Coming out of the second enclave, you see a little
forest in the Garden. It is dense but well-kempt and is teeming
with variety. This is the third enclave, the Call of the Marching
Bell. It was opened to public in 1924 but contains many items older
After visiting two enclaves it is now the time to
know the architect. Hence this enclave gives you a biography of
his mind. It is open on one side, so that you may step outside the
Garden and follow the downhill track to the point from where Iqbal
first saw this hilltop where he was going to build the Garden. The
Preface, contributed by a close friend, is a shortcut to that spot.
Ten thousand people are listening to Iqbal singing
a long poem in a fundraiser. Those who can understand and those
who cannot are equally moved. Spellbound, they make generous donations.
This is how Iqbal emerged at first. He was a voice
of the masses equally acceptable to all segments of society. In
Persian, his name meant ‘Glory’.
The highest mountain of the world stands guard over
the Poet’s homeland, India. Its snow-clad peaks are intimations
of immortality and the valleys a playground for the elements.
The stream flowing down from it is a reminder of how Goethe symbolized
the purpose of Islam. The Poet is haunted by the sound of the
waterfall when night sets in.
“O Himalayas!” He can speak to the
mountain since his heart can communicate with Nature. “Tell
us a tale from those bygone days when the grandparents of humanity
settled down in your foothills. Amaze us by telling us something
of that simple life unstained by the rouge of conditioning. Yes,
O imagination! Show us those days and nights again. Turn back,
O Wheel of Time!”
Mirza Ghalib, the poet who inspired Iqbal’s
teacher Maulvi Mir Hasan, lies buried with the civilization to
which he belonged. Even then he may show the expanse of human
imagination to any who have the courage to confront the narrow
breadth of their own.
Iqbal finds him to be the counterpart of Goethe
in many ways but there is one big difference. He says to Ghalib,
“Alas! You rest in the ruins of the devastated Delhi while
your fellow-singer sleeps in the Garden of Weimer.”