My Own True Family in Urdu/Hindi
About the poet
Edward James ‘Ted’ Hughes (1930-1998) was a noted English poet, and had been the Poet Laureate of Great Britain from 1984 till his death. His famous works include Birthday Letters, The Hawk in the Rain and Tales from Ovid.
Edward James ‘Ted’ Hughes (1930-1998) ek mashhoor English shayar/kavi the aur 1984 se apni maut tak Great Britain ka Poet Laureate rahe. Uske mashhoor kaamon mein Birthday Letters, The Hawk in the Rain, aur Tales from Ovid shamil hain.
About the text
The poem describes the magical experience of a young child in an oakwood, and indicates that human beings and trees should thrive as a single family. It focuses strongly on the need to protect our natural environment for the welfare of man- kind.
Ye nazm/kavita ek chhote bachay ke oakwood (baloot ke jungle) mein jaadoo jese tajurbe ko bayaan karti hai, aur is baat ki taraf ishara karti hai ke insano aur darakhton ko ek he khandan ki tarah jeena chahiye. Ye insani zindagi k acchayi ke liye hamare qudrati mahaul ko mehfooz rakhnay ki zarurat par zor deti hai.
The text
Once I crept in an oakwood-I was looking for a stag.
I met an old woman there-all knobbly stick and rag.
She said: ‘I have your secret here inside my little bag.’
Ek dafa main oakwood mein ahista ahista aage gaya—main ek baarah singha dhund raha tha. Wahan meri mulaqat ek burhi aurat se hui—jo aik ghundeedaar chhadee ke sath thi aur phata purana kapda ohray hui thi. Usne kaha: ‘Mere pass tumhara raaz is choti se theli mein hai
Then she began to cackle and I began to quake.
She opened up her little bag and I came twice awake-
Surrounded by a staring tribe and me tied to a stake.
Phir wo hansne lagi aur main kanpne laga. Usne apni choti si theli kholi aur main do martaba jag gaya—Main charo taraf se ek ghoorne wale qabeelay se gir gaya aur aunhone mujhe ek stake se baandha hua tha.
They said: ‘We are the oak-trees and your own true family.
We are chopped down, we are torn up, you do not blink an eye.
Unless you make a promise now-now you are going to die.’
Unhone kaha: ‘Hum oak ke darakht/ped hain aur tumhari asal khandaan. Hum kat diye gaye hain, hum ukhaad diye gaye hain, aur tum palak nahi jhapkate. Jab tak tum wada nahi karte abhi—tum marne wale ho.’
‘Whenever you see an oak-tree felled, swear now you will plant two.
Unless you swear the black oak bark will wrinkle over you
And root you among the oaks where you were born but never grew.’
‘Jab kabhi tumhe koi oak ka darakht girta hua dikhe, wada karo ke tum do lagao ge. Jab tak tum wada nahi karte kaalay oak ki chhaal tum par jhuriyan dal de gi aur tumhe oak ke darmiyan jarain jamayegi jahan tum paida huye magar kabhi nahi bare.’
This was my dream beneath the boughs, the dream that altered me.
When I came out of the oakwood, back to human company,
My walk was the walk of a human child, but my heart was a tree.
Ye mera khwab tha shaakhon ke neeche, woh khwab jisne mujhe badal diya. Jab main oakwood se nikla, insano ki mehfil mein wapas aaya, meri chalan ek insani bachay ki thi, magar mera dil ek darakht/ped tha.
