Memoirs of a King!

Another thursday! This one comes with additional closure, since, along with the end of another stretch of 5 long and acutely boring work days, this one, falling on the 23rd of November, closes out another salaried month. I’ve been a rather disenchanted employee for the past year and the allure which corporate life had held on me has all but died out during the course of this time, I seem to be going through the motions of what appears to be last stage of this little outing of mine. Recently, when not in a morose state of mind, I have found myself being preoccupied with reading up on antiquity a lot. Baburnama is a fascinating window into the piercing and articulate mind of one of history’s prolific characters. A mere review of the turbulent and adventurous life that he lived, his own sense of morality which jumps out in such pearls as “My own soul is my most faithful friend. My own heart, my truest confidant.” compels me to take stock of my own life. The great Mughal Emperor understood the secret. Hordes of followers does not make a man beloved. Aren't we, after all said and done, alone? The most important thing in life is being true to oneself, this has been one of the most hard learned lessons of my life and one which i can now readily relate to.

The man seems to have a very raw awareness of his own mortality, he seems to be protesting the inevitable judgment of lesser mortals who follow him when he writes something to the effect of I don’t write all of this to complain, neither do I write this to compliment myself, I merely seek to write the truth of the matter, this happened, and I want to make sure I write it down. May the reader excuse me, may she not take me to task. That sentiment of Babur, written all those centuries ago seems to resonate so true with me. I have always been acutely aware of the brevity of this existence and have pondered obsessively on the meaning of it all, it is so refreshing to have discovered this familiar voice but one that is piercing through epochs of bygone years. He was there, he saw everything, he felt everything, he articulated his keen sense of observing, he existed! When he says and I quote “Like us, many have spoken over this spring, but they were all gone in the twinkling of an eye, we won over the world with our might, yet did not take it with us to our grave” doesn’t it arouse a certain awareness of your transience? Even though his journey, like all of ours, was nothing but a fleeting passage through this infinite stretch, and even though he did not take the world with him, with the help of his Babarnama, he seems to have been successful in leaving a little bit of himself in the world. I think that, rather than any country or battle, ought to be his single greatest victory.

And then there is the contradiction in him. He was, as evident from numerous instances in his memoirs, firmly adherent to the idea of being a submissive slave in Islam, he believes in his moral duty to purge the land of unbelief and fashions himself a ghazi, in his own mind atleast. One has to appreciate the fact that this was a rather complex individual, he was among other things, a Mongol, a descendant of the great Khan, a Timurid, an ardent Muslim and for the most part of his life, a drunkard. My very contemporary and rigid sense of judgement is keen to label him a hypocrite but to truly understand him and in the process, begin to grasp the bigger picture as it were, is to realize that not everything about life, religion, society has to be viewed through our very narrow & dogmatic view. I mean, after all, isn’t it true that Allama Iqbal, with his firm understanding of the muslim identity and the eloquence of his pen which shone many a light on the subconscious state of the faithful congregation, was, in his own private space longing to meet his Atiya?  Does it befit a luminary poet of Islamic world to be longing for someone who was not in wedlock with him?  Or what about the time when he penned verses heaping praise and acclaim on the kings and queens of England? Does that make him an opportunist?  I think quite rightly, the best answer to this is from the Allama himself when he writes about the priest:

“Arz Ki Main Ne, Elahi! Meri Takseer Maaf

Khush Na Ayen Ge Isse Hoor-o-Sharab-o-Lab-e-Kisht”

What place does the one who constantly harasses and tangles the people has in a place like heaven? If anything, doesn’t it point to a possibility of being a little less judgmental and rigid when it comes to matters of faith? I guess the same people who are so keen to brand everything haram today share their creed with the ones who labelled Iqbal a heretic all those years ago. But reform is not what this post is about and I will cease to discuss it further for now. I think my point is made aptly by Babar when he quips that only the drinker can understand the enjoyment of wine, how can the sober know what that entails?  And I’m not advocating taking up alcohol here, I was merely protesting this zealous behavior towards religion which I’m sure is more of a subcontinent twist to it rather than the original design.

And to bring this to an end, amidst all the jostling and hoop jumping that Babar did, with all the harsh days and dramatic events his life had, one thing which shines through is his glee for life, be it in his love of the melon (actual melons!), his protest in not being able to get a decent pair of trousers in India and his general attention to details, all of these expands on the zeal with which he lived his life. I guess the key take away for me after “knowing” him would be to try and like my stay here, to actually make the most of whatever time I have been set. for as as he elegantly writes:

"The new year, the spring, the wine and the beloved are joyful.

Babur make merry, for the world will not be there for you a second time.”