From Ruin to Rapture: An Apologetic Reflection on Nazrul’s Pralaẏōllāsa and Āja Sr̥ṣṭi Sukhēra Ullāsē

by Bulbul-e-Bangal

There is a malaise in our hearts that we dare not name. We who have borne the standard of Islam through decades, even centuries, of defeat, through a narrative of failed revolutions, broken promises, and the gradual erosion of our civilisational confidence, find ourselves today caught between rage and numbness. We may indeed recite the proper supplications, participate in the prescribed gatherings, and speak the requisite words about Allah’s inscrutable wisdom and our unfailing submission to His decree. Yet privately, in the chambers of our souls, we rage against the divine order and we wrestle with the terrible fatigue we experience in bearing the burden of this order. This is the paralysis, existential as much as social, that follows the sense of repeated woundedness: the spiritual apathy that settles over a community that has learnt to expect only disappointment, to brace itself for failure, to armour itself against hope. We have become experts at rationalising our defeats, by presenting ourselves as masters of the theology of patience (sabr) and scholars of the subtle wisdom (mā‘rifat) that lies hidden in loss, longing, and lament. If too much of a good thing turns out to be bad, we may have paid a heavy price for our incessant theologizing of every mundane sorrow: we have forgotten how to feel, how to create, how to let our hearts break open with grief and joy.

It is here, in this precise spiritual predicament, that we might turn to an unexpected source: the revolutionary Bengali poet Kazi Nazrul Islam, whose voice emerged from within the anti-colonial crucibles of early twentieth-century Bengal and earned him the notorious title of ‘Rebel Poet’. Writing in the aftermath of the Khilafat movement’s collapse and the fragmentation of Muslim political unity as well as the dissipation of visions of inter-communal solidarity, he faced a crisis remarkably similar to our own: how do we respond when the familiar forms of resistance are failing us, when our trusted leaders have disappointed us, when our political dreams have crumbled into the dust of transactional calculations? Rather than retreat into theological abstractions or political analysis, Nazrul offered something more fundamental: the living voice of poetry that invites us to consider how to transform ruin into renewal and how to reclaim joyfulness as a sacred practice. In two remarkable poems, Pralaẏōllāsa (Destructive Ecstasy) and Āja sr̥ṣṭi sukhēra ullāsē (Today in Creation’s Rapturous Joy), he presents us with a vision that is neither the uneducated optimism of those who have never truly suffered nor the hollow consolation of those who cannot face reality. These are the words of a Muslim who understood that Allah’s mercy flows through both destruction and creation, through both the terrifying lightning that splits the sky and the effortless laughter that breaks from a grateful heart. My translations of both poems are available in the appendices (Appendix A and Appendix B).

‘You all raise the victory cry! For flies the new dawn’s banner through Nor’easters’ thunderstorm.’

With these opening lines of Pralaẏōllāsa, Nazrul does something extraordinary: he commands us to celebrate even in the midst of cosmic destruction. This is not the hollow optimism of those who have never truly suffered the pangs of loss, nor the callous denial of those who cannot face reality. This is the profound spiritual intelligence of one who recognises that Allah’s creative power may work through what initially appears to be annihilation, for the purgative and the productive are deeply intertwined. The poem unfolds as a vision of universal collapse; but this is a collapse that is shot through with divine purpose. The ‘untold destruction’ that comes is ‘dance-crazed in ruin’s trance,’ suggesting that even cosmic dissolution follows a rhythm, serves a pattern, and participates in a greater choreography of creation and re-creation. The formidable destroyer who appears is indeed terrifying, but he is also magnificent: ‘Twelve suns’ fire blazes in his dreadful eye-corners’ glow,’ and ‘Upon his vast arms rests the dear world’s seat afar.’ This is not mere poetic flourish. Nazrul is teaching us to see the spiritual architecture of collapse as teleologically oriented to the arrival of a new dawn. When he writes that a ‘drop from his eye / Makes seven seas sigh,’ he reveals how divine emotion, even the terrible emotion of necessary destruction, becomes the source of new life. The tears of the destroyer are not tears of cruelty but tears of mercy, for they water the ground from which the new world will grow.

The poem insists:

‘Fear not, fear not, fear not, fear not! The ruin’s hour draws near / To death-bound souls brings destruction’s life-power here./ Now at great night’s end / Shall dawn ascend / In mercy’s form descend!‘

This is the mercy of collapse which comes not to end life but to end what was preventing life. The ‘death-bound souls’ are not destroyed by the ruin; rather, they are liberated by it. Their false securities, their spiritual rigidities, their fear-based attachments are what will perish in the cosmic conflagration, leaving space for something unprecedented to emerge. The darkness was never permanent. The collapse was never final. Allah’s boundless mercy works through both the destruction of what has outlived its purpose and the gentle emergence of what He has prepared for us beyond our current presuppositions and predilections.

If Pralaẏōllāsa teaches us to find Allah’s mercy in collapse, then Āja sr̥ṣṭi sukhēra ullāsē can teach us something equally radical: that human joy itself is a form of worship of the divine reality, that the celebration of Allah’s creation is not a distraction from spiritual seriousness but its deepest expression.

‘In creation’s rapturous joy, / My face laughs, my eyes laugh, / my surging blood laughs.‘

This is not the joy of those who forget Allah, but the joy of those who remember Him so completely that they recognise His signature in every moment of beauty, every surge of vitality, every experience of aesthetic pleasure. When Nazrul writes ‘Comes true laughter, comes true tears, / Freedom arrived, true bonds appear,’ he reveals the spiritual paradox at the heart of authentic joy: freedom does not involve escaping reality but grows through engaging with reality so fully that we discover its divine source in every iota of our human existence. The poem is dense with the imagery of natural abundance: seas swelling, skies trembling, winds taking flight, flowers blooming, dewdrops laughing on grass. This is the recognition that Allah’s creative power is so vast, so generous, so inexhaustibly fecund that it spills over into every corner of existence. To celebrate this abundance is a form of being in a state of shukr continually.

Perhaps most importantly, this joy is not private or individualistic. The poem repeatedly returns to the theme of voices joining together, of collective celebration, of shared recognition. ‘Their tales I tell, / My eyes do swell’ points towards a congregational joy that includes and transforms even suffering, and finds ways to honour the pain of others whilst still affirming the goodness of existence. This is not the shallow joy of those who ignore world-enmeshed difficulty, but the profound joy of those who can comprehend such difficulty within a larger vision of divine mercy and creativity.

When we read these two poems together, they offer us something our Muslim generation desperately needs: a practical vision for spiritual and cultural renewal that honours both the reality of collapse in a precarious world and the possibility of joy in that very world that remains canopied by Allah’s presence. From Nazrul’s comparative vision, we can extract three principles that speak directly to our current predicament.

• The failures of recent decades, the cultural confusion of our communities, and the spiritual aridity that many of us experience are not signs that Allah has abandoned the Ummah. They are rather signs that Allah is preparing the Ummah for something we cannot yet imagine. Like a farmer who burns a field only to enrich the soil for the next planting, Allah sometimes allows the collapse of our familiar forms in order to make space for unprecedented forms of growth. Our task is not to construct ever-new liturgies for dwelling on loss, but to cultivate the spiritual vision to recognise divine mercy even in the experience of loss.

• Somewhere in our recent history, many Muslim communities developed an aversion to beauty, creativity, and celebration. We began to equate spiritual seriousness with emotional constriction, Islamic authenticity with cultural austerity. Nazrul himself was castigated by some contemporaries for presenting the message of Islam through musical media. But Nazrul reminds us that Allah created us with the capacity for joy, filled the world with sources of aesthetic pleasure, and designed the human heart to expand with gratitude and celebration. To deny this capacity is a mark not of piety but of ingratitude. To cultivate this capacity is not a distraction from worship but a dimension of worship we have neglected.

• Third and perhaps most crucially, both poems emphasise collective voice, shared rhythm, communal celebration. ‘You all raise the victory cry!’ is not a call to cultivate individual spirituality but to generate collective action. The joy of creation becomes most powerful when it is recognised and celebrated together. This suggests that our renewal will come not only through better arguments or more sophisticated political strategies (although these modalities are indeed vital), but through the recovery of practices that bind hearts together, that is, practices of shared beauty, communal courage, collective hope.

The vision that emerges is both simple and profound: we revive the Ummah by learning to die well and to live fully. The art of living is the art of dying. We die to what is false, enervated, and timid in our current forms. We act with the courage of being that is expressed by those who know that our failures are not final and our successes are not ours alone. The victory cry that Nazrul calls for is not the cry of those who have already won, but the cry of those who trust that victory is woven into the very fabric of existence: Allah’s relentless mercy is larger than our contingent defeats.

Appendices

Appendix A. Original Bengali text and English translation of ‘Pralaẏōllāsa’ (‘Destructive Ecstasy’) by Kazi Nazrul Islam. The poem was written in 1921 and later gained popularity as a revolutionary song under the title ‘Tōrā sab joydhvani kar’ (‘You All Raise the Victory Cry’). It was published in Agnibīnā (1922), Nazrul’s first and most iconic poetry collection. The translation presented here captures the imperative tone and apocalyptic fervor that animate the poem’s call for rupture, revolution, and collective awakening.

Original	Translation
তোরা সব জয়ধ্বনি কর! ঐনূতনের কেতন ওড়ে কালবোশেখির ঝড় তোরা সব জয়ধ্বনি কর!!	You all raise the victory cry! For flies the new dawn’s banner through Nor’easters’ thunderstorm Victory cry, you all raise!!
আস্‌ল এবার অনাগত প্রলয়–নেশায় নৃত্য–পাগল, সিন্ধু–পারের সিংহ–দ্বারে ধমক হেনে ভাঙল আগল! মৃত্যু–গহন অন্ধকুপে, মহাকালের চন্ড–রূপে ধূম্র–ধূপে বজ্র–শিখার মশাল জ্বেলে আসছে ভয়ংকর! ওরে ওই হাসছে ভয়ংকর! তোরা সব জয়ধ্বনি কর!!	Comes now the untold destruction-mad, dance-crazed in ruin’s trance, At the lion-gates beyond the seas breaks the bolt with thunder-lance! In death’s deep pit, in Time’s fit, through smoke and fire-grit Lights the lightning-torch, comes the formidable! Behold! the formidable! Victory cry, you all raise!!
দ্বাদশ রবির বহ্নি–জ্বালা ভয়াল তাহার নয়ন–কটায়, দিগন্তরের কাঁদন লুটায় পিঙ্গল তার ত্রস্ত জটায়! বিন্দু তাহার নয়ন –জলে সপ্ত মহাসিন্ধু দোলে কপোল–তলে! বিশ্ব–মায়ের আসন তারই বিপুল বাহুর ‘পর–হাঁকে ঐ ‘জয় প্রলয়ংকর!’ তোরা সব জয়ধ্বনি কর!!	Twelve suns’ fire blazes in his dreadful eye-corners’ glow, The horizons’ weeping tumbles through his auburn matted flow! A drop from his eye Makes seven seas sigh Beneath his face on high! Upon his vast arms rests the dear world’s seat afar— He calls ‘Hail tribulation!’ Victory cry, you all raise!!
মাভৈঃ, ওরে মাভৈঃ, মাভৈঃ, মাভৈঃ জগৎ জুড়ে প্রলয় এবার ঘনিয়ে আসে জরায়–মরা মুমূর্ষুদের প্রাণ–লুকানো ঐ বিনাশে। এবার মহা–নিশার শেষে আসবে ঊষা অরুণ হেসে করুণ্ বেশে! দিগম্বরের জটায় লুটায় শিশু–চাঁদের কর! আলো তার ভরবে এবার ঘর! তোরা সব জয়ধ্বনি কর!!	Fear not, fear not, fear not, fear not! The ruin’s hour draws near To death-bound souls brings destruction’s life-power here. Now at great night’s end Shall dawn ascend In mercy’s form descend! In the sky-clad one’s locks plays the child-moon’s ray! His light shall fill our homes this day! Victory cry, you all must raise!!

Appendix B. Original Bengali text and English translation of ‘Āja sr̥ṣṭi sukhēra ullāsē’ (‘Today in Creation’s Rapturous Joy’) by Kazi Nazrul Islam. This celebrated poem first appeared in Nazrul’s poetry collection Dōlanchāmpā, published in 1335 Bengali Era (1928 CE). The table presents the original Bangla text alongside a modern English translation to support close comparative analysis of affect, voice, and poetics in the context of cultural creation and aesthetic affirmation.

Original	Translation
আজ সৃষ্টি সুখের উল্লাসে– মোর মুখ হাসে মোর চোখ হাসে মোর টগবগিয়ে খুন হাসে আজ সৃষ্টি-সুখের উল্লাসে।	In creation’s rapturous joy, My face laughs, my eyes laugh, my surging blood laughs Today in creation’s rapturous joy.
আজকে আমার রুদ্ধ প্রাণের পল্বলে– বান ডেকে ঐ জাগল জোয়ার দুয়ার–ভাঙা কল্লোলে। আসল হাসি, আসল কাঁদন মুক্তি এলো, আসল বাঁধন, মুখ ফুটে আজ বুক ফাটে মোর তিক্ত দুখের সুখ আসে। ঐ রিক্ত বুকের দুখ আসে – আজ সৃষ্টি-সুখের উল্লাসে!	In my fettered soul’s depths The flood calls forth, waking tides of boundless tumult. Comes true laughter, comes true tears, Freedom arrived, true bonds appear, My lips burst open, my heart breaks apart, bitter sorrow’s sweetness flows. That barren heart’s anguish flows, Today in creation’s rapturous joy!
আসল উদাস, শ্বসল হুতাশ সৃষ্টি-ছাড়া বুক-ফাটা শ্বাস, ফুললো সাগর দুললো আকাশ ছুটলো বাতাস, গগন ফেটে চক্র ছোটে, পিণাক-পাণির শূল আসে! ঐ ধূমকেতু আর উল্কাতে চায় সৃষ্টিটাকে উল্টাতে, আজ তাই দেখি আর বক্ষে আমার লক্ষ বাগের ফুল হাসে আজ সৃষ্টি-সুখের উল্লাসে!	Comes true despair, breathes true sighs, Beyond creation’s flow, the heart gasps and dies, Seas swell, skies tremble, winds take flight, Heaven splits, wheels race, the spear strikes bright! In that comet and meteor’s blazing light Seeks to overturn creation’s write, Today within my heart thousand blooms do laugh, Today in creation’s rapturous joy!
আজ হাসল আগুন, শ্বসল ফাগুন, মদন মারে খুন-মাখা তূণ পলাশ অশোক শিমুল ঘায়েল ফাগ লাগে ঐ দিক-বাসে গো দিগ বালিকার পীতবাসে; আজ রঙ্গন এলো রক্তপ্রাণের অঙ্গনে মোর চারপাশে আজ সৃষ্টি সুখের উল্লাসে!	Today fire laughs, spring draws breath, Cupid shoots his blood-stained death, Palash, Ashoka, Shimul—all flowers wounded, The festival hues stain the very air, Behold the sky-maiden’s golden wear! Today color came to my blood-soul’s court around me everywhere Today in creation’s rapturous joy!
আজ কপট কোপের তূণ ধরি, ঐ আসল যত সুন্দরী, কারুর পায়ে বুক ডলা খুন, কেউ বা আগুন, কেউ মানিনী চোখের জলে বুক ভাসে! তাদের প্রাণের ‘বুক-ফাটে-তাও-মুখ-ফোটে-না’ বাণীর বীণা মোর পাশে ঐ তাদের কথা শোনাই তাদের আমার চোখে জল আসে আজ সৃষ্টি সুখের উল্লাসে	Today I grasp false anger’s bow, Behold! all beauties approach me so— Some crush hearts like flowing blood, some blaze like flame, Some float hearts in tears of shame! Their heart-breaks-yet-lips-speak-not lyre beside me plays, Their tales I tell, My eyes do swell Today in creation’s rapturous joy!
আজ আসল ঊষা, সন্ধ্যা, দুপুর, আসল নিকট, আসল সুদূর আসল বাধা-বন্ধ-হারা ছন্দ-মাতন পাগলা-গাজন-উচ্ছ্বাসে! ঐ আসল আশিন শিউলি শিথিল হাসল শিশির দুবঘাসে আজ সৃষ্টি-সুখের উল্লাসে!	Today comes true dawn, dusk, and noon, Comes true distance, nearness soon, Comes the barrier-breaking, bond-free rhythm’s wild dance In frenzied festival’s trance! Behold! autumn’s shiuli jasmine falls so loose, Dewdrops laugh on tender grass profuse Today in creation’s rapturous joy!
আজ জাগল সাগর, হাসল মরু কাঁপল ভূধর, কানন তরু বিশ্ব-ডুবান আসল তুফান, উছলে উজান ভৈরবীদের গান ভাসে, মোর ডাইনে শিশু সদ্যোজাত জরায়-মরা বামপাশে। মন ছুটছে গো আজ বল্গাহারা অশ্ব যেন পাগলা সে। আজ সৃষ্টি-সুখের উল্লাসে! আজ সৃষ্টি-সুখের উল্লাসে!!	Today wakes ocean, laughs desert, Tremble mountains, forest alert, World-drowning tempest true uprises, surging high, awe-inspiring song floats through the sky, To my right a newborn child, to my left the aged dying.Runs my heart like bridleless steed gone mad. In this very day, the creation’s rapturous joy! In this very day, the creation’s rapturous joy!!