Padma Shri Prakruti Ratna, 1 Crore plant planter, Vanajeevi Ramayya, 85, Sadgati.
Mahatma Jyotiba or Jyotirao Phule, 198 (11 April 1827 – 28 November 1890). Founded Satyashodhak (truth seekers) Samaj in 1873 to focus on rights of depressed groups including women. Its ideals: human wellbeing, happiness, unity, equality, and easy religious principles and rituals. Ambedkar had acknowledged Phule as one of his three gurus or masters.
Solar New Year is on 13/14 April. Puthandu, Baisakhi, Vishu, Biju, Buisu, Bihu, and Cheiraoba. Mesha Sankranti, or the day of transition into Aries Zodiac Sign. Happy New Year.
Soul, nature, intellect, egotism, the elements, the senses, heart. mind, ignorance, and wisdom are all assembled in our person. We embody the shapeless elements of the world, as our weapons, instruments and ornaments, for our salvation, usefulness and relevance to the humanity.
Gitanjali, Rabindranath Tagore. Continues to inspire. Viswa Kavi received Nobel Prize for Literature in 1913, for the English version of Gitanjali, Song Offerings. He is the first non-European, first Asian, and only Indian to receive this honour.
WB Yeats wrote the introduction to this English version. A version translated by Tagore himself. Yeats says: I have carried the manuscript of these translations about with me for days, reading it in railway trains, or on the tops of omnibuses and in restaurants, and I have often had to close it lest some stranger would see how much it moved me. These lyrics, full of subtlety of rhythm, of untranslatable delicacies of colour, of metrical invention – the work of a supreme culture – appear as much the growth of the common soil as the grass and the rushes. A tradition, where poetry and religion are the same thing, has passed through the centuries, gathering from learned and unlearned metaphor and emotion, and carried back again to the multitude the thought of the scholar and of the noble. Rabindranath Tagore writes music for his words, and one understands at every moment that he is so abundant, so spontaneous, so daring in his passion, so full of surprise, because he is doing something which has never seemed strange, unnatural, or in need of defence. As the generations pass, travellers will hum them on the highway and men upon rivers. Lovers, while they await one another, shall find, in murmuring them, this love of God a magic gulf wherein their own more bitter passion may bathe and renew its youth. A whole people, a whole civilization, immeasurably strange to us, seems to have been taken up into this imagination; and yet we are not moved because of its strangeness, but because we have met our own image, or heard, perhaps for the first time in literature, our voice as in a dream.
Mr. Tagore, like the Indian civilization itself, has been content to discover the soul and surrender himself to its spontaneity. An innocence, a simplicity that one does not find elsewhere in literature makes the birds and the leaves seem as near to him as they are near to children, and the changes of the seasons great events as before our thoughts had arisen between them and us. Indeed, when he is speaking of children, so much a part of himself this quality seems, one is not certain that he is not also speaking of the saints, “…They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets. … They seek not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets.”
Gitanjali. You have made me endless. This little flute of a reed, you have carried over hills and dales; you have breathed through it melodies eternally new. At the immortal touch of your hands my little heart loses its limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable. Druk with the joy of singing, I forget myself and call you ‘friend’. MY heart longs to join in your song, but struggles for a voice. Your living touch is upon all my limbs. It shall be my endeavour to reveal you in my actions. I know it is your power that gives me strength to act. You have made me endless.
I ask for a moment’s indulgence to sit by your side. Face to face with you. Sitting quiet and singing dedication of life. Honour this flower with a touch of pain from your hand and plucking it. Before it is too late. Use this flower in your service. Ornaments would mar our union, coming between you and me. Their jingling would drown your whispers. Let me make my life simple and straight. Like a flute for you to fill with music. Let me not have robes, jewelled chains, finery that come in the way of play with you. Of being with healthful dust of the earth. Of entering the great far of common human life. Accept what is offered with sacred love. Let me do the same. Let my heart and pride their way to you where you are with the companionless, poorest, lowliest, and lost. Let us meet you and stand by you in toil and in sweat, with the farmer, pathmaker.
Knocking at every door, one has to wander long, long time, to reach the innermost at the end. When the eyes are shut down, one sees you. And you say: I am here with you, within you. I live in the hope of meeting with you, being with you. This is not yet. My desires are many. Even then, day by day you are making me worthy of you giving me great gifts – sky, light body, life, mind, heart et al. You are saving me from weak, uncertain desires. I am here to sing you songs, may be silently. Command my presence. Command my songs.
I saw. I heard. I played my innings. My part in the orchestra. Is it time, can I come and say hello to you? I took some more time to come to you. Can I give myself up into your hands, now? Everybody else is leaving. Giving up on me. I was busy, engaged with work, team. Work gives way to waiting for you. My heart wanders wailing with the restless wind. I will endure your silence. I am sure your voice will pour down soon. In the birds’ nests, in the flowers. The vague sweetness made my heart ache with longing. I did not know then that this sweetness has blossomed in the depth of my own heart. For you.
I must launch out my boat. A thrill is passing through the air with the notes of the faraway song from the other shore. Doors of all houses are shut. But, the doors of my house are open. Friend, beloved, please come in. Do not pass by. I have no sleep tonight. I am looking for you. Your path, your steps. How are you coming to me, in this darkness, in this storm, in this forest? Please remove shame and poverty of the traveller, wanderer. Renew his life. As I am tired, let me sleep without struggle. I know you take care. You are offering me sleep so that I wake up fresh, happy, to do your work.
You came and sat by my side. With harp in your hands. I woke not. My dreams became resonant with its melodies. Why do I miss your sight whose breath touches my sleep? Let not the hours pass by in the dark. Let us kindle the lamp of love with our life. We want freedom, just freedom. We feel ashamed to hope for it. We do not have the heart to sweep away the useless things that fill our rooms. My debts are large. My failures are great. My shame is secret and heavy. Yet, when I come to ask for my good, I am scared that my prayer, request may be granted. For all the care I take, I lose sight of my true being. I came out alone. But, someone is following me silently. Even in the dark. I keep trying to escape her. I cannot succeed. She is my own little self. She knows no shame. But, I am ashamed to come to you with her.
Night and day I worked at the chains with huge fires and cruel hard strokes. When at last the work was done and the links were complete and unbreakable, I found that it held me in its grip. My freedom is nowhere to be seen. Your love, greater than everybody else’s, keeps me free. Others never leave me alone. You may not be seen for days. I may not call in my prayers. I may not keep you in my heart. Yet, your love for me waits for my love. They came to help me, without disturbing my worship, work. In the darkness of night, they break into my sacredness, strong and turbulent, and take away my offerings.
Let only that little be left of me whereby I may name you my all; let only that little be left of my will whereby I may feel you on every side, and come to you in everything, and offer to you my love every moment; let only that little be left of me whereby I may never hide you; let only that little of my fetters be left whereby I am bound with your will, and your purpose is carried out in my life – and that is the fetter of your love.
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high; where knowledge is free; where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls; where words come out from the depth of truth; where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection; where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit; where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action – into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
Let me have the strength lightly to bear my joys and sorrows; let me have the strength to make my love fruitful in service; let me have the strength never to disown the poor or bend my knees before insolent might; let me have the strength to raise my mind high above daily trifles; and let me have the strength to surrender my strength to your will with love. Your will knows no end in me. And when old words die out on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the heart; and where the old tracks are lost, new country is revealed with its wonders. Let my heart repeat without end – I want you, only you. Come upon me with a shower of mercy; come with a burst of song; come with your peace and rest; come with the ceremony of a king; come with your light and your thunder. Call back this pervading silent heat, still, keen, cruel burning the heart with despair. Let the cloud of grace bend low from above.
How could I tell that I am waiting for you, and you have promised to come? I hug this pride in the secret of my heart. I wish: when they see you come down from your seat to raise me from the dust, and set at your side, I tremble with shame and pride, like a creeper in a summer breeze. Am I waiting, weeping and wearing out my heart in vain longing? We were to sail in a boat, you and me, to no country and to no end. Is it not the time now? Are there works still to do? Am I not ready yet for you? Am I missing your signals with your signature? Are you angry with me for childish play and acts? My heart is glad within, and the breath of the passing breeze is sweet. I smile and I sing. Air is filling with the perfume of promise.
You come. You come. You come. Through the forest path. In the rain. In the sorrow. Your steps are pressing upon my heart. It is the golden touch of your feet that makes my joy to shine. A feeling of tremulous joy is passing through my heart. A faint smell of your sweet presence is in the air. I have been waiting but you have not come yet. May be you come when I fall asleep. My precious sleep waits for your touch to vanish. My closed eyes open their lids only to the light of your smile. Let the first thrill of joy to my awakened soul, let it come from your glance. And let my return to myself be immediate return to you.
Singing birds in the morning. Blossoming flowers. Sun rise. Dance of withered leaves in the noon. Drowsing, dreaming shepherd boy in the shadow of banyan tree. Stretching tired limbs on the grass, in the water. At last, when I woke from my slumber and opened my eyes, I saw you standing by me, flooding my sleep with your smile. Masters are many. Songs are sung at all hours. Simple whispered tune, raaga mingled with the music of the world struck at your love. You came down to me to offer a prize.
You came down with a smile. You asked me: what have you to give me? I slowly took out the little grain and gave it to you. At day’s end I found gold in my bag. I bitterly wept that I had the heart to give my all. When you come suddenly in the night, what do we have? Empty rooms, bare hands. Tattered piece of mat spread in the courtyard. When you departed, you left me your mighty sword. I have no place, except my bosom, to hide it. It hurts. Yet I shall bear it. Your sword is with me to cut asunder my bonds. No more doll’s decorations for me! Your sword with its curve of lightning like the outspread wings of the divine bird of Vishnu, is perfectly poised in the angry red light of the sunset. It is wrought with uttermost beauty.
I stood speechless when you asked for me by my name. What did I do for you to keep me in remembrance? Is there no joy in the depths of your heart? At every footfall of yours, will not the harp of the road break out in sweet music of pain? I think it is your joy in me is so full. Where would your love be if I were not? I am your partner. Your delight’s play is endless in my heart. Your will is taking shape in my life, for ever. And for this your love loses itself in the love of your lover, and you are seen in the perfect union of two.
Light fills the world; kisses the eyes; sweetens the heart; dances in the centre of my life; strikes the chords of my love. Sky opens; wind runs wild; laughter passes over the earth. Butterflies spread their sails. Lilies and jasmines surge up. Clouds scatter gems in profusion. Laughter spreads leaf to leaf. Measureless gladness. Flood of joy. Joy that makes the earth flow over. Joy that sets the life and death dancing over. Joy that sweeps in shaking and waking all life with laughter. Joy that sits still with its tears. Joy that throws everything it has upon the dust, and knows not a word.
This is your love. This is your message to my heart. Your face is bent from above, your eyes look down on my eyes, and my heart has touched your feet. Infinite sky is motionless overhead and the restless water is boisterous. On the seashore of endless worlds, children have their play. They seek not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets. Great meeting these children. The sleep on the baby’s eyes comes from the two buds of enchantment in the forest village. The smile on the baby’s lips when she sleeps comes from the crescent moon touching the edge of a vanishing cloud. The sweet freshness on the baby’s limbs was hidden in tender and silent mystery of love in the mother’s heart when she was young.
My child, when I give coloured toys to you; when I sing to make you dance; when I bring sweet things to your hands; when I kiss your face to make you smile, I understand what the pleasure is that streams from the sky in morning light, and what delight that is which the summer breeze brings to my body.
You have made me known to friends whom I knew not. You have given me seats in homes not my own. You have brought the distant near. I am uneasy at heart when I have to leave my accustomed shelter, forgetting that you are going to be with me. In this world or in others, wherever you lead me, you are the one companion of my endless life. You link my heart with bonds of joy to the unfamiliar. I may never lose the bliss of the touch of the one in the play of the many.
I watched her light uselessly burning in the river; in the dark sky; in the carnival of lights. Lost.
Do you need the drink from my overflowing life’s cup? Do you delight in seeing your creation through my eyes, listening to your eternal harmony through my ears? As I weave words, you joy adds music. You give yourself to me in love and feel your own entire sweetness in me. I offer her, who remained in the depth of my being, in the core of my heart, till the life’s end, for your final recognition. You are the sky, you are the nest. Your love encloses the soul, for it to take the flight into the infinite sky. There is no day, no night, no form, no colour, not even a word. Your sunbeam comes with arms outstretched; you hug and wrap your starry breast around the misty clouds, turning into numberless shapes and folds with everchanging hues.
The stream of life through me and the world are in sync dancing in rhythmic measures. Shooting in joy through blades of grass, waves of leaves, flowers, water tides. This life makes my limbs glorious, life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment. Colours, tunes, and perfumes pour in endless cascades in the abounding joy that scatters and gives up and dies every moment. You call your severed self in myriad notes. This your separated self has taken body in me. Smiles, alarms, hopes. Rising, sinking waves. Breaking, forming dreams. You lose to yourself in me. Our painting has overspread in the sky. Air is vibrant with our tunes. All ages pass with you and me hiding and seeking.
The innermost awakens my being with deep hidden touches. It is her enchantment upon the eyes. Play on the chords of the heart. Web of maya. Forgetting myself at the touch of her feet. Moving my heart in many a name, in many a guise, in many a rapture of joy and of sorrow. Deliverance for me is in the embrace of freedom. Fresh colours, fragrances, juices. Lamps. With open senses to have the delights of sight, hearing and touch. All my illusions will burn into illumination of joy, and all my desires ripen into fruits of love.
It is evening now. I know not if I shall come back home. I know not whom I shall chance to meet. Your gifts fulfil all our needs. Your worship does not impoverish the world. Writer’s last meaning points to you. Shall I stand before you face to face, when my work is over? I know you as my God; as my own; as my father, mother, brother, sister; as my friend. Can I clasp you to my heart? I stand by you. I am ready. In the deepest silence of night the stars smile and whisper among themselves – Perfection is never broken, even if a star goes missing.
If it is not my portion to meet you in this my life then let me ever feel that I have missed your sight – let me not forget for a moment, let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful hours. Your touch has not yet melted my vapour, making me one with your light. If this be your wish and if this be your play, so be it. Then take this my fleeting emptiness, paint it with colours, gild it with gold, float it on the wanton wind and spread it in varied wonders. You have taken every moment of my life in your own hands. You are nourishing seeds into sprouts, buds into blossoms, and ripening flowers into fruitfulness.
Time is endless in your hands. You know how to wait. We are too poor to be late. At the end of the day I hasten; but I find that yet there is time. This my sorrow is absolutely mine own, and when I bring it to you as my offering you reward me with your grace, mother. Pangs of separation give birth to innumerable shapes in the sky; becomes lyric among rustling leaves in rainy darkness; deepens into loves and desires, into sufferings and joys; and melts and flows in songs. Warriors left the fruits of their life behind them on the day they marched back again. In the end, myself will remain as my last offering to you. Take me and dip my emptied life into that ocean of eternity, plunge it into the deepest fullness. Let me for once feel that lost sweet touch in the allness of the universe. In deathless neglect, deity of the ruined temple remains unworshipped.
It is the pleasure of my playmate of the empty days to draw my heart. What is the consequence of this? I will never let my guest go with empty hands. I have been waiting for you. I have borne the joys and pangs of life. All that I am, that I have, that I hope, and all my love have ever flowed towards you in depth of secrecy. One final glance from your eyes and my life will be ever yours own. In the solitude of the night. Life will take its leave in silence. Yet stars will watch at night, and morning rise as before. Things that I longed for in vain and things that I got – let them pass. I have got my leave. I give up all claims. I only ask for last kind words. Summons have come and I am ready for my journey. I start on my journey with empty hands and expectant heart. The inscrutable without name and form had taken me in his arms in the form of my mother. The same unknown will appear as ever known to me. Because I love this life, I know I shall love death as well.
What I have seen is unsurpassable. I have tasted the hidden honey of this lotus that expands on the ocean of light, and thus am I blessed. I have had my play and here have I caught sight of the formless. My whole body and my limbs have thrilled with the touch of the ‘beyond touch’. If the playtime is over, let it be; if the end comes here, let it come – let this be my parting word.
It is never in my power to escape unconquered. Blue sky will summon me in silence. Nothing will be left for me, nothing whatever, and utter death shall I receive at your feet. Whenever it is your pleasure, come silently and take your seat. I am eager to die into the deathless. To lay down my silent harp at the feet of the silent. My notes have taught me all the lessons I ever learnt; they showed me secret paths, they brought before my sight many a star on the horizon of my heart. You sit there smiling as the world sees your pictures in all my notes. Your tales into notes. Your meanings. Let all my senses spread out and touch this world; let all my mind bend down; let all my notes gather together their diverse strains into a single current and flow to a sea of silence; let all my life take its voyage to its eternal home. In one salutation.
Nobel Prize proceeds were invested in Santi Niketan, and Viswa Bharathi University. In his acceptance speech, Tagore exhorted: We must discover the most profound unity, the spiritual unity between the different races. He who sees all beings as himself, who realizes all beings as himself, knows Truth. Man is not to fight with other human races, other human individuals, but his work is to bring about reconciliation and Peace and to restore the bonds of friendship and love. Can we be together? Can we love, give? Can we have peace amongst us? All of us.
Yes, we can. If we coexist, flowing. If we learn, with love in the soul. In N? viswasantiyoga for 7L.