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Zehra Nigah is considered one of the finest women poets in the Urdu language today. As with all women writers, her oeuvre begs the question: Is she a feminist poet or a feminine one? Zehra apa, as she is usually addressed, has always deplored labels and insisted that she views the world around her through the eyes of a woman, yes, but her concerns are not those of a woman alone.

She speaks in a woman’s tongue, using feminine imagery and idiom to make powerful social and political comments. She has alluded to the bitter fratricidal war that culminated in the creation of Bangladesh as well as the heart-rending situation in Afghanistan in lyrical, pathos-driven yet politically astute poems such as Bhejo Nabi ji Rehmatein and Qissa Gul Badshah.

She has written of the repressive Hudood Ordinances in her own country, introduced during General Zia’s oppressive regime, as also about love, friendship and small everyday joys and sorrows that are not confined to a nation or a people. In the poem below about female foeticide – published here in Rakhshanda Jalil’s translation on the occasion of National Girl Child Day – she was moved by the brutal statistics on the sheer numbers of the girl child put to death before they have the chance to live.

Some of her allusions and terminology, such as satta-vatta and kari, may be specific to Pakistan and rural Sindh in particular, but the poem resonates with a pathos that is universal.

The translated poem

I was saved, mother, I was saved
The henna of your unripe blood has coloured every pore of my being

Had my features formed, they too would have filled with blood
Had my eyes learnt to see they would have been rimmed with the surma of acid
I would have been bartered in satta-vatta or used up in kari
Every dream of mine would have remained unfulfilled
Had I gained a little in height, my father would have diminished in his
Had my veil slipped from my head just a little, my brother’s turban would have fallen
Before I could hear your lullaby, I have gone to sleep my own sleep
I had come from a strange land, I have gone away to a strange land

I was saved, mother, I was saved
The henna of your unripe blood has coloured every pore of my being

— Translated from the Urdu by Rakhshanda Jalil

surma: antimony used to line the eyes
satta-vatta: literally meaning give-and-take, refers to the practice of exchanging women as brides
kari or karo-kari: honour killing

The original poem

Main bach gayi ma main bach gayi ma
Tere kache lahu kii mehndi mere pore pore mein bas gayi ma

Gar mere naqsh ubhar aate, woh phir bhi laahu se bhar jaate
Meri aankhein raushan ho jaatein to tezaab ka surma lag jaata
Satte-vatte mein batt jaati ya kari mein kaam aa jaati
Har khwaab adhoora reh jaata
Mera qad jo thhoda sa badhhta. mere baap ka qad chhota padta
Meri chunri jo sar se dhalak jaati, mere bhai kii pagri gir  jaati
Teri lori sunne se pehle main apni neend mein so gayi ma
Anjaan nagar se aayi thhi, anjaan nagar mein kho gayii ma

Main bach gayi ma main bach gayi ma
Tere kache lahu kii mehndi mere pore pore mein bas gayi ma

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