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.