rapid pace,
With those transport us safe today o’er difficulties everywhere.
Uninjured in our bodies may we pass through each succeeding
night,
And let malignities fail to pass, as men without a boat the depth.
As millet hurried through the air before us is beheld no more,
So cause the man to vanish, Night, who plans to do us injury.
The thief hast thou kept far away, the robber driver of our kine,
Even him who having covered up the horse’s head would lead
him off.
If dealing treasure thou hast come today, O highly favoured Night,
Cause thou us to enjoy it all so this may not pass away.
Do thou entrust us to the Dawn, all of us free from sin,
O Night.
May Dawn deliver us to Day, and Day to thee, O glorious one.
Translated from the Sanskrit by Ralph T.H. Griffith
From the Isa Upanishads (c. 12 BCE-6 BCE)
6
Whoever sees
All beings in the self (ātman)
And the self in all beings
Does not shrink away from it.
7
For the one who knows,
In whom all beings have become self,
How can there be delusion or grief
When he sees oneness?
8
He has encompassed the bright, the bodiless, the unwounded,
The sinewless, the pure, the unpierced by evil:
The wise seer, conqueror, self-born,
He has arranged objects according to their nature
Through eternal years.
9
They who worship ignorance
Enter blind darkness:
They who delight in knowledge
Enter darkness, as it were, yet deeper.
10
It is different, they say, from knowledge;
It is different, they say, from ignorance:
So we have heard from those wise ones
Who have revealed it to us.
11
Whoever knows knowledge and ignorance—
Both of them, together—
By ignorance crosses over death
And by knowledge reaches immortality.
Translated from the Sanskrit by Valerie J. Roebuck
Umashankar Joshi (1911-88)
Miles upon Miles
Miles and miles and miles pass through me
unmoving and still as the train rushes on.
Those distant hills cut their way in, sinking
in joy. Rivers flow in my veins, and behind
my wide eyes entire lakes dip and drown.
Fields flutter; their tremor brushes my limbs.
Houses spread out through my hands, and huts,
their yards rippling with the imprint of palms.
A creeper strays roofward . . . and
on that girl’s blouse, design-like sits a butterfly.
Thus much only strung out on memory’s line
As miles upon miles pass me through.
Worlds upon worlds pass right through me
bound to turning earth in chains of clay.
The Milky Way, herds of stars and planets,
jostling and wheeling, keep coming. In
leaps the antelope, the hunter behind, the scorpion.
Thirsty, I drink all of space. Storm’s dance,
lightning’s jabs, and the roar of the clouds,
summer’s scorching winds and flowers of spring:
someone in there gulps it all down.
A tear from boundless compassion?—some shooting star.
Earth aspires to light?—a flashing firefly.
Thus much hope only in memory’s store as
worlds upon worlds pierce me through.
Translated from the Gujarati by Suguna Ramanathan and Rita Kothari
Vyasa (c. 11 BCE-4 BCE)
From the Bhagvad Gita
The Way to Eternal Brahman, Section VIII
There is day, also, and night in the universe:
The wise know this, declaring the day of Brahma
A thousand ages in span
And the night a thousand ages.
Day dawns, and all those lives that lay hidden asleep
Come forth and show themselves, mortally manifest:
Night falls, and all are dissolved
Into the sleeping germ of life.
Thus they are seen, O Prince, and appear unceasingly,
Dissolving with the dark, and with day returning
Back to the new birth, new death:
All helpless. They do what they must.
The Yoga of Devotion, Section XII
Quickly I come
To those who offer me
Every action,
Worship me only,
Their dearest delight,
With devotion undaunted.
Because they love me
These are my bondsmen
And I shall save them
From mortal sorrow
And all the waves
Of Life’s deathly ocean.
Be absorbed in me,
Lodge your mind in me:
Thus you shall dwell in me,
Do not doubt it,
Here and hereafter.
Devotion to the Supreme Spirit, Section XV
The light that lives in the sun,
Lighting all the world,
The light of the moon,
The light that is in fire:
Know that light to be mine.
My energy enters the earth,
Sustaining all that lives:
I become the moon,
Giver of water and sap,
To feed the plants and the trees.
Flame of life in all,
I consume the many foods,
Turning them into strength
That upholds the body.
I am in all hearts,
I give and take away
Knowledge and memory:
I am all that the Vedas tell,
I am the teacher,
The knower of Vedanta.
Translated from the Sanskrit by Swami Prabhavananda and Christopher Isherwood
Eunice de Souza (b. 1940)
Learn from the Almond Leaf
Learn from the almond leaf
which flames as it falls.
The ground is burning.
The earth is burning.
Flamboyance
is all.
English
Melanie Silgardo (b. 1956)
The Earthworm’s Story
I lost this last bit of shine
scraping along the way.
The crow pecked,
the ant bit,
and the gravel sneered underbelly.
The damp gone, the leaves fall
heavy as plates, and clatter.
Above the fly stalks the air.
It does not matter
if that’s your foot over me.
English
Siddhartha Menon (b. 1967)
Beetles
I have an affection
for the larger black beetles,
bulbous, gauche: I think I sympathize.
They are out of sorts
on surfaces, contrive to be lost in empty dustbins,
are seldom on an even keel.
They flounder anywhere—on clods,
on cement, and topple
quicker than a house of cards.
They are so much upon their backs, so
helpless as they claw
air, such easy meat.
You flip them right: they grope,
poise themselves and whirr like helicopters.
They do not cling to redemption.
Are they meant to be like this? There must
be a realm where every act
isn’t the tragic-comic one—
where touchstones are les
s clear, the walls
less near. Not for surfaces,
yet there they are, rising and blundering,
there they are being flipped.
At times I see them pause, then burrow
impatiently, boring in.
English
Santan Rodrigues (1948-2008)
The Hang
It was no Christ on Calvary
When you came sweating up the runway
carrying your own self
to the end. Your arms lifted you up
as you propelled
your frail structure to a cross in the sky
to be nailed there.
And the wind moved piercing your side.
Till your weight
Laid you to rest in a sepulchre
of sand.
English
Anand Thakore (b. 1971)
Tusker Kills Mahout at Religious Ceremony
Nine weeks now, and the tamarind tree has put out a new branch.
A fresh wind from the west, the first rains.
The men barely notice me now on their way to the fields.
The womenfolk walk past me nonchalantly,
On their way to the river.
The village pundit is punctual about his weekly exorcisms:
Rosewater. Turmeric. Sandalwood. Ash.
Only the children still fear me.
***
A local poet has composed a paean
In praise of what he sees as my rebellion,
My willingness to be ruled by nothing
But an ancient impulse to break free.
The nation, he sings, has much to learn from this.
The villagers who hear him are amazed
That a demon so vile
Should have dared to lodge itself in me,
A beast half-divine, the mortal god of their tribe.
They tell him the same demon now lives in his songs.
***
Sure, they have their reasons, all of them,
Poet and pundit, men and women of the village,
For believing what they believe;
But all it was, really, was lust,
A minute’s raw lust for a dead mate,
That tore me from my senses:
A huge haze came over me. A chaos
Of people and rocks, clouds, fields, hills and trees,
A compelling smell that meant: her skin.
Gravity deserted me, my light legs floated,
My body convulsed,
Then threw itself back before I knew it.
I trampled fences, crushed a thatched hut.
I uprooted a mango sapling not yet three summers tall.
When I lifted his broken body into my trunk,
I was not sure he had hit the ground,
I was that uncertain about where the earth really was.
Nobody understands I was trying to save him.
***
My new mahout is a good man.
He brings me fruit and wreaths of flowers at dawn
And says his prayers before he mounts me:
But I have only to think of her again, in that way,
And I am sure I will kill him.
English
ARE YOU LOOKING FOR A GOD?’
Sankaracarya (c. 8 CE)
From Sivahandakahari
Let, Lord, your life-stream trickle down
Washing sin’s dust away
And make a channel in my mind—
Cool thereby the fever of life
And calm its troubled waters;
Then find its riverbed in my heart—
So shall good prevail,
An unbreaking billow of bliss!
How often, Lord of beings, do we take
Nacre for silver, glass for diamond, flour
Mixed in water for milk, mirage for water!
So fools deluded after strange gods run,
Their minds unmindful of you, God of gods!
A man, a god, or a wild wandering beast
A cow, a bird, a worm or mosquito.
What matters whatever my birth be if but my heart
Longs for the bliss your lotus feet will rain?
Translated from the Sanskrit by P.S. Sundaram
Rasananda (c. 17 CE)
Many Many Aeons
After worshipping for many aeons
at long last, I’ve found you,
O dear Krishna!
I am not a milkmaid of yours,
yet you entice me with your flute,
Bolting the door of my heart
I shall make love, clasping
you in my womb.
You flirt, bumble-bee!
You went and hid in the field of the lotus!
I shall pluck the flowers
and put them into a basket.
If you are a fish, then I shall be
a crow on the river!
If you are soaring high, then
I shall draw you
with the string of love.
Says Rasananda Nabaghanachanda
Have you lost your sense?
If you are a dove, then I, as a vulture,
shall always be after you.
Translated from the Oriya by Sachidananda Mohanty and Smita Mohanty
Nammalvar (9 CE)
From Love’s Messengers
2
The cold wind threads through my bones.
Remembering only my faults,
my lord doesn’t show me any grace.
Go ask him,
‘What wrong did she do?’
Dear parrot, gnawing at a bone,
please, go ask him.
I brought you up, didn’t I?
Translated from the Tamil by A.K. Ramanujan
Vidyapati (15 CE)
Imaginary Re-union 2
Krishna is like my hand-mirror and the flower on my head,
He is like the black paste in my eyes and the betel in my mouth.
He is like the musk in my heart and the necklace round my neck,
He is everything to my body and the most valuable possession in
my home.
He is like a wing for a bird and water for the fish,
I know him as the spirit of life to me.
Madhava tell me how it is with you?
Vidyapati says, both of you resemble each other.
Translated from the Maithili by Ajit Kumar Ghosh
Periyazhwar (Vishnuchittan) (9 CE)
From Hush-a-bye Baby
Brahma sent you in his love
This little cradle of pure gold
With rubies set on either side
And diamonds in between—
Hush-a-bye, my little dwarf
Who spanned the world.
Siva on his bull sent you
To wear round your waist, this beautiful belt
Made of gold and set with gems
Sparkling like pomegranate seeds.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, the owner of all—
Hush-a-bye, world-spanner.
Indra sent for my dear Lord
Who wears Lakshmi on his chest
And whose feet are like lotuses
With lovely anklets—and stood by.
Hush-a-bye, dear lotus-eyed.
Translated from the Tamil by P.S. Sundaram
Akkamahadevi (12 CE)
Like an Elephant, Caught
Like an elephant, caught
when he strayed from the herd,
remembering his mountain range,
I remember.
Like a caged parrot
sighing over his mate,
I remember.
Come this way, my child,
call me thus,
O Chennamallikarjuna, my Lord,
and show me the grace of your ways!
Translated from the Kannada by B.C. Ramchandra Sharma
Arun Kolatkar (1932-2004)
Yeshwant Rao
Are you looking for a god?
; I know a good one.
His name is Yeshwant Rao
and he’s one of the best,
look him up
when you are in Jejuri next.
Of course he’s only a second class god
and his place is just outside the main temple.
Outside even of the outer wall.
As if he belonged
among the tradesmen and the lepers.
I’ve known gods
prettier faced
or straighter laced.
Gods who soak you for your gold.
Gods who soak you for your soul.
Gods who make you walk
on a bed of burning coal.
Gods who put a child inside your wife.
Or a knife inside your enemy.
Gods who tell you how to live your life,
double your money
or triple your land holdings.
Gods who can barely suppress a smile
as you crawl a mile for them.
Gods who will see you drown
if you won’t buy them a new crown.
And although I’m sure they’re all to be praised,
they’re either too symmetrical
or too theatrical for my taste.
Yeshwant Rao.
mass of basalt,
bright as any post box,
the shape of protoplasm
or king size lava pie
thrown against the wall,
without an arm, a leg
or even a single head.
Yeshwant Rao.
He’s the god you’ve got to meet.
If you’re short of a limb,
Yeshwant Rao will lend you a hand
and get you back on your feet.
Yeshwant Rao
does nothing spectacular.
He doesn’t promise you the earth
or book your seat on the next rocket to heaven.
But if any bones are broken,
you know he’ll mend them.
He’ll make you whole in your body
and hope your spirit will look after itself.
He is merely a kind of a bone setter.
The only thing is,
as he himself has no heads, hands and feet,
he happens to understand you a little better.
English
Arul Cellatturai (c. mid-20 CE)
Little House (6)
Our Mother is your mother.
Our father is your father.
You are our precious soul, right?
These My Words Page 7