Bulleh Shah’s short kafī is a key to boundless hinting: the Beloved speaks in ramz—hints—and “dwells beneath the veil of mīm.” In a handful of lines Bulleh moves from letter-mysticism to fearless non-duality, invoking alif/mīm, Ahad/Ahmad, and the strange serenity of the gallows where doer, deed, and done-to resolve into one. Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan’s qawwali stretches this seed into a living meditation, letting a single M gather meanings—Muhammad, Mansūr, and me/mā (self and the primal mothering mercy).

There’s another resonance: to Punjabi/Urdu ears mīm can echo neem, the bitter, cleansing tree. Picture the poet under that cool shade—the prophetic form as shelter that purifies the pests of ego so vision can ripen. “Mīm de ohle vasdā”—He really comes near in a name and face, yet remains veiled; revelation both shows and guards.

This is the threshold where Mansūr al-Hallāj stands. A ninth-century Persian mystic, Mansūr longed for a love that would not be negotiated. He prayed, fasted, traveled, and spoke publicly of an intimacy with God many Sufis kept veiled. In ecstatic states—what later teachers called shaṭḥiyāt (overflowing utterances)—he declared “Ana’l-Ḥaqq” (“I am the Truth”). To a sober jurist, that sounds like blasphemy. To a mystic, it means the small “I” has been burned away; only the Truth speaks through the human mouth. Mansūr was imprisoned for years in Baghdad and finally executed—flogged, mutilated, raised on a gallows. In Sufi memory he became Shah-e-Ishq, the martyr of love.

Bulleh does something audacious with this history. His Punjabi is causative: “Auliyā̃ Mansūr kahāve, ramz ana’l-Ḥaqq āp batāve; āpe āp nū̃ sūlī chaṛhāve, te kol khlo ke hassdā nī.” God has Mansūr be called a saint; God has him reveal the secret; God hoists Himself upon Himself on the gallows—and stands nearby smiling. The agency collapses. What courts call execution becomes Divine self-unmasking. Mansūr is not a rival “I”; he is a mirror in which the Beloved speaks Himself.

And still the song refuses finality. It circles back to the refrain—behad ramzā̃—boundless hints. Even after the blaze of non-duality, the pedagogy is humility. Sit in the neem-cool of mīm; honor the form and look through it. Let love’s alphabet—alif/mīm, Ahad/Ahmad—teach how the One takes a human face, how every unveiling is also a veil, and how a saint’s last breath can be heard as the Beloved telling yet another secret.

This kafi reminded me of who Bhai Nand Lal Goya threads the Mansūr motif through a startling seasonal image in a ghazal of his - B-hosh Bash Ki Hangaam-e-nau-bahaar aamad. He opens with an imperative—b-hosh bāsh (“stay awake”)—because nau-bahār (new spring) has arrived, bahār āmad-o, yār āmad-o, qarār āmad: spring, the Friend, and inner rest come together. Then he pivots: “khabar dihand ba-yārān-e mudda‘ī ki im-shab: ana’l-Ḥaqq zadah Mansūr, sū-ye dār āmad”—“tell my friends, the self-claimants, that tonight ‘I am the Truth’ has struck me as it struck Mansūr; I am on my way to the gallows.” Goya doesn’t cite Hallāj as a cautionary tale; he identifies with him. Spring and scaffold coincide: truth blossoms and the ego dies. The command to “stay awake” keeps sobriety inside ecstasy; the gallows (dār) becomes a threshold where doer, deed, and done-to collapse into One. Read beside Bulleh’s kafī, Goya’s move clarifies the arc: sit in the cool, purifying shade of mīm, then dare the Mansūr step—let the Beloved’s “I” speak through the human mouth, even if the path runs through the scaffold of the self.

Lyrics and Translation of NFAK Qawwali - 

Behad ramza dassda ni mera dholan māhī.
My beloved (dholan māhī) tells boundless secrets.

1

Vē dī “be” na dass, mullāh; oh alif sīdhā — kam khaṭ āyā.
O yār kalotni rāt vālā, bhes vatā ikk vār āyā.
Sohnā mīm dā ghunghat pā ke dekh, ināñ zulfan de ghunghral khaṛ āyā.
Ali Haiderā pehle Ahad sī, hun Ahmad ban ke vaḍ āyā.

Don’t talk to me of the letter be, O mullah; the straight alif has no bends—its work is complete.
The Lover of that fateful Night has returned in a new guise.
Look—he’s veiled in the letter mīm (م); his curls spill like rings.
Ali the Lion was Ahad (the One); now he arrives as Ahmad.

2

Kithē Shī‘a e, kithē Sunnī e;
kithē jaṭadhār, kithē munni e;
kithē Ka‘be dā bēṛā dassdā,
but-khāne vich kidhre vasdā.

Now Shia, now Sunni;
now matted-locks, now clean-shaven;
now he speaks of the Ka‘ba’s voyage,
now he dwells within the idol-house.

3

Āpe zāhir, āpe bātin, āpe luk-luk pehndā e;
āpe mullāh, āpe qāzī, āpe ‘ilm parhendā e;
zunnār-e kufr dā khat gal vich, but-khāne vich behndā e;
zātōñ ashrāf — yār Rañjhē dā — layān dī laj rakhendā e;
āpe lukdā, āpe dhisda, āpe dhūn machendā e;
Bulleh Shāh, Ināyat menū pal pal darshan dindā e.

He’s the manifest and the hidden, he himself puts on disguises;
he’s mullah and qazi and teacher of knowledge;
he wears the unbeliever’s sacred thread and sits inside the temple;
noble in essence, my friend Ranjha safeguards the lowly;
he hides, appears, and stirs the music himself;
Bulleh Shah—my guide Inayat gives me glimpses moment by moment.

4

“Lan tarānī,” das ke jānī — hun kyoñ mūkh chupāyā e?
Main dholan vich farq na pāi — “innamā” farmaiyā e.
Tan Sābir de kīṛe pāe — jo jharryā so pāyā e.
Mansūr ko jo kuch zāhir hoyā — sūlī pakaṛ charhāyā e.
Dassō nuqta-e zāt-e Ilāhī — sajda kis karvāyā e?
Bulleh Shāh dā hukam na māṇyā — shaitān khuār karāyā e.

“You shall not see Me,” You said—why veil Your face now?
Between lover and Beloved there is no difference—so says the Revelation.
You filled Sabir’s flesh with worms—he replaced each one that fell.
When a little was unveiled in Mansur, You sent him to the gallows.
Tell me—for whose sake did You command the angels to prostrate?
You ignored Bulleh’s plea and left the devil wretched.

5

Ik lāzim bāt adab dī e; sānū bāt malūmī sab dī e.
Har-har vich sūrat Rabb dī e — kithē zāhir, kithē chupdī e, o sohnā.

One thing is essential: adab (reverence). The rest we can learn.
The face of God is in every heart—now visible, now concealed.

6 (letter-play)

Asī vekh ke sūrat dilbar dī, āj be-sūrat nū jān gaye.
Binā ‘ain “Arab”, binā mīm “Ahmad” — assāñ yār nū khoob pahchān gaye.
Kithē Ṭūr de purdē chukdā e; kithē nāvāñ de vich lukdā e.
Jad ramz pachhāṇī yārāñ ne, oh sab sadqē qurbān gaye.

Seeing the Beloved’s face, we came to know the Faceless.
Remove ‘ain from Arab and mīm from Ahmad—and you find Rabb (Lord) and Ahad (One): so we recognized our Friend.
Here He lifts Sinai’s veil; there He hides behind names.
And when the friends caught the secret, they gave everything away.

7

Oh be-sūrat vich sūrat de bun — āp Muhammad āyā e;
rakh sāmnē shīsha-e wahdat dā — āj Rabb ne yār sajāyā e;
bin sūrat de Rabb nahīñ labdā — uhdī shakal nūrānī, mūkh Rabb dā;
je oh na hunda, na Rabb hunda — “law lāka,” Khudā farmaiyā e;
eh gal koi yār khaṭāvī nahīñ — je Khudā oh nahīñ, te judā vī nahīñ;
āpe Ahmad ban ke hamd karē, te Muhammad nām rakhāyā e.

The Formless took on form—He Himself came as Muhammad.
Hold the mirror of Oneness—today God has adorned the Friend.
Without a face you cannot find the Divine; His radiant face is the face of God.
“Were it not for you…”—so, it is said, did God address him.
This is no heresy among friends: if he is not God, he is not other than God.
He became Ahmad to praise Himself, and named Himself Muhammad.

8

Āpe tālib te matlūb āpe; āpe āp apnā mehboob āpe.
Āpe apṇe āp de milṇe dī tadbīr banāī jāndī e.
Jad shor-e muhabbat ne pāyā, be-sūrat sūrat ban āyā.
Āpe apṇe hijr-vichhoṛe dī taqrīr sunāī jāndī e.
Āpe mud qadīma kallā e — koi ghair nahīñ, Allāh-hī Allāh e.

He is the seeker and the sought—His own beloved.
He devises the meeting with Himself.
When Love thundered, the Faceless came with a face.
He even speaks His own story of separation.
Alone from the beginning—there is no “other”: only Allah, only Allah.

9

Zarā be-khud ho ke dekh mīāñ — jeṛhe bastī e, oh wasdā e;
binā murshid-e kāmil na e bhed khulē — eh kalma koyi na dasdā e.
Be-sūrat sūrat ban āyā — khud āp muhāfiz sūrat dā;
khud rūh-misāl te jism hoyā — āpe har-har de vich wasdā e.
Āpe kasrat de vich bandā e, ate ahadiyat vich Maulā e;
‘ilm apṇe dā āp ‘ālim e — kithē āzādī, kithē phasdā e.
Jadoñ akhiyān dittiyān murshad ne, har dekhiyā har-har shān andar;
kithē mūmin ho ke mandā e, kithē kāfir ho ke nasdā e.

Lose yourself and look—He dwells wherever there is a dwelling.
Without a perfect guide, the secret stays shut—no creed tells this.
The Faceless became a face—and guards that face Himself;
He is spirit and exemplar and body—He indwells every heart.
He is man in multiplicity, Lord in Oneness;
knower of His own knowledge—free in one place, captive in another.
When the guide gave me eyes, I saw only His splendor in all;
now a believer, now an unbeliever—He plays both roles.

10 (question-qawwali)

Ki karda nī, ki karda — dilbar, ki karda?
Ikke ghar vich wasdeāñ, rasdeāñ — naīñ hunda vich purdā.
Vich masīt namāz guzāre, but-khāne jā varda.
Āp ikkoñ kai laakh gharān de mālik — sab ghar-ghar dā.
Jit wal vekhāñ, ut wal oh ho — har dī sangat karda.
Mūsā te Pherōn banā ke — do ho ke kyoñ laṛdā?
Hāzir-nāzir har thāñ oho — kehṛā kis nū kharda?
Kithē Rūmī e, kithē Shāmī e; kithē sāhib, kithē ghulāmī e;
kithē khāsāñ vich, kithē ‘āmī e — oh āpe āp tamāmī e.

“What is the Beloved doing—what is he doing?”
We live in one house together—no veils between us.
He prays in the mosque; he walks into the idol-house.
One and the same—yet Lord of a hundred thousand homes.
Wherever I look, there He is—keeping company with everyone.
He becomes Moses and Pharaoh—why split into two and clash?
Present, watching, everywhere—who is leading whom?
Now Rumi, now Shams; now master, now slave;
among nobles and commoners—He is His own completeness.

11 (mīm / creation)

Meem de ohle wasdā — merā dholan māhī.
Kun kehā, fayakūn kahāyā; be-chūnī se “chūn” banāyā;
Ahad de vich mīm ralāyā — hun main lakhyā sohnā yār;
jisdē husn dā garam bāzār — mīm de ohle wasdā merā dholan māhī.

He lives beneath the letter mīm, my beloved.
He said “Be!” and it was; from No-how He made somehow;
He mingled mīm into Ahad—and I beheld the Beautiful Friend,
whose loveliness sets the marketplace aflame—my beloved lives beneath mīm.

12

Pyārā pehn pushāka āyā; Ādam apṇā nām dharāyā;
Ahad toñ ban Ahmad āyā — nabiyāñ dā sardār.

The Beloved donned garments and came; He called Himself Adam;
from Ahad He came as Ahmad—chief of the prophets.

13

Kāran preet nīt ban āyā; mīm dā ghunghat mukh te pāyā;
Ahad toñ Ahmad nām dharāyā — merā dholan māhī wasdā mīm de ohle.

As Love and Purpose He appears again and again;
He draws the veil of mīm over His face;
from Ahad He takes the name Ahmad—my beloved dwells beneath mīm.

14

Āp ahdiyat de vich Ahad; āpe vich wahdat rūp yār dā e;
āpe nūr, wujūd, shahūd āpe; āpe sare rūp dhar dā e;
oh mehboob āpe, āpe ho ‘āshiq; āpe apṇe tōñ jind vardā e;
o dīwāniyā — mīm-e Muhammadi choñ, piyā alif chamkā mār dā e.

In the realm of Unicity He is Ahad; in the realm of Unity He appears as Friend;
He is Light, Existence, Witness—He assumes every form;
He is Beloved and He is Lover—He grants life from Himself;
O ecstatic one!—from Muhammad’s mīm, the alif flashes forth.

15

Karan kī behad ta‘rīf usdī — uthe laṅg be-had choñ had āyā;
hoyā bārī be-had dī qaid vichoñ — āj had de vich be-had āyā;
Bībī Āminah de ghar houn idan — dekho kufr te shirk dā radd āyā;
o dīwāniyā — mīm dā kuṇḍ pā ke — sūrat vich Allāh Hu al-Ṣamad āyā.

How can one praise Him without limit?—
The Limitless crossed into limit;
freed from the prison of limitlessness, today the boundless entered the bound.
In Bibi Aminah’s house—behold, the refutation of unbelief and partnering.
O enraptured one!—wearing the veil of mīm, Allah, the Self-Sufficient, shone in a face.

16 (Mansur)

Auliyā Shāh Mansūr kahāve; ramz “anal Ḥaqq” āp sunāve;
āpe āp nū sūlī charhāve — kol khaloke hass dā, merā dholan māhī.

He named Mansur “king of saints” and made him utter “I am the Truth”;
He Himself mounted Himself upon the gallows,
and stood by smiling—my beloved of boundless secrets.

Notes on word-play & references

• alif / mīm / ‘ain: letters of Arabic—alif (ا) = the straight One; mīm (م) marks Muhammad/Ahmad; removing ‘ain (ع) from ‘Arab leaves Rabb (رّب, Lord).

• Ahad / Ahmad: Ahad = The One (Divine); Ahmad/Muhammad = the prophetic manifestation; the poem turns this into mystical punning.

• kun / fayakūn: “Be—and it is.”

• Lan tarānī: “You shall not see Me” (Moses on Sinai). Ṭūr = Sinai.

• Mansūr (al-Hallāj): Sufi martyred for Ana’l Ḥaqq (“I am the Truth”).

• Wahdat / Ahdiyat: unity / oneness beyond multiplicity.

• Bulleh Shah / Inayat: poet and his pir (guide).

• pal pal: “moment by moment” (fixed here).