MANASI

You woman, you are not a creation of God alone,

It’s man who made you what you are

by infusing beauty on to you from his heart.

The poets sit and spin your apparel with golden threads.

By attributing new glory to you, the artists have made

                                                       your image immortal.

How many colours, how many aromas and jewels

                                                              are on display -

Pearls come out of sea, gold comes from mines,

From the garden in spring comes the bouquet of flowers,

The insects inject their life into lac - to colour your feet.

By imparting shyness, by dressing you up and covering you with veils,

they have made you hard to access and kept you hidden.

Burning desire has cast its shadow on you -

In reality, half of you is woman, the other half comes from imagination.

Note:

‘Manasi’ The graceful woman of one’s imagination.

English translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s poem entitled “Manasi” from his

collection of poems  Chaitali in Sanchayita,11^thed., 2010 p.285.

The first line of the original Bengali poem- shudhu bidhatar sristi naha tumi nari

Published in THE VISVA-BHARATI QUARTERLY

Volume 24 Number 4 Jan 2016 – March 2016 p 11.

A CHANCE- MEETING

It was a chance meeting in a railway compartment,

                          never ever thought it would happen.

I have seen her before often in red colour saris-

as bright as the colour of pomegranate flowers.

Today she is wearing a black silk sari -

putting a part of it on top of her head

and around her face which is as fair and

beautiful as dolon chanpa flowers.

It seemed that the black colour has brought about

an aura of remoteness around her own self which was

similar to that of the blue vitriol of a Sal tree forest,

lying beyond the furthest point of a mustard field.

I saw a very familiar face hidden inside the seriousness

of the unknown.

Suddenly, putting aside the newspaper,

she greeted me with folded hands.                      

That broke the barrier of social formality

and I began conversing -

‘How are you, how is life etc.’

She kept looking out of the window with a gaze

seemingly triggered by the memory

of the closeness of our earlier days.

She gave very brief answers to one or two queries

and didn’t reply to some.

By restless gestures of hand she conveyed –

‘What was the use of all these talks,                       

it would be far better if we remained silent.’

I was there on another bench with her companions.

At some point she gestured to me with her finger    

to come up to her.             

I thought to myself how bold she was –

I went and sat on the same bench with her.

In the background of the noise of the carriage

she said in a soft voice,                  

‘Please don’t mind,

 there is no time to waste.

I have to get down at the next station itself.

You will go far, 

we will never meet again.

Therefore, the answer to the question

that has remained pending so far,

I want to hear directly from you.

Will you speak the truth?’

I said, ‘I will.’

Still looking at the sky outside, she then asked,

‘Those days of ours which are gone,

have they gone forever -

Is there no trace of them left?’

I remained silent for a while

and then said,

‘The stars of the night they are all there,

deep inside the light of the day.’

I had a doubt whether I made it up or not.

She said, ‘Stop, you can go to the other side now.’

They all got down at the next station.

I carried on my journey alone.

English translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s poem

entitled “Hatat dekha” from his collection of poems

Shyamali in Sanchayita, 11^th.ed 2010 pp 719-21.

Original Bengali poem first line – rail garir kamrai hataat dekha

Published in THE VISVA-BHARATI QUARTERLY

Vol.24 Number 4 Jan 2016 – March 2016 pp 9-10. 

UNFINISHED

UNFINISHED

Tell him, please tell him -

At long last I met him.

At that time at the end of a shower,

the sun had come out and touched

the blooming bunch of Gulmohar flowers.

At the temple inside the forest,

there was sound of music from the trees,

The song of praise of the eternal was heard –

Tears flowed from my eyes,

I felt humbled by the prayer,

Mesmerized were my mind and soul.

Over how many births and rebirths,

the boon from the gods

-on speechless nights of destiny -

has been writing across the sky,

words of reassurance of this meeting of ours!

Along the shore of existence,

I have carried the message of that meeting

through the flow of my blood.

Looking at the distant sky, my eager eyes

search for a note for the lyric embedded in that meeting.

Please tell him today –

‘We have come to know each other now.

You guest of mine, silently and repeatedly

like a shadow - trembling – you came to my door.

On how many nights of the month of Chaitra

-through the fragrance of unseen flowers -

your breath coming close to me, vibrated my veil

and made the strings of the sitar cry.’

Please tell him today –

‘I felt deeply ashamed within.

I could not say anything as my throat was choked,

Neither did I have the dress befitting the occasion.

It is full moon that is hidden in my bosom,

It was the new moon only, that you encountered that day.

Day by day, my dear, my offerings are bound to increase -

Please forgive me for my penury of the day.’

Dr DEBIDAS RAY.

English translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s poem entitled

“Asamapta” from his collection of poems “Mahua” in

SANCHAYITA, 11^th.ed 2010, pp625-6

Original Bengali poem first line – bolo, tare bolo

Published in THE VISVA-BHARATI QUARTERLY

Volume 24 Numbers 2 & 3 July 2015 – December 2015 pp2-3

SAGARI

 SAGARI

Outwardly, overcome with uncontrollable passion,

she surges into an inspirational state

and hurls waves - roaring with laughter-

towards the sun and the moon.

Her restless eyes- in a response to light - remit light.

At times, through the wall of darkness,

there appears the frowning eye of the storm.

Every now and then, the ensuing stir

- in a fiercely whirling speed -

ravages the sanctity of the coast.

Deep inside her, it is all silent and solemn,

Neither the bottom nor the shore is anywhere

to be seen.

It seems, as though it is limitless austere endevour

that she has saved and stored within.

Is her name Sagari?

Dr DEBIDAS RAY

English translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s poem entitled

‘Sagari” from his collection of poems Mahua

2^nd edition 1934 (reprinted 1958) p.109.

First line of the original Bengali poem: bahire se duranta aabege

Published in THE VISVA-BHARATI QUARTERLY

Volume 24 Numbers 2&3 July 2015-December 2015 p.1.

COMPANION OF THE POOR

COMPANION OF THE POOR

Where resides the lowest of low and the poorest of poor,

It is there where you step in and gracefully place your fee

That’s behind everybody, that’s beneath everyone

and amongst those who are dispossessed of everything.

When I bow my head to touch your feet to offer pronam,

My head gets stuck somewhere in between,

When your feet descends below a level where indignity prevails,

My head - I concede - cannot bow down to that level –

That’s behind everybody, that’s beneath everyone

and amongst those who are dispossessed of everything.

Arrogance can never reach where you wander around

shabbily dressed, looking humble and poor -

That’s behind everybody, that’s beneath everyone

and amongst those who are dispossessed of everything.

Where wealth and honour co-exist in abundance,

It is there where I expect your company.

Where you are in company with those who are forsaken at home,

My heart lacks the will to climb down to such a level -

That’s behind everybody, that’s beneath everyone

and amongst those who are dispossessed of everything.

Dr DEBIDAS RAY.

English translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s poem

entitled “Deener sangi” from his collection of poems “Geetanjali”

in SANCHAYITA,11^th ed,2010,p508.

The first line of the original Bengali poem: –

Jethay thaake sabaar  adham deener hote deen

Published in THE VISVA-BHARATI QUARTERLY

Volume 23 Number 4 & Volume Number 1 January 2015- June 2015  p3.

IT IS THOSE WHO TOIL

IT IS THOSE WHO TOIL                            

Rowing along the current of effortless time,

my mind travels gazing at the empty sky 

On the journey to that vast open space, 

pictures made up of shadows are seen.         

For so many ages, group after group of countless people             

-triumphantly and in great speed-

marched away in the distant past.

Obsessed with imperial greed,

came the bands of Pathaans and then the Mughals;            

Wheels of their victory- chariot kicked up dust in air,

The banner of their triumph fluttered away.

Now, when I look at the sky

I can’t find even a trace of them today.

On that clear blue sky- in mornings and evenings –

the rays of sunrise and sunset - over the ages -    

continued to display their various colours.

Once again, under that vast open space

-along the rail-roads and in carriages

driven by steaming engines –in group after group,

came the powerful Englishmen, show-casing their might.                                                            

I know for certain, that the current of time

will flow over their path too and the network of their empire

surrounding the colonial countries will just be swept away.  

I also know that their mercantile marines will

leave no mark whatsoever, in this celestial world.                       

When I open my eyes and look down on mother earth,

I can see streams of people - amidst great uproar-

crisscrossing different roads in different groups

and from time immemorial, searching for their            

everyday needs in life till death.     

Forever and ever, they row their boats and steer the sails,

In open fields, they sow seeds and harvest ripened paddy –

They keep working in cities and in large tracts of arid land.

The umbrella over the king’s head comes down;  

The bugle of the battle falls silent;           

The victory-tower – out of ignorance - forgets its own relevance;

All those with blood-shot eyes carrying blood- stained weapons          

hide their faces inside the stories of  the text books of children.     

Meanwhile, the working people continue to work            

- in homeland and abroad –

in Assam, Bengal and Orissa near sea-coasts and river-ghats

as well as in Punjab, Bombay and Gujarat.

Rumbling noises, humming notes - day and night -

clinging steadfastly add clamour to life’s daily journey.

Sorrow and happiness – throughout the days and nights

give the chanting of life’s most sacred hymn,             

a grave and sonorous tone.

Over the ruins of hundreds of empires,

the working people continue to toil.

Dr DEBIDAS RAY

English translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s poem entitled

“Ora  kaaj kare” from his collection of poems “Aarogya”

in SANCHAYITA, 11^th ed,2010, pp831-832.

First line of original Bengali poem – Alos samaydhaara beye               

Published in THE VISVA-BHARATI QUARTERLY

Volume 23 Number 4 & Volume 24 Number 1 January 2015 - June 2015 pp1-2.