Blue line of the woods on the bank; on the other,

Ravenous, gluttonous, murderous waters

120

Swell in insolent rebellion against the calm

Setting sun. The rudder is useless

As the boat spins and tumbles like a drunkard.

The men and women aboard tremble

And flounder as icy terror mixes

125

With the piercing winter wind. Some are dumb

With fear; others yell and wail and weep

For their dear ones. Maitra, ashen-faced,

Shuts his eyes and mutters prayers.

Rākhāl hides his face in his mother’s breast

130

And shivers mutely. Desperate now,

The boatman calls out to everyone, ‘Someone

Among you has cheated the gods, has not

Given what is owing – hence these waves,

This unseasonal typhoon. I tell you, make good

135

Your promise now – you must not play games

With angry gods.’ The passengers throw money,

Clothes, everything they have into the water,

Recking nothing. But the water surges higher,

Starts to gush into the boat. The boatman

140

Shouts again, ‘I warn you now,

Who is keeping back what belongs to the gods?’

The Brahmin suddenly points to Moksadā

And cries, ‘This woman is the one, she made

Her own son over to the gods and now

145

She tries to steal him back.’ ‘Throw him overboard,’

Scream the passengers with one voice, heartless

In their terror. ‘O grandfather,’ cries Moksadā,

‘Spare him, spare him.’ With all her heart

And might she squeezes Rākhāl to her breast.

150

‘Am I your saviour?’ barks Maitra his voice

Rising in reproach and bitterness. ‘You stupidly

Thoughtlessly gave your own son

To the gods in your anger, and now you expect me

To save him! Pay the gods your debt –

155

All these people will drown if you break

Your word.’ ‘I am a foolish, ignorant

Woman,’ says Moksadā: ‘O God, O reader

Of our inmost thoughts, is what I say

In the heat of anger my true word?

160

Did you not see how far from the truth

It was, O Lord? Do you only listen

To what our mouths say? Do you not hear

The true message of a mother’s heart?’

But as they speak the boatman and oarsmen

165

Roughly tear Rākhāl from his mother’s clasp.

Maitra turns his face away, shuts his eyes,

Blocks his ears, grits his teeth.

A sharp cry sears his heart like a whiplash

Of lightning, stings like a scorpion – ‘Aunt Annadā,

170

Aunt Annadā, Aunt Annadā!’ That helpless, hopeless

Drowning cry stabs Maitra’s tightly

Shut ears like a spike of fire. ‘Stop!’

He bursts out, ‘Save him, save him, save him!’

For an instant he stares at Mokadā lying senseless

175

At his feet; then he turns to the water. The boy’s

Agonized eyes show briefly among the frothing

Waves as he splutters ‘Aunt Annadā’ for the last

Time before the black depths claim him. Only

His frail fist sticks up once in a final

180

Pathetic grasp at the sky’s protection,

But it slips away again, defeated. The Brahmin,

Gasping ‘I shall bring you back’, leaps

Into the water. He is seen no more. The sun sets.

It dances today my heart, like a peacock it dances, it dances.

It sports a mosaic of passions

Like a peacock’s tail,

It soars to the sky with delight, it quests, O wildly

5

It dances today, my heart, like a peacock it dances.

Storm-clouds roll through the sky, vaunting their thunder, their thunder.

Rice-plants bend and sway

As the water rushes,

Frogs croak, doves huddle and tremble in their nests, O proudly

10

Storm-clouds roll through the sky, vaunting their thunder.

Rain-clouds wet my eyes with their blue collyrium, collyrium.

I spread out my joy on the shaded

New woodland grass,

My soul and kadamba-trees blossom together, O coolly

15

Rain-clouds wet my eyes with their blue collyrium.

Who wanders high on the palace-tower, hair unravelled, unravelled –

Pulling her cloud-blue sari

Close to her breast?

Who gambols in the shock and flame of the lightning, O who is it

20

High on the tower today with hair unravelled?

Who sits in the reeds by the river in pure green garments, green garments?

Her water-pot drifts from the bank

As she scans the horizon,

Longing, distractedly chewing fresh jasmine, O who is it

25

Sitting in the reeds by the river in pure green garments?

Who swings on that bakul-tree branch today in the wilderness, wilderness –

Scattering clusters of blooms,

Sari-hem flying,

Hair unplaited and blown in her eyes? O to and fro

30

High and low swinging, who swings on that branch in the wilderness?

Who moors her boat where ketakī-trees are flowering, flowering?

She has gathered moss in the loose

Fold of her sari,

Her tearful rain-songs capture my heart, O who is it

35

Moored to the bank where ketakī-trees are flowering?

It dances today, my heart, like a peacock it dances, it dances.

The woods vibrate with cicadas,

Rain soaks leaves,

The river roars nearer and nearer the village, O wildly

40

It dances today, my heart, like a peacock it dances.

Say we made a journey, mother,

Roaming far and wide together –

You would have a palanquin,

Doors kept open just a chink,

5

I would ride a red horse, clip

Clop-clip along beside you, lifting

Clouds of red dust with my clatter

Now, suppose it’s getting darker,

Suddenly we’re blocked by water –

10

What a place, how bleak and wild,

Not a man or beast in sight.

You take fright, feel in our mind

We’re lost. I tell you, ‘Don’t be frightened,

Look, we’ll take that dried-up river.’

15

What a thorny, thistly region –

All the cattle have been taken

Under cover for the night.

How the path we’re taking winds,

Darkness makes it hard to find –

20

Then suddenly I hear you crying,

‘Near the water, what’s that lantern?’

Next thing shouts and yells surround us,

Figures closing in upon us –

All four bearers fall away,

25

Quake in bushes; you remain

Crouched in fear, reciting names

Of gods while I keep calmly saying,

‘I am here, no one shall harm us.’

Just imagine, lāthi-wielding

30

Long-haired desperate villains wearing

Fabā-flowers behind their ears –

‘Stay right there,’ I shout, ‘keep clear!

See this sword? I’ll chop you, pierce

Each man who comes one footstep nearer.’

35

Still they come, leaping and yelling.

You say, ‘No, Oh don’t go near them!’

I say, ‘Sit tight, I can take them,

Watch –’ I spur my horse, at once

Swords and bucklers clash and thud –

40

Mother, you would faint at such

A fight! Some flee; the rest I scupper

Somehow: run them through, behead them.

You think they have surely killed me,

All those hefty men against me,

45

Till I roll up, smeared with blood,

Pouring sweat – ‘The battle’s done,

Come outside,’ I call. You rush

And hug me kiss me. ‘What a lucky

Thing,’ you say, ‘that you were with me.’

50

Life is such a boring matter,

Why are the exciting stories never

True? How this one would amaze

Neighbours, brothers – what? such great

Strength in one so small? My fame

55

Would spread, with everybody saying,

‘What luck he was with his mother!’

Why do you speak so softly, Death, Death,

Creep upon me, watch me so stealthily?

This is not how a lover should behave.

When evening flowers droop upon their tired

5

Stems, when cattle are brought in from the fields

After a whole day’s grazing, you, Death,

Death, approach me with such gentle steps,

Settle yourself immovably by my side.

I cannot understand the things you say.

10

Alas, will this be how you will take me, Death,

Death? Like a thief, laying heavy sleep

On my eyes as you descend to my heart?

Will you thus your tread be a slow beat

In my sleep-numbed blood, your jingling ankle-bells

15

A drowsy rumble in my ear? Will you, Death,

Death, wrap me, finally, in your cold

Arms and carry me away while I dream?

I do not know why you thus come and go.

Tell me, is this the way you wed, Death,

20

Death? Unceremonially, with no

Weight of sacrament or blessing or prayer?

Will you come with your massy tawny hair

Unkempt, unbound into a bright coil-crown?

Will no one bear your victory-flag before

25

Or after; will no torches glow like red

Eyes along the river, Death, Death?

Will earth not quake in terror at your step?

When fierce-eyed Śiva came to take his bride,

Remember all the pomp and trappings, Death,

30

Death: the flapping tiger-skins he wore;

His roaring bull; the serpents hissing round

His hair; the bom-bom sound as he slapped his cheeks;

The necklace of skulls swinging round his neck;

The sudden raucous music as he blew

35

His horn to announce his coming – was this not

A better way of wedding, Death, Death?

And as that deathly wedding-party’s din

Grew nearer, Death, Death, tears of joy

Filled Gaurī’s eyes and the garments at her breast

40

Quivered; her left eye fluttered and her heart

Pounded; her body quailed with thrilled delight

And her mind ran away with itself, Death, Death;

Her mother wailed and smote her head at the thought

Of receiving so wild a groom; and in his mind

45

Her father agreed calamity had struck.

Why must you always come like a thief, Death,

Death, always silently, at night’s end,

Leaving only tears? Come to me festively,

Make the whole night ring with our triumph, blow

50

Your victory-conch dress me in blood-red robes

Grasp me by the hand and sweep me away!

Pay no heed to what others may think, Death,

Death, for I shall of my own free will

Resort to you if you but take me gloriously.

55

If I am immersed in work in my room

When you arrive, Death, Death, then break

My work, thrust my unreadiness aside.

If I am sleeping, sinking all desires

In the dreamy pleasure of my bed, or if I lie

60

With apathy gripping my heart and my eyes

Flickering between sleep and waking, fill

Your conch with your destructive breath and blow,

Death, Death, and I shall run to you.

I shall go to where your boat is moored,

65

Death, Death, to the sea where the wind rolls

Darkness towards me from infinity.

I may see black clouds massing in the far

North-east corner of the sky; fiery snakes

Of lightning may rear up with their hoods raised,

70

But I shall not flinch in unfounded fear –

I shall pass silently, unswervingly

Across that red storm-sea, Death, Death.

Our work was over for the day, and now the light was fading;

We did not think that anyone would come before the morning.

All the houses round about

Dark and shuttered for the night –

5

One or two amongst us said, ‘The King of Night is coming.’

We just laughed at them and said, ‘No one will come till morning.’

And when on outer doors we seemed to hear a knocking noise,

We told ourselves, ‘That’s only the wind, they rattle when it blows.’

Lamps snuffed out throughout the house,

10

Time for rest and peacefulness –

One or two amongst us said, ‘His heralds are at the doors.’

We just laughed and said, ‘The wind rattles them when it blows.’

And when at dead of night we heard a strange approaching clangour,

We thought, sleep-fuddled as we were, it was only distant thunder.

15

Earth beneath us live and trembling,

Stirring as if it too were waking –

One or two were saying, ‘Hear how the wheels of his chariot clatter.’

Sleepily we said, ‘No no, that’s only distant thunder.’

And when with night still dark there rose a drumming loud and near,

20

Somebody called to all, ‘Wake up, wake up, delay no more!’

Everyone shaking now with fright,

Arms wrapped close across each heart –

Somebody cried in our ears, ‘O see his royal standard rear!’

At last we started up and said, ‘We must delay no more.’

25

O where are the lights, the garlands, where are the signs of celebration?

Where is the throne? The King has come, we made no preparation!

Alas what shame, what destiny,

No court, no robes, no finery –

Somebody cried in our ears, ‘O vain, O vain this lamentation:

30

With empty hands, in barren rooms, offer your celebration.’

Fling wide the doors and let him in to the lowly conch’s boom;

In deepest dark the King of Night has come with wind and storm.

Thunder crashing across the skies

Lightning setting the clouds ablaze –

35

Drag your tattered blankets, let the yard be spread with them:

The King of Grief and Night has come to our land with wind and storm.

‘Who will buy me, who will buy me, rid me of my cares?’

Thus I shout and thus I wander through my nights and days;

And with each day that passes

My basket presses

5

Upon my head more heavily.

People come and go: some laugh; some watch me tearfully.

At noon I make my way along the king’s great stone-paved road,

And soon he comes in his chariot, sword in hand, crown on his head.

‘I’ll buy by force,’ he says

10

And grabs me, tries

To drag me off. I wriggle free

With ease; the king climbs into his golden chariot and rides away.

In small back lanes I wander past bolted and shuttered doors.

A door opens; an old man with a money-bag appears.

15

He examines what I have

And says, ‘I’ll give

You gold.’ He returns again and again,

Empties his purse. With far-off thoughts I carry my basket on.

At evening over the richly blossoming forest moonbeams fall.

20

Near to the base of a bakul-tree I meet a beautiful girl.

She edges close: ‘My smile

Will make you sell,’,

She says. Her smile soon turns to weeping.

Slowly, softly she moves away into the woodland gloaming.

25

Along the sea-shore the sun shines, the sea breaks and rolls.

A child is on the sandy beach: he sits playing with shells.

He seems to know me; he says,

‘I’ll buy your cares

For nothing.’ Suddenly I am released

30

From my heavy load; his playful face has won me free of cost.

How can we bear to see your conch lying there in the dirt?

The tragedy of it cuts off air and blocks out light.

Warriors, rise, brandish your banners!

Singers, get up and sing! Doers,

5

Charge into action! Do not falter!

How can we let your inspiring conch stare up at us from the dirt?

I came to the prayer-room with an offering of flowers neatly laid out,

Longing to end my long day’s labours with heavenly quiet.

I thought this time my heart’s lacerations

10

Would heal; I thought my ablutions

Would purge me – till I saw the degradation

Of your great conch lying on the path, lying in the dirt.

What am I doing with this prayer-lamp, what do I mean by this prayer?

Must I drop my flowers of peace – weave scarlet garlands of war?

15

I hoped for a calm end to my struggles;

I thought my debts had been paid my battles

Won, and now I could thankfully settle

In your lap: but suddenly your mute conch seemed to sound in my ear.

O change me, touch me with youth, alchemize me! Let fiery melody

20

Blaze and twirl in my breast, life-fire leap into ecstasy!

Let night’s ribs crack; let skies,

As they fill with dawning enlightenment, raise

Terror in remotest dark. From today

I shall fight to seize and carry aloft your conch of victory.

25

Now I know I can no more close my eyes in slumber.

Now I know that monsoon showers of arrows must batter

My heart. Some people will rush to my side;

Others will weep and sigh in dread;

Horrifying nightmares will rock the beds

30

Of sleeping hearers: but today your conch will joyously thunder.

When I looked to you for rest I received nothing but shame;

But dress me for battle now, let armour cover each limb.

Let new obstructions chafe and challenge me;

I shall take all blows and hurts unflinchingly;

35

My heart shall drum redress for your injuries;

I shall give all my strength, win back your conch and make it BOOM.

You knew, Emperor of India, Shah-Jahan,

That life, youth, wealth, renown

All float away down the stream of time.

Your only dream

5

Was to preserve forever your heart’s pain.

The harsh thunder of imperial power

Would fade into sleep

Like a sunset’s crimson splendour,

But it was your hope

10

That at least a single, eternally-heaved sigh would stay

To grieve the sky.

Though, emeralds, rubies, pearls are all

But as the glitter of a rainbow tricking out empty air

And must pass away,

15

But as the glitter of a rainbow tricking out empty air

And must pass away,

Yet still one solitary tear

Would hang on the cheek of time

In the form

Of this white and gleaming Taj Mahal.

O human heart,

20

You have no time

To look back at anyone again,

No time.

You are driven by life’s quick spate

On and on from landing to landing,

25

Loading cargo here,

Unloading there.

In your garden, the south wind’s murmurs

May enchant spring mādhabī-creepers

Into suddenly filling your quivering lap with flowers –

30

Their petals are scattered in the dust come twilight.

You have no time –

You raise from the dew of another night

New blossom in your groves, new jasmine

To dress with tearful gladness the votive tray

35

Of a later season.

O human heart,

All that you gather is thrown

To the edge of the path by the end of each night and day.

You have no time to look back again,

40

No time, no time.

Thus, Emperor, you wished,

Fearing your own heart’s forgetfulness,

To conquer time’s heart

Through beauty.

45

How wonderful the deathless clothing

With which you invested

Formless death – how it was garlanded!

You could not maintain

Your grief forever, and so you enmeshed

50

Your restless weeping

In bonds of silent perpetuity.

The names you softly

Whispered to your love

On moonlit nights in secret chambers live on

55

Here

As whispers in the ear of eternity.

The poignant gentleness of love

Flowered into the beauty of serene stone.

Poet-Emperor,

60

This is your heart’s picture,

Your new Meghadūta,

Soaring with marvellous, unprecedented melody and line

Towards the unseen plane

On which your loverless beloved

65

And the first glow of sunrise

And the last sigh of sunset

And the disembodied beauty of moonlit cāmelī-flower

And the gateway on the edge of language

That turns away man’s wistful gaze again and again

70

Are all blended.

This beauty is your messenger,

Skirting time’s sentries

To carry the wordless message:

‘I have not forgotten you, my love, I have not forgotten you.’

75

You are gone, now, Emperor –

Your empire has dissolved like a dream,

Your throne is shattered,

Your armies, whose marching

Shook the earth,

80

Today have no more weight than the windblown dust on the Delhi road.

Your singers no longer sing for you;

Your musicians no longer mingle their tunes

With the lapping Jumna.

The jingle of the anklets of your women

85

Has died from your palaces:

The night sky moans

With the throb

Of crickets in their crumbling corners.

But your tireless, incorruptible messenger,

90

Spurning imperial growth and decline,

Spurning the rise and fall of life and death

Utters

Through the ages

The same, continuous message of eternal mourning:

95

‘I have not forgotten you, my love, I have not forgotten you.’

Lies! Lies! Who says you have not forgotten?

Who says you have not thrown open

The cage that holds memory?

That even today your heart wards off

100

The ever-falling darkness

Of history?

That even today it has not escaped by the liberating path

Of forgetfulness?

Tombs remain forever with the dust of this earth:

105

It is death

That they carefully preserve in a casing of memory.

But who can hold life?

The stars claim it: they call it to the sky,

Invite it to new worlds, to the light

110

Of new dawns.

It breaks

The knot of memory and runs

Free along universal tracks.

Emperor, no earthly empire could ever keep you:

115

Not even the whole

Ocean-resounding natural world could supply you.

And so

When your life’s commedia was complete

You kicked this world away

120

Like a used clay vessel.

You are greater than your fame: more and more of it is thrown

From your soul’s chariot

As it journeys on:

Your relics lie here, but you are gone.

125

The love that could not move or carry forward,

The love that blocked its own road

With its own grand throne

Could adhere to you no more than the dust of a road on your feet

For all its intimate sweetness –

130

And thus

You returned it to the dust behind you,

And griefs seed,

Blown by your heart’s feeling,

Was shed from the garland of your life.

135

You travelled on afar:

The deathless plant that grew

From that seed to meet the sky

Speaks to us now with sombre melody -

‘Stare no matter how distantly,

140

That traveller is no longer here, no longer here.

His beloved kept him not,

His realms released him,

Neither sea nor mountain could bar him.

Today his chariot

145

Travels at the beck of the night

To the song of the stars

Towards the gate of dawn.

I remain here weighted with memory:

He is free of burdens; he is no longer here.’

O my love, what gift of mine

Shall I give you this dawn?

A morning song?

But morning does not last long –

5

The heat of the sun

Wilts it like a flower

And songs that tire

Are done.

O friend, when you come to my gate

10

At dusk

What is it you ask?

What shall I bring you?

A light?

A lamp from a secret corner of my silent house?

15

But will you want to take it with you

Down the crowded street?

Alas,

The wind will blow it out.

Whatever gifts are in my power to give you,

20

Be they flowers,

Be they gems for your neck,

How can they please you

If in time they must surely wither,

Crack,

25

Lose lustre?

All that my hands can place in yours

Will slip through your fingers

And fall forgotten to the dust

To turn into dust.

30

Rather,

When you have leisure,

Wander idly through my garden in spring

And let an unknown, hidden flower’s scent startle you

Into sudden wondering –

35

Let that displaced moment

Be my gift.

Or if, as you peer your way down a shady avenue,

Suddenly, spilled

From the thick gathered tresses of evening

40

A single shivering fleck of sunset-light stops you,

Turns your daydreams to gold,

Let that light be an innocent

Gift.

Truest treasure is fleeting;

45

It sparkles for a moment, then goes.

It does not tell its name; its tune

Stops us in our tracks, its dance disappears

At the toss of an anklet.

I know no way to it –

50

No hand, nor word can reach it.

Friend whatever you take of it

On your own,

Without asking, without knowing, let that

Be yours.

55

Anything I can give you is trifling –

Be it a flower, or a song.

Binu was twenty-three when illness struck her.

Doctors and drugs

Became a greater torment than the illness itself;

Different-labelled bottles, different-shaped pill-boxes piled up.

5

After a year and a half of treatment her bones stuck out:

Then they said, ‘Give her a change of air.’

So it was that Binu took her first train-journey,

Left her parents-in-law’s house for the first time since marriage.

The restrictions, the airless sequestration of the joint family

10

Had forced so broken a rhythm on our life together:

Our meetings furtive,

Our days a patchwork of snatched words and abortive smiles.

Today suddenly Earth seemed to be raising the whole light of the sky

To welcome us afresh as man and wife;

15

The expression in Binu’s illness-enlarged eyes

Was like a bride’s first unveiled look again, in a new world.

When beggars along the railway-track

Wailed at us for alms,

Binu would dig into her box for coins

20

Wrap them in paper,

Fling them freely.

How could her happiness bear its own weight

But by making everyone happy?

It was as if we had left behind our broken domestic moorings

25

To sail away down a river of permanent love:

Binu’s mood and charity

Could not but fill the journey with universal grace.

The thought seemed to burst again and again in her mind:

‘Today my husband cares only for me;

30

There is no one else anywhere,

No husband’s relatives before, behind or around me –’

The relief of it thrilled her bodily.

At Bilāspur station we had to change trains;

We got down hurriedly.

35

Six hours to fill in the waiting-room:

They seemed an age to me,

But Binu said, ‘Why? It’s good to wait.’

There seemed no limit to her delight.

The journey was a flute that made her want to dance:

40

Waiting, moving were made one by her happiness.

She opened the door of the waiting-room and said,

‘Look, look at those horse-carts passing –

And can you see? That calf over there, how shiny and plump it is,

What deep love in its mother’s eyes!

45

And next to that steep-sided pond over there,

That little fenced-in house under śiśu-trees,

Near the railway-line,

Is it the station-master’s? What a lovely place to live.’

I spread out a bed-roll in the waiting-room.

50

‘Binu,’ I said, ‘have a rest now. Lie down and sleep.’

I pulled a chair on to the platform

And began to read an English novel I had bought.

Goods trains passed; passenger trains –

About three hours went by.

55

Suddenly I heard Binu call from just inside the waiting-room,

‘Can you come? I want to tell you something.’

There was a Hindusthānī woman inside the room:

She looked me in the eyes,

Bowed, withdrew to the platform where she stood clutching a pillar.

60

Binu said, ‘She’s called Rukminī.

She lives in that row of huts by the well over there;

Her husband is a station coolie.

Some years ago

There was trouble where they lived:

65

The zamindār was a tyrant – they had to flee.

They used to have seven bighās of land, I forget the name of their village,

It was by a river somewhere – ’

I interrupted her, said with a smile,

‘The train will be here before you’ve finished Rukminī’s life-story.

70

Come on, it won’t hurt to cut it short.’

‘Yes it will,’ said Binu angrily, glaring, frowning –

‘Why should I cut it short?

You’re not hurrying to get to the office – what’s the fuss?

You can listen to it right through.’

75

So much for my English novel. Instead I listened in full

To the lengthy story of a railway coolie.

The nub was at the end, an expensive one:

The coolie’s daughter was being married; they needed

Bracelets, bangles, armlets for the dowry.

80

They’d cut it right down, but they’d have to spend twenty-five rupees.

It was such a worry:

Rukminī was terribly cast down by it.

Could I not,

Just this once,

85

Relieve Rukminī of the worry?

Before we got on the train, I must give her

The whole twenty-five rupees.

What an absurd business!

Whoever heard of such a thing?

90

The woman was probably a sweeper or something equally disgusting,

Cleaning out the waiting-room daily –

To think of giving twenty-five rupees to her!

I’d quickly go bankrupt if I gave away money like that.

‘All right, I understand,’ I said. ‘But I find

95

I only have a hundred-rupee note –

No way of changing it.’

‘They’ll change it for you at the ticket-office,’ said Binu.

I answered, ‘All right, I’ll see what I can do.’

I called the woman, took her aside,

100

And then I tore into her:

‘I’ll make sure you lose your job!

Going around duping passengers? I’ll soon put a stop to it.’

When she burst into tears and clung to my feet

I gave her two rupees and had done with her.

105

The temple-light went dark, went out.

At the end of two months I was on my way home.

When I got down once again at Bilāspur to change trains,

I was alone.

In her final moments Binu had taken the dust of my feet and said,

110

‘Whatever else in my life I shall forget,

These last two months will be marked on my brow forever –

Like the everlasting vermilion in the parting of Laksmī’s hair.

These two months have filled my soul with nectar:

That is what I remember as I bid you farewell.’

115

O all-seeing God,

If only I could tell Binu today

That I am guilty of a dreadful omission from that two-month offering –

A debt of twenty-five rupees.

Even if I could give a hundred thousand rupees to Rukminī today

120

They could never fill that lack.

Binu never knew I had pressed deceivingly into her hands

The two months that she took away with her.

At Bilāspur I inquired of everyone,

‘Where is Rukminī?’

125

They reacted blankly:

Who was Rukminī? No one knew.

I racked my brains: ‘The wife of Jhamru the coolie,’ I remembered.

And then they answered, ‘They’re no longer here.’

‘Where can I find them?’ I asked.

130

‘Why should anyone know that?’ said the station-master, getting annoyed.

The ticket-clerk smirked and said, ‘They went off a month ago

To Darjeeling or Khasrubāg

Or maybe Ärākān.’

When I tried to ask if anyone knew their address,

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I was brushed away angrily: what business of theirs was the coolie’s address?

How could I explain? What seemed so trivial to them that day

Was for me direst necessity:

To find the one person able to rid me of my burden of deceit.

‘These two months have filled my soul with nectar.’

140

How shall I bear the memory of Binu’s last words?

I remain here a debtor;

My lie will stay with me always.

Blue sky, paddy fields, grandchild’s play,

Deep ponds, diving-stage, child’s holiday;

Tree shade, barn corners, catch-me-if-you-dare,

Undergrowth, párul-bushes, life without care.

5

Green paddy all a-quiver, hopeful as a child,

Child prancing, river dancing, waves running wild.

Bespectacled grandfather old man am I,

, Trapped in my work like a spiderwebbed fly.

Your games are my games, my proxy holiday,

10

Your laugh the sweetest music I shall ever play.

Your joy is mine, my mischief in your eyes,

Your delight the country where my freedom lies.

Autumn sailing in, now, steered by your play,

Bringing white śiuli-flowers to grace your holiday.

15

Pleasure of the chilly air tingling me at night,

Blown from Himālaya on the breeze of your delight.

Dawn in Aśvin, flower-forcing roseate sun,

Dressed in the colours of a grandchild’s fun.

Flooding of my study with your leaps and your capers,

20

Work gone, books flying, avalanche of papers.

Arms round my neck, in my lap bounce thump –

Hurricane of freedom in my heart as you jump.

Who has taught you, how he does it, I shall never know –

You’re the one who teaches me to let myself go.

Palm-tree: single-legged giant,

topping the other trees,

peering at the firmament –

It longs to pierce the black cloud-ceiling

5

and fly away, away,

if only it had wings.

The tree seems to express its wish

in the tossing of its head:

its fronds heave and swish –

10

It thinks, Maybe my leaves are feathers,

and noting stops me now

from rising on their flutter.

All day the fronds on the windblown tree

soar and flap and shudder

15

as though it thinks it can fly,

As though it wanders in the skies,

travelling who knows where,

wheeling past the stars –

And then as soon as the wind dies down,

20

the fronds subside, subside:

the mind of the tree returns

To earth, recalls that earth is its mother:

and then it likes once more

its earthly corner.

My past days bulging with the sap of the turbulence of youth –

O master of cyclic Time, are you indifferent to them now,

O tranced ascetic?

Have they with kimśuk blossoms on gusty Caitra nights

5

Blown away, have they floated uncared-for off into infinite sky?

Have they on rafts of slim white rainless post-monsoon cloud

Drifted at the whim of arbitrary winds to moor on oblivion

Through harsh neglect?

Those days that once so colourfully decked your matted yellow locks

10

With white and red and blue and yellow flowers –

Are they all forgotten?

In the end they laughingly stole your beggar’s tabor and horn

And gave you flute and anklets; they filled your drinking-bowl

With potent distillations of the heavy scents of spring;

15

They drowned the dense inertia of your trance

In an upsurge of sweetness.

Your trance collapsed then, vanished into the air, whirling with the speed

Of a dry leaf towards the snowy deserts of the north,

The songless Himālaya.

20

The days transformed your meditation, translated your mantras into scents

Of flowers borne by the jesting, fancy-free, southern spring-breeze.

Those mantras gave oleanders, kāñcan, séuti riotous life;

Those mantras lit the forest with new leaves, sparked its groves

Into blue-green flame.

25

The rushing flood-waters of spring ended your austerities;

You listened now with rapture to the music of Gangā’s flowing tears

Tangled in your hair.

Your wealth revived, its splendour sprang up afresh;

The wonder in your heart overflowed with its own extravagance.

30

You discovered in yourself your proper, generous beauty;

Joyously you took in your hands the gleaming nectar-cup

That the world hungers for.

Wildly you roamed through the woods with your pulsing dances,

To whose rhythm and tempo I constantly matched my tunes –

35

Dancing beside you.

In my eyes there were dreams of paradise, moonlit by your brow;

The ever-renewing force of your līlā filled my heart.

I saw it in smiles, at its point of escape into the heart of beauty;

I saw it in shyness, at its point of hesitant switching to delight;

40

I felt the Flux of Form.

The brimming vessel of those days, have you since spilt its fullness?

Have you rubbed out their curlicued pattern, their lip-print

Of passionate red?

Were you careless with their tear-swelled torrent of unsung songs,

45

Did you let them lie forgotten in broken jars in your courtyard?

Did your dance of destruction pound them into dust?

Does the moan of the sterile hot south-west wind signify the death

Of your former days?

No, no, they are with you still: you have merely hidden them away

50

In the absolute night of your yoga, absorbed them into silence

To guard them secretly.

Gangā, meshed in your hair, is at present surreptitious in her flow;

The shackles of your sleep have blanked the moon on your forehead.

What deceit there is in your līlā, to disguise you so miserably!

55 As far as the eye sees, the darkness whispers, ‘They are gone,

Those days are gone.’

You are Time’s herdsman: in the evening of an era you sound your horn,

And past days rush like cattle to the safety of your byre,

Eager for its calm.

60

Across the deserted plains of the universe marsh-fires flicker;

Cobras of lightning dart their hoods through epoch-ending clouds.

Separate moments converge into darkness, disconsolate, crushed,

Their energy sucked into the bonds of your deep unbreathing trance,

Their motion annihilated.

65

But I know that after its long night your trance will reach

Explosive conclusion when Flux sweeps you into its dance again,

Into its stream of delight.

The suppressed days of youth will be freed, to emerge

As eager promptings of delicious passion; rebellious youth

70

Will be a warrior displaying again and again how he can smash

Fossilized discipline; and I shall prepare his lion-throne,

His victorious welcome.

For I am Indra’s messenger: I come to break your penance,

O Śiva, fearsome ascetic; I am heaven’s conspiracy against you.

75

Age after age I come,

A poet, to your hermitage. I fill my basket with garlands of victory;

Irrepressible conquest shouts through the plangent rhythms of my verse.

By the force that drives my feelings, roses open;

By the impulse of ecstatic discovery that opens new leaves,

80

I hurl forth my songs.

O bark-clad anchorite, I know all your deceptions.

Your bark is illusory armour: you joyfully anticipate defeat

At the hands of beauty.

You may burn up Kāma again and again with your fire,

85

But you always restore him to doubly blazing life;

And because I fill and refill his quiver

With passion, I am come with my snares of music, a poet,

Into the lap of earth.

I know, I know, though you seem aloof, in reality you long

90

For the agonized insistent pleas of your beloved to wake you suddenly

Into new ardour.

You hold yourself apart, sunk in seemingly impenetrable trance

Because you want her to weep the fiery tears of separation.

But the wonderful images of your union with Umā on breaking your trance –

95

I see them through all ages, play them on my vīnā in your consort’s rāga,

For I am a poet.

Your attendants, life-hating lovers of burning-grounds, do not know me:

They cackle with the devilish rancour of the mean in spirit

When they see what I am.

100

But in the months of spring, when the time is auspicious for your nuptials

And sweet-smiling modesty blooms in Umā’s cheeks,

Then call your poet to the route of your wedding procession,

Let him join the seven sages who accompany you with trays

Of festive garlands.

105

Śiva, the eyes of your ghoulish attendants will redden with fury

When they see your resplendent body dressed in scarlet wedding-robes,

Bright as the dawn.

You shall cast off your necklace of skulls, bury it in mādhabī-creepers;

You shall rub off the ash on your forehead, replace it with pollen.

110

Umā will smile buoyantly, glance at me sideways:

Her smile will inspire my flute, raise songs of the triumph of beauty

In my poet’s heart.

Lady, you have filled these exile days of mine

With sweetness, made a foreign traveller your own

As easily as these unfamiliar stars, quietly,

Coolly smiling from heaven, have likewise given me

5

Welcome. When I stood at this window and stared

At the southern sky, a message seemed to slide

Into my soul from the harmony of the stars,

A solemn music that said, ‘We know you are ours –

Guest of our light from the day you passed

10

From darkness into the world, always our guest.’

Lady, your kindness is a star, the same solemn tune

In your glance seems to say, ‘I know you are mine.’

I do not know your language, but I hear your melody:

‘Poet, guest of my love, my guest eternally.’

O Tree, life-founder, you heard the sun

Summon you from the dark womb of earth

At your life’s first wakening; your height

Raised from rhythmless rock the first

5

Hymn to the light; you brought feeling to harsh,

Impassive desert.

Thus, in the sky,

By mixed magic, blue with green, you flung

The song of the world’s spirit at heaven

And the tribe of stars. Facing the unknown,

10

You flew with fearless pride the victory

Banner of the life-force that passes

Again and again through death’s gateway

To follow an endless pilgrim-road

Through time, through changing resting-places,

15

In ever new mortal vehicles.

Earth’s reverie snapped at your noiseless

Challenge: excitedly she recalled

Her daring departure from heaven –

A daughter of God leaving its bright

20

Splendour, ashy-pale, dressed in humble

Ochre-coloured garments, to partake

Of the joy of heaven fragmented

Into time and place, to receive it

More deeply now that she would often

Pierce it with stabs of grief.

25

O valiant

Child of the earth, you declared a war

To liberate her from that fortress

Of desert.