Author: Aaqid

The Message (1977), also known as Mohammad, Messenger of God, is a historical drama film directed by Moustapha Akkad. The movie tells the story of the early years of Islam and the life of Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) without directly depicting him. Instead, it portrays the key events of the Islamic revolution through the perspectives of his companions and followers.

Key Details

• Director: Moustapha Akkad
• Producer: Moustapha Akkad
• Writer: H.A.L. Craig, Tewfik El-Hakim, and Moustapha Akkad
• Starring: Anthony Quinn, Irene Papas, Michael Ansara
• Music: Maurice Jarre
• Language: Originally produced in English and simultaneously in Arabic. Two versions were shot with different casts for the respective languages.

Synopsis

The film begins in the year 610 CE, in Mecca, where Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) receives the first revelation of the Quran. It traces the opposition he faces from the Quraysh tribe, the migration of early Muslims to Abyssinia, and the eventual establishment of the Islamic community in Medina. Key events such as the battles of Badr, Uhud, and the conquest of Mecca are depicted.

To respect Islamic traditions, the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) is never visually depicted or voiced in the film. Instead, his presence is suggested through reactions and dialogues with other characters.

Key Themes

1. The rise of monotheism and the message of Islam.
2. The struggles faced by the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) and his companions.
3. The ethical and spiritual teachings of Islam.

Production Challenges

• Funding and Support: Akkad faced significant challenges in securing funding for the film due to the subject’s sensitivity. The project was eventually financed by Kuwaiti, Libyan, and Moroccan backers.
• Religious Sensitivity: The film adhered to strict Islamic guidelines, ensuring no direct portrayal of the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH), his wives, or his closest companions who were also revered figures.
• Controversy: Despite Akkad’s efforts to honor Islamic traditions, the film was met with some backlash and misunderstandings during its release.

Impact and Legacy

• The Message became a landmark film for its respectful approach to religious storytelling and its aim to educate Western audiences about Islam.
• It is regarded as a bridge between cultures, offering insight into the foundational moments of one of the world’s major religions.
• The film’s score by Maurice Jarre is widely praised for its emotional depth and thematic resonance.

Dard bhool jana

Forget the pain

humdard bhool jana bhi tu

even the one who shares your pain

tarap na de dum

Don’t make me suffer

de dum basi aajaye

Give me your presence… your fragrance

Chhu tu ajab na de dum

When you touch me, It’s as though wonder itself takes my breath away

Jalwa ba-qadr-e-zarf nazar dekhte rahe
At their spectacle, to the capacity of my gaze, I kept gazing (lost in their grace)

Jalwa ba-qadr-e-zarf nazar
At their spectacle, to the capacity of my gaze

Jalwa ba-qadr-e-zarf nazar! dekhte rahe
O! At their spectacle, to the capacity of my gaze, I kept gazing (lost in their grace)

Kyā dekhte ham un ko magar dekhte rahe
What could I see in them? (incapable as I am), yet I kept gazing

Kyā dekhte ham un ko magar dekhte rahe
What could I see in them, yet I kept gazing…

Apnā hī ‘aks’ pesh-e-nazar dekhte rahe
It was my own reflection in their eyes that I kept gazing at.

Apnā hī ‘aks’ pesh-e-nazar dekhte rahe
It was my own reflection in their eyes that I kept gazing at.

Ā’īna rū-ba-rū thā jidhar dekhte rahe
As though a mirror stood before me and I kept gazing into it.

Ā’īna rū-ba-rū thā jidhar dekhte rahe
As though a mirror stood before me and I kept gazing into it.

Jalwa ba-qadr-e-zarf nazar dekhte rahe
At their spectacle, to the capacity of my gaze, I kept gazing (lost in their grace)

Kyā dekhte ham un ko magar dekhte rahe
What could I see in them, yet I kept gazing.

Jalwa ba-qadr-e-zarf nazar dekhte rahe
At their spectacle, to the capacity of my gaze, I kept gazing (lost in their grace)

Un kī harīm-e-nāz kahāñ aur ham kahāñ
Where was their grace and where was I? (where was mine) (A world apart)

Un kī harīm-e-nāz kahāñ aur ham kahāñ
Where was their grace and where was I?

Naqsh-o-nigār parda-e-dar dekhte rahe
At the imprints on the veil that separates us… I kept gazing

Naqsh-o-nigār parda-e-dar dekhte rahe
At the imprints on the veil that separates us… I kept gazing

Jalwa ba-qadr-e-zarf nazar dekhte rahe
At the spectacle, to the capacity of my gaze, I kept gazing (lost in their grace)

Kyā dekhte ham un ko magar dekhte rahe
What could I see in them, yet I kept gazing.

Jalwa ba-qadr-e-zarf nazar dekhte rahe
At the spectacle, to the capacity of my gaze, I kept gazing (lost in their grace)

Aisī bhī kuchh firāq kī rāteñ guzar ga’īñ
There were nights of separation that even passed like this…

Aisī bhī kuchh firāq kī rāteñ guzar ga’īñ
There were nights of separation that even passed like this…

Jaise unhī ko pesh-e-nazar dekhte rahe
As if I was gazing at them alone, right before my eyes.

Jaise unhī ko pesh-e-nazar dekhte rahe
As if I was gazing at them alone, right before my eyes.

Jalwa ba-qadr-e-zarf nazar dekhte rahe
At the spectacle, to the capacity of my gaze, I kept gazing (lost in their grace)

Kyā dekhte ham un ko magar dekhte rahe
What could I see in them, yet I kept gazing.

Jalwa ba-qadr-e-zarf nazar dekhte rahe
At the spectacle, to the capacity of gaze, I kept gazing (lost in their grace)

Har lahza shān-e-husn badaltī rahī ‘jigar’
Every moment, the majesty of their beauty kept changing the Jigar (the heart or soul) in a constant awe.

Written by Jigar Moradabadi the word ‘Jigar’ could be a double entendre
Every moment, the splendor of beauty kept changing, O Jigar (poet’s name)

Har lahza shān-e-husn badaltī rahī ‘jigar’
Every moment, the majesty of their beauty kept changing the Jigar (the heart or soul)

Har aan ham jahān-e-digar dekhte rahe
At every moment, I kept gazing a world beyond this one.

Har aan ham jahān-e-digar dekhte rahe
At every moment, I kept gazing a world beyond this one.

Jalwa ba-qadr-e-zarf nazar dekhte rahe
At the spectacle, to the capacity of my gaze, I kept gazing (lost in their grace)

Kyā dekhte ham un ko magar dekhte rahe
What could I see in them, (incapable as I am) yet I kept gazing.

Kyā dekhte ham un ko magar dekhte rahe
What could I see in them, yet I kept gazing.

Jalwa ba-qadr-e-zarf nazar dekhte rahe
At the spectacle, to the capacity of my gaze, I kept gazing (lost in their grace)

Har aaaaan ham jahān-e-digar dekhte rahe
At every moment, I kept gazing a world beyond this one.

Har aan ham jahān-e-digar dekhte rahe
O! At every moment, I kept gazing a world beyond this one!

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There was once a beautiful valley, lush with greenery and mountains kissed by the sky. The people of this valley lived simple lives, until one day, an armed force decided that this paradise was far too perfect to remain untouched by their presence. “For their safety,” they claimed, rolling in with tanks, rifles, and promises of “development.”

The residents, of course, were grateful. After all, who wouldn’t appreciate curfews, checkpoints, and the charming sight of barbed wire decorating every street corner? The sound of laughter in the valley was soon replaced by the steady hum of helicopters overhead and the occasional crack of gunfire. “We’re here to protect you,” the armed force said, while homes burned and families disappeared into the mist.

When people protested, demanding dignity and justice, they were met with the “gentle persuasion” of bullets, tear gas, and pellet guns. Entire generations grew up with one eye—literally—on the armed guards, learning the art of survival amidst occupation. But hey, what’s a little blindness compared to the privilege of being “protected”?

Years turned into decades. The armed force excelled at their job: mass graves sprouted like wildflowers, children memorised the sound of boots on cobblestones, and mourning became the valley’s unofficial anthem. But then, after years of resistance and rebellion, the armed force made a grand announcement: “We have brought peace!”

Ah, peace! That magical word. No one quite understood how peace felt like silence in the graveyards or fear in the markets. But apparently, it had arrived. “See?” the armed force said, patting themselves on the back. “Everything is fine now. Smile for the cameras!”

Tourists were flown in to take selfies in front of the very mountains that had witnessed unspeakable horrors. Meanwhile, the valley’s residents whispered their grief in shadows, careful not to disturb the fragile façade of calm. After all, everything was fine, wasn’t it?

And so, the armed force stayed, a permanent guest in a land they had claimed to save. They celebrated their success, sipping tea on the ruins of what once was, while the valley mourned in silence.

When the oppressor writes the ending, it always reads, “And they lived happily ever after… or else.”