his face.
Who truly spends all in gifts and feeding,
Before him ever bow their heads mankind.
The Tiger's share is the neck of the blue Bull,
The Jackal, Fox, are feasted with the scraps.
The deer of the plain by a single hound is captured,
The yelping cur wanders through the village in search of food.
The Fort of Doda he made all red with blood,
In Doda was there slaughter of great and small.
The Fort of Doda was no such easy task,
That the thought of its conquest entered people's heads;
Right on the top of a mountain was it firmly planted,
Stronger than those of Kohat were his fortifications.
By God's order such a victory was his,
That accomplished in two days was his object;
The work of seven forts was by God's order
One after another completed in a week.
From terror on the Heavens trembling fell,
When of Bahram's sword the clashing was heard,
From the smoke of the slain by the rifles
An eighth heaven there appeared grey in hue;
The spears of the Khataks thus pierced the chain armour,
As runs the Tailor's needle through the tent cloth.
The lance-armed horsemen of the Khataks
Overthrew the Bangash riders root and branch;
Many youths were twined in wrestling in that fight,
No lack was there of swords and arrows;
Sadar Khan till then a fight had never seen.
In that fight his spear he dyed red with his foes,
Of Gunbut all the grief went from my heart.
Were it of defeat, wounds or reproaches,
Stinking was the earth with the stench of the slain,
Who were cut to pieces in Doda by the sword.
The lot of the Bangash is the Peaks of Pali;
Now let them put their swords within their sheaths.
He who leaves his own trade for that of others,
Than him no greater foot will ever be.
What though the stag is fierce in battle, he forgets to fight
When from the Lion his head a blow receives.
Had the Bangash had any honour, never would I have cut
Out of their full garden a single almond.
Of the dishonour of the Bangash this was the punishment,
That on their flesh are feasting the wild beasts.
Every man who quarrels with his master
Will at length meet the punishment of his deeds.
Such grief and lamentation came upon them,
That bright day to the people of Kohat became as night.
In the fight of Doda again was filled with wine
That goblet which in Gunbut had emptied been;
In that fight countless plunder became ours,
Of lovely maidens, fine horses, and valuable treasures;
With their black armour, bows, and sheaves of arrows,
Every man of us was fitted out with arms.
There were six or seven thousand Khataks in that fight,
Every one of us was rejoiced with booty.
The reports of this fight will spread through all the country,
With its glory will every Pathan be rejoiced;
When of this victory the report reaches Hindustan,
Loud will be the Emperor's plaint to great and small,
That when Pathan honour is disgraced he is delighted—
Such a King of Islam is Aurangzeb.
In the change from the constellation of the Lion in the year 1091, in the month of Rajab,
On the third day after the fight, I began this poem:
Words written on paper remain,
That is why I have committed this story to writing.
Mayest thou ever have such victory over thy enemies,
As in that fight was mine, God be with you!
Astounded am I with my view of human nature,
What deeds they are capable of, for their passions such dogs are they;
Such actions proceed from their nature
That the Devil himself would neither think nor mention.
Ever the Koran spread before them are they reading,
But little is their practice according to the Koran.
Whichever way I go in search of them,
Like the Elixir undiscoverable are the wise.
A good man like a Ruby or Sapphire is not easily found;
Like other stones no lack is there of the worthless.
It may be, in other nations good men are found:
But few and far between amongst Afghans are they.
What good is it to say words of advice to one?
Even to his father's counsel he will scarcely near.
Every deed of the Pathans is better than that of the Moghals:
Concord is what they lack, the pity of it!
From Bahlul and Sher Shah's words I hear
That formerly the Pathans were Kings of Hind;
For six or seven generations was their Empire thus,
That all the world was confounded at them.
Either these Pathans are different or something else has happened,
Or else God's orders have been such as they are;
If only the Pathan could find the blessing of concord,
Old Khush-hal would again a youth become.