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Truth-Spirit
of Enquiry Transformation Sri
Aurobindo My
breath runs in a subtle rhythmic stream; It
fills my members with a might divine: I
have drunk the Infinite like a giant's wine. Time
is my drama or my pageant dream. Now
are my illumined cells joy's flaming scheme And
changed my thrilled and branching nerves to fine Channels
of rapture opal and hyaline For
the influx of the Unknown and the Supreme. I
am no more a vassal of the flesh, A
slave to Nature and her leaden rule; I
am caught no more in the senses' narrow mesh. My
soul unhorizoned widens to measureless sight, My
body is God's happy living tool, My
spirit a vast sun of deathless light. Truth-Discrimination The
Song of India What
song shall I sing of you, my Mother? I
asked. 'Shall
I sing Of
the Himalayas with their snow-born peaks, Of
the three seas that wash your palm? Shall
I sing Of
your clear dawn with its pure gold-streaks?' Said
the Mother imperturbable, calm; 'Sing
of the beggar and the leper That
swarm my streets. Sing
of the filth and the dirt That
foul my sylvan retreats.' 'What
song shall I sing of you, my Mother?' I
asked. 'Shall
I sing Of
your rock-cut temples, epics in stone, Of
your children that died to call you their own, Their
very own? Of
the seers and prophets that hewed the straight path For
the man that pilgrims alone? Said
the Mother in indignant words That
beat into my ears like gong, That
flew about me, a pitiful thing, Like
great white birds: 'Sing
of the millions that toil. Sing
of the wrinkled face Indexing
ignorance. 'Sing
of the helpless child Born
in a bleak, dark home. Nervous,
I yet would ask, Deeming
it my task: 'What
song shall I sing of you, my Mother? What
song? Shall
I sing of the dam and the lake? Of
steel mills, the ship-building yard? Of
the men that work hard To
technologiese, to put you on the page Of
the Atomic Age? Said
the Mother: '0f these you may sing. But
sing also of the strikes, early and
late, Of
iron men that come in their wake, Of
class-war and its correlate.' Querulous,
I said: 'Is
there no song that I can sing of you, Heart-whole,
unalloyed'? A
song bathed in the stainless blue Unvapouring
in the void?' At
that the Mother rose, draped in blue sky. Milk-white
oceans heaved round her. Their waves Were
the entrancing and enthroning light On
which she sat and wrote the Book of the Morrow. Her
forehead opened like earth's destiny Yielding
the sun-god, cancelling all sorrow. It
was clear dawn. Like a nightmare fled the night And
the sun-beam was as the Hand that saves. Truth-Discrimination Blow
the garden of my life into bloom Sane
Guruji Lord,
blow the garden of my life into bloom A
skilled gardener that you are. keep
the garden Propitiate
in it the celestial grace The
bother of the past abounds here Set
the bird free to fly Spite
and malice are the stones Break
them and make the tree of love bloom Sexual
passion and carnal desire are
sure to eat away this garden With
the baton of renunciation, banish
them away Raise
here a beautiful temple of
dauntless faith and the worship of the virtue Spatter
here the jigging fountains of
ardour and joy Bring
into being the cool and serene arbour of
rectitude and sanctity Blowing
the garden into bloom. Lord. dwell there. and
blow then your sweet flute. Translated
from Marathi by Pradeep Gopal Deshpande Truth-Respect
for All Religions The
Only True Religion Sane
Guruji To
offer love to the world is
the only true religion The
mean and the extremely base in this world, the
meek and the downtrodden in this world should
be sought and uplifted Give
love to the world Those
that are forever miserable and most helpless Those
that are oppressed by all should
be sought and lit by laughter Give
love to the world. Do
not rack anyone for no reason Do
not slight anyone for no reason Regard
all as your brothers Give
love to the world All
are children of God All
are dear to him Do
not look down upon anyone Give
love to the world This
is the essence of religion This
is the essence of truth Die
for the weal of others Give
love to the world Translated
from Marathi by Pradeep Gopal Deshpande. Truth-Service
to others The
Voice of Man Munib-ur-Rahman Today
I have heard the voice of man. Filled
with life's passion, Vibrant,
flushed with emotions, Surging
forward like a wave of molten steel. The
voice of man, not a few howling madmen, Grim,
violent, terrifying, Hissing
like venomous snakes Swirling
on the shoulder of death. Today
I have heard the voice of man In
burgeoning fields, in fat pastures, In
the perpetual pulse of factories, In
long veins of mines underground, Ploughs
scoring the earth's bosom, Crackling
limbs of giant machines, Vast
ships cleaving the surging seas, Song,
dance, books, buildings, statues, Countless
lips, innumerable eyes, All
crying out for justice now. Today
I have heard the voice of man. My
desires, my heart, Every
fibre of my being Longs
to dissolve in this voice. 0
watchdogs of religion, 0
flag-bearers of cruel politics, You
tremble when you hear the voice. But
I - I weave my song From
the strands of the voice of man. Translated
from Urdu by Baidar Bakht and Kathleen Grant Jaegar. Truth-Respect
for All Religions Dream
of Dawn (Khwab-e-Sehar) Asrar-ul-Haq
Majaz For
ages has the radiant sun been shining in the skies, But
human mind has always struggled in the shade of night. Darkness
has held its sway since the world began, Not
a ray was allowed to light the head or heart of man. Religion
too from time to time has made her vain forays, The
rain of revelation too has purified this place. Angels
too from time to time have descended on this earth, Noble
souls have also been displaying their precious worth. Moses,
Umraan, Mary's Jesus-all showed their spiritual might, Ram,
Gautam, Faroun, Haaman, all have their hands tried. Wielders
of the pen and sword have also walked this globe, The
world has been graced by unnumbered reverend folk. For
centuries has the human heart to idols been a prey, Islam
too, like vernal cloud, has fertilised this clay. Mullahs
have been sermonising in the holy mosques, Brahamins
have been chanting hymns in their synagogues. Man
has been supplicating saints and sages wise, Human
misery, all the same, has all recipes defied. Human
brow has always bent at this or that threshold, Humanity
has always suffered inequities untold. There
has been no dearth of leaders, or of prophets wise, Greed
for gold has plied its trade wearing religious guise. Feeling
hearts have tried to leaven knowledge with the light of love, The
clouds of darkness, nevertheless, have always hung over this earth, Such
struggle, such suffering, such heinous carnage! How
long has man been to superstition a slave! Human
mind has at last awakened from its heavy sleep, In
the stormy night of life, in the superstitious deep, Has
at least dreamt a dream of the golden dawn, Looked
at last towards the East, where none before glanced. Translated
from Urdu by K.C. Kanda Truth-
Spirit of Enquiry Words,
and Words Nirmalaprabha
Bordoloi I
am in the midst of words In
the midst of words I The
words are in my midst. With
words I see I
recognise I
introduce myself I
smell I
touch Each
tremble I
perceive closeness. Words
make me stand On
many levels At
the same moment I
become he He
becomes myself Just
in a moment The
fragrance of sky Gives
me wings I
enter into the depths of the perfume With
a tree I become tree With
a river, river. The
sound make me sicken Distressed,
stunned They
make me excited They
arose the thousand 'I's in me Like
a murmuring breeze Like
a thing seen in flash Like
a sound faintly heard. I
become agitated I
run to touch me To
turn my face away I
search for 'Amitabha' I
search for 'Adityabarna' I
search for 'Nilanjana' Where
are you all? I
want to become blue I
want to be of the colour of gold I
want to burn my body to ashes So
much blood in words So
much fire in words. Translated
from Assamese by Ajit Barua. Truth-
Discrimination The
Guru Tayumanavaswamy True
of tongue are the truly holy; Truth
never from their speech is far; Truly
within their heart, Thou dwellest Truth
that is true, all things that are Truth,
unto them Thou truly teachest, Truth
this is true without a doubt. Falsehood
never have I abandoned: False
one am I,within, without, Falsehood
not knowing as but falsehood, Falsely
that I should say and do Falsehood
of all falsehoods the falsest Falsehood
not seen to be untrue, Thy
doing all who in me being My
mind at Thy behest and beck Movest,
What can I do all helpless? Thou
art the Guru round whose neck Dark
blue the ring of drunken poison For
ever burns, Siva. Thou art The
Guru who as Vishnu camest To
men Thy wisdom to impart. Thou
sittest on Thy seat of lotus Expounder
of the Vedas four, Brahma,
whose head the four-ways faceth. Four
-faced who is from ever more. In
all the creeds to calling voices The
gracious Guru comest Thou; And
to Thy saints whose cry Thou hearest, Foresake
us not,O, succour now, Thou
Love, to loving ones, becomest, Wise
Counsellor in doings all, O
Source of Grace, in joy past thinking, That
dancest in high Wisdom's Hall. Translated
from Tamil by T.Isaac Tambyah. Truth-Spirit
of Enquiry If
Your Steps Slacken Kulo
Thungan My
dear heart: you keep rolling in dust and reveling in
fifth like a worm ; do not seem to aspire
for anything of value. You
do not aim to soar and swim in the
sky and fly in space---- You
are cuddled in the prison--house
of your flesh and blood: The
one that moves on the stomach can
never attain any great height. I
see no urge, no throbbing, no energized
endeavor on your part: You
do not seem to seek the light
of learning ,yearn for goals
that transcend human bounds. You
have no pride--- Cannot
shun the petty, nor Entertain
any longing for a surging life and
glory You
seem to be happy living in dizzy darkness. The
grass, the shrub, the worm and
lifeless stone---all have a story of their own: To
be born, to grow, to procreate. To
wither with age and die, is
common to every life: Endowed
with a boundless mind, able to dream and
imagine you
are the peak of all creations. You
are the perennial spring of ambitions
and emotions that break all chains
and continue the onward march.. Yours
is the scripture that proclaims that
the inaccessible and the impossible have
no place in your faith. You
are like a poet who wanders singing in the sky and
in space ;who moves in the world
of the moon and beyond. You
are as free and exuberant as the
lark in a wooded forest. You
mix the golden rays of the sun,
enjoy the company of the clouds with the
flash of lightning and there
you sing your songs of liberty
and liberation. Yours
is a mind that has the majesty
of logic and reason; What
has so far been impossible for you, has
not been found possible for anyone else. From
the beginning of life, the journey that you
undertook ,you continue tirelessly. You
are he creator of all the angels, god and Other
heavenly beings that the world talks about; You
are also the father of the sciences that
destroyed many myths. We
do not know till today whether
it is for good or bad, with
a purpose or without one, why
this world came into existence. But
from all the we know of, it
is humanity that devised the means , the method and
form for growth , and you continue to grow: In
the path of progress you used the tools of logic, inquiry,
endeavor and courage as your companions. You
made a conquest of nature but in harmony with it could
make the forces of nature do your bid: Humanity
today stands above everything that the
world knows of and you
are one among its heirs. If
there be one that is omnipotent, who
has seen any so far excepting your race? Your
tradition and legacy are great: Great
is the heritage that you have to sustain
and transmit. Your
fame and accomplishments have a long
ancestry; Where
pettiness, hatred and avarice do not belong. You
are as great as your goals: With
the majesty of a mountain, with
a mind clear as the rays of the sun and
calm as the pleasant moon, move
ahead and keep moving ahead; smash
all the obstacles, and never should you rest. My
dear heart, if your steps move forward, the
world moves forward: if your steps slacken
the world will stagnate. Translated
from Tamil by the author. Truth-
Respect for All Religions The
Rebel Kazi
Nazrul Islam Say,
courageous one--- Say,
high I hold my head! The
Himalayas look up at mine and humbly bow their peaks. Say
: I pierce through the great sky of the universe, I
reach above the moon, the sun, the planets and the stars, I
break through the limits of earth and all the heavens And
even the seat of God almighty, And
rise ever higher To
the eternal surprise of the Ruler of the Universe. On
my brow shines Shiva the Destroyer as
the benedictory seal of the triumph of king of kings ! Say,
courageous one--- My
head remains ever high! I
am ever irrepressible, impudent and merciless: I
am the dancing Shiva of the Great Cataclysm, I
am cyclone, I am destruction, I
am mortal terror, I am the curse of the earth, I
am irresistible, I
destroy everything to bits! I
am the negation of all rule, I am reckless, I
trample down all restraints, all bonds of do's and
don'ts! I
obey no law, I
sink vessels laden to the brim, I
am the torpedo and the terrible floating mine! I
am Shiva with his flying locks who
ushers the untimely nor'wester of summer, I
am the rebel, the mutinous child of the Goddess of
the universe ! Say,
valiant one: my head remains ever high! I
am the storm, the tornado, I
go on pulverising whatever comes in my way. I
am dance-mad rhythm, I
dance on to my own time-beat, I
am uninhibited joy of life--- I
am the ragas Hambir, Chhayanat, Hindol<3> I
am quick with movement, I go my way with
quick gestures and sudden leaps and bounds--- I
am Hindol with its lightning -quick arias. So,
friend, I do whatever my mood dictates, I
embrace adversaries or wrestle with them--- I
am violent mad, I am the sudden storm! I
am the plague, the terrifier of the earth. I
am the ruler's terror, am mass destruction, I
am burning hot, ever restless. Say,
brave warrior--- Ever
high stands my head. I
am ever reckless, ever ungovernable I
am irrepressible, the cup of my life is
always , yes always, full to the brim, I
am the sacrificial fire, I
am the Yamadagni who kept the sacred fire ever alive, I
am Yagna and the officiating priest, I
am Agni, the god of fire! I
am Creation, I am Destruction, I
am human habitation and the cremation ground, I
am the termination, the end of night! I
am the son of the Queen of gods with the moon in
my hand and the sun on my brow, One
hand holds the curved bamboo flute and
the other the trumpet of war. My
throat is black from the ocean of pain! I
am Shiva who catches in his matted locks the
mad water of the cascade at Gangotri--- Say,
fearless one: my head stands ever high. I
am the Bedouin, I am Chengis, I
salute none but myself. I
am thunder, I am the sound of Om on Shiva's horn, I
am the trumpet of Israfil that blasts fiercely, I
am the castanet and the trident of Shiva, I
am the staff of justice of the Great Just. I
am the fearsome din of the primeval Om, I
am the wheel and the great conch of Vishnu I
am a disciple of the mad sages Durvas and Viswamitra, I
am the forest fire and shall burn down the universe! I
am open-hearted laughter and exaltation, I
am the Dragon's Head engulfing the Twelve Suns at
the Great Destruction! I
am serene sometimes, sometimes restless, ruthlessly self-willed, I
am Youth with red blood, I am he that humbles God. I
am the ebullience of the storm, the ocean's great din, I
am bright, shining ever bright, I
am the rippling surge of water and the roll of moving waves! I
am the plaited braid of the heart –free maiden's locks, and
the fire in the eyes of the girls of winsome shape. I
am the wild love blossoming lotus-like in
the heart of the sweet sixteen---- Blessed
am I! I
am the absent mind of the indifferent, the
tearful sigh in the widow's heart and
the lament of the despairing yearner, I
am the sorrow of deprivation living in the heart of
the homeless wanderer living on the road, I
am the heart-pangs of the humiliated, and again, the
burning torment in the soul of love out thrown! I
am the numbing pain in the offended, long-aggrieved heart, I
am the trembling stealer of imagined kisses and
the quaking first touch of the virgin. I
am the lightning glance of the secret beloved and
the repeated looks on every pretence, I
am the love of the restless girl and the jingle of her bracelets. I
am the eternal child, the eternal boy, I
am the hem of the garment, the breast –cloth and the scarf
of the village maiden timorous of her youth I
am the north wind, the breezes of spring and
the east wind that cause the mind to stray, I
am the deep melody of the wayfaring bard and
the music of the bamboo flute. I
am the raging thirst of summer, the blazing sun, I
am the trilling spring in desert oases and
the kaleidoscope of joy--- What
madness! I am mad! I
have suddenly discovered myself, and all my bonds have
fallen off! I
am rise and fall, the consciousness in inert minds, I
am the banner of victory over the gateway of the world. I
rush, fleet as storm, clapping my hands that hold heaven and
earth --- My
carriers, the spirited Borrak and Uchchaisrava, sprint
with challenging neighs! I
am the volcano in the bosom of earth, the
forest fire ,the holocaust of doom, and
the reverberations of the surging sea of fire in
bowels of the earth ! I
climb the lightning and fly, leaping, snapping my fingers, I
set sudden earthquakes on and terrify the world. I
clasp to me the fangs of Vasuki the snake, I
catch with my hands the flaming wings of the angel Jibrail! I
am a heavenly cherub, I am ceaselessly active, I
am impudent and tear with my teeth the
garment of the Mother of the Universe ! I
am the magic flute of Orpheus<12> --- its music lulls the
heaving ocean into drowsy forgetfulness , and
in sleep it kisses the earth and soothes it to complete silence. I
am the flute in the hand of Krishna. As
I rage and rush, enveloping the boundless heavens, The
fires of all the hells down below flicker and die in panic! I
am the carrier of rebellion all over the earth. I
am the deluge and floods of Sravan, I
make the earth sometimes beautiful, sometimes
blessed in destruction--- I
shall snatch away the twin ladies from Vishnu's breat! I
am lawless, a meteor, malevolent saturn, I
am the comet's terrific heat, the venomouskiller snake! I
am Chandi of the severed head,<15> the
goddess of war who causes absolute ruin, I
sit in the fires of hell and smile the smile of flowers! I
am of the earth made, I am formed of the spirit, I
am ageless, immortal, inexpendible, inexhaustible ! I
am the terror of men and demons and the gods, I
am ever unconquerable in the universe, I
am the God supreme over the God of the universe, The
all-transcendent Truth, I
dance my way madly over heaven, hell and earth! I
am mad, I am mad! I
have discovered myself, and today all my bonds are off! I
am the ruthless axe that Parasuram<16> carried and
will rid the world of its tribe of warriors and
usher calm, generous peace ! I
am the plough on Balaram's shoulders and
will uproot with effortless ease this world in
chains ,in the joy of creating it anew. And
I shall rest, battle -weary rebel, only on the
day when
the wails of the oppressed shall not rend the
air and
sky, and
the scimitar and the sword of the oppressor shall
not clang in the fierce arena of battle--- That
day my rebel self,weary with fighting, shall
rest appeased. I
am Bhrigu the rebel, and I stamp my
footprints on the bosom of God ! I
shall kill the Creator and shall cleave the heart of
capricious God, who smites with grief and anguish! I
am Bhrigu the rebel and will stamp my footprints on
the bosom of God ! I
will cleave to the bosom of that capricius being---
God ! I
am the courageous, rebel eternal--- Alone,
I tower over the universe with my head unbowed. In
Hindu mythology, Shiva is the Supreme Deity
lording it over destruction and dissolution.
He is also the Preserver guarding over
the welfare of all and sundry. One of his beneficent
acts was to hold in his matted locks the
rushing cascade of the River Ganga as she descended
from the Himalayan hill into the plains. This
act is said to have made Gangetic civilisation
possible. Manifold
aspects of Shiva have been touched upon in
this poem. The
reference is to Shiva in the tandava episode
when his berserk dance threatened the
destruction of the universe. Indian
musical modes evocative of joy and tranquility. Hindu
ritual in honour of gods before the lighted
fire. Arab
name for the archangel Raphael. Dharamaraj,
or Yama ,dispenser of divine justice. In
the hands of Vishnu, the wheel is the weapon
of destruction of the wicked and the
conch is for sounding the warning of the start
of a campaign for this purpose. Two
irascible rishis of mythology, destructively
bent. Mythical
winged horses in Arab and Hindu mythologies
respectively. The
Great Snake of mythology with a thousand
heads. The
archangel Gabriel. The
Olympian flutist of Greek mythology. Krishna
, the divine flutist, whose music in
his boyhood made the maidens of Braj delirious
with love for him. The
reference is to Lakshmi and Saraswati , goddesses
of Plenty and Knowledge respectively. A
manifestation of the Supreme Sakti in extreme
abandon, when she severed her own head
and danced with it in her hand. An
incarnation of Vishnu who liquidated the
Kshatriyas, i.e. the martial caste. Balaram,
elder brother of Krishna who wielded
the plough as his insignia and was said to
possess unlimited strength. Translated
from Bengali by Basudha Chakrabarty Truth-Spirit
of Enquiry The
Lunar Eclipse H.M.
Channaiah That
was a lunar eclipse then--- the telescope might
have raised its head and turned towards him--- even
the moon might be remembering it: the
illicit taste of the sweet embrace, the
frank talk, and the fear that he would come. look,
the earth that has smeared moon's face with ink must
have laughed. when
it struck one , the dog barked at the moon, the
cat overturned vessel, "it's late, let me go,
he might come", you said and
the impish stars winked knowingly at the tips
of your breasts and
the moon laughed heartily in the necklace of black
beads; the
wind slipped stealthily. emerging
from the pure waters of Caveri, he, shivering
in wet clothes, in vibrant voice, chanted
the ritual words which would propel him to
heaven, slipped
down the curved hips of the hills, and
the moon liberated from Rahu smiled in
the crystal-clear water at the fringe of the lake. he
chanted the ritual words--- in
Kailash , the ascetic Shiva blessed him. again
turning into a child, burying the face in soft
breasts, I
played on the slopes beneath, you
said I was the one you had loved with all heart, and
so I, too, said. It
struck six, the bells in the temple rang, celebrating
the release from the evil of the eclipse, the
sun rose separating the red fusion of the thighs of earth
and sky, the
tightness of the link between our bodies and souls, relaxed. Translated
from Kannada by K. Raghavendra Rao Truth-Spirit
of Enquiry Under
the Clock G.S.Shivarudrappa Who
knows since when it is working--- This
clock; Seconds,
minutes, hours-- the hands mark Night
and day. Hourly,
half-hourly, rings its moan While
the snow rolls in the veins; Snow
or sunshine (does it matter?) The
stars roll in the blue vault Undisturbed. Ceaselessly
the river flows to the ocean. But
the dark thirst of the salt waves Is
never slaked For
all the sweetness in the river flows. The
cremation ground is thick with the ashes of burnt
lives; Over
a hundred graves the green grass grows! In
the forts and battlements half-ruined Echoes The
bat's leathery wing; While
underneath, Excavating
the remnants of lost cities, The
archaeologist's spades Ring. In
the dead mid-dark he sat bolt upright; In
the darkness' roar; And
heard The
gnashing of white teeth in the Dark Waters--- Tick,
tick, tick, The
wristwatch near the pillow Shattering
his bones. The
dawn-wind and the cock-crow called for a
morning walk. But
now the path of bloom and bud is over; The
stark, bare avenue awaits him With
a guard of honour by the skeleton-trees. He
has walked over the dead leaves, The
dry leaves, And
now the shadow falls Of
the sixtieth milestone. Leaving
his walking-stick in the corner He
stood before the mirror: Head
stamped with winter, cheeks sunk, eyes dull--- His
own portrait! On
the wall is hung his photo Taken
in the gold light of youth. It
is on that the clock is ticking, The
huge clock, tick, tick, tick. It
is a great temptation to stand before the mirror Plucking
out the grey hair one by one; Or
better, to dye it black, And
well combed, Walk
the streets in the old suit new pressed. But
the radio blares: "
Think of the Lord, O fool, think of the Lord." He
slumped into the chair engrossed Shutting
out the tick of the clock But
his little grandchild came lisping 'Grandpa!' At
that sweet sound The
golden dawn light flashed Brightening
the evening skies. Translated
from Kannada by K.S. Yadurajan. Truth-Spirit
of Enquiry Flowers,
Blood and Darkness Too Hiren
Bhattacharjya Man
is a rice -field We
named it life, The
boatman mind looks upstream and downstream Even
over roaring torrent. In
foothill full of mist and smoke The
slender leaves of light, parting, take leave, The
evening sky is like a basket of flowers The
night is awake after washing the flowers and leaves
with blood. and
the journey is long. For
what are so many flowers what
perennials of the lamp-lighted past future? Like
light Flowers,
blood and darkness too Are
quivering. Translated
from Assamese by Ajit Barua Truth-
Discrimination Someone
Else Harekrishna
Deka Am
I the same seen right now in the mirror? Am
I quite really? Hair
greying, extended chin, shrunken eyebrows And
several furrowy lines on the forehead: Is
this the very same one Who
is myself most intimately On
occasions I doubt I
know not this man. Is
he hideous or handsome Is
he a good for nothing coward Or
one brave and sagacious? My
familiar fellows, my friends My
spouse, my daughter, son and brothers You
my bosses, the providers of my bread, My
obedient juniors, I
have been striving to become Just
what you have asked me to become Yet,
yet myself I know not still. May
be this figure inside the mirror The
one that is frosted by and by Is
my own shadow You
all know him of course All
of you have recognised him to be sure. But
there is an unseen called I within his brain-pan And
it recurringly groans out of the fear That
the total healing touch Of
your healthy hands Would
be laid on it. Do
you get at this? Anyone,
anyone, amidst you all. Translated
from Assamese by Hirendranath Dutta. Truth-Sprit
of Enquiry Worship
the Indweller Tayumanavaswamy I
cannot in thy temples worship, Or,
there before Thy symbols bow, Or
pluck. Thy dew-kissed flowers of offering For
in the flower's heart art Thou. How
can I press my palms together, My
body bend to worship Thee, Since
it is all imperfect service, For
thou in dwellest, Lord , in me ? Thou
art the vastness of the ether, The
elements, the primal sound The
Vedas four, the goal of Vedas, The
quest beyond all seeking found, The
quest sublime, its key, its secret, Thou
of all seeing art the sight, And
of all knowing art the knowledge, Of
sight and sense the inner light, The
word and its interpretation, Form
of the silent, saving call, O
Source of Grace in joy past thinking That
dances in high Wisdom's Hall. Translated
from Tamil by T. Isaac Tambyah Truth-
Respect for All Religions God Basavanna The
pot is a god. The winnowing fan
is a god. The stone in the street
is a god. The comb is a god.
The bowstring is also a god.
The bushel is a god and the sprouted
cup is a god. Gods,
gods, there are so many there's
no place left for
a foot. There
is only one
god. He is our Lord of
the Meeting Rivers. Translated
from Kannada by A.K.Ramanujan. Truth-Sprit
of Enquiry A
Prayer Sukanta
Bhattacharya O
Sun! Sun of wintry days! Icy
cold through the long night we
keep waiting for you, the
way the eager eyes of the peasant wait
for the thrilling days when
to scythe their sheaves of paddy. O
Sun, you would surely know how
poorly protected we are against
winter's cold what
pains we take the livelong night to
resist the cold, sitting
by a fire of twigs and straw, our
ears covered up with
a piece of dirty rag. A
slice of the morning sun appears
more precious to us than
even a bit of gold! That
is why we run helter skelter out
of our hovels, thirsting
after a patch of the sun. O
Sun ! give light and warmth to
our damp and wet shelters, and
a little of your heat to
that naked boy by the roadside. O
Sun ! give us a little out
of your warmth , we pray. You
are a veritable ball of fire we
are told. If
you indulge us in our prayer and
give us out of your heat, day
after day, some
day we , too, might become, each
one of us, a
ball of fire. And
when that resultant heat burns
up our agelong inertia, we
might perchance be able to
enrobe that naked boy by the roadside with
all the winter garments he may need. But,
as of this day, O
Sun! we
are your humble supplicants for
an unmiserly gift of
your heat and warmth. Translated
from Bengali by Kshitis Roy Truth-Discrimination The
Firefly Nirendranath
Chakrabarty You
leave the ground with happy ease I
can't, like you--- I
don't lose knowing the other's weak The
way you do. Does
this only mean that I Am
not so choosy, nor so high? I
reach out for the sky, no doubt But
to the earth I, am true. The
fish love water, birds the sky But
I love just this earth I'm
homely, I don't venture out Of
tempters there's no dearth- Does
that mean I don't like risk? A
little makes me glad and brisk My
days roll by in my own den Whatever
be they worth! But
when at daybreak countless stars Glow
on sky's range My
breath comes quick, my heart's astir With
something strange--- Does
that mean that this same "I" Am
someone when the day is high But
when it's dusk,to someone altered I
do change? My
mind is busy counting words The
whole day long But
it unearths gold in dust At
evensong I
know not why at break of day A
firefly swims and skims away Within
my heart and in my soul In
raptures strong. Translated
from Bengali by Swapna Dutta Truth-Simple
Living Firm
Convictions Sunil
Gangopadhayay I
have not walked in the sky flooding moonlight For
a long, long time Nor
have I stood beside the river Or
scattered grass flowers On
its rippling waves-- For
a long time A
long, long time! And
yet I know That
even now the moonlit sky Waits
for me The
sandy bank of the river Still
keenly awaits The
touch of my feet The
grass flower softly sways in the breeze Waiting
for me To
pick it up The
rippling waves That
gush along the river Will
call me They
will send for me some day. And
so I live-- I
live because of these firm convictions! Translated
from Bengali by Swapna Dutta Truth-Respect
for all Religions Religious
Harmony Ghulam
Ahmed Mahjoor Forget
your squabbles and love each other, distribute
true amity among yourselves. Cleanse
your hearts, forget your disputes, shun
vengeance, confide in one another. As
Kashmiris you share some land, ethos, don't
alienate one another for naught. Muslims
are milk and Hindus sugar, mix
milk and sugar in sweet accord. With
Hindus at the helm, Muslims to row, thus
will our boat flow smoothly. Shed
ignorance and reckon who are friends
and foes of our motherland. Aliens
can't damage your prestige, only you
should not dishonour each other. Don't
invite strangers to mediate in internal
feuds, resolve them yourself. Never
wish ill to one another, and never
lose each other's goodwill. No
one can harm you if you are united, don't
suffer by tearing yourself asunder. Don't
become enemies of one another, never
create a chasm among yourselves. O
'bulbuls'! Don't earmark flowers and trees;
enjoy the garden as a whole. Brothers
should not get angry with each
other; unite the knot of your hearts. Teach
good conduct to your unwise brethren,
and give them courage. Bring
succor to those who may be poor, remain
united in love like brothers. Mahjoor
has given a lesson in unity, remember
it and teach it to one another. Translated
from Kashmiri by T.N. Kaul Truth-Discrimination Quatrain Ghulam
Hasan Beg Arif Arif,
do not with baser metal alloy your gold! What
the touchstone rejects is never pure, When
you lie molten o'er the fire, take heed Against
contamination even by a grain of copper. Translated
from Kashmiri by Trilokinath Raina. Truth-
Spirit of Enquiry Quatrain Rahman
Rahi Whether
my words have meaning tomorrow, Tomorrow’s
critics will decide; But
I’ll find the gushing waters eternal If
they relieved you of present pain. Translated
from Kashmiri by Trilokinath Raina. Truth-Discrimination A
Poem Kunwar
Narain Around
ten o'clock every day the
same incident recurs. The
same people, in the same way leaving
their wives and children alone come
out of their homes. Its
no earthquake. While
its growing dark, the
same people return to
the same homes, worn
out, defeated appareled
in gloom. I
know this
way the earth won't rock. Nothing
will happen this way. These
people are sick and stiff because
of some other reason. All
these repeatedly,
reaching the same conclusion already
reached; will
realise that
falsehood is a fine art and
each man an artist; maddened
through trying to give some meaning gladly not
to the reality but
to his reality. Now
and then while
coming back home in the evening; the
frightening glimpses of
an abstract art burst
from the sky in
my mind. As
if grinding
together all
the discoloured men and things, someone
had spread them on a flat surface. And
against the apparent risk of blood all
the suppressed colours of
man had
emerged on their own. Translated
from Hindi by Apu Vajpeyi and J.Thronton. Truth-Spirit
of Enquiry Prayer Gopal
Krishna Adiga Lord,
plying the well-known pumps of heraldic praise your
hirelings bend double; others, gouty wagtails, lick
the land for crumbs; one snuffs his candle out and
seeks like an eunuch leech the
warm marshes in the cracks of light; another
sissy gives his back to the time-fed rumps and
sheathes his dagger deep. Lord, I am not of these. Here's
one who grins inside, triumphing
that his lifted lantern lit the face of dawn; he
cannot bend, this fat-faced cock of the walk: Lord,
cut open this dropsic bulge. Sleepless
water skins join night to day in his belches drawing
long paean-notes with each: run thy sickles clean
in Thy kindness through this miasmic crop, and
turn his daily bread into turning blood; give
the poison-vapours natural vents and
give every one outlets into privacy, lest
they vent their gall on paper-virgins. More
that all, teach them the first lesson in
the hygiene of mastication, two and thirty times processed
and blent in the saliva stream: even
if you do not teach them this, teach them to
learn that they have not learned. Shear the illusion that
onions bring their throats the smell of musk; O,
whenever words are blown to balloon in the Mind pinpoint
O Lord the precision of Thy truth. Arrest
the automation of the dream-sense as
it switches open all the sluices while
inaccessible giant thighs play
fast and loose; do not rouse us to self-abuse when
peris, jostle in a disembodied striptease in
the wind, and in thy infinite mercy send
us frequently reality's women; for the self to
wrestle with and nuzzle in, send real thighs and taut new skins. At
every retreat from the winds outside, do not send for
your guerrilla packs of extinct selves. Let
the guests come home with their bodies full- fleshed; save
me from the pest of the skinless guest. See
every ship to its haven, let no whale-hips swallow the
vessel, keep them going from harbour to harbour. Keep
the going poised against the coming to the very end. Still,
keep the ancestral flames of the wisdom of desire burning
clear and high, untouched by the English pox. The
taper wavers in the wind. Even electric lamps are
vulnerable to a blow. Your mountain of vapours condenses
to a seminal drop and digs into the earth in
its arrogance and spills itself everywhere. For
liquefaction's ecstasy even thorn is as grass. For
a moment's fulfilled desire, days, months, years, even
aeons of desire evaded, turned wrong side out,
twisted. Father,
teach us to produce the full nine-month carnal marvel. Teach
us not to bend, and to bend; to
let the flame dig against the cheek of dawn and
to stay in patience wavering with the wind. Teach
the neighing pride of the wild horse never
to become a hackneyed colt, give
it the habit of bearing upon its back the
airy thighs of the immense world. Forgetful
of the little bedchamber upstairs, you
are the one, the only one with the seminal sap rising
to burgeon in no common loins, nor waking
to pour it between compatible legs. Awareness
such as this, my prince, is an egg half-brooded
over; let the Great Hawk come
bursting through his shell churning
the winds like a silver-gleaming staff while
the burdens loosen under your haunches. Translated
from Kannada by A.K. Ramanujan Truth-Spirit
of Enquiry A
Photographer B.R.
Laxman Rao I
go to take pictures of a wedding for
money, for pleasure. The
place is full of people---hustle, splendour And
gaiety, the
rustling of sarees, the beating of drums, food,
coffee, hospitality....... None
invites me to eats and coffee. I
sit in an empty chair in a corner and watch: the
dry chatter of the old, bent with age; the
chirping vanity of over-ripe maidens; the
anxiety of men. The
kashiyatra, dhare, mangalya-dharana etc.--- by
the time the various ceremonies are over I
get to know the
lotus-faces of a number of female-jewels--- their
glances, laughter, dramatics and
their names. My
side-whiskers, goggles, silk shirt tight
pants, pointed shoes and
Tony Curtis smile excite the
curiosity and admiration of a number of girls and
the dumb jealousy of a number of boys. When
I lift my head, my
camera eye sees a
girl, leaning against the stairs, absorbed,
lifting her leg--- and
up it goes till the
naked, white flesh of her thighs and
stops thrilled somewhat. When
they call me for food, for
politeness' sake I
say, 'No thank you.' In
the evening in
the hustle of the reception, in
the bustle of the music concert, they
gather round me, shower
their affection, burn
with desire, show
off, smile sweetly smiles
of acquaintance, lift
an eyebrow, throw a side glance and
make me feel my
life's fulfilled---- these
women, these beauties. I
click the flash at every edge and every curve and
suck in their beauty into
my camera. At
night, before sleeping I
recall their faces one by one and
ruminate: Radha--Padma--Pankaja--Mala--Vishala--Suneeta-- I
invite the dreams in
vain, in vain! At
last the
next evening I
hand them over their
respective photographs; they
run their eyes with mutual admiration, with
a catch in the throat they laugh and
go away to their respective places, leaving
behind with me the
fading memories the
negatives only. Translated
from Kannada by S.K.Desai Truth-Respect of All Religions Sacrifice Imtiaz
Dharkar A
year of fortune lies across
my neck. It
is promised. It will come, ripening
in its season under
a scheming sun. Sweet juice
will burst through skin . and
stain my breast. There
will be no rest from
harvesting. The
blessed touch again. will
warm the flesh, with
the season, into fullness when
my year of fortune comes. I
can feel the promise glinting
at my throat. On
the edge of the knife (Prepare
the lamb, the goat), sweet song
will burst through stun, sliced,
quite perfectly, between
each remembered sin and
sacrifice, a
saviour thrusting in. Truth-
Discrimination The
Last Stop Before the Destination Akhtar-ul-Iman I
shall keep on going like this Through
this green and black, And
red and white earth. Is
there someone? Is
there someone with me? No,
no one. I
rid myself of even the dust That
clung to my feet During
the course of the journey. Whatever
was yours, I
have returned to you- Anyone
else should also claim What
belongs to him. Don't
tell me tomorrow That
I was untrue. Don't
tell me tomorrow That
my intentions were evil. Translated
from Urdu by Baidar Bakht and Kathleen Grant Jaegar. Truth-Respect
of all religions Grant
me no other boon Yashwant God,
grant me no other boon Some
have gathered around me or
I have gathered some around me Grant
me at least enough strength to fulfill their needs God,
grant me no other boon Somewhere
some little child weeps Somewhere
some family sinks in sorrow To
cheer them up instantly, give
me the mind God,
grant me no other boon If
at all a crucial moment comes and
from everywhere rise cries- "Awake,
folk, and save us from disgrace" give
me a weapon in the hands God,
grant me no other boon When,
beneath the rain of blows, the
body bathes in blood, and
people groan and moan May
the dread of death not demoralize me God,
grant me no other boon. Translated
from Marathi by Pradeep Gopal Deshpande. Truth-Respect
for all religions Lead
our life, God, from darkness to light Kusumagraj You
are the catholic soul dwelling in every being You
are the vivifying purity of beauty Accept
this obeisance Lead
our life, God, from darkness to light Its
you who bloom through flowers Its
you who blossom in the sky through stars In
all the just and the religious in this world its
you who dwell You
are present everywhere in
all the forms, I know Lead
our life, God, from darkness to light Its
you who toil in the fields Its
you who labour with the workers Its
you who wipe the tears of
the distressed and the tormented Your
foot rests, 0 holy one, wherever
is selfless service Lead
our life. God, from darkness to light You
are the sword in
the hands that fight for justice You
are the lamp in the hearts of those who
walk in the dark for their goal You
become the fulfilment of the sages that
suffer austerities to seek knowledge Lead
our life. God, from darkness to light Endowed
with your compassion, 0
kind one, I know no fear On
the path ahead 1
shall always seek your foot-prints Always
shall I nurture creativity fearlessly
in my heart Lead
our life. God, from darkness to light Translated
from Marathi by Pradeep Gopal Deshpande. Truth-Discrimination My
Master Vallathol
Narayana Menon The
whole world is his home; Even
the plants and grass and grubs are his kin; Renunciation
his only earning; His
very lowliness his eminence; So
reigns my Master,-the sage of mystic wisdom. It
does not mind if it is decked with star-gems; It
does not mind if it is smudged with cloud-mud all
over; Nothing
sticks to it, nothing besmirches it;- The
sky is always invariably immaculate; So
is my Master! A
river of rare holiness, uninvested by dread creatures, A
sacred lamp of smokeless flame, A
vast treasure trove not haunted by serpents, Limpid
moonlight that casts no ominous shadow- That
is my Master! Without
weapons, he wages righteous wars Without
texts, he gives lessons to godliness Without
drugs, he cures diseases, Without
causing the least hurt, he performs sacrifices, My
Master! Absolute
non-violence is the solemn vow of his life; Peace
has been his special deity from early days; He
is used to saying: 'The matchless armour of non-violence Will
blunt the deadly edge of even the hardest steel!' The
inspiring utterances of my Master are the sweet, Intimate
words of Dharma to his mate whom he has found
at last. The
symphony of the court of supreme truth, The
chimes of the bejwelled anklets of Moksha. For
this warrior who conquers the world with love The
mystic Om is the bow, the soul the arrow, Brahma
the target. He
goes on refining and refining even Omkam, And
takes only the Finest, ultimate spirit of it! If
you wish to see the renunciation of Lord Christ, The
strategy of Lord Krishna in defence of Dharma, The
ahimsa of Lord Buddha, the intellectual might of
Sri Sankara, The
infinite riercy of Rantideva, the truthfulness of
Harischandra, And
the intrepidity and constancy of Mohammed, Blended
in perfect harmony in one single person, Go
to my Master, or at least read his story. Just
one glimpse of his feet-and the coward turns a
hero, The
cruel turns merciful, the miser munificent, The
harsh-tongued sweet-spoken, the unclean immaculate, The
indolent untiringly industrious! Before
this godly ascetic of boundless peace The
assassin's sword is a garland of blue lilies, The
sharp-fanged lion a fawn, The
vast ocean violently battering its shores A
harmless little pool! To
this leader deliberating on matters of moment, Even
the forest is a gilded council chamber. To
this mystic wrap in deep meditation, Even
the heart of the city is the interior Of
a mountain cave! The
good work of this farmer of Dharma Is
raising crops of pure gold from every field; But
the eyes of this great Seer see gold As
but the yellow sand of this earth! To
this man of supreme detachment, august imperial splendour Is
but the devil grinning through the waving chowry; This
king of men who spreads velvet on the rugged Path
of freedom So
that tender feet may not get hurt Lives
always half naked, wrapping himself In
a piece of some coarse bark! Only
the land that gave birth to the Gita Could
bring forth a karmayogi of this calibre; Onlyin
the region between the Himalayan And
the Vindhyan ranges, Could
be found a lion so disciplined in peace; Only
in the land washed by the holy Ganges could flourish A
kalpaka tree which bears so much unmixed good! Translated
from Malayalam by Kainikkara M. Kumara Pillai. Truth- The
Belt of the Spinning Wheel Navakanta
Barua The
corded belt of my mother's spinning wheel was
a mystery to me spool
after spool is used up the
distended bobbins pile up in the basket the
empty reel takes a spin or two and stops But
the belt of the spinning wheel is unending I
don't see its ends, just see it move spelling
it out carefully, I write on my slate Eternal. One
day the cord of the spinning wheel became
quite another thing I
saw a bare string lying on the cement floor And
after that We
bore mother to the ground and burnt her Now
the spinning wheel turns but
the bobbins won't, in
the reel a knotted skein of thread .... Sitting
in the dark of my mind Gingerly,
in Rabindric character entered
in the ledger. Terminal, in
the morning light, the
stammering poet, me, read et-term-inal. Translated
from Assamese by Pradip Acharya Truth-Respect
for All Religions Everyone's
God is one Kavi
Dalpatram He
is Sadashiva and He is Allah He
is the Allmighty He is Helleluiah Do
not discern the Creator to be different My
friends, do not dwell on this idle debate Worship
Krishna and Christ with love Nor
is he different for Jains God
is one but has several names My
friends, do not dwell on this idle debate Some
one will say aqua and others water |