Tuesday, June 6, 2017

WORSHIPPER

King Bimbisar
Bowing his head, he begged of Buddha
for a piece of nail from His toe.
Placing it in the secluded palace- garden,
meticulously he built on its top,
a very beautiful stone stupa –                      
a marvel of architectural art.

In the evening hours putting on fresh clothes,
The queen and the princesses used to come
with a basket filled with flowers
 and on a golden plate
- at the bottom of the stupa -
with their own hands would light a row of
golden lamps.

When Ajatashatru became the king     
after occupying his father’s throne,
With the blood that was spilled, 
he wiped out the religion of his father
and threw away in the sacrificial fire
all Buddhist scriptures which were there.            

Ajatashatru then called upon         ,
all women residing in the city,
“Beside the Vedas, Brahmin and King,
there is nothing else on earth to worship for,
Strictly remember these few words –
if by chance you forget, danger you will face.” 

At the end of that day in autumn
Srimati, the slave- girl,
after taking bath in cool holy water
- Carrying a plate with flowers and lamps –
with head down, went at the feet of the Empress
and silently she stood.

Shaken with fear the Queen said,
“Don’t you remember,  
Ajatashatru has proclaimed that
who so ever performs puja on the stupa,
will either be impaled or banished till death.”


Turning from there slowly she went
to the daughter in law, Amita’s room.
Placing a golden mirror in front,
she was tying her long luxuriant hair
and putting vermillion on the parting,
with utmost care.

Seeing Srimati, the line wavered and her hand
began to shake - She told her,
“You senseless woman, how dare you bring
puja offerings, please go away at once –
if someone, somewhere comes to know,
grave danger will follow.”

In the light of the rays of the setting sun,
near the open window –
Princess Shukla sitting alone
 was busy reading a poetry book.
Hearing the jingle of the anklets,
startled she looked at the door.
       .,
Seeing Srimati she put her book down
and hurriedly went to her.
Cautiously she whispered to her ears,
“Who doesn’t know today, what the Royal order is? 
Is this the way for anyone  
to rush towards one’s death?”

From door to door went Srimati
with the puja plate in her hand,
She called everyone, “You women of the city,
it is time now for puja of the Lord.”
Hearing her call, some got scared  
and some hurled abuses at her.

The last light of the day became barely visible
on top of the mansions of the city.
The deserted roads were plunged into darkness,
Din and bustle were dying down.
The bells of the aarati started ringing                                                    
in the ancient temple of the Palace.

In the darkness of a clear autumnal night,
numerous stars were shining in the sky.
At the lion-gate, the last post was sounded
and the prisoners sang the evening note      
“The cabinet- meeting has come to an end,”
 announced the gateman.

At that moment, the startled palace- guards
suddenly looked and saw
that in the middle of the desolate royal garden,
-At the bottom of the stupa,    
in the thick of the darkness –
there seemed to have appeared 
a chain of lamps burning in rows!

With open swords, the royal guards,
at once ran there and asked,
 “Who are you the mischievous one   
performing aarati, only to invite death?”
In a sweet voice came the reply,               
“I am Srimati – servant of Buddha, the Lord.”

On that day, blood was spilled
on the white marble slab.
On that clear autumn night in the royal garden,
 - in silence and solitude –
Suddenly went off at the bottom of the stupa,     
the last aarati’s flame.
                                                  Dr DEBIDAS RAY

English translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s poem entitled
“Pujarini” from his collection of poems Katha” in        
Rabindra Rachanavali.Vol.1.1961, pp623-25.                                                                
The first line of the original Bengali poem- nripati bimbisar. 

Published in THE VISVA-BHARATI QUARTERLY

April 2017 p1-3.

LIFE' S GUARDIAN

Oh my most intimate one,
Have you quenched all your thirst
                     getting into my heart? 
Crushing my chest like the grapes in a vineyard
I squeezed million streams of joy and sorrow
and after filling the cup, I offered it to you.
So many colours, so many scents,
so many tunes and so many verses,         
I stitched together to make your bridal bed.
I kept on melting the gold of desire
and made new images every day
                            for your transient plays.

You only chose me –
 I don’t know with what fond  hope .
Oh you the guardian of my life,
did you like my mornings and my nights -
my acts and my plays during your lonely stay?        
In rains and in autumn, in winter and spring,
the heartfelt sound of all those songs,       
did you manage to hear them all   
while sitting alone on your throne?
Plucking the flowers of your dream
on the expanse of your apparel ,
did you stitch them to make a garland    
to put on yourself and unmindfully  
roam around in the garden of my youth?  

With your eyes fixed in my heart  
what are you looking for, my sweetheart?  
Have you forgiven all my failings, omissions and mistakes?
For days without puja and the nights without service,
how many times you went back my lord
while the flowers for offering blossomed and withered
in the forlorn forest.
The pitch to which you tuned the strings of this veena  
went down and down time and again,
The music that you composed - oh my poet –
can I ever aspire to sing ?                
When I went there to water your garden
I fell asleep in the shade, 
In the evening when I came back,
I came with eyes full of tears.

Whatever I possessed - oh lord of my life -
Have I now exhausted them all -
the shows and the songs,
the vivacity, wakefulness and slumber?
Lax has become my embrace,
gone is the passion from my kisses -      
Has the night’s love tryst in life’s grove      
ended at its dawn?
Dissolve then, our meeting of today,
bring in new fashion and new shows -
Accept me once more as your own
renewing the old familiar one.
A new marriage will tie me down  
to a new knot in life.

English translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s poem entitled
 “Jibananath” from his collection of poems “Chitra” in
Sanchayita, 11th ed. 2010. pp.265-7.

The first line of the original Bengali poem is – Ohey antaratama.

Published in THE VISVA-BHARATI QUARTERLY

Dec 2016 p1-3.

AT THE END OF THE DAY

The day comes to an end – darkness descends on earth
There is no point carrying on rowing the boat any more.
“Listen, whose country is this where a
foreigner like me has landed?”
just as I asked this with a smile on my face,
at once without speaking a word -
splashing water from her full pitcher-
with head down, walked away the young lass.
Anchor my boat in this ghat I shall.
                                                                                                                
Shadows are silently creeping 
on the ground under thick forest cover.
The still water evokes no response,
Motionless are the leaves.
The birds in the forest are already asleep.
In this golden evening on the middle
of the lonely path
only the pitcher, struck by her bangles
makes a metallic cry.
The very sight of this does appeal to me.

The lightening from the cloud
is splashing over the golden trident.
The lamp is burning in the temple at a distance.
The shadowy path, made of white marble
is totally covered with shed bakul flowers.
On seeing the rows of dwelling houses
and the gardens with fences,
restless becomes the mind of the passerby.
The lamp is burning in the temple at a distance.

From the royal palace, the distant air
carries the purabi tune in the sky.
The world has moved forward to somewhere unknown,
no idea why a sense of detachment overcomes my soul
This coming and going again and again
and venturing to places far away abroad
does not appeal to me anymore.
The purabi tune is filling the sky.

On top of the palace in the forest slowly descends night,
there is no point in rowing the boat any more.
If somewhere I find a place where I can take shelter,
I will give up this traffic of buying and selling
and at once go there –
where along that winding path
with head down, walked away the young lass
carrying the full pitcher on her waist.
Let me anchor my boat here in this ghat.
                                                                    - Dr DEBIDAS RAY

English translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s poem
entitled “Dinaseshe” in his collection of poems “Chitra”
in Sanchayita, 11th ed.2010, p257-8.

Original Bengali poem first line –Din sesh hoye alo andharilo dharani

Published in THE VISVA-BHARATI  QUARTERLY

August issue 2016.  p1-2
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