Ode to a River

Ode to a River

O thou Padma mine,

You and I here have met – many, many a time.

On these very shores, from crowds far away,

At the pious dusk hour, one late autumn day,

In His divine presence, until death do us part,

Unto you my love, had I bequeathed my heart.

The evening that day, as a bride newly wed

Watched shy and demure, not a word she said!

And the lone evening star, in the far eastern sky,

Fondly she watched, with a twinkle in her eye.

Forever since that day, O thou Padma mine,

You and I here have met – many, many a time.

Many have oft wondered; they studied many scrolls,

But none could ever grasp, the bonds of our souls,

None did ever fathom, do I come rushing why –

To your serene banks, under the twilight sky.

When the ruddy geese, all their chatter fade,

Done with their frolic, to their homes wade.

When in the silent village, on the eastern shore,

They light their oil lamps; they close every door.

In those still hours, the songs we did croon

None, alas, did hear, in either bank their tune!

On many such evenings, and in every clime,

You and I here have met – many, many a time.

Oft have I pondered, as I sat on this shore,

If ever I was reborn, as in the tales of yore,

Aboard a foreign boat, from a far-off distant land,

Floating in your waters, beside the shores of sand –

Across many mountains, forests and plains bare,

Riding your waves, sailing to who knows where.

And then if ever, were I to reach this shore?

Would love again awaken, at the deepest core?

Where here in a past life, with the mellow sky above,

Like bashful secret lovers, we poured forth our love,

Again here on this bank, one such evening time,

Shall we not again meet – like the old time?

Translated by: Chinmoy Bhattacharjee

Original: “Padma” by Rabindranath Tagore

Padma (পদ্মা), from the Chaitali (চৈতালি) collection is a masterful personalization of the river Padma – and a romanticized evocation of the deep love he felt for the river. Tagore had spent a significant part of his life floating in a private barge on this river. The tranquillity inspired him. The Padma in that sense was his muse.

In this poem, he personifies the river to his lady love. One whom he had fallen in love with at first sight, and had since met hundreds of times. For others, this relation is inexplicable. For them nature is to be enjoyed, admired. For Tagore, however, the bonds are deeper. They go beyond – to the core of his being. He even fantasizes a metaphysical relation, one that would even survive the cycle of rebirths.

Some of Tagore’s most memorable compositions have been authored on the Padma. No collection of Tagore’s creations would therefore be complete without this tribute to the source which inspired them. Like always, the original is included below for those who are conversant with the Bengali script.

হে পদ্মা আমার,

তোমায় আমায় দেখা শত শত বার।

একদিন জনহীন তোমার পুলিনে,

গোধূলির শুভলগ্নে হেমন্তের দিনে,

সাক্ষী করি পশ্চিমের সূর্য অস্তমান

তোমারে সঁপিয়াছিনু আমার পরান।

অবসানসন্ধ্যালোকে আছিলে সেদিন

নতমুখী বধূসম শান্ত বাক্যহীন;

সন্ধ্যাতারা একাকিনী সস্নেহ কৌতুকে

চেয়ে ছিল তোমাপানে হাসিভরা মুখে।

সেদিনের পর হতে, হে পদ্মা আমার,

তোমায় আমায় দেখা শত শত বার।

নানা কর্মে মোর কাছে আসে নানা জন,

নাহি জানে আমাদের পরানবন্ধন,

নাহি জানে কেন আসি সন্ধ্যা-অভিসারে

বালুকা শয়ন-পাতা নির্জন এ পারে।

যখন মুখর তব চক্রবাকদল

সুপ্ত থাকে জলাশয়ে ছাড়ি কোলাহল,

যখন নিস্তব্ধ গ্রামে তব পূর্বতীরে

রুদ্ধ হয়ে যায় দ্বার কুটিরে কুটিরে,

তুমি কোন্‌ গান কর আমি কোন্‌ গান

দুই তীরে কেহ তার পায় নি সন্ধান।

নিভৃতে শরতে গ্রীষ্মে শীতে বরষায়

শত বার দেখাশুনা তোমায় আমায়।

কতদিন ভাবিয়াছি বসি তব তীরে

পরজন্মে এ ধরায় যদি আসি ফিরে,

যদি কোনো দূরতর জন্মভূমি হতে

তরী বেয়ে ভেসে আসি তব খরস্রোতে--

কত গ্রাম কত মাঠ কত ঝাউঝাড়

কত বালুচর কত ভেঙে-পড়া পাড়

পার হয়ে এই ঠাঁই আসিব যখন

জেগে উঠিবে না কোনো গভীর চেতন?

জন্মান্তরে শতবার যে নির্জন তীরে

গোপন হৃদয় মোর আসিত বাহিরে,

আর বার সেই তীরে সে সন্ধ্যাবেলায়

হবে না কি দেখাশুনা তোমায় আমায়?

The Divine Ousting

The Divine Ousting

In the sprawling temple halls, (in rituals, well-versed)

Sits the learned high priests, in worship, immersed.

To the gates of this shrine, one evening he came

His clothes, torn and tattered. So frail was his frame.

With folded hands, he pleaded, “On thy feet, I fall.

Pray, a little shelter, in a corner of your hall!”

“Back!”, said the devout, “You wretch – unwashed, vile!

This hallowed temple ground, how dare you defile?”

Shamed and saddened, as he turned with a sigh,

To splendour he transformed, in the blink of an eye!

Aghast and contrite they cried, “O Lord, why this guile?”

“It is Me that you oust!”, He replied with a smile.

“As a beggar do I travel, only kindness do I seek,

I live in his home, who doth welcome the weak.”

Translated by: Chinmoy Bhattacharjee

Original: “Debotar Biday” by Rabindranath Tagore

Debotar Biday (দেবতার বিদায়), from the Chaitali (চৈতালি) collection is one among many of Tagore’s creation that brings out the humanist in him, his strong leanings towards benevolence and philanthropy. In this poem, Tagore rues the degradation of the essentials that every religion has taught – that of kindness towards fellow humans. Over generations, man have mastered the rigours of rituals and the arcane texts of the scriptures. But alas, their spirit has been lost. The facades of the temples have been cleaned, but alas, the souls of the devout remain uncleaned. Religion has flourished, but alas, faith has diminished.

Ramakrishna Paramhansa, and his devotee, Swami Vivekananda has always preached – ‘To serve man is to serve God’. This, in their teachings, is the fundament on which Hinduism (indeed, all religions) is based. When this foundation is weakened, divinity is ousted. No other poem of Tagore says this as well as Debotar Biday (দেবতার বিদায়). 

Like always, the original is included below for those who are conversant with the Bengali script.

দেবতামন্দিরমাঝে ভকত প্রবীণ

জপিতেছে জপমালা বসি নিশিদিন।

হেনকালে সন্ধ্যাবেলা ধুলিমাখা দেহে

বস্ত্রহীন জীর্ণ দীন পশিল সে গেহে।

কহিল কাতরকণ্ঠে "গৃহ মোর নাই

এক পাশে দয়া করে দেহো মোরে ঠাঁই।"

সসংকোচে ভক্তবর কহিলেন তারে,

"আরে আরে অপবিত্র, দূর হয়ে যারে।"

সে কহিল, "চলিলাম"--চক্ষের নিমেষে

ভিখারি ধরিল মূর্তি দেবতার বেশে।

ভক্ত কহে, "প্রভু, মোরে কী ছল ছলিলে!"

দেবতা কহিল, "মোরে দূর করি দিলে।

জগতে দরিদ্ররূপে ফিরি দয়াতরে,

গৃহহীনে গৃহ দিলে আমি থাকি ঘরে।"

The Other Side

The Other Side

Part 1: The City Boy

On an upholstered seat, sat the anxious boy,

With his head on the window pane.

Watching the world pass fleeting by,

As homeward chugged the train.

Dreading the maddening drive to school,

Now that the vacation was done.

Through a soot choked city, behind high walls,

To a school that was devoid of fun.

Then, just for a moment, under an azure sky –

Like a pearl, in an ocean of green.

In a tranquil village; a shepherd with his flock –

He saw a beauty never before seen.

Woken by the sun, after a blissful sleep,

He imagined what his life might be.

Dancing through life in joyous abandon,

As on a flower dances the bee.

“If our lives could swap, through a slice of magic,

Or perhaps through blessings divine!”

“What fun would life be then”, he wondered,

“O, only if his life could be mine!”

Part 2: The Village Boy

On the stubby grass, sat the shepherd boy,

On the western field by the brook.

Beyond lay his village, remote and still, where –

E’en clouds stopped not to look.

His means were meagre, the elements, harsh,

No roads to their village ever came.

The herd that he tended, belonged to his father –

Alas! Life remained ever the same.

Then all of a sudden, as a sharp long whistle,

Shattered the still of the sky.

He stood up straight, watchful, intent –

As a train, like a dream, passed by.

He thought of the boy, in finery clad –

Perhaps, seated by that window pane.

Of the lands that he travelled, of the sights that he saw,

And of the wealth that he did attain.

“If our lives could swap, through a slice of magic,

Or perhaps through blessings divine!”

“What fun would life be then”, he wondered,

“O, only if his life could be mine!”

Chinmoy Bhattacharjee

11^th April 2020, Reading

Decades ago, in 1993, I had spent a few eventful days in a village called Kayasthagram – deep in the hinterland of the Barak Valley region of Assam. During one of those evenings, I had joined the village lads for a game of volleyball. As we played the game, far in the distant tracks, a train hurtled past – to who knows where. For a few moments, I had simply watched – it was one of those rare moments in life when I got to see what it felt like to watch the same thing from a different perspective, a different view. That vision forever remained with me.

I have used this imagery today to express a universal truth – that truth itself is relative. It always depends on one’s perspective, the advantage of one’s reference of vision. The same event will inevitably trigger different thoughts, different conclusions, different aspirations – even different truths. Truth therefore is always a shade of grey.

In this poem, for a few isolated, random moments – a city bred boy and a village lad share a moment. Only they know their circumstances. Alas, they can only infer the other’s circumstance. For them this inference is their truth. And for them, like everyone else, the grass is always greener on the other side.