Muntakhab al-tawarikh 243: XXXI. SANA’I OF MASHHAD.

243

His name is Khwaja Husain. Before he came to India the great men of his country used secretly to assemble at social gatherings to consider and discuss even one couplet by him, and in each gathering his verses were read by way of good augury, and all agreed, both with tongue and pen, in his pre-eminence in poesy, and recorded their opinions. Since his arrival in India all his poetic fancy has been frozen by envy, and he is fallen into the corner of neglect and become the target for a hundred shafts of criticism, and wanders distracted in the way of the vulgar. His divan is well known and contains a good masnavi, although it is for the most part pointless, and its style is not comparable with that of his loftier odes. He has, however, a poetic nature, and in all subjects save unity, preaching, advice, and direction he has wonderful aptitude. I quote these few couplets as a memorial of him : —
“ Such grace rains down from her from head to foot, That one could sweep grace out of her bed.”
The idea expressed in this couplet, however, very closely resembles that in the couplet of the master-poet :
“ She causes blandishments to spring from the ground, she scatters grace in the air By means of her graceful gait and her sweet foot on the earth.”
“If, for example, thou sittest behind a mirror, a person Standing before it sees his own image with the face reversed.”
'I shed so much grief abroad from my house That the difficulties of my house are from without the door.'
In describing an ambassador he says —
“Like the sun in the sky thou hast traversed the world, Like sleep thou art welcome to all eyes. The sun, perchance, is but a distillation from thy hand, Which washes the whole world with one drop of water. Such blackness has overspread that tribe whose fate is dominated by Saturn that if, for example, Each hair on their bodies became a candle, The sight of man would not be able to distinguish their faces. The sound of their shoes would snatch Venus away from life, Their hideous voices reach not the understanding, Their gait is like fire, their speech is like war. The sight of them is punishment and their voice is a brazen trumpet. If a thought of them passes through the mind of the wet-nurse The child from fear desists from sucking.”
“O thou! from the splendour of the fair candle of whose face the mirror is illumined, From whose reflection the mirror seems to cherish a soul, Place not the mirror before thee for the sake of seeing thyself, Reflect rather on my condition and look not in the glass. Fire has burst into flame in my heart, like its reflection in a mirror, Since the sunlight of thy face has been reflected in every mirror. If the burning blast of thy wrath should break into flame, It will see its reflection in every mirror."