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Non –Violence-Social Justice Rama Rajya Prasanna Patsani Can the country be changed through rallies or slogans? Woman on house arrest. His Dusshashan of the twenty first century is trying to disrobe you in the electronic court of the Kurus. You are already disrobed. You are being paraded on the fashion ramp with your shoulders laden with the merchandise of the tycoons from across the seas. His majesty has made repeated declarations that the globalized consumerist God be worshipped, and you be empowered. Whether you are strong or weak, you yourself know not. For self-realization you must see yourself in the mirror as mother, sister, or wife. And then, to assume sakti, ascend the throne. Become Devi. Become the Mother of the Universe. All the ideologies of the world are shut up in such paper bags. Can the nation be changed through high platforms, or lengthy speeches? Let the those suffering get their nourishment, and the hungry stomachs a few morsels of food. That much will suffice. Translated from Oriya by Sumanyu Satpathi. Non-Violence- Awareness of Responsibility of Citizenship/Helpfulness. May India Beome an Ocean of Might Sane Guruji May India become an ocean of might May she sparkle gracefully in the universe I've solemnly vowed to renounce my life for the service of the humanity My life exists only for the cause of my country Hark, I am happily prepared to die for this cause I'll set my nation to glorious heights I will l dedicate all to my nation I will annihilate this dense darkness Come, brothers, come to help me in this cause Joining hands, together, uniting heart with heart, harping on the string of unity, Come, come to perform this great deed Let us hold the divine pennants in our hands Let us sing songs of dear India Let us display valour in the universe May Mother India rise to the glory of her own rank Arise, let us do our best Let us accomplish the divine valour Or else, futile is this life May the shiny sun of fortune glow for ever India, our mother, will become great She will look splendid with the divine glory She will give peace to the world May that golden day arrive. Translated from Marathi by Pradeep Gopal Deshpande Non-Violence- Appreciation of Others’ Cultures. Africa N. V. Krishna Warrior I stand on a seashore looking out erasing the glow of early dusk. Dark droves of autumn clouds roll in to fill the sky. Like fierce water-snakes in a rage dirt-hued tides rush to bite the shore, and, like venom spat out, rises white foam. As cities, lakes and gardens fill mirages, and past lives,- a yogic trance, as terrors emanate from a fevered brain a startling sight is born out of this sky and these turbulent waves. I see the forests, the leopards within, the yellow and black heads of crocodiles that float in pools, the hippopotami that seem like mobile rocks in their muddy abode, the antelope with gnarled antlers, the long-legged giraffe, the green meadows where the Masais' cattle graze, the Masais who pull the lion by the tail to behead it with their swords, the seven-foot tall Thusis javelin throw, the fierce skirmish when spears shatter in pieces by the speed of the throw before they meet their prey. Like the incessant thump of a primitive drum, the ancient routine of forests throbs still, quite unchanged. There the earth has no boundaries, the ocean has no shores; the gods still roam over the earth; there the time is not encased in a small container and tied on the wrist. The wave recedes. In the rocky Sahara in dew-drenched Ruvansori on the grassy plains where zebras move, from Morocco to Cape of Good Hope, in twenty million minds, like streaks of lightning in a dark sky, a fire smoulders. Coal, copper, iron, gold, diamond, platinum, uranium, rice, wheat, cocoa, sisal: what wealth does not Africa possess. Men there, however, are slaves, Zulus and pygmies alike; their bosses the white ones who came from other lands, five million of them. Yes, ignorant are the natives victims of a tsetse slumber and of yaws and leprosy tliat chew up their lips or nose to rot them, poor ones who bear within their vitals lethal worms, whom hunger has turned so cadaverous. Men who only eat a full meal in their dreams. But they are awake now. Naguib's footprints have fallen on the sandy banks of Nile, on Gold Coast Nkrumah makes history. In Kenya a flaming spear is shut in by prison-walls and yet it yields its warmth to the people all day long. In the wake of Livingstone, the pathfinder, the white men brought their alphabet to preach about Christ's mercy, but it helped these men to know about equality and freedom; about the wars fought to earn these and of the great triumphs of science over unfair providence. One fourth of a world shadowed by haughty Malan nurtured a bitterness, yearned for vengeance. Africa, this monumental beast, Africa, bellows, dipping its face. The roar echoes in Sahara, In each hamlet each town and each sea shore. In one of Nairobi's bars, a white guard keeps awake, armed with a rifle while a double-edged Simi sword, skins the dark night outside. Another white man, a Belgian in Congo, enters his room and trembles in anticipation of a black foe under his bed. To board a bus, to join a school, to walk along a street, to earn a wage for work done, to build a home, to sow in fields, to immortalize one's soul in a mate's body united by love, men fight on; their united strength slowly fills the land. To keep off the blacks, the whites built walls around themselves with guns and laws. What now? Those who did imprison are in prison now, the freed ones yell aloud in joy, their fists unclenched. Africa, awake, mother-earth, your own children shall embrace the light, and along the equator prosperity shall reign. United we shall be, though different in beliefs and life-style, like a song sung together our effort shall make life bloom. Where man is manacled, my arms ache. Where there is flogging the whip falls on my back. Where man struggles to rise, there I shall be. Africa, today you are my land, in your grief I weep. The beach, the forest and the land fade now. The eye can no longer see far. The tides rise and recede but the heart is strong and serene. When a man strives to fight injustice, I am the unvanquished, my life becomes meaningful, for I know that I am he. Translated from Malayalam by Kamala Das. Non-Violence- Awareness of Responsibility of Citizenship After a Murder Rabindra Sarkar When like one distracted I scoured the ends of the dead city harrying someone no tell-tale blood stared me in the eye even after such murder only fear, doubt and misgivings What may crop up, what wouldn't. In the park a few corpses talked of bygone days. of the birth of civilisation, of death the sky was singed by their yellow exaltations. There was no song anywhere no birds chirped at dawn and dusk the vicious water had driven the people to the tops of dykes thinking thoughts green as trees they talked of new homes of another birth after birth one by one we picked the bits and bones of the past the debris of dead mistakes. Some door somewhere may open may be we will find a ladder to lead us to the source of the stream inside even on our impugned thoughts will sprout new blades and saplings. Translated from Assamese Non-Violence- Awareness of Responsibility of Citizenship. Might Ahead of the Mind Kulo Thungan You split the atom and gained an insight into its potential we acknowledge and admire your studies; Having succeeded in harnessing the earth's resources. you have taken up expeditions to explore the space. You have transcended spatial barriers: We bow before your amazing achievements. You have enhanced the power of the eyes to see and ears to hear. You have transformed the world into a federation of countries and a small habitat of races. You have overcome nature's boundaries: For us today, mountains are no barriers and the oceans are no blocks; Rivers and forests are no longer a fortress. The power of knowledge is near supreme. We have evolved and advanced; Yesterday we moved from house to house. Today we move from country to country. Having broken the barriers of nature, we have erected wall of our own; Pettiness of mind , violence in every land, Undeclared wars--- a daily event; Every habitat a den of guns and bombs, Hearts brimming with hatred and dislike: Army of refugees all over the globe in search of an asylum; The sufferings of the second class citizens--- The minorities in their own motherland, The undignified pettiness of the majority groups; The sight of a few enjoying unlimited facilities and pleasures on one side and an increasing crowd with emptiness around, burning hunger within and poverty as unfailing companion; Life to them a great ordeal, endless struggle even for liquid gruel and leafed roof. The cruel fact of numerous countries accepting all these as routine and normal--- These agonies grow; the sobs and wailing of the downtrodden grow louder and wider! Are wonders of science for the advanced nations a matter of entertaining fireworks in space, ignoring the plight of the masses and the burdens of the world? Science that was seen as a boon, a servant to serve humanity and a powerful companion in need: has that become a fiction and a dream? Have we in our progress, developed our might ahead of the mind failing to seek wisdom and believing that capacity to do things, in the external world is all virtue and wealth? Should the creator be killed, for the tools and by the tools he created, as flies in a swarm and birds in a flock? Somewhere, somehow, may be a trifle unaware , unintended we have made a wrong turn. Translated from Tamil by V.C. Kulandai Swamy Non-Violence- Helpfulness Deliberation Kailash Vajpeyi No! You will not cry. No country is worth living in. No time convenient to die. Why should everybody be happy? Why shouldn't there be bombs? Why should there be a limit to misfortune? Why can't the gloom be versatile? Look ! the desert is expanding misanthropists are being praised. Genius is bogged males are sleeping with males. A woman from the East is eating her child...alive; In Canada an eleven- year -old grew old and died. The body is just a change. Change? You thought you could change? Save your breath! Siddhartha, Christ even Gandhi had the same illusion. And each one died a dog's death. A blind man pushing Millions of blind men Into a black hole---- history That's what it is called. And the pusher and the pushed Till dissolved--midway Never realised They were wrong. Still you think you can embrace the void Heal the wound of the wind Make a mark on the sands of time, Repeat the legend of Midas. Well, tragedy is rather off-beat, Plot .. surrealistically contrived. Slush has taken over the sea Fever has become the norm. The face of night has a celestial glow Torture --- depersonalised. A villain stabs the anti-hero And carries the cross, Asking spectators If they need an oxygen -mask. And why not. After all it's a perennial dream Where green is green Till you have seen The image of horror. Look into the mirror! A whole civilisation screams and sobs. Only you will not yell. Try and forget The world…I There are many versions of hell. Translated from Hindi by the author. Non-Violence-Readiness to co-operate The Call of the Nation Dr. Chennaveer Kanvi Through crevices of flowery green Hisses the yellow dragon. It crawls at the very foot of the peaks. The Himalayas are wide awake. Cool and deceiving is its body But fierce hatred burns in its heart. 'Tis out to drink fresh, innocent blood, Bring Bhima's mace and kill the python. If the Himalayan valleys call, Sahyadri peaks will gird their loins. India will offer her very life-blood, And pour her treasures at the Mother's feet. Freedom's not a toy to break, my child. The hawk haunts our borders. What safety is a hedge to a growing garden When the wild bull roams? O my people! How long will you sleep? Will you build your nests in dingy wells Of oblivion and rot there for ever? The snow-capped mountains thrill to the dawn And hold the tri-colour sky-high. India rises , sinking her differences. Her gallant battalions guard her freedom, Oiling their torches with their own blood. Come, bow down to martyrs! Who dares assault a million hands When hands are turned into fists? Our strength is in our hills and rivers. Our motherland's name itself is strength. Communism ,the bull-dozer, Crushes seedlings numberless. Hold your heads high, breathe the mountain air And be men, O comrades! Plough the field and feed the factory While our comrades march ahead. Peace flows from the nation's soul And all hearts will hail its coming. The Mother calls! Translated from Kannada by Dr. V.K. Gokak. Non-Violence- Democracy The Children of India Dr. Betgari Krishna Sharma We are the children of India. We conquered our enemies with truth and love And ruled on earth with charm and grace, Rejoicing as a noble race. We are the children of India. We found joy in renunciation. We frolicked with the Master of yoga And discovered many paths to Reality. We are the children of India. When the world's multitudes Were groping for the Lord, We plunged into recesses of our being And realised Him in our very core. We are the children of India. We fluted with our hearts in our throats And revelled in ethereal notes. Playmates of the Divine, We trampled death and pain. We are the children of India. Translated from Kannada by Dr.V.K.Gokak. Non-Violence- Compassion to all forms of life The Death of a beggar boy Sitakant Mahapatra By morning he was gone, Like a feeble bird his body was resting on the soft fawns of the public park. Not once in his life had he received such a gentle touch from anyone. All through the night a host of stars watched over him, perhaps to grasp the despair and sadness of the dying flame. Or, to listen at least once to the feeble words of his mild complaint. But he was quiet, continuing to look at those myriad earthen lamps of the sky with his failing eyes. He had nothing to say. He had no strength to speak. No eagerness. He nursed not even an iota of grievance against this wide world. The moon, with her gentle rays, caressed him as had his mother long lost. The stars, like shiny, small coins, dropped into his aluminum bowl, which lay there like an empty skull. Caressed thus, as he was at his infancy, he lay listening to lullaby of the breeze (come dearest moon, gently drop into my child's lap...), until endless sleep overpowered him. He was gone by the morning The morning was gone by then. Translated from Oriya by Sumanyu Satpathi. Non-Violence- Appreciation of others May brotherhood dwell Saint Tukdoji Maharaj May brotherhood dwell forever in India Give me such a boon.... May all these sects and schools look one May there be no diversity of thought May the rich and the poor thrive together in harmony May they well be Hindu or Christian or Muslim, may the happiness of freedom dwell among them all Give me such a boon. May all realise the humanity and nationhood May a mass prayer be sung in chorus everywhere May here be seen the industrious and upright youth Give me such a boon .... May all of us unite dissolving communal sentiments May the untouchability be uprooted radically from the world May truth and justice dwell even in the mind of the crooked and the reviling Give me such a boon .... May heavenly grace linger in every house May misfortune, fear and oppression be annihilated May Tukdya forever be engaged in this sacred service Give me such a boon . Translated from Marathi by Pradeep Gopal Deshpande. Non-Violence- Compassion to All Forms of Life Hail thee, O Goddess Liberty Vinayak Damodar Savarkar Hail thee O holiest of the holy You are replete with auspiciousness The giver of the good, 0 Goddess Liberty. May I pay obeisance to you. You are the personified spirit of the nation You are the sanctifier of the fortunes. 0 Liberty the goddess, you are the queen of these glories. In the sky of subjection, you become the sparkling star dazzling high. Goddess Liberty, you are the blush on the flowers of cheeks or the cheeks of flowers You are the luster of the sun and you are the solemnity of the ocean. 0 Goddess Liberty, its you who exist, or else will befall the eclipse. of annihilation Redemption and salvation are only your forms. Goddess Liberty, sages and ascetics call you 'Parabramha' in the Vedas Whatever is excellent, august, lofty and the sweetest. 0 Liberty, becomes your companion You are fear-stricken by England though, my mother is not a helpless woman, 0 ocean, now she'll relate all this to Agasti who, in a mere ritual, swallowed you up in a single gulp 0 ocean, my soul is in agony .... I'll conquer and live on this earth Battlefield is merely a play-ground for me Whether the sword befalls my head, or a crown is placed on my head. Service to the nation is service to God - I believe In my heart dwells unwavering faith Soldier is my name... . Fearlessness swells up in my heart and in my eyes -- fire My head is held high My hand holds a weapon with hundred iron-spikes So do I stand day and night Let me see, which enemy - and from where- dares to wage an attack Soldier is my name. Translated from Marathi by Pradeep Gopal Deshande Non-Violence- Social Justice Palestine Navakanta Barua We housed them in prisons For they wanted a home, We killed them for they wanted eternal life Then bulldozed their prisons into fields of corn. What's that hand sticking out from the earth? Other hands will sprout from it.... And tickle us to death. Translated from Assamese by Pradip Acharya Non-Violence- Awareness of Responsibility f Citizenship The Earthen Lamps Hirendra Nath Dutta Let the earthen lamps go floating down With the current of the river Each earthen lamp is a sacramental offering Made by pouring out the heart They are going ahead--the earthen lamps Taking the water route In search of inter-stellar spaces. At some moment Darkness would pull in The last earthen lamp, Will the earthen lamps mingle with the stars Found under water at night? The waves which carry the earthen lamps Are the photographs of my songs At the limits of my songs also There is a red-blue-yellow festival of lights: My song is a finely chiseled face Decked with the light and shade of well-arranged locks of hair. Or is it a flower of the night's dew That dropped through stricken darkness Into the place for throwing refuse? My song is a seed planted in the uterus of the inter-stellar spaces--- Gems filling the river -bed at night? The waves undulate the earthen lamps The wind makes the flames dance, My songs are also versified By thoughts of the public and my own individual speed Although throughout the world Arms practice for hitting the right target is going on The earthen lamps, that is, the sacramental offerings Made by pouring out the heart Are going like a reeling boat, Then the blinding light of weapons Cannot devour the light of these earthen lamps For, even after all the wielding of arms is ended The need for setting adrift the reeling earthen lamps Would come upon us. Being desirous of salvation Even then one well have to go on looking At the flickering and yet again flickering Eternal earthen lamps, At the dead-alive stars Found on the river-bed at night. Chakibor,1992 Translated from Assamese by Ajit Barua. Non-Violence-Friendship Wind Nilim Kumar Wind has come leaving the trees From this bank from that bank of the river From the bird's nests from the hollows of the trees Wind has come down The gentle wind of the field has come Leaving the green The wind of thorny bush Has come out silently The wind sleeping beneath the fallen leaves In the bamboo-grave had also come out The wind of sorrow has also come Leaving the sailing-boats of evening. In an empty field Wind is dancing unfurling her hair Hand in hand She had uncovered her breast in the sky. What a spring time festival is there today! Translated from Assamese by Pradip Khataniar. Non-Violence- Unwillingness to Hurt/Social Justice. Thief Nilim Kumar My father caught him In the betel-nut garden And he rubbed his eyes and Acting them out Keeping time to our burst of shouting And to the little swishes of our bamboo twigs. We also became strong that day With the vapour of Father's proud and swelling chest. We bound him and foot In the Saturday-market, that was the punishment fixed for him. The whole of the midday he shines In the bunches of ripe betel-nuts. He is an ancient thief In the creases of his rough skin Sleeps the marks left by the beating of bamboo twigs. He jumps about in the betel-nut leaves Faster than the birds. Pitchers for carrying water, small water pot Choppers and axes and sometimes The shining white dhoti of someone Is also the marked out thing in the twinkling of his eyes. And what a charming scene When the villagers chase him He jumps and jumps over the bamboo gates Drain after drain With what abandon his 'dhoti' flies Tearing the green How his sweaty muscles glisten and go out of sight Raising a tide of mysterious joy in our mind and body Thus he becomes our own The whole village, all the householders. Trees and creepers are all cages And search for his vigorous arrival in the dark. And he laughs un the horizon With his pale face lined like the face of a sage And sticking out cheekbones. With his wild way of life He becomes the most mysterious being In my tiny green world. And did he soak, did he soak me up also With his primitive dance-posture? For stealing from under my grandfather's pillow I brought him 'bidis'. My deserted homestead of my past Is now devastated and of concrete. Trees and shrubs of stone and brick Breath with leaves of glass panes In this jungle of glass Where is it lost, where is it lost That mysterious ancient being of mine? I want that he steals From my dining table the iron apples The bronze grapes, the fleshy chopper And from the fridge the white cold laughs. Translated from Assamese by Ajit Barua. Non-Violence- Unwillingness to hurt Crimson Clouds Dinesh Das So long as the earth turns red With the blood of innocent victims So long shall the blue sky turn crimson In mute sympathy And flaming clouds give way to gusty storm Storm! Why fear, my friend? We are but groves of silent trees It's the storm which gives us voices A name and recognition I know full well This gale intense shall break us all Tearing our hearts, uproot old weeds Blowing away the piled up refuse of years. Why fear, my friend? We shall not die Dissolving into atoms, we shall blend With the land, the sea, the sky The distant horizon. We are immortal! The raging storm of revolution Shall hear our laughter So long there falls A single drop of blood upon this earth We shall arrive So long there falls a solitary teardrop We shall remain! Translated from Bengali by Swapna Dutta. Non-Violence- Compassion to all forms of life Pets Prabhakar Machwe At first he had a few pups they grew up and strayed away. Then he had some kittens he gave them away to neighbours. he had red fish as pets they died. then, he had a parrot--- One day when it was out of the cage the neighbour's cat picked it up. In this way his habit of keeping pets did not die. Now we hear he has human pets, (abundant, redundant); Probably the neighbour's bombs will take care of them Even so they will show no sign of diminishing in numbers. Translated from Hindi by the author. Non-Violence- Democracy Freedom Dr. D. R. Bendre We march on to keep our freedom. Who dares confront us? Liberty is the breath of life. Without it man is a weakling. How can we rest When our freedom is in peril? And so we march to keep our freedom. Freedom blesses our Mother's progeny. Freedom sheds glory on her name. Freedom outlasts fame. And so we comrades march ahead To keep our freedom inviolate. An alien yoke but oppresses the neck. To throw it off is nectar to the soul. This is what makes the Mother happy. Otherwise the earth is a prison. We march to keep our freedom. Birds have their pathways in the sky. And fish their high roads on high seas. Rivers forge their path through mountains. Why in duress should we be? We march to keep our freedom. Our blood seethes, Our hearts are heavy with shame. O, Father , test us, our strength. Stand by us in our hour of trial As we march to keep our freedom. Translated from Kannada Non-Violence- Appreciation of other cultures. We are one R. S. Mugali Indians, we are one. We are all one. Parents of a new Republic, Our today is the begetter Of an unprecedented tomorrow. If only we threw our feuds to the winds And danced like waves of the self-same sea, As kinsmen in spirit, The heavens themselves will be in the palm of our hand. Father! You blessed us with health and wealth, With the plenitude of harvests And mined gold and silver. My children, you said, Live and be happy. Freedom is the dreaming spire, Of all religions and creeds. Our one prayer is the happiness of all, The harmony of all. Man, the seeker, Is bent on his unending quest. The myriad melody of our land Sweetens the song. Translated from Kannada by Dr. V.K.Gokak. Non-Violence-Devotion If One Wants that Bird A. K. Ramanujan You know, there was a king in Mongolia, who once invaded some distant kingdom, where he heard a new bird singing, and wanted the song for himself. For the sake of the song , he wished to capture the bird , with the bird its nest, the branches that held the nest, the trunk of the tree, the tree itself , the roots, the earth that held the roots, the village, the water, the surrounding land, the country, the entire kingdom...... Wanting to take them all he gathered together all the remaining elephants, horses, chariots and soldiers, conquered the entire kingdom, annexed it to his empire and never returned home. Translated from Kannada by S.K.Desai Non-violence-
Social Justice and Communal Strife Home Ramnik
Agrawat This
world is not of my liking But
what can I do? My
home is rooted in this land It
is not built simply in a day Who
gets a dwelling without ordeals? And
is every house really home? Building
my home is an experience for me. Brick
by brick has been laid by the rhythm of heartbeats The
roads surrounding my home are convoluted and poisoned and
yet I like them Wandering
about them I return home After
leading me round and round and
tiring me they
drop me at my door But
I am no less Spewing
spittle, smut, spleen over them I
have abhored them warily Loved
them from the bottom of my heart. Remaining
within home I have repeatedly run away far I
had deserted it two-three thousand years ago and
had stopped again for alms at the doorstep of Yashodhara The
same home while trailing me for fourteen fourteen years has
wandered and withered From
Panchavati to Dandakaranya to Kishkindha to
Demon-city and
who knows where else ! Look,
with these same hands I have torched Khandav-van Smashed
by the mace of Jarasandh, I have seen this home rising
again in Dwarika. But
I do not wish to stretch that for Just
a few centuries ago mounting
it in bursting bags on horses elephants camels I
have slaughtered my home in Arabian sands Carrying
in crammed ships and steam boats I
have squandered it over England and Europe But
I do not wish to go even that far. On
some sixth December with
thousand hands I
have massacred it I
have been annihilating it with weapons
treachery pain tears reason swindle And
still I feel it within right
at this moment inside
the ribs on
the left scorching
me. Translated
from Gujarati by Dileep Jhaveri Non-Violence-
Social Justice The
Ashoka-Grove Dileep Jhaveri We
fixed the wall When
Seema was born. There
is a calendar, a poster with
a deadly terminator of a film hero and
perhaps two embroidered hares. When
Sameer was born We
put in a glass window. A
torn bed sheet that served as curtain, the
tinkling sound of Panwallah's shop, And
into the late night, the light Of
the street lamp settling down And
refusing to leave. The
third time in the third month A
miscarriage. The
scattered debris of
unrecognizable household things; rags,
tatters, bricks, bamboos, The
mirror, soot. Cinders
smouldering in a puddle The
tin-sheets of the roof Were
rotten. The
same old sky. Translated
from Gujarati by the author. Non-Violence-
Awareness of Responsibility of Citizenship Grant
Us This One Boon Umashankar
Joshi Grant
us this one boon. Liberty That
this mind may never have ignoble aims That
this heart may never despair Let
all our actions be consumed by upward flames But
not netherward Let
the speech be not harsh without reason The
sight not obscured by mist of temptation The
luster of love may not dim in the eyes The
earth may not become like barren cow The
wealth dwelling in commerce May
not solicit self-ruin in selfishness The
women may not stray away from grace Nor
youth age before time The
pristine smiles of children may not be blighted The
leaders holding reins for people Would
take the last remaining place at the banquet And
brahmins - the placid intellectuals Do
not purport to be priests of power Being
a poet I plead Do
not permute our poets into your captive parrots Prattling
pleasing platitudes Liberty,
grant us this one boon. Translated
from Gujarati by Dileep Javeri Non-Violence -Social Justice At
The Age of Eighty Nine Priyakant
Maniar The
wagon proceeding From
Charlestown to Johannesberg From
Charlestown From
Charlestown to reach Pretoria is the goal From
Charlestown races the wagon rolling
rocking rushing abruptly
halting halfway on
roadless land few
adjacent towns few
scattered villages barely
contained above below and
yet here everyone is suitably seated on
several thrones And
the standing are dozing awake
sleepy everybody smoking From
the smoke-clouds an
eighty nine year old frame is
trying to catch a breath of air In
the rolling rocking rushing wagon the
firm steadying eye grows red at corner ripe
smile slides drops from the lips The
wagon proceeding from Charlestown to Johannesberg He
Ram! Translated from Gujarati by Dileep Jhaveri. Non-Violence-Respect for All Religions The Immortal Friend J. Krishnamurthi O friend Tell me of God, Where is He, by what manner do I find Him? Among what climes, in what abodes? Tell me, I am weary. Read the Vedas, Do tapas, meditate, Perform rites and ceremonies, Practise austerities and renounce, Pray at His temple, among flowers and incense, Bathe in the sacred rivers, Visit the holy places, Be a devotee and pure of intelligence, In Kailas is His abode- There you will find Him, cried many. Obey the Law, Take refuge in the Order, Kill not, steal not and commit no sin. Go to the shrine. Enter Nirvana- There you will find Him, cried many. Read the Holy Book, Pray at His Church-there be many- This church will lead to Him but beware of that, Serve, sacrifice, Do not judge, be merciful, In Heaven is His throne- There you will find Him, cried many. Read the only Book Of the only God, Visit His abode on earth, Pray at the mosque, At the setting of the sun worship Him, Bahist is His abode- There you will find Him, cried many. Work, work for humanity, Serve, serve your fellow-creatures, Follow this but beware of that path, Do the will of God, Follow blindly for I hold the key to His abode, Grasp this opportunity that He offers you, Sorrow and happiness lead to Him- If you do this, your search will end- Then you will find Him, shouted many. I am weary, tried by the passage of time, Travelling on no path, I have come to Thee, Thou hast revealed Thyself to me. O! Thou art the round stone That grinds the rice in the peaceful village Amidst songs and laughter. Thou art the graven image That men worship in temples, With chants and solemn music. Thou art the dead leaf That lies torn on the dusty road, Trodden by the weary traveller. Thou art the solitary pine That stands majestic On the lonely hill. Thou art the lame and mangy creature That comes to my door, with a haunted look, hungry, That men abhor, Thou art the mighty elephant That is gaily robed, Carrying the nobles of the land. Thou art the naked beggar That wanders from house to house, Wearily crying for alms. Thou art the great of the land That are rich in possessions and books, That are well-fed and satisfied. Thou are the priests of all temples That are learned, proud and certain. Thou art the harlot, the sinner, the saint and the heretic. My search is at an end. In thee I behold all things. I myself, am God. Non- Violence-Unwillingness to Hurt Terrorism Harshdev Madhav 1. Terrorism is a servant of anger It is a prisoner of cruelty. It is dependent of inhumanity It is suffering from the disease of violence. It is lame due to jealousy In spite of its living, It is half dead on account of prejudice. 2. How can Impotent terrorism create Revolution? Insects take birth Is dung of meanness, -not Mahatmas (profound religious persons). 3. Terrorism has no father its mother’s name is cruelty. 4. Terrorism is thirsty so it drinks human-blood Terrorism is hungry So it eats pieces of human flesh Terrorism may know Its devilry If it can see itself in a mirror! 5. The hurricane of terrorism tries to destroy The lamp of faith. Have you any hand To resist its force? Translated from Sanskrit by the author. Non-Violence-Democracy To the Hands Destroying the Wall of the City of Berlin Dr. Harshdev Madhav Revenge creates curtains of interruption, Bitterness wishes to divide love with the bricks of hostility. Is the story really not decent In which the hearts blossom like lotuses? The black thoughts of people Fall like leaves in autumn May the soft breeze of friendliness give warmth. May the light spread From the torch of ‘The Statue of Liberty’ May this darkness of wrath vanish. O’ Hands! Blow the wall! Break the wall! May your blows become softer and cooler than sandal-paste Today The nails from the crucified body of Jesus Christ have pulled out. Virgin Mary wipes her tears. May the harmony of the people of East Germany and West Germany become a great quantity of love. May the two pieces of a single heart be united for ever. Translated from Sanskrit by the author. Non-Violence- Awareness of Responsibility of Citizenship. Couplet Baba Sheikh Farid Walking in arrogance Of wealth and power, in Youth’s confident swagger, They go as rain On sand, leaving no trace Here. Translated from Punjabi by Rakshat Puri. Non-violence-Social JusticeSong of Justice Cherabanda Raju We battered the mountains and crushed the rocks With our muscle stones built barrages But who got the riches and whose was the labour? We cleared the stones and tilted the wastelands With our sweat streams watered the crops But who got the food and whose was the seed? We built our looms and spun each thread With our nerve yarns wove many a cloth But who donned it in fashion and whose was the effort? We worked the machines and produced plentiful With our blood current ran the factories But who built the mansion and who lived in the hut? Knowing the reason we’ve taken to arms We’ll rise up as one for an unceasing fight Victory will be ours and death yours. Translated from Telegu by Dr. V. Rama Murthy. Non-Violence- Rejection of Untouchability. Postponement of a Birth Satish Chander My heir always poses on question: “When should I be born?” I stand before the dressing mirror and see not a heap of limbs but a series of humiliations. When I look at my thick curly hair I remember the painful twigs of my great grandfather’s hair rejected by knives and scissors. I brush through my hair with a ruthless comb. The two ears like oil saucers hide the flaming music haunted as they were by imaginary crime. to avoid the lead from being poured into them I cover my ears with mass of hair. When the folded lips open out with a smile I remember the beauty queens of the past handing over vessels of poison to my ancestors as gifts of broken love I emit kisses on my own reflection in the mirror. When I fix buttons to my shirt-sleeves I remember the wild-clothes worn by mother. On second thoughts I look at my own shoulders again and again. When I tighten the belt round my waist I get a glimpse of someone with a broom in his hands attempting to make me wipe out my own history and I subject myself to scrutiny. When I tie up laces to my shoes I feel the naked feet of my father shrieking in pain though kissed the Mother Earth. I salute to my feet as I get up. When I start touching the moustaches I suddenly remember the talented officer’s words: “Do these reservation people deserve all this?” I cannot digest the present born of the past. My heir repeats the question: “When should I be born?” I bring down the drum hung on the wall and play on it seemingly without end. With the sound of miscarriage a birth gets postponed. Translated from Telegu by K. Damodar Rao. |
