These My Words
Page 14
Nor do the branches move.
O Sweetheart, you regard me as an enemy,
You don’t speak a word to me.
It is a full moon night,
Yet the moon is nowhere to be seen.
My sweetheart has become mad,
He is not coming back.
Across the river
There is a mine of red clay
By your sweet words—
Why did you mislead me?
O, I was so innocent!
The evenings are disturbed,
Always by the crows
Here you made love to me
And went away to a distant village.
The moon rises,
And brightens the night!
O you are a woman!
You deceived me and went away.
The night is moonlit,
And the stars are twinkling
My Raja has become my enemy,
He does not speak to me.
In the mango leaves—
There is no flutter
My Raja has taken to silence,
He does not speak even a word to me.
I plucked the mango fruit,
Avowedly to eat it.
He deceived me,
By promising that he will come.
The rope you left tied to the cart.
O, I have newly come to you
For the first time;
And you have stopped talking to me.
Translated from the Chhattisgarhi by S.C. Dube
Anon, Punjabi Song
The Ballad of Laila
Last night distraught I wandered here and there,
All up and down Love’s City sick at heart,
Till lo! I found myself all unaware
Caught in the tangles of my Laila’s hair.
And all her raven tresses manifold
Entangled me around, and sudden bold
I grew, and being careless of my fate
My mouth I buried in her lips’ pure gold.
And like a bee that pillages the tips
Of every crimson hyacinth and sips
Sweet honey from its petals—thus I lay
Drunk with the perfume of her honey-lips.
Said she: ‘Thou art my heart’s own love, I swear,
But those who trespass on this raven hair,
And rob the down from off these golden cheeks,
Must of the goodman of the house beware.
‘He is a jealous watchman over me,
And Lord of all my dark locks’ witchery.
he is my tyrant, and exceeding wrath,
And goeth about seeking to murder thee.’
‘Let come what may,’ said I, ‘while thou art near
Thy locks protect me like a keen drawn sword.
Give me thy lips and this night without fear
I’ll wander in that wilderness of hair.’
Said she: ‘All else is folly; Love is best,
I will unlock the garden of my breast;
But thou, I know, will walk disdainfully,
And soon forget the lips that thou hast pressed.’
‘Ah cruel one,’ said I, ‘unjust thou art;
The arrows of thine eyes have pierced my heart;
I am thy humble slave; thou knowest well
That never from thy side will I depart.’
‘Hearken, ye hireling poets, do ye dare
Dispute my monarchy? Ye fools, beware;
For I am crowned with Laila’s sovereign love,
And sceptred with a lock of Laila’s hair.’
Translated from the Punjabi by C.F. Usborne
Chandidas (c. 15 CE)
The First Stage of Radha’s Love
Radha goes out of her house too often;
Slowly she moves out, but back she comes;
Her mind is distracted, she breathes quickly.
She gazes at the kadamba trees:
Why is she in this plight?
She is not afraid of her elders or wicked people;
Maybe she is possessed by some evil spirit.
The end of her cloth is disorderly;
She does not arrange it properly.
She gets startled even when she remains seated;
Her ornaments fall on the ground.
She is only in her teens, the daughter of a king.
And moreover the damsel is a wife in a family.
For whom does she pine and why does the infatuation grow?
I do not understand the mystery of her behaviour.
From the state of her mind I presume that
She wants something beyond her reach.
Chandidasa says in all humility
She is trapped in her love of Krishna.
Translated from the Bangla by Ujjwal Majumdar
Shah ‘Madho Lal’ Husain (1539-93)
Open the Book, Brother Brahmin
Open the book, Brother Brahmin, demonstrate
when I’ll meet my love face to face.
The woods are greening,
the marshes in bloom and
longing for my mahi* swells my every limb—
the burden bows down Love’s boughs.
Open the book, Brother Brahmin, show me
when I’ll encounter my love.
See what manner of waters I cross,
rivers I ford, snakes I trample
over and over I face down lions—
Open the Book and say, Brother Brahmin,
When I shall face my love.
Other hazards loom above me,
they don’t make me weak, nor give me pause;
desire draws me time and again to the reeds.
Open the Book, Brother Brahmin,
and show me
when I’ll encounter my love.
Over and over cries out Shah Husain:
‘Lord, I’m seeking the sight of you—
cast just one glance my way!’
Open your Book, Brother Brahmin, reveal
when I shall meet him face to face.
Translated from the Punjabi by Carla Petievich
Jayadeva (c. 12 CE)
From Gita Govinda
Song Seven
Seeing me surrounded by a gaggle of girls,
my beloved has up and fled;
I surely should have stopped her, but,
feeling guilty, I let her go instead;
Oh me, oh my, I am bereft!
She’s mad at me, she’s up and left!
What will she do? What will she say
after long separation rife with strife?
Nothing matters now—not family, fortune, home,
nor, for that matter, even life;
Oh me, oh my, I am bereft!
She’s mad at me, she’s up and left!
I picture her: her brow is knit
in jealous anger festered,
Her lotus flower face is flush
as if by buzzing bees she’s pestered
Oh me, oh my, I am bereft!
She’s mad at me, she’s up and left!
As I imagine making love with her,
in my mind we are united;
So why search the forest for her?
Why am I so benighted?
Oh me, oh my, I am bereft!
She’s mad at me, she’s up and left!
I realise, lithe lady, that jealousy
rends and breaks your heart;
But how can I reassure you
while we are so far apart?
Oh me, oh my, I am bereft!
She’s mad at me, she’s up and left!
You’ re driving me crazy:
now I see you, now I don’t;
Once you embraced me,
and now you won’t:
Oh me, oh my, I am bereft!
She’s mad at me, she’s up and left!
Please forgive me, my lovely—
I swear I will behave;
Please let me see you once again!
I’m burning up with passi
on grave;
Oh me, oh my, I am bereft!
She’s mad at me, she’s up and left!
Jayadeva comes from Kindubilva
as the moon comes from the ocean;
And in this song I render Krishna’s words
with loving deep devotion.
Oh me, oh my, I am bereft!
She’s mad at me, she’s up and left!
Translated from the Sanskrit by Lee Siegel
Habba Khatoon (c. 16 CE)
Let’s Go to the Upland Woods, My Friend
Let’s go to the upland woods, my friend
Being gullible, he swallowed whole
Whatever was said to slander me,
Come back, my lover of flowers!
Let’s go down the hill, my friend,
I’d give him the jewels I wear—
What if they cost two coins of gold?
Come back, my lover of flowers!
Let’s go draw water, friend,
The world is lost in sleep and dreams,
While I stay awake to hear from you,
Come back, my lover of flowers!
Translated from the Kashmiri by Triloknath Raina
Kutti Revathi (b. 1974)
I’ve Brought This Summer Just for You
Your chest’s meadow has dried up
You don’t write to me these days.
There’s a tumult of tears
in your seasoned letters.
Your body’s so tender—like a blanket
with many arms I could cover myself with
There is no one else on this summer street, except
the postman carrying his load of gasping letters
and the girl who’s forgotten her childhood secrets
When the strange bird of summer, which
drinks up all the water bodies in one gulp
arrives and perches quietly, the rocks too come awake,
Children refuse to play
beneath a sun that rises, blood-soaked, every day.
Inside a deserted house,
the telephone’s been ringing for a long time.
Girls’ eyes are afloat in the haze.
During a by gone summer, too hot
for trees to stand firm on their feet,
you had called my body a live expanse.
When I woke from sleep, I found
that the handbag where
I had hoarded your kisses
and our quarrels coated with the salt of tears,
had been flung open.
This summer that brings to mind
the acrid smell of a doused lamp,
I’ve brought along just for you.
Do write me letters. Do.
Translated from the Tamil by N. Kalyan Raman
Dom Moraes (1938-2004)
Asleep
The heat smells of lions and of yeast.
You talk unhappily to yourself in sleep.
I snore on the cool pillows of your breast
But fall awake as you slip down the slope
To your private valley of unhappiness
I cannot reach except with kiss and touch.
Your mouth I listen to is a small rose.
Awake, it does not tell me very much.
Time will not stop: and you are very tired.
Turn into my arms and truly sleep.
Turn into my arms and be desired.
The deep hurt in you like the sun disturbs
My dawns: but sometimes you are still in sleep,
Smelling of armpits and of wet herbs.
English
Harsha (c. 12 CE)
From Ratnavali
Miraculously found, and luminous
with feeling, my beloved
has slipped away, a brilliant necklace
lost before it could hang
upon my neck.
Translated from the Sanskrit by David Shulman
Anon, Goan Folk Song (17 CE)
On the Banks of a Lake
On the banks of a lake,
At the crow of a cock,
A landlord’s son is busy angling,
With an umbrella over his shoulder.
That son of the landlord: Oh,
He is a wizard of a cunning fox;
He’s merrily smooching away, there,
At the cheeks of Aunty Rosaline.
He is named Sebastian Henriques,
He spins away yarns to Mary,
With bait, hook, line and sinker,
He angles fine fish aplenty.
Translated from the Konkani by Olvinho Gomes
Ilanko Atikal (c. 5 CE)
From The Cilappatikaram, Canto 1
The Song of Praise
Let us praise the Moon. Like the cool, white parasol
Of the Cola king, his garland heavy
With pollen, he blesses this good earth.
Let us praise the Sun. Like the proclamations
Like the lord of the Kaviri, he travels
Ever around Meru crowned with gold.
Let us praise the Rain. Like the Cola king,
His kingdom shut in by the roaring sea,
He pours out abundantly his bounty from above.
Let us praise Pukar, this glorious city,
The fame of its royal seat of kings
Spread over the whole earth clasped
By the swelling waters.
Far famed and inimitable
Is the city of Pukar, known for its ancient families
Undisturbed since time immemorial.
Like the Potiyil or Himalaya, it too remains
As constant as the great men who adorn it.
Thus speak the wise ones who have heard
And known everything. In fame Pukar rivals
Heaven itself, blinds the Serpentworld in pleasures.
Here lived Manaykan, heir to a noble family,
Generous as the rainclouds. A perfect branch
Of his tree, a shining creeper of gold,
Was his daughter Kannaki, who was twelve years
Old, and loved by Kovalan. She was blessed
With virtues. So women adored and praised her:
‘She is Laksmi herself, goddess
Of peerless beauty that rose from the lotus,
And chaste as the immaculate Arundhati.’
And here also lived Macattuvan, a man
Of immense wealth. Even the ruler
Of that great kingdom looked up to him as the chief
Among the noble families of his realm.
He was Kubera himself who gave away his wealth
To the needy. The fame of his son Kovalan,
Only sixteen years old, had already shrunk
The earth. Over and over again, in voices
Seasoned by music, with faces luminous
As the moon, women confided among themselves:
‘He is the god of love himself,
The incomparable Murukan.’ For it was love
That made them speak thus of the handsome Kovalan.
Their noble parents longed to see them
Take, on a favorable day, the marriage vows.
They rejoiced in the thought, and dispatched all over
The town girls resplendent in jewels
And mounted on elephants, to proclaim the news
Of their wedding. On the day the nomadic Moon
Drew near Rohini, drums resounded;
Conches, as usual, boomed. White parasols
Were held aloft, as in a royal procession.
The bridal pendant was taken around the town.
In the pavilion itself, the canopy of blue silk
Was inlaid with pearls. Burnished with gems
And diamonds were the pillars, their tops pendent
With festoons. Around the ceremonial fire, walked
Kovalan observing the holy rites
The venerable priest solemnized.
Thus Kovalan
Married the fair Kannaki, spotless
/> As the bright star Arundhati. The eyes
That beheld this sight were indeed fortunate.
Young girls offered perfumes
And flowers. Others, a little older,
Looked sidelong as they chatted and sang
Among themselves. High-breasted women,
With serpentine hair, carried incense,
Sandalwood paste, and scented powders.
Matrons, with gentle smiles, went round
With lamps, vessels, and pots brimful
With shoots of sprouted palikai. All resembled
Golden vines, their disheveled hair
Plaited with flowers. With a rain of petals
They blessed the couple:
‘Your arms forever knotted
In embrace, inseparable in love may you
Remain, and unblemished be your life.’
Translated from the Tamil by R. Parthasarathy
Anon
The Dalliance of the Leopards
Very afraid
I saw the dalliance of leopards.
In the beauty of their coats
They sought each other and embraced.
Had I gone between them then
And pulled them asunder by their manes,
I would have run less risk
Than when I passed in my boat
And saw you standing on a dead tree
Ready to dive and kindle the river.
Translated from the Sanskrit by E. Powys Mathers
Anon
Love Song
I am playing on my flute of green bamboo,
My fingers are resting on the stops.
So how can I take you in my arms, O love,
When I’m playing on my flute of green bamboo?
Eat a little chilli and wait awhile.
My hands are full already, so how can we embrace?
I am playing on my flute of green bamboo,
And my fingers are resting on the stops.
Translated from the Gondi by Shamrao Hivale and Verrier Elwin
Anon
Distance Destroys Love
Distance destroys love,
So does the lack of it:
Gossip destroys love,
And sometimes
It takes nothing
To destroy love.
Translated from the Prakrit by Arvind Krishna Mehrotra
Anon
The Song of Phatmal (c. 1600 CE)
O Phatmal, you are the Rao of Hadoti,
and I a Brahmin damsel of Toda.
I had gone to fetch water from the village tank,
when the Hada Rao came with his soldiers.