The Alchemist's Stone

The Alchemist’s Stone

            Crazed, he seeks the alchemist’s stone.

Unwashed and unkempt,            the impossible, he dreamt

            Even his shadow, withered to the bone.

His lips tightly clenched,             one desire, firmly etched

            A searing fire, rages through his eyes.

E’en at night,                               a miner’s unfailing light,

            Relentless they seek the one solitary prize.

Homeless and lone,                    a mere cloth, his own

            Soiled and ragged, his loins doth cover.

Friends, he had none,                 no father, no son.

            Poorer than even the most wretched beggar.

But oh what pride,                     gold, he casts aside,

            Too less for him, the king’s jewelled throne.

“Foolish”, they sigh                    nothing else will satisfy

            All Maddy seeks, is the alchemist’s stone.

            Ahead roared the ocean – endless, vast.

The waves watched, amazed.      Grudgingly, they praised

            A futile search, yet resolute, steadfast.

With unblinking awed eyes         watched the blue skies

            The wind whirled above, amazed at the sight.

Right from dawn,                        the sun watches on

            The moon bears witness through the night.

The waves, boundless                forward, they press

            Their ancient secrets, yearning to reveal.

Old lost tales                             of hidden treasure trails

            For him, who can, these ciphers unseal.

Without any care                       its song, so rare

            The ocean sings on, the arcane tone.

Baffled, men pass by                  some laugh, some cry

            Unruffled, Maddy seeks the alchemist’s stone.

            Legends doth say, in the days of yore.

A blazing golden light,               a sight so bright

            Creation’s first, in the skies did soar.

Together, God and Demon,        one desire in common,

            Had amassed slowly on this hallowed coast.

Watching the infinite                  humbled and contrite

Bowed and prayed, a penance, foremost.

For ages, silent                           to the song, eloquent

            They listened. Its secrets, longing to learn.

Then without fear,                      those beings, austere

            Plunged to the deep, its mysteries to churn.

Arose with the nectar                 the Goddess in splendour

            Stunned, they watched, such beauty unknown.

On that very coast,                     shrivelled, like a ghost

            Maddy seeks on his alchemist’s stone.

Ah! Cruel time. Fierce faith it will drain.

Yet, his quest                              relentless, sans rest.

            For though belief fades, habit will remain!

Singing all night,                        unaware of its plight

            The songbird awaits, in vain, its mate.

All day, despite                          sings without respite

            To call from its perch, alas, his fate.

None knows why                       with waves sky high

            The ocean seeks, his one true love.

His arms, both                           in a matchless oath

            Awaits forever, outstretched above.

Through plaintive bars,              guided by the stars

            As wandering fakirs, for the world, atone.

Thus, single sighted,                   dusty and matted,

            Maddy seeks on the alchemist’s stone.

            One fine morn, asked, a lanky village lad.

“Monk, be not upset.                 Where’d you get?”

            “This golden chain, on your waist, clad?”

He looked, startled,                    indeed, it sparkled

            Iron turned to gold, he knew not when.

A miracle, supreme?                   Or was it a dream?

            He pinched himself awake, again and again.

Dazed, he swore.                       Then slumped to the floor

            None but himself could he more berate.

Like a madman, stared               wept and despaired,

            For the prize he had won and lost to fate.

Now a mere ritual,                     many a pebble,

            To strike the chain, was picked and thrown.

Without ever looking,                away he would fling.

            One such rock was the alchemist’s stone.

            The sun was setting at the end of its sojourn.

Sky, hued golden,                      Ocean, of gold molten,

            A reddish dream cloaked the western horizon.

The monk without haste            his steps, retraced

            To start afresh the search for his treasure.

His doughty spirit                      now shorn of grit

            Bent and broken, pain beyond measure.

The path he strode                    ahead, long and old

            Aghast, he watched. No end in sight.

From here, endless                    sandy, lifeless

            A pall of gloom in the shadow of the night.

In half a lifetime                         the prize, sublime

            Blessed by its touch, for one moment alone.

The other half, broken               he offered, unspoken

            To search again that alchemist’s stone.

            Translated by: Chinmoy Bhattacharjee
            Original: “Parashpathar” by Rabindranath Tagore

Translating “Parashpathar” (পরশপাথর) has been an immensely fulfilling experience. At the onset, it is a long poem. And like most of Tagore’s works, the interplay of imagery with the context of the plot, interlaced with deeper philosophical connotations, creates a heady mix of lyrical magic. This poem has been written in the form of an epic – chronicling the audacious, almost impossible, quest of a wandering mendicant in search of the mythical Alchemist’s Stone. The pathos in the poem is what is most endearing, almost heart breaking. As the monk realizes he has let slip what he had devoted his entire life to, it is impossible to not draw parallels to a higher realization – that of missed opportunities in life. Destiny in the end is a great leveller. And she often surfaces in one’s life with a cruel sense of humour.

Among the numerous ballads that Tagore has composed, this one occupies a unique place in my heart. My first introduction to “Parashpathar” was an abridged version (an excerpt, really) in my school curriculum. It was much later that I fully read this poem and grew to love it. Part of his “Shonar Tori” anthology, this is one poem I love reciting the most. In this humble attempt at translation, I have tried to remain faithful both to the thought as well as to the structure of Rabindranath’s masterpiece. I earnestly hope the English reader will find as much joy in reciting the poem as he enjoys the story of Maddy, the mad ascetic.

As always, for the benefit of those who can read the Bengali script, the original is included below.