The Barren Field and the Lamp of Hope

Nations are not measured in the silken hours of ease, but in the sombre caverns of trial. It is in those dismal moments, when despair creeps upon the heart, when the eyes lose sight of their cherished dreams, and when the lamp of hope flickers perilously low within the breast, that the true stature of a people is revealed. Our own history bears the scars of such ordeals: shackled in the chains of servitude, bruised by the tragedy of Partition, ensnared by the intrigues of foreign powers.

Yet today we gather beneath the echo of a voice that first rang out a century ago, and which, undimmed by time, still resounds with vigour. That voice is none other than Muhammad Iqbal—poet of the East, sage of the ummah, and the solitary dervish whose words awakened a slumbering people and breathed into them the dream of liberty.

It was he who told a subject race that dawn follows even the blackest night; that after despair, the sun of hope must rise. At each dark juncture, a voice, a vision, a fervour lifted us to our feet. That voice, that dream, that fervour—was Iqbal’s summons.
نہیں ہے ناامید اقبال اپنی کشتِ ویراں سے
ذرا نم ہو تو یہ مٹی بڑی زرخیز ہے ساقی
Iqbal never despairs of his desolate field;
A little moisture, and this soil shall yield abundant harvest, O Cupbearer.

Iqbal’s message still traverses the centuries to startle us from our complacency. These are no mere verses; they are a philosophy, a clarion call, a lamp of hope that casts its glow across the thickest night of despair. His words remind us that though our land and our people may seem barren, yet if faith and action fall upon this soil like rain, the desert may blossom into a garden.
Iqbal drew a clear line between despair and hope. It is for this reason that the Qur’ān declares:
وَلَا تَيْأَسُوا مِن رَّوْحِ ٱللَّهِ ۖ إِنَّهُ لَا يَيْأَسُ مِن رَّوْحِ ٱللَّهِ إِلَّا ٱلْقَوْمُ ٱلْكَافِرُونَ
“Do not despair of the mercy of Allah. Verily none despairs of the mercy of Allah except a disbelieving people.”

Inspired by this divine word, Iqbal affirmed:
نہیں ہے ناامید اقبال اپنی کشتِ ویراں سے
ذرا نم ہو تو یہ مٹی بڑی زرخیز ہے ساقی
Thus, despair is the poison of the soul; it is death itself. The despairing man ceases to act, ceases to dream. Hope, on the contrary, is the very sign of faith. It is life. The bird, after laying her eggs, weaves her nest in hope; the farmer casts his seed into the furrow and waters it in hope. Without hope, life would grind to a halt.

Iqbal’s conviction was that the Muslim ummah might indeed suffer temporary eclipse, yet if the lamps of faith, selfhood, and action were kindled, the community would surely rise again.
What, then, is meant by Iqbal’s image of the “desolate field” (kisht-e-vīrān)?

نہیں ہے ناامید اقبال اپنی کشتِ ویراں سے
It is no mere tract of land; it is the symbol of the Muslim condition. The metaphor operates on three levels. First, on the personal plane: the barren field is the human heart and mind when sunk in heedlessness—empty of purpose, devoid of resolve, bereft of selfhood. Here, the seeds lie dormant, but without the water of faith and the care of discipline, nothing takes root. Iqbal’s plea was that each soul should rediscover its khudi (selfhood), and irrigate its spirit with belief until the wasteland turns fertile once more.
Hence his call:
خودی کو کر بلند اتنا کہ ہر تقدیر سے پہلے
خدا بندے سے خود پوچھے، بتا تیری رضا کیا ہے
Raise the self to such heights, that before ordaining fate,
God Himself shall ask the man: tell Me, what is thy desire?

On the collective plane, the barren field becomes the metaphor of a subjugated people, stripped of identity, bereft of knowledge, unity dissolved, dependent on the decrees of others. Iqbal had seen in his own time three profound wounds: the fall of the Ottoman Caliphate, the imperial partition of the Arab lands, and the subjugation of Iran, Afghanistan, and the Indian subcontinent. Broken, scattered, and enchained, the Muslim world appeared to him as a field laid waste. Yet still he did not despair.
Thus, he declared:
ایک ہوں مسلم حرم کی پاسبانی کے لئے
نیل کے ساحل سے لے کر تابخاکِ کاشغر
Let all Muslims be one for the defence of the Sanctuary,
From the banks of the Nile to the frontiers of Kashgar.

Iqbal remained steadfast, for he knew that should the Muslim rediscover his roots—through faith, knowledge, and unity—the ummah would ascend once more. Hence his conviction:
افراد کے ہاتھوں میں ہے اقوام کی تقدیر
ہر فرد ہے ملت کے مقدر کا ستارا
The destiny of nations lies in the hands of individuals;
Each person is a star in the constellation of his people’s fate.

For Iqbal, the desolation was but temporary. The soil of this ummah, though parched, remained inherently fertile. Should faith, knowledge, and action fall upon it like rain, it would flourish anew. His message, therefore, was plain: let every man awaken his selfhood, and the entire destiny of a nation may be transformed.

If we cast our gaze upon the present hour, the condition of our nation and of the Muslim ummah bears an uncanny resemblance to that third and most momentous layer of Iqbal’s metaphor of the “barren field.” For what do we behold? A community entangled in servitude, torn asunder by division, paralysed by ignorance, and weighed down by helplessness. The soil of our national life seems drained of fertility; the field of our collective existence appears desolate.

And yet Iqbal reminds us: the land is not barren in its essence; it lacks but the vital moisture—the nam—the dew of faith, the water of knowledge, the sustenance of sacrifice, the irrigation of unity, honour, selfhood, and purposeful action. Let these eight elements descend upon our soil, and the withered field shall once again stand verdant and fruitful.

Honourable audience, history bears witness. When the Muslims first entered Andalusia, they were but a small band; yet by the light of their faith and knowledge they steered Europe for centuries. When Ṣalāḥ al-Dīn displayed courage, Jerusalem was delivered. When Sir Syed Ahmad Khan kindled the lamp of learning, the youth of a subject race awoke to consciousness. In every case, some hand had sown the barren field with the moisture of hope.

Iqbal too dreamt such a dream—the dream of Pakistan. In his Allahabad Address of 1930, he proclaimed that the Muslims must have a land of their own. Many scoffed, many mocked, dismissing the idea as impossible. Yet Iqbal’s faith sustained him:
نہیں ہے ناامید اقبال اپنی کشتِ ویراں سے
Iqbal never despairs of his desolate field.
And scarcely a decade later, under the leadership of Quaid-i-Azam, that vision stood incarnate in the map of the world.

Iqbal pinned his highest hopes upon the youth. Time and again he declared:
ستاروں سے آگے جہاں اور بھی ہیں
ابھی عشق کے امتحان اور بھی ہیں
Beyond the stars lie other worlds;
The trials of love are not yet ended.

For the youth, he taught, the goal is not circumscribed by earth; even the heavens may be but stepping stones. He addressed them as falcons—shaheens—who dwell in lofty heights, whose gaze is keen, who disdain the carrion upon which lesser birds subsist. If the youth would but recognise their selfhood, squander not their hours, and equip themselves with knowledge and skill, then the desolate field would blossom into a garden.

Thus, for the youth there lies a universe of possibilities. Though bent under the yoke of servitude, if they but awaken to their khudi—their true essence—then the world itself may rest at their feet. For Iqbal, khudi was identity, faith the fountain of power, and love of the Prophet ﷺ the very essence of life.

And what greater testimony to Iqbal’s refusal to despair than this: he dreamt of a free homeland where Muslims could shape their lives according to their civilisation and faith. That dream became reality. The world saw it in the birth of Pakistan. Why? Because one poet lifted his people from despair and taught them that their soil was fertile—that they need only discover their own potential.

Yet, my friends, once again our condition is grievous. Political turmoil, economic crisis, external pressures and internal weaknesses—once again our field appears barren. And were Iqbal amongst us, would he not say again:
نہیں ہے ناامید اقبال اپنی کشتِ ویراں سے
Yes, Pakistan may be beset with trials; but if this nation rises in faith and labour, no earthly power can bend it. The barren field is not barren in its essence; the land remains fertile, waiting for the moisture of belief and action.

The greatest cause of desolation, Iqbal reminds us, is estrangement from knowledge. The decline of Andalusia began the very hour Muslims turned their backs upon books and inquiry. Hence his admonition:
سبق پھر پڑھ صداقت کا، عدالت کا، شجاعت کا
لیا جائے گا تجھ سے کام دنیا کی امامت کا
Relearn the lesson of truth, of justice, of courage;
For the leadership of the world shall once more be required of thee.

Today Pakistan is convulsed by discord, political strife, economic distress, and foreign constraint. The people sink into despair; some even whisper that the nation has no future. Yet in such a climate, Iqbal’s words remind us: the soil of this land is not barren. This nation is rich in potential, fertile in talent. It requires but a touch of moisture—faith, honesty, sacrifice, and unity—to transform it.

Despair not, therefore. The country can emerge from its present crisis, provided we cleanse our ranks, banish selfishness, and summon the collective courage to advance. Thus did Iqbal proclaim:
افراد کے ہاتھوں میں ہے اقوام کی تقدیر
ہر فرد ہے ملت کے مقدر کا ستارا
The destiny of nations lies in the hands of individuals;
Each person is a star in the firmament of his people’s fate.

The question remains: what must we do to overcome our present ills? The answer lies not in timidity, but in swift and steadfast return to faith and the Qur’ān, in earnest devotion, in the pursuit of knowledge and research, in endowing our youth with purpose, in trusting our own resources, in embracing unity and concord, in rekindling the spirit of labour and sacrifice.

Remember always: division breeds defeat, and no garden ever grows without toil. This, then, is the nam—the vital moisture—that will turn our barren field into a flourishing orchard once more.

Iqbal’s message yet lives. He tells us still that if you awaken your khudi—your innermost selfhood—then destiny itself shall bend to kiss your feet. Therefore, do not sink into the dark waters of despair. His message resounds: despair not, for despair is a kind of disbelief. This nation yet lives; this soil is fertile; this earth is capable of miracles. All that is needed is to rediscover within ourselves that vital moisture—the nam of faith, the nam of knowledge, the nam of sacrifice, the nam of unity and honour, the nam of selfhood, the nam of labour and resolve. May God grant that we act upon this message: to refine our nation, and to show the world that the Muslim never yields to despair.

Iqbal’s counsel is eminently practical: moisten hearts with the dew of faith; awaken minds with the water of knowledge; raise up the nation with the rain of sacrifice; and render the land a garden with the irrigation of unity. If we regard this in the light of Pakistan’s present political strife, and the fractured condition of the Muslim world, it emerges as a message at once revolutionary and comprehensive. For Iqbal insists desolation is never permanent. Land may fall fallow, but its fertility is never extinguished; the ummah may appear enfeebled, but its faith, its history, and its inner reserves of vitality can yet revive it. Hence his timeless verse:
نہیں ہے ناامید اقبال اپنی کشتِ ویراں سے
ذرا نم ہو تو یہ مٹی بڑی زرخیز ہے ساقی
Iqbal never despairs of his barren field;
A touch of moisture, and this soil shall teem with life, O Sāqī.

Iqbal’s vision was never confined to the subcontinent or to Pakistan alone. He was the herald of Muslim unity. When he spoke of the barren field, his gaze encompassed the entire ummah, fragmented by colonial designs: the fall of the Caliphate in Turkey, the imperial partition of the Arab lands, the chains that bound Iran, Afghanistan, and the Subcontinent. All these, to Iqbal, were desolate fields. Yet he did not despair, for he knew that if Muslims returned to their roots, rekindled faith, sought knowledge, and rediscovered unity, they would rise once more. Thus, he proclaimed:
ایک ہوں مسلم حرم کی پاسبانی کے لیے
نیل کے ساحل سے لے کر تابخاکِ کاشغر
Let Muslims be one in guarding the sanctuary,
From the banks of the Nile to the frontiers of Kashghar.

This remains, even now, a message for Pakistan and for the Muslim world.
To the people of Pakistan, it declares: renounce despair and place your trust in your collective strength. Political turmoil is but transient; if the people awaken, this land can prosper again. To the wider ummah it proclaims: if Muslim nations abandon division, parochialism, and narrow nationalism, and begin to think as a single community, then no worldly power can plunder their resources, despoil their lands, or dictate their destiny. For Iqbal, this couplet is no mere verse; it is a manifesto of conviction and hope. He teaches us that our afflictions are but temporary; our land and our ummah remain fertile. What we require is the moisture of faith, of unity, of action.

Brothers and sisters,
Iqbal’s verse is not merely the cry of a poet: it is a mirror held up to our destiny. It is a reminder that this land can never truly become barren, that this nation can never truly die. All it needs is that dew—the nam of faith, of unity, of sacrifice, of knowledge. Should we summon it today, then Pakistan shall stand as a beacon of light, and the ummah shall once more lift its head high. Otherwise, history will pronounce the same verdict it has delivered upon nations of old:
إِنَّ اللّهَ لا يُغَيِّرُ مَا بِقَوْمٍ حَتّىٰ يُغَيِّرُوا مَا بِأَنفُسِهِمْ
“Indeed, God does not change the condition of a people until they change what is in themselves.” (Qur’ān 13:11)

Let us resolve, then, to transform despair into hope, desolation into a flourishing garden, and to show the world that this nation is alive, alert, and ready to rise.

My most honoured friends and compatriots, remember this: in history, only those nations endure who dare to dream, and who then strive to make those dreams flesh. Iqbal spoke of you when he said that in your arms lies the power to alter destinies, in your steps the courage to redraw the map of time. Today, this soil—this Pakistan—calls out to you. Some, sunk in despair, may have grown weary; but Iqbal’s falcon never wearies. He cries out even now:
نہیں ہے ناامید اقبال اپنی کشتِ ویراں سے
ذرا نم ہو تو یہ مٹی بڑی زرخیز ہے ساقی
Yes, we stand amidst political chaos, corruption, economic servitude, the shackles of global intrigue. Before us lies the barren field. And yet, this earth is not barren: it is the same soil that once gave birth to the warriors of Badr and Uḥud, the same nation that bore sacrifice upon the heights of Kashmir and Kargil. It needs only the moisture of your blood, your honour, your knowledge, your solidarity. With such dew, these fields shall not remain desolate; they shall yield a green revolution.
Remember: Iqbal’s dream was never confined to Pakistan. He declared:
ایک ہوں مسلم حرم کی پاسبانی کے لیے
نیل کے ساحل سے لے کر تابخاکِ کاشغر

Thus, O youth, you are not merely guardians of Pakistan; you are soldiers of the entire ummah. Your resolve, your unity, shall revive not only this nation, but the Muslims of the world. This is not an hour for repose; it is an hour for revolution. Cast despair from your hearts, shatter the chains of servitude, and enkindle within your breasts the lamp of hope.

For this soil shall blossom again. This land shall write a new history—and that history shall be written by your very steps. Rise! Advance! For Iqbal still calls to you:
نہیں ہے ناامید اقبال اپنی کشتِ ویراں سے