These My Words

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by Eunice de Souza


  No mercy for the weeping queen.

  No chieftan dared to meet those eyes,

  To pray, or question, or advise.

  The word was passed, the wood was piled,

  And fain to die stood Janak’s child.

  She slowly paced around her lord,

  The Gods with reverent act adored.

  Then raising suppliant hands the dame

  Prayed humbly to the Lord of Flame:

  ‘As this fond heart by virtue swayed

  From Raghu’s son has never strayed,

  So, universal witness, Fire

  Protect my body on the pyre.

  As Raghu’s son has idly laid

  This charge on Sita, hear and aid.’

  She ceased: and fearless to the last

  Within the flame’s wild fury passed.

  Then rose a piercing cry from all

  Dames, children, men, who saw her fall

  Adorned with gems and gay attire

  Beneath the fury of the fire.

  Translated from the Sanskrit by Ralph T.H. Griffith

  Valmiki (c. 600 BCE-250 CE)

  From the Ramayana, Book V, Canto 2

  Lanka

  The glorious sight a while he viewed,

  Then to the town his way pursued.

  Around the Vanar as he went

  Breathed from the wood delicious scent,

  And the soft grass beneath his feet

  With gem-like flowers was bright and sweet.

  Still as the Vanar nearer drew

  More clearly rose the town to view.

  The palm her fan-like leaves displayed,

  Priyalas lent their pleasant shade,

  And mid the lower greenery far

  Conspicuous rose the Kovidar.

  A thousand trees mid flowers that glowed,

  Hung down their fruits’ delicious load,

  And in their crests that rocked and swayed

  Sweet birds delightful music made.

  And there were pleasant pools whereon

  The glories of the lotus shone,

  And gleams of sparkling fountains stirred

  By many a joyous water-bird.

  Around, in lovely gardens grew

  Blooms sweet of scent and bright of hue,

  And Lanka, seat of Ravan’s sway,

  Before the wondering Varna lay:

  With stately domes and turrets tall,

  Encircled by a golden wall,

  And moats whose waters were aglow

  With lily blossoms bright below:

  For Sita’s sake defended well

  With bolt and bar and sentinel,

  And Rakshases who roamed in bands

  With ready bows in eager hands.

  He saw the stately mansions rise

  Like pale-hued clouds in autumn skies;

  Where noble streets were broad and bright,

  And banners waved on every height.

  Her gates were glorious to behold

  Rich with the shine of burnished gold:

  A lovely city planned and decked

  By heaven’s creative architect,

  Fairest of earthly cities meet

  To be the Gods’ celestial seat.

  Translated from the Sanskrit by Ralph T.H. Griffith

  Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib (1713-80)

  On Drinking

  Ghalib foreswore wine! But from time to time it’s true

  When dark clouds span the skies,

  And nights are lit by the moon

  He breaks his vow and takes a sip or two.

  Translated from the Urdu by Khushwant Singh

  ‘MY HEART’S OWN LOVE’

  Punam Nambudiri (c. 16 CE)

  From Ramayana Campu

  The Moon-Rise

  (Ravana tells the moon to shine when he visits Sita. The moon obeys.)

  Like the face of Lady East,

  like the mirror of Lady Night.

  like the golden earring of Lady East,

  like the wedding locket of the goddess of love,

  like the ceremonial seat of the god of love,

  like the white parasol held up

  to welcome the advent of the god of love,

  rose the moon in slow motion.

  Like powdered camphor sprinkled on nectar

  like the benign smile of the universe,

  like the sea of milk that spreads far and wide,

  like white ashes scattered around,

  like lustrous white paint sprayed everywhere,

  like pearls strewn all over

  sweet moonlight swelled in the cool expanse;

  seeing its radiance the entire brood of demons

  played the game of love, each with his beloved,

  revelled themselves in drinking fresh wine,

  engaged in the mock fight of lovers,

  made loud shrieks of ecstatic delight,

  tried out new techniques of entertainment,

  plunging themselves headlong into an ocean of bliss.

  Translated from the Malayalam by V. R. Prabodhchandran Nayar

  Habba Khatoon (c. 16 CE)

  I Will Seek You Down the Wandering Brooks

  I will seek you down the wandering brooks:

  Don’t tell me we shan’t meet again:

  The wild yellow rose has bloomed;

  My iris buds ache to flower;

  O let these eyes behold your form;

  Don’t tell me we shan’t meet again.

  Translated from the Kashmiri by Triloknath Raina

  Mahe Jabeen (b. 1961)

  A Love Poem

  right then

  as poetry happens

  he comes and

  kisses me

  trying to find metre

  in the sound of his feet

  I casually close my eyes

  youth

  engulfs me

  vague thoughts

  that were taking shape

  lose their consciousness

  my poetic images

  get mercilessly plundered

  an unmasked love

  kisses my naked forehead

  a touch immersed in my eyes

  shines provocatively

  on my cheek

  a look perches on the curve of my neck

  and moves like a breeze

  poetry freed from words

  entwines us

  lips publish love poems

  with the author’s consent

  Translated from the Telugu by Velcheru Narayana Rao

  Baladev Rath (1789-1845)

  Oh, Pardon Me

  Forgive me, O image of the goddess of love,

  forgive me.

  I didn’t know

  the princess was going to have a bath.

  If a maid or companion

  had come running and informed me

  and I had not heeded her advice

  and dared to go towards the pond,

  then all this anger

  would have been justified,

  O narrow-waisted one!

  O fair-haired one!

  I didn’t know

  you were standing in the water

  surrounded by maids,

  and with all that beauty

  of full, heavy thighs and breasts.

  You held the corner of your saree

  between your teeth

  and faster than lightning

  you ran, your anklets jingling noisy,

  and stopped at the end of the platform

  beautifying it with your presence.

  Now that I have learnt a lesson

  I would never repeat

  this mistake, and if I did

  you should destroy me with

  your curses and punishment.

  O lotus-eyed one, O full-bosomed one,

  forgive me for this once.

  Hearing Krishna’s supplications

  that precious gem of a woman

  was elated and all on a sudden

 
made love to him.

  So says the king of Astadurga.

  Translated from the Oriya by Saubhagya Kumar Misra

  Amaru (c. 800 CE)

  She Neither Turned Away

  She neither turned away, nor yet began

  To speak harsh words, nor did she bar the door;

  But looked at him who was her love before

  As if he were an ordinary man.

  Translated from the Sanskrit by John Brough

  Palai Patiya Perunkatunko (c. 300 BCE-200 CE)

  There Are Good Omens: The House-Lizard Chirps

  There are good omens: the house-lizard chirps,

  and my dark-rimmed left eyelid flickers.

  My lover is gone,

  but I know he will come (yes, I know—

  money must be earned, ascetics must be fed,

  but most of all, I know that

  we will live our life in love).

  Listen to what he said.

  He said the heath was so hot,

  you could not tread it

  but he said the he-elephant

  saves the last puddle of water,

  though sullied by its young,

  for its mate.

  He said the sight would pain the eyes—

  leafless trees, dry branches,

  and no mark of pleasantness.

  But there the he-dove would fan

  with its soft wings, to console its

  tired young loving mate.

  He said the hot sun would scorch

  all the bamboos on the hills,

  affording no protection for those who would cross.

  He also said the stag would give

  its own shade, there being no other,

  for his suffering mate.

  Virtuous, from the trial of this forest,

  he will not allow my beauty to fade;

  I am certain he will come soon.

  Translated from the Tamil by E. Annamalai and H. Schiffman

  Vedanta Deshika (1268-1369)

  From the Prologue of Mission of the Goose

  Born in the flawless image of the Sun,

  lending dignity to being human,

  this god, never without Fortune,

  was wide awake, eager to set off

  to find Janaka’s daughter.

  He was ready to go,

  now that Hanuman had returned.

  Somehow or other, full of passion,

  he got through the night

  that seemed to stretch on forever

  until dawn.

  Early in the morning, sick at heart

  since Janaka’s daughter was far away,

  and anxious to set in motion

  the army of the monkey king,

  he saw

  the likeness of the full moon:

  a regal goose

  arrived right on time,

  playing somewhere

  in a lotus pond.

  It walked Sita’s walk.

  Its shape was printed on her sari.

  Its cry rang like her anklet.

  It captured his eye.

  Our hero’s heart stopped for a moment

  and he fused with her.

  Fierce is the rule of Love

  when he strikes at the right moment.

  When he somehow breathed again,

  Rama, Lakshmana’s elder brother,

  approached the goose with a gift

  of lotus petals, hoping

  to keep Sita alive with a message of love.

  Even better than a real embrace

  is getting news from your lover.

  A goose knows nothing of messages, yet

  Rama approached him with great respect.

  (Not even Hanuman received such honour.)

  In his utter madness he found a way

  into the bird’s heart. People shaken by separation

  are reduced to begging help from clouds,

  mountains, trees, and so on—to say nothing

  of living creatures.

  Translated from the Sanskrit by David Shulman and Yigal Bronner

  Leela Gandhi (b. 1966)

  Noun

  Let me call you lover once

  and I’ll agree this love’s a tenancy.

  Just one tenacious arrangement

  of our mouths, some tactile synergy

  —you’re good at that—to announce

  the vowels, corporeally, with tongue’s fluency,

  then lips, catching the sharp descent

  of teeth and sound. For this small bribery,

  my lover-turned-landlord, overnight,

  my occupancy will be light.

  I’ll pay what rent I owe in kind,

  behave, keep passion confined

  to small hours, the darkened stair,

  and what gets damaged, lover, I’ll repair.

  English

  Waris Shah (1722-98)

  From Heer-Ranjha

  1

  Praise be to God the great,

  Who on love this life has based;

  Who was the first to love and dote

  On Nabi, the prophet of our race.

  Love exalts the saint and sage,

  Love endows the man with grace.

  Garden-like they smile and bloom,

  Who the creed of love embrace.

  24

  Those whom the fire of love does burn,

  Of the fire of hell are not afraid.

  Those who pledge their hearts to love,

  Are not concerned with earthly cares.

  Flesh and blood are prey to death.

  Faith alone can do and dare.

  To hell will they be all consigned,

  The false at heart, who stick nowhere.

  Translated from the Punjabi by K.C. Kanda

  Mustansir Dalvi (b. 1964)

  Peabody

  Babu Genu Dagadphode shells peas,

  dropping the husk in a radius about his feet.

  Unconcerned by stares in the 8.39 to Belapur,

  he thinks of his wife and picks another pod.

  Babu loves his Sumati, and she him,

  or so he hopes, but has never verified.

  De-leafing a cauliflower,

  pulling strings off French beans,

  his homecoming flurries drive the train on.

  Which gives him greater pleasure?

  The soft Pok! of a pod,

  peas exploding on his palm in green orgasm,

  or uncovering a misshapen pearl, tiny,

  succulent, that he tucks away in his mouth,

  with a scarce thought for his Missus.

  By the time he is home, Babu Genu

  will deplete a third of his load,

  ring his doorbell with green fingers,

  and greet his wife with emerald teeth.

  Sumati sees, but just the same she loves her Mishter

  for his trivial traveling kindnesses.

  She thinks he loves her too, but has never verified.

  English

  Anon, Rajputana Folk Song

  The Jewel Knight

  My jewel knight, turn your horse, just once.

  In Amrana, the parrots and peacocks are calling,

  Yes, my jewel knight;

  In Amrana the parrots and peacocks are calling,

  Yes, my jewel knight;

  And the black koel is calling in the garden,

  O my clever Sodha, turn your horse back just once.

  In Amrana there are mahua trees,

  Yes, my jewel knight, there are mahua trees,

  And from the mahua (flowers) drips the intoxicating juice,

  O my jewel knight, turn your horse just once.

  In the homes of Amrana the grinding stones are whirling,

  Yes, my jewel knight, in each home the sound of grinding,

  And the wheat is being ground into flour;

  O my jewel knight, turn your horse just once.

  In Amrana, the goldsmiths are at work,

 
; Yes, my jewel knight, the goldsmiths are at work,

  Do get an anklet made for me which will tinkle sweetly.

  This Bhatiyal woman is standing under the shade of the balcony,

  Yes, my jewel knight, the Bhatiyal woman is standing

  under the shade of the balcony,

  And shedding tears like a sad peahen;

  O my jewel knight, turn your horse, just once.

  There is thick darkness in Amrana,

  Yes, my jewel knight, there is sick darkness in Amrana,

  The palace and high buildings all look as if they were crying;

  O my jewel knight, turn your horse just once.

  Translated from the Rajasthani by Winifred Bryce

  Bilhana (c. 10 CE-12 CE)

  From Fifty Stanzas of a Thief

  20

  Still I recall my darling as she came,

  Bent by her bosom’s weight, to pleasure’s bower,

  House of the god who wounds with fiery darts,

  Herself a beautiful and full-blown flower.

  Her smile at me was radiance to bedeck

  The clustered pearls which gleamed upon her neck.

  21

  Still I recall how my beloved spoke

  When weary with our play; her tongue, confused,

  Wished to assure me of her wild delight

  But stumbled on the flatteries she used.

  With timid murmurings and accents blurred

  How charmingly she jumbled every word.

  22

  Still in another life I shall recall

  What I recall at this my hour of dying:

  The slender body of my royal swan

  Amid love’s lotus clusters languid lying;

  Her eyes were closed in pleasure as we revelled,

  Her garment loosened and her hair dishevelled.

  23

  Still could I see once more, as day declines

  My loving mistress of the fawn-like eyes,

  Carrying like two nectar-laden jars

  Her swelling breasts, I would for such a prize

  Renounce the joys of royalty on earth,

  Heavenly bliss, and freedom from rebirth.

  Translated from the Sanskrit by Richard Gombrich

  Anon, Chhattisgarh Field Song

  Complaints

  How beautiful was the leaf—

  When it was fresh;

  It is yellow now.

  How sincere were you to me—

  When we were children

  In youth, you have deceived me now.

  In the leaves there is no flutter

 

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