Ha Sher Sawaro

Kalām: Abdul Wahab Khar Sahib · Performed by: Ab. Rashid Hafiz

Wahab Khar Sahib (d. circa 1912) is among the most loved of Kashmir's later Sufi poets, a humble cauldron-maker by trade whose verses carry the fire of his craft. His kalām is full of plain Kashmiri tongue welded to deep mystical content, and Hā Sher Sawāro is among his most striking pieces — a vision-poem in which the seeker confronts an awe-inspiring saint riding a lion. Oral tradition links the kalām to Wahab Khar's encounter with his master, Rasul Sahib Vurpachh, in which the older saint appears in this very form. The poem reads as the disciple's bewildered, ardent address to that vision.

The Kalām

Farsi / Kashmiri Script	English Transcription	Modern Smooth English Translation
ہا شیر سوارو کور گژهکھ، أخر ژیے مرُن چُھے	Hā sher sawāro kor gachhakh, aekhir chey marun chhui	O rider of the lion, where will you go? In the end, even you must die.
یی چُھے ژیے علم تی میہ ونتم، تی میے پرُن چُھے	Yi chhi chey 'ilm ti mey wantam, ti mey parun chhui	Tell me the knowledge you possess, for that is what I too must learn.
یتِۂ روز ساتھا ونتۂ خبرا، پینجِہ بیہہ میزمان	Yeti roz sāthā, wanteh khabrā, penjih beh mehmān	Stay here a little while; speak with me, be a guest in my home.
روے چون وُچھہا، کمی ژیے دوپوئی ابدال کرُن چُھے	Roy chon wuchhā, kami chey dopnai abdāl karun chhui	Let me behold your face — who told you that you must turn me into an abdāl?
اتھ الفۂ قدس روخ ووزألی، چِھی جان گلِ انار	Ath alif-e-qadas rokh wozāli, chhi jān gul-e-anār	Your sacred, alif-like form glows; your cheeks are like pomegranate blossoms.
نرگِس چشمو کمی ژیے دوپنے جَود کرُن چُھے	Nargis chashmo kami chey dopnai jād karun chhui	Who told your narcissus-eyes they must cast a spell?
چِھی مارِ خفتے چانی شوٗبان بردوش اویزان	Chhi mār-e-khuftai chāni shūbān bar-dosh āwezān	Your sleeping-serpent locks hang beautifully over your shoulders.
یہ ونتۂ مجنوں کمی ژیے دوپنے قأد کرُن چھے	Yi wante Majnūn, kami chey dopnai qaid karun chhui	Tell me, Majnun — who said you had to be imprisoned by them?
دمہِ دمہِ گژھتو نِشی پِیرس، سِیرس سوئی کری زان	Damme damme gachhtov nishi pīras, sīras sui kari zān	Go again and again to the guide; he alone will acquaint you with the secret.
دل کِس باغس پوش پھولنے، پیوند کرُن چُھے	Dil kis bāgas posh pholnai, paiwand karun chhui	For the heart's garden to bloom, the graft of guidance must be joined to it.
یُس کھوژی ذاتس تَس کھوژی عالم، ادہ کیاہ جِن تِہ انسان	Yus khoji zātas tas khoji 'ālam, adah kyāh jin ti insān	Whoever fears the Divine Essence — the whole world fears him, jinn and human alike.
تَس تورۂ سوزُن گُر کھسُن کِیوتھ، دَور کرُن چُھے	Tas toreh sozan gur khasun kyuth, daur karun chhui	For such a one, a steed is sent from there; he must mount and ride the course.
یُس لائی ووٹھ اتھ تاوِ تژے، فی اللہ سُہ سپدی فان	Yus lāyi woatth ath tāvi tachhay, fī-Allāh su sapdi fān	Whoever leaps into this burning pan of love becomes annihilated in Allah.
فرد سوئی آسی خوش طبیعت/تبیعت، تس نو مرُن چُھے	Fard sui āsi khosh tabiyat, tas no marun chhui	That person becomes inwardly blessed and obedient; for him, there is no real death.
پزرِٔچ رز یُس ہٹی گنڈی پانس، مٹٔی کرِٔ ذاتس پان	Pazrich raz yus hatti gandi pānas, mati kari zātas pān	Whoever ties the rope of truth around his own neck and surrenders himself to the Real—
یی وصل فصل بوز، اصل ژیے وعظ پرُن چُھے	Yi wasl fasl boz, asl chey wa'z parun chhui	Listen to union and separation: this, in truth, is the sermon you must learn.
تِٔژھ کرتۂ عملا یُتھ بنکھ جان، دۓ روٗزی مہربان	Tich karteh amlā yuth banakh jān, Day rozi mehrbān	Act in such a way that you become good; then God will remain kind to you.
پر کرتۂ پأدا، پل صراتس تارۂ ترُن چُھے	Par karteh paidā, pul-e-sirātas tāreh tarun chhui	Grow wings within yourself; you must cross the bridge of Sirat.
دمۂ سٔتی پھلنے اندرۂ پمپوش، ادۂ ہوشۂ وُچھتن یار	Dammeh seet falnai andreh pampōsh, adah hōshe wuchhtan yār	Through breath-practice, lotuses will bloom inside; then, in full awareness, you will behold the Beloved.
عبد الوہابو روز بر تل، اللہ ژیے پرُن چُھے	Abdul Wahābo roz bar tal, Allāh chey parun chhui	O Abdul Wahab, remain at the threshold; you must come to know Allah.

Where the Meaning is Not Obvious

"Sher sawāro" — the lion-rider. This is not merely dramatic address. In Kashmiri Sufi imagination, the lion-rider is a saint of formidable spiritual power — one whose nafs has been so utterly mastered that even the lion, symbol of raw appetite and force, bears him. Yet Wahab Khar's opening line is startlingly bold: even you must die. The poem begins by stripping away awe of outward power and asking instead for the inner treasure beneath it. The greatness of the saint is not the spectacle but the ma'rifat he carries.

"Tell me the knowledge you possess." This is not a request for information but for ma'rifat — lived, tasted recognition of the Real. The seeker is asking for transmission, not instruction.

"Abdāl." In Sufi cosmology the abdāl are a tier of hidden saints through whom the world is sustained. The poet's protest — who told you that you must make me an abdāl? — is exquisite humility: I did not come for rank or station; I came only to look upon your face and receive your fragrance.

The beauty imagery — alif, pomegranate, narcissus, serpent-locks. This is the visual vocabulary of Persianate love poetry, but in a Sufi reading the Beloved's physical loveliness is a mirror for Divine Beauty (jamāl). The alif-like form is the upright stature of the saint; pomegranate cheeks are the flush of spiritual radiance; narcissus eyes are the half-closed, contemplative gaze of one drowned in vision; serpent-locks are the sweet captivity in which the seeker is willingly bound. The danger of such beauty is enchantment without awakening; the gift is awakening through enchantment.

"Go again and again to the pīr." Among the clearest teachings in the poem. The heart is a garden, but it does not bloom by wishing. It needs paiwand — grafting — meaning initiation, discipline, and the patient nearness of a guide. One visit is not enough; the verb is damme damme, breath after breath, repeatedly.

"Whoever leaps into this burning pan… becomes fānī fī-Allāh." This is the heart of the kalām. Fanā fī-Allāh is the dissolving of the ego-self in God. The image of the burning pan (tāv) is direct from Wahab Khar's own trade as a cauldron-maker — the seeker is not gently warmed but plunged into the same fire he himself once tempered metal in. The line tas no marun chhui — for him there is no death — does not deny mortality; it says that what dies is the limited nafs, while the soul is taken up into a larger life.

"Grow wings… cross the Bridge of Sirāt." Sufi poetry refuses to separate love from ethics. The eschatological image of the bridge over hellfire becomes a present moral task: the wings are grown now, through right action, so that the crossing — at death and at every moment that resembles death — becomes possible.

"Through breath, lotuses will open within." A striking image. Damm here is not ordinary breathing but the inner spiritual practice of breath-remembrance (dhikr-e-khafī, the silent invocation tied to the breath). The lotuses (pampōsh) opening inside refer to the awakening of the subtle centres — what other Sufi traditions call the laṭā'if. After this opening, the Beloved is not merely longed for; He is consciously beheld.

The closing signature. Abdul Wahābo roz bar tal — "remain at the threshold." Wahab Khar ends not in arrival but in waiting. The takhalluṣ is not triumphant; it is the humility of one who, after singing all this, still places himself outside the door. That posture — at the threshold, still learning — is perhaps the truest teaching of the kalām.

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