मुझको अपने बैंक की किताब दीजिए
देश की तबाही का हिसाब दीजिए
Ordinary words can make a strong emotional impact.
arz hai:
mujhko apne bank ki kitāb dījiye
desh kī tabāhi ka hisāb dījiye
These lines are by Manzar Bhopali (b. 1959).
tabāhi: destruction, ruin
hisāb: accounts, balance sheet
A loose translation:
give me your bank passbook
give an accounting of the nation’s destruction
This is a demand for accountability. There are two ledgers – one is a leader’s private ledger, quietly filling up; the other is the nation’s ledger of ruin. These two accounts are not separate – one has been built on the other. By asking for the passbook (bank ki kitāb), the speaker is really saying: show us whose account the country’s ruin ended up funding.
The choice of mujhko (me) over the collective hamko (us) shifts the tone – it is not just a group chant, but a direct, courageous confrontation from an individual citizen.
Some more lines from the poem:
gāñv gāñv zaKhmi fazāeñ ho gayīñ
zehrīlī ghar ki havāeñ ho gayīñ
mahngī sharāb se davāeñ ho gayīñ
jāiye awām ko javāb dījiye
desh kī tabāhi ka hisāb dījiye
log jo Gharīb the haqīr ho gaye
āp to Gharīb se amīr ho gaye
yāni ki huzūr be-zamīr ho gaye
Khud ko be-zamīri ka Khitāb dījiye
desh kī tabāhi ka hisāb dījiye
zaKhmi: wounded
zehrīlī: poisonous
awām: pl. of ām (as in ām ādmi), the public
haqīr: insignificant, contemptible
zamīr: conscience, moral sense
Khitāb: a title
A loose translation:
in every village, there are wounds in the atmosphere
in every home, there’s poison in the air
medicines became costlier than liquor
go to the people and answer
give an accounting of the nation’s destruction
those who were poor were treated as worthless
while you rose from poverty and became wealthy
the truth is, sir, you became conscience-less
give yourself the title of shameless-ness
give an accounting of the nation’s destruction
The plain language hits hard because of its vocabulary. bank, kitāb, hisāb, davāeñ – these are words from the everyday life of a common citizen, not the elevated diction of classical verse. The poem never has to raise its voice, the refrain – desh kī tabāhi ka hisāb dījiye – does the escalating for it, returning after every fresh image of harm like a demand that won’t be dropped. That restraint is it’s power, and it’s why the line works as well shouted at a rally as it does read on the page.
