بلھیا کی جاناں میں کون Bulla Ki Jaana Main Kaun — Bulleh, What Do I Know Of Who I Am

I am not a believer in the mosque, nor am I in the ways of unbelief. I am not the pure among the polluted, nor Moses, nor Pharaoh. Bulleh, what do I know of who I am?

He starts by refusing both sides of the largest division available, faith and unbelief, and then both sides of the oldest confrontation in scripture. Pairing Moses with Pharaoh gives away what he is doing. He will not take the good side either. Being the righteous one is just as much a position as being the tyrant, and he is declining all positions.

مومن momin

a believer

مسیت maseet

mosque, in Punjabi

کفر kufar

unbelief

پلیت paleet

polluted, impure

I am not in the Vedas or the holy books, not in cannabis or in wine. I am not among the drunkards ruined by drink, not in waking and not in sleeping. Bulleh, what do I know of who I am?

Scripture and intoxicants go into the same line, which is the joke and also the argument. Both are roads people take to get somewhere, and he is on neither. Then waking and sleeping, which between them cover every state a person can be in, and he is in neither of those either. The categories keep getting harder to escape and he keeps escaping them.

بید bed

the Vedas

بھنگ bhang

cannabis

رند rind

a drinker, one careless of religious law

سوݨ saun

sleeping, in Punjabi

Not in happiness, not in sorrow; I am not in the impure or the pure. I am not of water, not of earth, not of fire and not of air. Bulleh, what do I know of who I am?

Here he leaves the human categories and starts refusing the physical ones. Water, earth, fire and air are the four elements everything is supposed to be made of, so denying all four leaves nothing he could be made of. And the pairs keep working the same way: joy and grief, filth and purity. Always both ends, never a preference.

غمناکی ghamnaki

sorrowfulness

آبی aabi

of water

خاکی khaki

of earth

آتش aatish

fire

پوݨ paun

air, wind

I am not an Arab, nor of Lahore, not an Indian, nor from the city of Nagaur. Not a Hindu, not a Turk of Peshawar. I do not live in Nadaun. Bulleh, what do I know of who I am?

Now it is the passport. He works from the largest identity down to a named small town, refusing each in turn, and the descent into detail is what makes it funny. It is one thing to say you are not an Arab, another to bother denying Nadaun. Turk is the ordinary Punjabi word for a Muslim, so Hindu and Turk between them cover everyone he lives among.

نگوری nagauri

of Nagaur, a town in Rajasthan

ترک turak

a Turk — in Punjabi usage, a Muslim

ندون nadaun

Nadaun, a town in the Punjab hills

I have not found the secret of religion, nor am I born of Adam and Eve. I have not taken a name for myself, not in sitting still and not in moving. Bulleh, what do I know of who I am?

Two large refusals and one small one. He gives up on religion having a secret he could find, then denies being descended from the first couple, which is a denial of being human in the ordinary way. Then comes the smallest refusal of the three: he never gave himself a name. A man writing under a takhallus knows exactly what that costs to say.

بھید bhet

a secret, a mystery

دھرانا dharana

to give or assume a name

بھوݨ bhaun

moving about, wandering

First and last, I know only myself. I recognise no other second. There is nobody wiser than I am. Bulleh Shah — who is this, standing here? Bulleh, what do I know of who I am?

The ending refuses to resolve. He claims to know only himself and to recognise no second thing anywhere, which in Sufi terms is the whole of the doctrine, stated as flatly as it can be. Then he calls himself by name and asks who is standing there. So the man who has just claimed there is nothing but himself cannot identify the one person present. The refrain lands one last time and answers nothing.

اول آخر avval aakhar

first and last

پچھاننا pachhanna

to recognise

سیانا siyana

wise, clever