These My Words
Page 13
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