Come to my pavilion, O my King.
I have spread a bed made of
delicately selected buds and blossoms,
And have arrayed myself in bridal garb
From head to toe.
I have been Thy slave during many births,
Thou art the be-all of my existence.
Mira’s Lord is Hari, the Indestructible.
Come, grant me Thy sight at once.
I will not be restrained now, O Rana,
Despite all you do to block my path.
I have torn off the veil of worldly shame;
Only the company of Saints is dear to me.
Merta, my parents’ home, I have left for good.
My surat and nirat, awakened,
Now shine bright.
My master has revealed to me
The mirror within my own body;
Now I’ll sing and dance in ecstasy.
Keep to your self your gems and jewelry;
I have discarded them all, O Rana.
My true Lord I have come to behold;
None knows of this wealth within the body.
I fancy not your forts and palaces
Nor want silken robes wrought with gold.
Mira, unadorned and unbedecked,
Roams intoxicated in the Lord’s love.
Labor and labor,
labor is your destiny.
There is love
There is truth
And there is money.
labor is your destiny.
To establish yourself
Labor is but a necessity.
Make each and every day
A labor day and go on
working with an aim
To attain the truth.
Your labor is unbroken bliss,
Your labor is self-bliss.
Merge into your labor, my dear,
And see how you are winning
The fire and the water,
And see how finer you are here.
Dear Mom, send my dad across; the rainy season has come.
Oh, dear daughter, how can I?
Your dad’s too old; the rainy season has come.
Dear Mom, send my brother across; the rainy season has come.
Oh, dear daughter, how can I?
Your brother’s too young; the rainy season has come.
Dear Mom, send my uncle across; the rainy season has come.
Oh, dear daughter, how can I?
Your uncle’s too dandy; the rainy season has come.
कला
कलाका लागि होस्
जीवनलाई
सुन्दर बनाउनका लागि नहोस्
रोटी रोटीका लागि होस्
खानका लागि नहोस्
मजदुर मेहनत गर्नका लागि होस्
केवल मेहनत
पुँजीपति होस्
मजदुर सिर्जित पुँजीको
मालिक बन्नका लागि
अर्थात्, जो जे छ, रहोस् त्यस्तै
कुनै परिवर्तन नहोस्
मालिक होस्
दास होस्
दास बनाउनका लागि युद्ध होस्
युद्धका लागि फौज होस्
र, फौजका लागि युद्ध होस्
हाललाई कला शुद्ध रहिरहोस्
र, शुद्ध कलाको
पवित्र प्रभामण्डलमा
जल्लादहरू भइराखून्
मान्छेलाई
फाँसी चढाउनका लागि।
Sons, my native land has sons
born on soil
barren and rocky and lone
for ages lone
across the gaping wilderness tear
ruthless winds and torrents of pain
sweep in epochs.
sweep them out.
Sons of mountains
radiant petals of jasmine gay
specks of time-less age-less rocks
elegant, fair and tender moulds
lumps of leathern coarsened hearts
damned by sun and wind and time
dashed from tops.
they seek a home
lost in dust beneath their feet
On a heap of squalid unscrubbed pans
immersed in simmering scalding water
the toiling sweating hands do seek
the blessed home
for ages they have thought and dreamed.
In towns flourshing
along the banks of mountain brooks
stays a-while
a fleeting cloud of gloom.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The Home!
and from an urban sheeted roof
curls into waves of trailing smoke.
The brook is limpid murmuring gold
the smoke is trailing meandering gold
the killers are killers
of conscience grace and candid souls
if ever they marked
the wave of anguish
a dash, a span
among the torrents of water and sweat
the rocks in hearts
the dark sinister rocks would fall.
Who can say
Why her eyes,
Those playmates of the hamlet where Beauty dwells,
Why her eyes smile that way ?
When notes arising from her soul,
That Temple-Palace of Music,
And traipsing through the land of glad tidings,
Mirthfully smothering the tinkling of their anklets,
Tip toe up, haltingly, secretively,
To the gates of her lips,
Why her gaze sparkles and smiles ?
Leaping over islands of silence
And wastelands of sealed lip pining,
When the silhouettes of desire
Come waltzing in
To nestle in an intimate moment’s nest,
Why her gaze sparkles and smiles ?
Her soul, that Sprite-Princess,
Neither lifts her veil
Nor voices her song
And when her heart’s ballad
Passes through distant, unexplored worlds
As the faint, lingering sounds of a flute …
Why her gaze sparkles and smiles !
The colors of the Dark One have penetrated Mira’s body; all the other colors washed out.
Making love with the Dark One and eating little, those are my pearls and my carnelians.
Meditation beads and the forehead streak, those are my scarves and my rings.
That’s enough feminine wiles for me. My teacher taught me this.
Approve me or disapprove me: I praise the Mountain Energy night and day.
I take the path that ecstatic human beings have taken for centuries.
I don’t steal money, I don’t hit anyone. What will you charge me with?
I have felt the swaying of the elephant’s shoulders;
and now you want me to climb on a jackass?
Try to be serious
The spiritual athlete often changes the color of his clothes,
and his mind remains gray and loveless.
He sits inside a shrine room all day,
so that the Guest has to go outdoors and praise the rocks.
Or he drills holes in his ears, his hair grows
enormous and matted,
people mistake him for a goat…
He goes out into wilderness areas, strangles his impulses,
and makes himself neither male nor female…
He shaves his skull, puts his robe in an orange vat,
reads the Bhagavad-Gita, and becomes a terrific talker.
Kabir says: Actually you are going in a hearse
to the country of death,
bound hand and foot!
I will fasten the bells of his love to my feet
And dance in front of Girdhar.
Dancing and dancing I will please his eyes;
My love is an ancient one.
My love is the only truth.
I do not care about social norms
Nor do I keep my family’s honour.
I cannot forget, even for a moment,
The beauty of my lover.
I am dyed in Hari’s colour.
No one knows my invisible life.
Pain
and madness for Rama.
Our wedding bed is high up
in the gallows.
Meet him?
If the dark healer comes,
we’ll negotiate the hurt.
I love the man who takes care
of cows. The cowherd.
Cowherd and dancer.
My eyes are drunk,
worn out from making love
with him. We are one.
I am now his dark color.
People notice me, point fingers at me.
They see my desire,
since I’m walking about like a lunatic.
I’m wiped out, gone.
Yet no one knows I live with my prince,
the cowherd.
The palace can’t contain me.
I leave it behind.
I couldn’t care less about gossip
or my royal name.
I’ll be with him
in all his gardens.
O I saw witchcraft tonight
in the region of Braj.
A milking girl going her rounds,
a pot on her head,
came face to face with the Dark One.
My friend, she is babbling,
can no longer say “buttermilk.”
– Come get the Dark One, the Dark One!
A pot full of Shyam! –
In the overgrown lanes
of Vrindavan forest
the Enchanter of Hearts fixed his
eye on this girl,
then departed.
Mira’s lord is hot, lovely
and raven –
tonight she saw witchcraft
at Braj.
Only he knows the bitterness of love
Who has deeply felt its pangs.
When you are in trouble
No one comes near you:
When fortune smiles.
All come to share the joy.
Love shows no external wound.
But the pain pervades every pore
Devotee Mira offers her body
As a sacrifice to Giridhara for ever.
Lamps burn in every house,
O blind one! and you cannot see them.
One day your eyes shall suddenly be opened,
and you shall see: and the fetters of death will fall from you.
There is nothing to say or to hear,
there is nothing to do:
it is he who is living, yet dead, who shall never die again.
Because he lives in solitude,
therefore the Yogi says that his home is far away.
Your Lord is near: yet you are climbing the palm-tree to seek Him.
The Brahman priest goes from house to house
and initiates people into faith:
Alas! the true fountain of life is beside you,
and you have set up a stone to worship.
Kabîr says: ‘I may never express how sweet my Lord is.
Yoga and the telling of beads,
virtue and vice-these are naught to Him.’
What is seen is not the Truth
What is cannot be said
Trust comes not without seeing
Nor understanding without words
The wise comprehends with knowledge
To the ignorant it is but a wonder
Some worship the formless God
Some worship His various forms
In what way He is beyond these attributes
Only the Knower knows
That music cannot be written
How can then be the notes
Says Kabir, awareness alone will overcome illusion
Kanha walks
Two steps at a time,
Yasoda’s desires see
Fulfilment sublime.
‘Runuk jhunk’ sing His anklets,
A sound
So pleasing to the mind.
He sits,
But then is up immediately,
A sight difficult to describe.
All the ladies of Braj tire
Of seeing such beauty divine.
Mohan’s begun to say ‘Maiya Maiya,’
And ‘Baba Baba’ to Nanda,
Balaram He’s calling ‘baiya’
From atop the house Yasoda shouts
Taking the name of kanhaiya.
Don’t go far to play my darling
Someone’s cow will hit ye.
The gopas and gopis celebrate boisterously
In each house there is festivity
Surdas, for a glimpse of the Lord
My all is surrendered to the Almighty.
Awake, Krishna,
awake the lotus-petals
open the water-lilies droop
the bumblebees have left
the creepers cocks crow,
and birds chirp on the trees.
The cows are in the byre lowing;
they run after their calves;
the moon fades before the sun.
Men and women arise
and joyfully sing their songs;
Krishna, of hands lotus-like awake,
for the day is about to dawn.
See the greatness of Krishna;
though Lord, Father and Master of the world
he willingly bears the arrogance of his close devotees
Shiva and Brahma were roaring mad
when Bhrigu kicked them,
but he gently pressed the sage’s foot
when it struck his breast!’
Which of the gods
can emulate him?
He befriends selflessly;
Embracing his foe Ravana’s brother, Vibhisana’ as lovingly as his own
brother Bharata, sending to heaven the demoness Putana
who tried to kill him’-
Such is Sura’s Lord,
the selfless Giver.
Swelling breasts, hard, like golden cups.
Those wanton glances have stolen my heart,
O beautiful one, protest no longer.
I am eager as a bee, let me take your honey.
Darling, I beg you, holding your hands,
Do not be cruel, have pity on me.
I shall say that again and again,
No more can I suffer the agony of love.
Her tears carved a river
And she broods on its bank,
Hurt and confused.
You ask her one thing,
She speaks of another.
Her friends believe
That joy may come again.
At times they banish hope
And cease to care.
O Madhava,
I have run to call you.
Radha each day
Grows thinner
Thinner than the crescent in the sky…
As I guard my honor,
My love in a foreign land
Ravishes beauties
Who belong to others.
Safely he will come,
But he has left me dead.
O traveler, tell him
That my youth wastes away…
If time goes on
Life too will go
And never shall we love again…
Madhava:
Your moon-faced love
Had never guessed
That parting hurts.
Radha is tortured,
Dreading you will leave.
Love has robbed her of all power,
She sinks clasping the ground.
Kokilas call,
Startled, she wakes
Only to brood again.
Tears wash the make-up
From her breasts.
Her arms grow thin,
Her bracelets slide to the ground.
Radha’s head droops in grief.
Her fingers scar the earth
Bleeding your name.
Awake, Radha, awake,
Calls the parrot and its love.
For how long must you sleep,
Clasped to the heart of your Dark-Stone?
Listen. The dawn has come
And the red shafts of the sun
Are making us shudder.
The moon spits fire,
Lotuses droop
And loaded with fragrance
Mingle in sad love.
Kokila, bird of spring,
Why do you torture?
Why do you sing
Your love-provoking song?
My lover is not here
And yet the god of love
Schemes on and on.
You do not know the meaning of ‘tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow’ is my tomorrow
And water
Escapes the dam of youth.
You are in love,
So is your lover,
And your two banks
Are brimming with the flood.
My lover left and I would die
Than wait still longer
For his loved return.
The fragrance of flowers
Enters the city,
Bees sing,
The moon and night enchant,
Yet all are enemies.
Her hair dense as darkness,
Her face rich as the full moon:
Unbelievable contrasts
Couched in a seat of love.
Her eyes rival lotuses.
Seeing that girl today,
My eager heart
Is driven by desire.
Innocence and beauty
Adore her fair skin.
Her gold necklace
Is lightning.
On the twin hills,
Her breasts ….,
In Damodar lake, near Girnar hill, Mehtaji frequently took bath.
Poor sweepers full of devotion for Hari approached him
And touched his feet with devotion.
`Great soul, pray come to our place, and singki rt ans with us! ‘, they prayed.
In Damodar lake, near Girnar hill, Mehtaji frequently took bath.
‘So what we too may attain the wealth called Bhakti
And escape the bewildering snares of life and death! ‘
They joined their hands and implored him.
In Damodar lake, near Girnar hill, Mehtaji frequently took bath.
Seeing them plead, Mehtaji, the kindest of all Vaishnavas,
Was overcome with compassion.
‘The love for lord and the bigotry hardly go together,
For all are equal in his eyes.
Purify the place and wait for me,” the generous Vaishnava replied.
In Damodar lake, near Girnar hill, Mehtaji frequently took bath.
Mehta came withpr as ad and spent the whole night celebrating.
In the morning, he sungbhaj ans
And all Vaishnavas’ hearts were full of contentment.
In Damodar lake, near Girnar hill, Mehtaji frequently took bath.
Singing Hari’s praises on cymbals and drums as he returned home,
TheNagar as mocked him, ‘Is this the way abrahmi n behaves? ‘
In Damodar lake, near Girnar hill, Mehtaji frequently took bath.
But Mehta kept silent, what can you say to unworthy people?
All the men and women of this caste woke up and derided him,
‘O what kind of person are you, O Mehta!
In Damodar lake, near Girnar hill, Mehtaji frequently took bath.
You care not for caste, you care not for creed, you care not for discrimination! ‘
Nevertheless, Narsaiyyo said humbly
‘O I have the support of the true Vaishnavas
In Damodar lake, near Girnar hill, Mehtaji frequently took bath.
With absolute joy, I sing thebr ahman!
But those encaptivated by theirk ar ma speak ill of me!
Even the great religious heads cannot fathom you,
They can’t even make out priceless jewels from mere beads!
With absolute joy, I sing thebr ahman!
But those encaptivated by theirk ar ma speak ill of me!
What is arcane even for the scriptures is pretty clear for the gopis,
Rare are the ones who can fathom this!
The beloved of Rama lusts not after women,
But these confounded mortals spread base lies!
With absolute joy, I sing thebr ahman!
But those encaptivated by theirk ar ma speak ill of me!
The perfect one is full of the perfect bliss, others worship elsewhere,
But Narsaiyyo sings the attributes of the absolute
And not carnal craving as the lustful think!
With absolute joy, I sing thebr ahman!
But those encaptivated by theirk ar ma speak ill of me!
This cute little Gokul, my beloved has made it into Vaikunth!
He pampers his devotees here and gives unlimited joy to the Gopis!
He, who cannot be grasped by all the philosophies,
And never appears even before the greatest of sages,
Churns buttermilk at Nanda’s place
And grazes cows in the Vrindavan woods!
This cute little Gokul, my lord has made it into Vaikunth!
My beloved, the ultimate indestructible brahman,
serves here all on his own
And stands naked in front of the Gopis pleading for butter!
This cute little Gokul, my beloved has made it into Vaikunth!
Narsaiyya’s lord, who is beyond reach even of gods
And who even Lord Shanker serves,
Gives himself unto his devotees,
So that even the ultimate liberation becomes their maidservant!
This cute little Gokul, my beloved has made it into Vaikunth!
We are like that-yes we are like what you say!
Call us depraved by love, we will still serve our loved Damodar.
We are like that-yes we are like what you say!
Our minds were once preoccupied in the worldly matters
Now, absorbed in Hari’s nectar, it wanders door to door singing!
We are like that-yes we are like what you say!
The customs and rituals, we heartily dislike
And even that which gives us all the worldly riches
Can’t be compared to ourlord!
We are like that-yes we are like what you say!
We are indeed base, baser than the basest in the world!
Say what you will; we are neck-deep in his love!
We are like that-yes we are like what you say!
I, Narsaiyyo, am a man of base deeds, for I love Vaishnavas
Who ever distances himselves fromhari j ans has wasted his birth!
We are like that-yes we are like what you say!
True fulfillment of my birth is in loving my beloved forever!
Never with dry rituals and harsh austerities
Would I torture my tender body!
All the time I’d play the games of love with my beloved!
True fulfillment of my birth is in loving my beloved forever!
When the final liberation waits on me like a menial servant,
Why should I worship someone else?
True fulfillment of my birth is in loving my beloved forever!
In all our births to come we will ever be your servants!
And the divinel eel a of Narsaiyya’s lord we will sing forever!
True fulfillment of my birth is in loving my beloved forever!
The flute resonates today! The flute resonates today!
The women dance with the lord, dance, and sing as they play!
The flute resonates today!
The sound of clapping, the sound of drumming,
The harmony of the jingling anklets unbound!
Mohan is with the women, ravishing and proud,
Their ringing bells, and their melodious sound!
The flute resonates today!
Rapt, oblivious, and absorbed in each other as they happily play!
Says Narsaiyyo, unbound is the joy of the ras players,
As tumultuous love comes down in showers!
The flute resonates today! The flute resonates today!
Let’s go and play dear friend; leave aside the churning of curds!
For spring has arrived, forest creepers have blossomed,
Cuckoos sing happily among kadamb trees, mango trees have bloomed
And hanging around every flower are the mischievous bees!
Let’s go and play dear friend; leave aside the churning of curds!
Wear these ornaments and necklaces, elephant-gaited one!
How many times to tell you to get started!
We’ll kiss the nectarous mouth of our admirer, embrace him, and gambol
Leaving aside all our coyness and shame!
Let’s go and play dear friend; leave aside the churning of curds!
We’ll capture Hari with love and clasp his joy to our heart
He will run holding our hands with love!
Narsinh too is lost in the ecstasy of revelry
And the days we have lost will return!
Let’s go and play dear friend; leave aside the churning of curds!
Someone silence that bird; he doesn’t leave me alone!
He is sent by the Creator himself
To shoot the arrows of desolation at me!
Someone silence that bird; he doesn’t leave me alone!
His cry is so beautiful, he cries in the middle of the night
He is no songster; he is a wicked bird
Who kills even those who are already dying!
Someone silence that bird; he doesn’t leave me alone!
It is already dark night, and on top of it, the lightening flashes!
The heart of the maiden separated from her love sinks.
Someone silence that bird; he doesn’t leave me alone!
How shall the night pass when the chataka is singing?
And what will happen if the dawn passes away too
Without Narsaiyya’s lord?
Someone silence that bird; he doesn’t leave me alone!
Tell me truly, my dark beloved,
To which lovely girl were you making love?
O my wild beloved, disheveled are your clothes and eyes are weary with sleep!
Tell me truly, my dark beloved,
To which lovely girl were you making love?
Bedecked brilliantly like the constellations sparkling in the sky,
My matchless one, why come to me when you sleep with someone else?
Tell me truly, my dark beloved,
To which lovely girl were you making love?
Useless it is to argue with the lustful, says Radha,
O Narsaiyya’s lord, what is your game behind all this?
Tell me truly, my dark beloved,
To which lovely girl were you making love?
Vanished then the Sable Monarch, and Savitri held her way
Where in dense and darksome forest still her husband lifeless lay,
And she sat upon the greensward by the cold unconscious dead,
On her lap with deeper kindness placed her consort’s lifeless head,
And that touch of true affection thrilled him back to waking life,
As returned from distant regions gazed the prince upon his wife,
‘Have I lain too long and slumbered, sweet Savitri, faithful spouse,
But I dreamt a Sable Person took me in a fatal noose! ‘
‘Pillowed on this lap,’ she answered, ‘long upon the earth you lay,
And the Sable Person, husband, he hath come and passed away,
Rise and leave this darksome forest if thou feelest light and strong,
The night is on the jungle and our way is dark and long.’
Rising as from happy slumber looked the young prince on all around,
Saw the wide-extending jungle mantling all the darksome ground,
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I now remember, ever loving faithful dame,
We in search of fruit and fuel to this lonesome forest came,
As I hewed the gnarléd branches, cruel anguish filled my brain,
And I laid me on the greensward with a throbbing piercing pain,
Pillowed on thy gentle bosom, solaced by thy gentle love,
I was soothed, and drowsy slumber fell on me from skies above.
All was dark and then I witnessed, was it but a fleeting dream,
God or Vision, dark and dreadful, in the deepening shadows gleam,
Was this dream my fair Savitri, dost thou of this Vision know,
Tell me, for before my eyesight still the Vision seems to glow! ‘
‘Darkness thickens,’ said Savitri, ‘and the evening waxeth late,
When the morrow’s light returneth I shall all these scenes narrate,
Now arise, for darkness gathers, deeper grows the gloomy night,
And thy loving anxious parents trembling wait thy welcome sight,
Hark the rangers of the forest! how their voices strike the ear,
Prowlers of the darksome jungle! how they fill my breast with fear!
Forest-fire is raging yonder, for I see a distant gleam,
And the rising evening breezes help the red and radiant beam,
Let me fetch a burning faggot and prepare a friendly fight,
With these fallen withered branches chase the shadows of the night,
And if feeble still thy footsteps,-long and weary is our way,-
By the fire repose, my husband, and return by light of day.’
‘For my parents, fondly anxious,’ Satyavan thus made reply,
‘Pains my heart and yearns my bosom, let us to their cottage hie,
When I tarried in the jungle or by day or dewy eve,
Searching in the hermitages often did my parents grieve,
And with father’s soft reproaches and with mother’s loving fears,
Chid me for my tardy footsteps, dewed me with their gentle tears.
Think then of my father’s sorrow, of my mother’s woeful plight,
If afar in wood and jungle pass we now the livelong night,
Wife beloved, I may not fathom what mishap or load of care,
Unknown dangers, unseen sorrows, even now my parents share! ‘
Gentle drops of filial sorrow trickled down his manly eye,
Pond Savitri sweetly speaking softly wiped the tear-drops dry:
‘Trust me, husband, if Savitri hath been faithful in her love,
If she hath with pious offerings served the righteous gods above,
If she hath a sister’s kindness unto brother men performed,
If she hath in speech and action unto holy truth conformed,
Unknown blessings, mighty gladness, trust thy ever faithful wife,
And not sorrows or disasters wait this eve our parents’ life! ‘
Then she rose and tied her tresses, gently helped her lord to rise,
Walked with him the pathless jungle, looked with love into his eyes,
On her neck his clasping left arm sweetly winds in soft embrace,
Round his waist Savitri’s right arm doth sweetly interlace,
Thus they walked the darksome jungle, silent stars looked from above,
And the hushed and throbbing midnight watched Savitri’s deathless love.
Darkly closed the shades of midnight, Karna still and lifeless lay,
Ghast and Pale o’er slaughtered thousands fell the morning’s sickly ray,
Bowman brave and proud preceptor Kripa to Duryodhan said,
Tear bedimmed the warrior’s eyelids and his manly bosom bled:
‘Leaderless are Koru’s forces by a dire misfortune crost,
Like the moonless shades of midnight in their utter darkness lost,
Like a summer-driéd river, weary waste of and sand,
Lost its pride of fresh’ning waters sweeping o’er the grateful land!
As a spark of fire consumeth summer’s parched and sapless wood,
Kuru’s lordless, lifeless forces shall be angry Arjun’s food,
Bhima too shall seek fulfilment of the dreadful vow he made,
Brave Satyaki wreak his vengeance for his sons untimely slayed!
Bid this battle cease, Duryodhan, pale and fitful is thy star,
Blood enough of friendly nations soaks this crimson field of war,
Bid them live,-the few survivors of a vast and countless host,
Let thy few remaining brothers live,-for many are the lost,
Kindly heart hath good Yudhishthir, still he seeks for rightful peace,
Render back his ancient kingdom, bid this war of kinsmen cease! ‘
‘Kripa,’ so Duryodhan answered, ‘in this sad and fatal strife,
Ever foremost of our warriors, ever careless of thy life,
Ever in the council chamber thou hast words of wisdom said,
Needless war and dire destruction by thy peaceful counsel stayed,
Every word thou speakest, Kripa, is a word of truth and weight.
Nathless thy advice for concord, wise preceptor, comes too late!
Hope not that the good Yudhishthir will again our friendship own
Cheated once by deep Sakuni of his kingdom and his throne,
Rugged Bhima will not palter, fatal is the vow he made,
Vengeful Arjun will not pardon gallant Abhimanyu dead!
Fair Draupadi doth her penance, so our ancient matrons say,
In our blood to wash her insult and her proud insulters slay,
Fair Subhadra morn and evening weeps her dear departed son,
Feeds Draupadi’s deathless anger for the hero dead and gone,
Deeply in their bosoms rankle wrongs and insults we have given,
Blood alone can wash it, Kripa, such the cruet will of Heaven!
And the hour for peace is over, for our best sleep on the plain,
Brothers, kinsmen, friends, and elders slumber with the countless slain,
Shall Duryodhan like a recreant now avoid the deathful strife,
After all his bravest warriors have in war surrendered life,
Shall he, sending them to slaughter, now survive and learn to flee,
Shall he, ruler over monarchs, learn to bend the servile knee?
Proud Duryodhan sues no favour even with his dying breath,
Unsubdued and still unconquered, changeless even unto death,
Salya valiant king of Madra. leads our arméd hosts to-day,
Or to perish or to conquer, gallant Kripa, lead the way! ‘
Meanwhile round the brave Yudhishthir calmly stood the Pandav force,
As the final day of battle now began its fatal course,
‘Brothers, kinsmen, hero-warriors,’ so the good Yudhishthir said,
‘Ye have done your share in battle, witness countless foemen dead
Sad Yudhishthir is your eldest, let him end this fatal strife,
Slay the last of Kuru chieftains or surrender throne and life!
Bold Satyaki ever faithful with his arms protects my right,
Drupad’s son with watchful valour guards my left with wonted might.
In the front doth Bhima battle, careful Arjun guards the rear,
I will lead the battle’s centre which shall know nor flight nor fear! ‘
Truly on that fatal morning brave Yudhishthir kept his word,
Long and fiercely waged the combat with fair Madra’s valiant lord,
Thick and fast the arrows whistled and the lances pointed well,
Till with crashing sound of thunder Salya’s mighty standard fell!
Rescued by the son of Drona, Salya rushed again to war,
Slew the noble milk-white coursers of Yudhishthir’s royal car,
And as springs the hungry lion on the spotted jungle-deer,
Salya rushed upon Yudhishthir reckless and unknown to fear!
Brave Yudhishthir marked him coming and he hurled his fatal dart,
Like the fatal curse of Brahman sank the weapon in his heart,
Blood suffused his eye and nostril, quivered still his feeble hand,
Like a cliff by thunder riven Salya fell and shook the land!
Ended was the fatal battle, for the Mlechcha king was slain,
Pierced by angry Sahadeva false Sakuni pressed the plain,
All the brothers of Duryodhan tiger-waisted Bhima slew,
Proud Duryodhan pale and panting from the field of battle flew!
Mirth and song and nuptial music waked the echoes of the night,
Youthful bosoms throbbed with pleasure, lovelit glances sparkled bright,
But when young and white -robed USHAS ope’d the golden gates of day,
To Virata’s council chamber chieftains thoughtful held their way,
Stones inlaid in arch and pillar glinted in the glittering dawn,
Gay festoons and graceful garlands o’er the golden cushions shone!
Matsya’s king, Panchala’s monarch, foremost seats of honour claim,
Krishna too and Valadeva, Dwarka’s chiefs of righteous fame,
By them sate the bold Satyaki from the sea-girt western shore,
And the godlike sons of Pandu,-days of dark concealment o’er,
Youthful princes in their splendour graced Virata’s royal hall,
Valiant sons of valiant fathers, brave in war, august and tall,
In their gem-bespangled garments came the warriors proud and high,
Till the council chamber glittered like the star-bespangled sky
Kind the greetings, sweet the converse, soft the golden moments fly,
Till intent on graver questions all on Krishna turn their eye,
Krishna with his inner vision then the state of things surveyed,
And his thoughts before the monarchs thus in weighty accents laid.
‘Known to all, ye mighty monarchs! May your glory ever last,
‘True to plighted word Yudhishthir hath his weary exile passed,
Twelve long years with fair Draupadi in the pathless jungle strayed,
And a year in menial service in Virata’s palace stayed,
He hath kepthis plighted promise, braved affliction, woe, and shame,
And he begs, assembled monarchs, ye shall now his duty name.
For he swerveth not from duty kingdom of the sky to win,
Prizeth hamlet more than empire, so his course be free from sin,
Loss of realm and wealth and glory higher virtues in him prove,
Thoughts of peace and not of anger still the good Yudhishthir move!
Mark again the sleepless anger and the unrelenting hate
Harboured by the proud Duryodhan driven by his luckless fate,
From a child, by fire or poison, impious guile or trick of dice,
He hath compassed dark destruction by deceit and low device!
Ponder well, ye gracious monarchs, with a just and righteous mind,
Help Yudhishthir with your counsel, with your grace and blessings kind,
Should the noble son of Pandu seek his right by open war,
Seek the aid of righteous monarchs and of chieftains near and far?
Should he smite his ancient foemen skilled in each deceitful art,
Unforgiving in their vengeance, unrelenting in their heart?
Should he rather send a message to the proud unbending foe,
And Duryodhan’s haughty purpose seek by messenger to know?
Should he send a noble envoy, trained in virtue, true and wise,
With his greetings to Duryodhan in a meek and friendly guise?
Ask him to restore the kingdom on the sacred Jumna’s shore
Either king may rule his empire as in happy days of yore? ‘
Krishna uttered words of wisdom pregnant with his peaceful thought,
For in peace and not by bloodshed still Yudhishthir’s right he sought.
Tears bedewed the face of Lakshman as he heard what Sita, said,
And he touched the feet of Rama and in gentle accents prayed:
‘If my elder and his lady to the pathless forests wend,
Armed with bow and ample quiver Lakshman will on them attend,
Where the wild deer range the forest and the lordly tuskers roam,
And the bird of gorgeous plumage nestles in its jungle home,
Dearer far to me those woodlands where my elder Rama dwells,
Than the homes of bright Immortals where perennial bliss prevails!
Grant me then thy sweet permission,-faithful to thy glorious star,
Lakshman,shall not wait and tarry when his Rama wanders far,
Grant me then thyloving mandate,-Lakshman hath no wish to stay,
None shall bar the faithful younger when the elder leads the way!’
‘Ever true to deeds of virtue, duteous brother, faithful friend,
Dearer than his life to Rama, thou shall not to forests wend,
Who shall stay by Queen Kausalya, Lakshman, if we both depart,
Who shall stay by Queen Sumitra, she who nursed thee on her heart?
For the king our aged father, he who ruled the earth and main,
Is a captive to Kaikeyi, fettered by her silken chain,
Little help Kaikeyi renders to our mothers in her pride,
Little help can Bharat offer, standing by his mother’s side.
Thou alone can’st serve Kausalya when for distant woods I part,
When the memory of my exile rankles in her sorrowing heart,
Thou alone can’st serve Sumitra, soothe her sorrows with thy love,
Stay by them, my faithful Lakshman, and thy filial virtues prove,
Be this then they sacred duty, tend our mothers in their woe,
Little joy or consolation have they left on earth below!’
Spake the hero: ‘Fear no evil, well is Rama’s prowess known,
And to mighty Rama’s mother Bharat will obeisance own,
Nathless if the pride of empire sways him from the righteous path,
Blood will venge the offered insult and will quench our filial wrath!
But a thousand peopled hamlets Queen Kausalya’s hests obey,
And a thousand arméd champions own her high and queenly sway,
Aye, a thousand village-centres Queen Sumitra’s state maintain,
And a thousand swords like Lakshman’s guard her proud and prosperous reign!
All alone with gentle Sita thou shalt track thy darksome way,
Grant it, that thy faithful Lakshman shall protect her night and day,
Grant it, with his bow and quiver Lakshman shall the forests roam,
And his axe shall fell the jungle, and his hands shall rear the home!
Grant it, in the deepest woodlands he shall seek the forest fruit,
Berries dear to holy hermits and the sweet and luscious root,
And whenwith thy meek-eyed Sita thou shalt seek the mountain crest,
Grant it, Lakshman ever duteous watch and guard thy nightly rest!’
Words of brother’s deep devotion Rama heard with grateful heart,
And with Sita and with Lakshman for the woods prepared to part:
Part we then from loving kinsmen, arms and mighty weapons bring,
Bows of war which Lord VARUNA rendered to Videha’s king,
Coats of mail to sword impervious, quivers which can never fail,
And the rapiers bright as sunshine, golden-hilted, tempered wen,
Safely rest these goodly weapons in our great preceptor’s hall,
Seekand bring them, faithful brother, for me thinks we need them all!’
Rama spake; his valiant brother then the wondrous weapons brought,
Wreathed with fresh and fragrant garlands and with gold and jewels wrought,
‘Welcome, brother,’ uttered Rama, ‘stronger thus to woods we go,
Wealth and gold and useless treasure to the holy priests bestow,
To the son of saint Vasishtha, to each sage is honour due,
Then we leave our father’s mansions, to our father’s mandate true!’
Star-eyed Tara softly counselled pressing to her consort’s side,
Mighty Bali proudly answered with a warrior’s lofty pride:
‘Challenge of a humbled foeman and a younger’s haugty scorn
May not, shall not, tender Tara, by a king be meekly borne!
Bali turns not from encounter even with his dying breath,
Insult from a foe, unanswered, is a deeper stain than death,
And Sugriva’s quest for combat Bali never shall deny,
Though sustained by Rama’s forces and by Rama’s prowess high!
Free me from thy sweet embraces and amidst thy maids retire,
Woman’s love and soft devotion woman’s timid thoughts inspire,
Fear not, Tara, blood of brother Bali’s honour shall not stain,
I will quell his proud presumption, chase him from this realm again,
Free me from thy loving dalliance, midst thy damsels seek thy place,
Till I come a happy victor to my Tara’s fond embrace!’
Slow and sad with sweet obeisance Tara stopped around her lord,
Welling tear-drops choked her accents as she prayed in stifled word,
Slow and sad with swelling bosom Tara with her maids retired,
Bali issued proud and stately with the thought of vengeance fired!
Hissing like an angry cobra, city’s lofty gates he past,
And his proud and angry glances fiercely all around he cast,
Till he saw the bold Sugriva, gold-complexioned, red with ire,
Girded for the dubious combat, flaming like the forest fire!
Bali braced his warlike garments and his hand he lifted high,
Bold Sugriva raised his right arm with a proud and answering cry,
Bali’s eyes were red as copper and his chain was burnished gold,
To his brother bold Sugriva thus he spake in accents bold:
‘Mark this iron fist, intruder, fatal is its vengeful blow,
Crushed and smitten thou shalt perish and to nether world shalt go,’
‘Nay that fate awaits thee, Bali,’ spake Sugriva armed for strife,
‘When this right arm smites thy forehead, from thy bosom rends thy life!’
Closed the chiefs in fatal combat, each resistless in his pride,
And like running rills from mountains poured their limbs the purple tide,
Till Sugriva quick uprooting Sal tree from the jungle wood,
As the dark cloud hurls the lightning, hurled it where his brother stood,
Staggering ‘neath the blow terrific Bali reeled and almost fell,
As a proud ship overladen reels upon the ocean’s swell!
But with fiercer rage and fury Bali in his anguish rose,
And with mutual blows they battled,-brothers and relentless foes,
Like the sun and moon in conflict or like eagles in their fight,
Still they fought with cherished hatred and an unforgotten spite,
Till with mightier force and fury Bali did his younger quell,
Faint Sugriva fiercely struggling ‘neath his brother’s prowess fell!
Still the wrathful rivals wrestled with their bleeding arms and knees,
With their nails like claws of tigers and with riven rocks and trees,
And as INDRA battles Vritra in the tempest’s pealing roar,
Blood-stained Bali, red Sugriva, strove and struggled, fought and tore,
Till Sugriva faint and falt’ring fell like Vritra from the sky,
To his comrade and his helper turned his faint and pleading eye!
Ah! those soft and pleading glances smote the gentle Rama’s heart,
On his bow of ample stature Rama raised the fatal dart,
Like the fatal disc of YAMA was his proudly circled bow,
Like a snake of deadly poison flew his arrow swift and low,
Wingéd dwellers of the forest heard the twang with trembling few,
Echoing woods gave back the accent, lightly fled the startled deer,
And as INDRA’S flag is lowered when the Aswin winds prevail,
Lofty Bali pierced and bleeding by that fatal arrow fell!
Morning came and duteous Rama to the palace bent his way,
For to make his salutation and his due obeisance pay,
And he saw his aged father shorn of kingly pomp and pride,
And he saw the Queen Kaikeyi sitting by her consort’s side.
Duteously the righteous Rama touched the ancient monarch’s feet,
Touched the feet of Queen Kaikeyi with a son’s obeisance meet,
‘Rama!’ cried the feeble monarch, but the tear bedimmed his eye,
Sorrow choked his failing utterance and his bosom heaved a sigh,
Rama started in his terror at his father’s grief or wrath,
Like a traveller in the jungle crossed by serpent in his path!
Reft of sense appeared the monarch, crushed beneath a load of pain,
Heaving oft a sigh of sorrow as his heart would break in twain,
Like the ocean tempest-shaken, like the sun in eclipse pale,
Like a crushed repenting rishi when his truth and virtue fail!
Breathless mused the anxious Rama,-what foul action hath he done,
What strange anger fills his father, wherefore greets he not his son?
‘Speak, my mother,’ uttered Rama,’ what strange error on my part.
Unremembered sin or folly fills with grief my father’s heart,
Gracious unto me is father with a father’s boundless grace,
Wherefore clouds his altered visage, wherefore tears bedew his face?
Doth a piercing painful ailment rack his limbs with cruel smart,
Doth some secret silent anguish wring his tom and tortured heart,
Bharat lives with brave Satrughns, in thy father’s realms afar,
Hath some cloud of dark disaster crossed their bright auspicious star?
Duteously the royal consorts on the loving monarch wait,
Hath some woe or dire misfortune dimmed the lustre of their fate.
I would yield my life and fortune ere I wound my father’s heart,
Rath my unknown crime or folly caused his ancient bosom smart!
Ever dear is Queen Kaikeyi to her consort and her king,
Hath some angry accent escaped thee thus his royal heart to wring,
Speak, my ever-lovinging mother, speak the truth, for thou must know,
What distress or deep disaster pains his heart and clouds his brow?’
Mother’s love nor woman’s pity moved the deep-determined queen,
As in cold and cruel accents thus she spake her purpose keen:
‘Grief nor woe nor sudden ailment pains thy father loved of old,
But he fears to speak his purpose to his Rama true and bold,
And his loving accents falter some unloving wish to tell,
Till you give your princely promise, you Will serve his mandate well!
Listen more, in bygone seasons,-Rama thou wert then unborn,
I had saved thy royal father, he a gracious boon had sworn,
But his feeble heart repenting is by pride and passion stirred,
He would break his royal promise as a caitiff breaks his word,
Years have passed and now the monarch would his ancient word forego,
He would build a needless causeway when the waters ceased to flow!
Truth inspires each deed attempted and each word by monarchs spoke,
Not for thee, though loved and honoured, should a royal vow be broke,
If the true and righteous Rama binds him by his father’s vow,
I will tell thee of the anguish which obscures his royal brow,
If thy feeble bosom falter and thy halting purpose fail,
Unredeemed is royal promise and unspoken is my tale!
‘Speak thy word,’ exclaimed the hero, ‘and my purpose shall not fail,
Rama serves his father’s mandate and his bosom shall not quail,
Poisoned cup or death untimely,-what the cruel fates decree,
To his king and to his father Rama yields obedience free,
Speak my father’s royal promise, hold me by his promise tied,
Rama speaks and shall not palter, for his lips have never lied.’
Cold and clear Kaikeyi’s accents fell as falls the hunter’s knife,
‘Listen then to word of promise and redeem it with thy life,
Wounded erst by foes immortal, saved by Queen Kaikeyi’s care,
Two great boons your father plighted and his royal words were fair,
I have sought their due fulfilment,-brightly shines my Bharat’s star.
Bharat shall be Heir and Regent, Rama shall be banished far!
If thy father’s royal mandate thou wouldst list and honour still,
Fourteen years in Dandak’s forest live and wander at thy will,
Seven long years and seven, my Rama, thou shalt in the jungle dwell,
Bark of trees shall be thy raiment and thy home the hermit’s cell,
Over fair Kosala’s empire let my princely Bharat reign,
With his cars and steeds and tuskers, wealth and gold and arméd men!
Tender-hearted is the monarch, age and sorrow dim his eye,
And the anguish of a father checks his speech and purpose high,
For the love he bears thee, Rama, cruel vow he may not speak,
I have spoke his will and mandate, and thy true obedience seek.’
Calmly Rama heard the mandate, grief nor anger touched his heart,
Calmly from his father’s empire and his home prepared to part.
Message from returning Rama, Vanars to Ayodhya brought,
Righteous Bharat gave his mandate with a holy joy distraught:
‘Let our city shrines and chaityas with a lofty music shake,
And ourpriests to bright Immortals grateful gifts and offerings make,
Bards, reciters of Puranas, minstrels versed in ancient song,
Women with their tuneful voices lays of sacred love prolong,
Let our queens and stately courtiers step in splendour and in state,
Chieftains with their marshalled forces range along the city gate,
And our white-robed holy Brahmans hymn and sacred mantras sing.
Offer greetings to our brother, render homage to our king!’
Brave Satrughna heard his elder and his mandate duly kept:
‘Be our great and sacred city levelled, cleansed, and duly swept,
And the grateful earth be sprinkled with the water from the well,
Strewn with parchéd rice and offering and with flower of sweetest smell,
On each turret, tower, and temple let our flags and colours wave,
On the gates of proud Ayodhya plant Ayodhya’a banners brave,
Gay festoons of flowering creeper home and street and dwelling line,
And in gold and glittering garment let the gladdened city shine.
Elephants in golden trappings thousand chiefs and nobles bore.
Chariots, cars, and gallant chargers speeding by Sarayu’s shore,
And the serried troops of battle marched with colours rich and brave,
Proudly o’er the gay procession did, Ayodhya’s banners wave.
In their stately gilded litters royal dames and damsels came,
Queen Kausalya first and foremost, Queen Sumitra rich in fame,
Pious priest and learned Brahman, chief of guild from near and far,
Noble chief and stately courtier with the wreath and water jar.
Girt by minstrel, bard, and herald chanting glorious deeds of yore,
Bharat came,-his elder’s sandals still the faithful younger bore,-
Silver-white his proud umbrella, silver-white his garland brave,
Silver-white the fan of chowri which his faithful henchmen wave,
Stately march of gallant chargers and the roll of battle car,
Heavy tread of royal tuskers and the beat of drum of war,
Dundubhi and echoing sankha, voice of nations gathered nigh,
Shook the city’s tower and temple and the pealing vault of sky!
Sailing o’er the cloudless ether Rama’s Pushpa chariot came,
And ten thousand jocund voices shouted Rama’s joyous name,
Women with their loving greetings, children with their joyous cry,
Tottering age and lisping infant hailed the righteous chief and high.
Bharat lifted up his glances unto Rama from afar,
Unto Sita, unto Lakshman, seated on the Pushpa car,
And he wafted high his greetings and he poured his pious lay,
As one wafts the chaunted mantra to the rising God of Day!
Silver swans by Rama’s bidding soft descended from the air,
And on earth the chariot lighted,-car of flowers divinely fair,-
Bharat mounting on the chariot, sought his long-lost elder’s grace,
Rama held his faithful younger in a brother’s dear embrace.
With his greetings unto Lakshman, unto Rama’s faithful dame,
To Bibhishan and Sugriva and each chief who thither came,
Bharat took the jewelled sandals with the rarest gems inlaid,
Placed them at the feet of Rama and in humble accents said:
‘Tokens of thy rule and empire, these have filled thy royal throne,
Faithful to his trust and duty Bharat renders back thine own,
Bharat’s life is joy and gladness, for returned from distant shore,
Thou shalt rule thy spacious kingdom and thy loyal men once more,
Thou shalt hold thy rightful empire and assume thy royal crown,
Faithful to his trust and duty, Bharat renders back thine own,
Years have passed; the lonely Rama in his joyless palace reigned,
And for righteous duty yearning, Aswa-medha rite ordained,
And a steed of darkest sable with the valiant Lakshman sent,
And with troops and faithful courtiers to Naimisha’s forest went.
Fair was far Naimisha’s forest by the limpid Gumti’s shom.
Monarchs came and warlike chieftains, Brahmans versed in sacred lore,
Bharat with each friend and kinsman served them with the choicest food,
Proud retainers by each chieftain and each crownéd monarch stood.
Palaces and stately mansions were for royal guests assigned,
Peaceful homes for learnéd Brahmans were with trees umbrageous lined,
Gifts were made unto the needy, cloth by skilful weavers wrought,
Ere the suppliants spake their wishes, ere they shaped their inmost thought!
Rice unto the helpless widow, to the orphan wealth and gold,
Gifts they gave to holy Brahmans, shelter to the weak and old,
Garments to the grateful people crowding by their monarch’s door,
Food and drink unto the hungry, home unto the orphan poor.
Ancient rishis had not witnessed feast like this in any land,
Bright Immortals in their bounty blest not with a kinder hand,
Through the year and circling seasons lasted Rama’s sacred feast,
And the untold wealth of Rama by his kindly gifts increased!
Morning dawned; and with Valmiki, Sita to the gathering came,
Banished wife and weeping mother, sorrow-stricken, suffering dame,
Pure in thought and deed, Valmiki gave his troth and plighted word,-
Faithful still the banished Sita, in her bosom held her lord!
Mighty Saint,’ so Rama answered as he bowed his humble head,
‘Listening world will hear thy mandate and the word that thou hast said,
Never in his bosom Rama questioned Sita’s faithful love,
And the God of Fire incarnate did her stainless virtue prove!
Pardon, if the voice of rumour drove me to a deed of shame,
Bowing to my people’s wishes I disowned my sinless dame,
Pardon, if to please my subjects I have bade my Sita, roam,
Tore her from my throne and empire, tore her from my heart and home!
In the dark and dreary forest was my Sita left to mourn,
In the lone and gloomy jungle were my royal children born,
Help me, Gods, to wipe this error and this deed of sinful pride,
May my Sita prove her virtue, be again my loving bride!’
Gods and Spirits, bright Immortals to that royal Yajna came,
Hen of every race and nation, kings and chiefs of righteous fame,
Softly through the halls of splendour cool and scented breezes blew,
Fragrance of celestial blossoms o’er the royal chambers flew.
Sita, saw the bright Celestials, monarchs gathered from afar,
Saw her royal lord and husband bright as heaven-ascending star,
Saw her sons as hermit-minstrels beaming with a radiance high,
Milk of love suffused her bosom, tear of sorrow filled her eye!
Rama’s queen and Janak’s daughter, will she stoop her cause to plead,
Witness of her truth and virtue can a loving woman need?
Oh! her woman~s heart is bursting, and her day on earth is done,
And she pressed her heaving bosom, slow and sadly thus begun:
‘If unstained in thought and action I have lived from day of birth,
Spare a daughter’s shame and anguish and receive her, Mother Earth!
If in duty and devotion I have laboured undefiled,
After Earth I who bore this woman, once again, receive thy child!
If in truth unto my husband I have proved a faithful wife,
Mother Earth I relieve thy Sita from the burden of this life!’
Then the earth was rent and parted, and a golden throne arose,
Held aloft by jewelled Nagas as the leaves enfold the rose,
And the Mother in embraces held her spotless sinless Child,
Saintly Janak’s saintly daughter, pure and true and undefiled,
Gods and men proclaim her virtue! But fair Sita is no more,
Lone is Rama’s loveless bosom and his days of bliss are o’er!
दो मेघ मिले बोले-डोले, बरसाकर दो-दो बूँद चले ।
भौंरों को देख उड़े भौरें, कलियों को देख हँसी कलियाँ,
कुंजों को देख निकुंज हिले, गलियों को देख बसी गलियाँ,
गुदगुदा मधुप को, फूलों को, किरणों ने कहा जवानी लो,
झोंकों से बिछुड़े झोंकों को, झरनों ने कहा, रवानी लो,
दो फूल मिले, खेले-झेले, वन की डाली पर झूल चले,
दो मेघ मिले बोले-डोले, बरसाकर दो-दो बूँद चले ।
इस जीवन के चौराहे पर, दो हृदय मिले भोले-भाले,
ऊँची नज़रों चुपचाप रहे, नीची नज़रों दोनों बोले,
दुनिया ने मुँह बिचका-बिचका, कोसा आज़ाद जवानी को,
दुनिया ने नयनों को देखा, देखा न नयन के पानी को,
दो प्राण मिले झूमे-घूमे, दुनिया की दुनिया भूल चले,
दो मेघ मिले बोले-डोले, बरसाकर दो-दो बूँद चले ।
तरुवर की ऊँची डाली पर, दो पंछी बैठे अनजाने,
दोनों का हृदय उछाल चले, जीवन के दर्द भरे गाने,
मधुरस तो भौरें पिए चले, मधु-गंध लिए चल दिया पवन,
पतझड़ आई ले गई उड़ा, वन-वन के सूखे पत्र-सुमन
दो पंछी मिले चमन में, पर चोंचों में लेकर शूल चले,
दो मेघ मिले बोले-डोले, बरसाकर दो-दो बूँद चले ।
नदियों में नदियाँ घुली-मिलीं, फिर दूर सिंधु की ओर चलीं,
धारों में लेकर ज्वार चलीं, ज्वारों में लेकर भौंर चलीं,
अचरज से देख जवानी यह, दुनिया तीरों पर खड़ी रही,
चलने वाले चल दिए और, दुनिया बेचारी पड़ी रही,
दो ज्वार मिले मझधारों में, हिलमिल सागर के कूल चले,
दो मेघ मिले बोले-डोले, बरसाकर दो-दो बूँद चले ।
हम अमर जवानी लिए चले, दुनिया ने माँगा केवल तन,
हम दिल की दौलत लुटा चले, दुनिया ने माँगा केवल धन,
तन की रक्षा को गढ़े नियम, बन गई नियम दुनिया ज्ञानी,
धन की रक्षा में बेचारी, बह गई स्वयं बनकर पानी,
धूलों में खेले हम जवान, फिर उड़ा-उड़ा कर धूल चले,
दो मेघ मिले बोले-डोले, बरसाकर दो-दो बूँद चले ।
निज राष्ट्र के शरीर के सिंगार के लिए
तुम कल्पना करो, नवीन कल्पना करो,
तुम कल्पना करो।
अब देश है स्वतंत्र, मेदिनी स्वतंत्र है
मधुमास है स्वतंत्र, चांदनी स्वतंत्र है
हर दीप है स्वतंत्र, रोशनी स्वतंत्र है
अब शक्ति की ज्वलंत दामिनी स्वतंत्र है
लेकर अनंत शक्तियाँ सद्य समृद्धि की-
तुम कामना करो, किशोर कामना करो,
तुम कल्पना करो।
तन की स्वतंत्रता चरित्र का निखार है
मन की स्वतंत्रता विचार की बहार है
घर की स्वतंत्रता समाज का सिंगार है
पर देश की स्वतंत्रता अमर पुकार है
टूटे कभी न तार यह अमर पुकार का-
तुम साधना करो, अनंत साधना करो,
तुम कल्पना करो।
हम थे अभी-अभी गुलाम, यह न भूलना
करना पड़ा हमें सलाम, यह न भूलना
रोते फिरे उमर तमाम, यह न भूलना
था फूट का मिला इनाम, वह न भूलना
बीती गुलामियाँ, न लौट आएँ फिर कभी
तुम भावना करो, स्वतंत्र भावना करो
तुम कल्पना करो।
यह लघु सरिता का बहता जल
कितना शीतल¸ कितना निर्मल¸
हिमगिरि के हिम से निकल-निकल¸
यह विमल दूध-सा हिम का जल¸
कर-कर निनाद कल-कल¸ छल-छल
बहता आता नीचे पल पल
तन का चंचल मन का विह्वल।
यह लघु सरिता का बहता जल।।
निर्मल जल की यह तेज़ धार
करके कितनी श्रृंखला पार
बहती रहती है लगातार
गिरती उठती है बार बार
रखता है तन में उतना बल
यह लघु सरिता का बहता जल।।
एकांत प्रांत निर्जन निर्जन
यह वसुधा के हिमगिरि का वन
रहता मंजुल मुखरित क्षण क्षण
लगता जैसे नंदन कानन
करता है जंगल में मंगल
यह लघु सरित का बहता जल।।
ऊँचे शिखरों से उतर-उतर¸
गिर-गिर गिरि की चट्टानों पर¸
कंकड़-कंकड़ पैदल चलकर¸
दिन-भर¸ रजनी-भर¸ जीवन-भर¸
धोता वसुधा का अन्तस्तल।
यह लघु सरिता का बहता जल।।
मिलता है उसको जब पथ पर
पथ रोके खड़ा कठिन पत्थर
आकुल आतुर दुख से कातर
सिर पटक पटक कर रो रो कर
करता है कितना कोलाहल
यह लघु सरित का बहता जल।।
हिम के पत्थर वे पिघल-पिघल¸
बन गये धरा का वारि विमल¸
सुख पाता जिससे पथिक विकल¸
पी-पीकर अंजलि भर मृदु जल¸
नित जल कर भी कितना शीतल।
यह लघु सरिता का बहता जल।।
कितना कोमल¸ कितना वत्सल¸
रे! जननी का वह अन्तस्तल¸
जिसका यह शीतल करूणा जल¸
बहता रहता युग-युग अविरल¸
गंगा¸ यमुना¸ सरयू निर्मल
यह लघु सरिता का बहता जल।।
ओ मृगनैनी, ओ पिक बैनी,
तेरे सामने बाँसुरिया झूठी है!
रग-रग में इतना रंग भरा,
कि रंगीन चुनरिया झूठी है!
मुख भी तेरा इतना गोरा,
बिना चाँद का है पूनम!
है दरस-परस इतना शीतल,
शरीर नहीं है शबनम!
अलकें-पलकें इतनी काली,
घनश्याम बदरिया झूठी है!
रग-रग में इतना रंग भरा,
कि रंगीन चुनरिया झूठी ह !
क्या होड़ करें चन्दा तेरी,
काली सूरत धब्बे वाली!
कहने को जग को भला-बुरा,
तू हँसती और लजाती!
मौसम सच्चा तू सच्ची है,
यह सकल बदरिया झूठी है!
रग-रग में इतना रंग भरा,
कि रंगीन चुनरिया झूठी है!
In light and glory dawned the expected day
Blest with a kindly star’s auspicious ray,
When gaily gathered at Himálaya’s call
His kinsmen to the solemn festival.
Through the broad city every dame’s awake
To grace the bridal for her monarch’s sake;
So great their love for him, this single care
Makes one vast household of the thousands there.
Heaven is not brighter than the royal street
Where flowers lie scattered ‘neath the nobles’ feet,
And banners waving to the breeze unfold
Their silken broidery over gates of gold.
And she, their child, upon her bridal day
Bears her dear parents’ every thought away.
So, when from distant shores a friend returns,
With deeper love each inmost spirit burns.
So, when grim Death restores his prey again
Joy brighter shines from memory of pain.
Each noble matron of Himálaya’s race
Folds his dear Umá in a long embrace,
Pours blessings on her head, and prays her take
Some priceless jewel for her friendship’s sake.
With sweetest influence a star of power
Had joined the spotted moon: at that blest hour
To deck fair Umá many a noble dame
And many a gentle maid assiduous came.
And well she graced their toil, more brightly fair
With feathery grass and wild flowers in her hair.
A silken robe flowed free below her waist;
Her sumptuous head a glittering arrow graced.
So shines the young unclouded moon at last,
Greeting the sun, its darksome season past.
Sweet-scented Lodhra dust and Sandal dyed
The delicate beauties of the fair young bride,
Veiled with a soft light robe. Her tiring-girls
Then led her to a chamber decked with pearls
And paved with sapphires, where the lulling sound
Of choicest music breathed divinely round.
There o’er the lady’s limbs they poured by turns
Streams of pure water from their golden urns.
Fresh from the cooling bath the lovely maid
In fairest white her tender form arrayed.
So opens the Kása all her shining flowers
Lured from their buds by softly falling showers.
Then to a court with canopies o’erhead
A crowd of noble dames the maiden led—
A court for solemn rites, where gems and gold
Adorn the pillars that the roof uphold.
There on a couch they set her with her face
Turned toward the east. So lovely then the grace
Of that dear maid, so ravishing her smile,
E’en her attendants turned to gaze awhile;
For though the brightest gems around her lay,
Her brighter beauty stole their eyes away.
Through her long tresses one a chaplet wound,
And one with fragrant grass her temples crowned,
While o’er her head sweet clouds of incense rolled
To try and perfume every shining fold.
Bright dyes of saffron and the scented wood
Adorned her beauty, till the maiden stood
Fairer than Gangá when the Love-birds play
O’er sandy islets in her silvery bay.
To what rare beauty shall her maids compare
Her clear brow shaded by her glossy hair?
Less dazzling pure the lovely lotus shines
Flecked by the thronging bees in dusky lines.
Less bright the moon, when a dark band of cloud
Enhances beauties which it cannot shroud.
Behind her ear a head of barley drew
The eye to gaze upon its golden hue.
But then her cheek, with glowing saffron dyed,
To richer beauty called the glance aside.
Though from those lips, where Beauty’s guerdon lay,
The vermeil tints were newly washed away,
Yet o’er them, as she smiled, a ray was thrown
Of quivering brightness that was all their own.
‘Lay this dear foot upon thy lover’s head
Crowned with the moon,’ the laughing maiden said,
Who dyed her lady’s feet—no word spake she,
But beat her with her wreath in playful glee.
Then tiring-women took the jetty dye
To guard, not deck, the beauty of her eye,
Whose languid half-shut glances might compare
With lotus leaves just opening to the air;
And as fresh gems adorned her neck and arms,
So quickly changing grew the maiden’s charms,
Like some fair plant where bud succeeding bud
Unfolds new beauty; or a silver flood
Where gay birds follow quickly; or like night,
When crowding stars come forth in all their light.
Oft as the mirror would her glance beguile
She longed to meet her Lord’s approving smile.
Her tasteful skill the timid maid essays
To win one smile of love, one word of praise.
The happy mother took the golden dye
And raised to hers young Umá’s beaming eye.
Then swelled her bosom with maternal pride
As thus she decked her darling for a bride.
Oh, she had longed to trace on that fair brow
The nuptial line, yet scarce could mark it now.
On Umá’s rounded arm the woollen band
Was fixt securely by the nurse’s hand.
Blind with the tears that filled her swimming eye,
In vain the mother strove that band to tie.
Spotless as curling foam-flakes stood she there,
As yielding soft, as graceful and as fair:
Or like the glory of an autumn night
Robed by the full moon in a veil of light.
Then at her mother’s hest, the maid adored
The spirit of each high ancestral lord,
Nor failed she next the noble dames to greet,
And give due honour to their reverend feet.
They raised the maiden as she bowed her head:
‘Thine be the fulness of his love!’ they said.
Half of his being, blessing high as this
Can add no rapture to her perfect bliss.
Well-pleased Himálaya viewed the pomp and pride
Meet for his daughter, meet for Śiva’s bride;
Then sought the hall with all his friends to wait
The bridegroom’s coming with a monarch’s state.
Meanwhile by heavenly matrons’ care displayed
Upon Kuvera’s lofty mount were laid
The ornaments of Śiva, which of yore
At his first nuptials the bridegroom wore.
He laid his hand upon the dress, but how
Shall robes so sad, so holy, grace him now?
His own dire vesture took a shape as fair
As gentle bridegroom’s heart could wish to wear.
The withering skull that glazed the eye with dread,
Shone a bright coronal to grace his head.
That elephant’s hide the God had worn of old
Was now a silken robe inwrought with gold.
Ere this his body was with dust besprent:
With unguent now it shed delightful scent;
And that mid-eye which glittering like a star
Shot the wild terror of its glance afar—
So softly now its golden radiance beamed—
A mark of glory on his forehead seemed.
His twining serpents, destined still to be
The pride and honour of the deity,
Changed but their bodies: in each sparkling crest
The blazing gems still shone their loveliest.
What need of jewels on the brow of Him
Who wears the crescent moon? No spot may dim
Its youthful beauty, e’en in light of day
Shedding the glory of its quenchless ray.
Well-pleased the God in all his pride arrayed
Saw his bright image mirrored in the blade
Of the huge sword they brought; then calmly leant
On Nandi’s arm, and toward his bull he went,
Whose broad back covered with a tiger’s hide
Was steep to climb as Mount Kailása’s side.
Yet the dread monster humbly shrank for fear,
And bowed in reverence as his Lord drew near.
The matrons followed him, a saintly throng,
Their ear-rings waving as they dashed along:
Sweet faces, with such glories round them shed
As made the air one lovely lotus bed.
On flew those bright ones: Káli came behind,
The skulls that decked her rattling in the wind:
Like the dark rack that scuds across the sky,
With herald lightning and the crane’s shrill cry.
Hark! from the glorious bands that lead the way,
Harp, drum, and pipe, and shrilling trumpet’s bray,
Burst through the sky upon the startled ear
And tell the Gods the hour of worship’s near.
They came; the Sun presents a silken shade
Which heaven’s own artist for the God had made,
Gilding his brows, as though bright Gangá rolled
Adown his holy head her waves of gold.
She in her Goddess-shape divinely fair,
And Yamuná, sweet river-Nymph, were there,
Fanning their Lord, that fancy still might deem
Swans waved their pinions round each Lady of the Stream.
E’en Brahmá came, Creator, Lord of Might,
And Vishṇu glowing from the realms of light.
‘Ride on,’ they cried, ‘thine, thine for ever be
The strength, the glory, and the victory.’
To swell his triumph that high blessing came
Like holy oil upon the rising flame.
In those Three Persons the one God was shown,
Each first in place, each last,—not one alone;
Of Śiva, Vishṇu, Brahmá, each may be
First, second, third, among the Blessed Three.
By Indra led, each world-upholding Lord
With folded hands the mighty God adored.
In humble robes arrayed, the pomp and pride
Of glorious deity they laid aside.
They signed to Nandi, and the favourite’s hand
Guided his eye upon the suppliant band.
He spake to Vishṇu, and on Indra smiled,
To Brahmá bowed—the lotus’ mystic child.
On all the hosts of heaven his friendly eye
Beamed duly welcome as they crowded nigh.
The Seven Great Saints their blessings o’er him shed,
And thus in answer, with a smile, he said:
‘Hail, mighty Sages! hail, ye Sons of Light!
My chosen priests to celebrate this rite.’
Now in sweet tones the heavenly minstrels tell
His praise, beneath whose might Tripura fell.
He moves to go: from his moon-crest a ray
Sheds quenchless light on his triumphant way.
On through the air his swift bull bore him well,
Decked with the gold of many a tinkling bell;
Tossing from time to time his head on high,
Enwreathed with clouds as he flew racing by,
As though in furious charge he had uptorn
A bank of clay upon his mighty horn.
Swiftly they came where in its beauty lay
The city subject to Himálaya’s sway.
No foeman’s foot had ever trod those halls,
No foreign bands encamped around the walls.
Then Śiva’s glances fixed their eager hold
On that fair city as with threads of gold.
The God whose neck still gleams with cloudy blue
Burst on the wondering people’s upturned view,
And on the earth descended, from the path
His shafts once dinted in avenging wrath.
Forth from the gates a noble army poured
To do meet honour to the mighty Lord.
With all his friends on elephants of state
The King of Mountains passed the city gate,
So gaily decked, the princes all were seen
Like moving hills inwrapt in bowery green.
As the full rushing of two streams that pour
Beneath one bridge with loud tumultuous roar,
So through the city’s open gate streamed in
Mountains and Gods with tumult and with din.
So glorious was the sight, wonder and shame,
When Śiva bowed him, o’er the Monarch came;
He knew not he had bent his lofty crest
In reverent greeting to his heavenly guest
Himálaya, joying in the festive day,
Before the immortal bridegroom led the way
Where heaps of gay flowers burying half the feet
Lay breathing odours through the crowded street.
Careless of all beside, each lady’s eye
Must gaze on Śiva as the troop sweeps by.
One dark-eyed beauty will not stay to bind
Her long black tresses, floating unconfined
Save by her little hand; her flowery crown
Hanging neglected and unfastened down.
One from her maiden tore her foot away
On which the dye, all wet and streaming, lay,
And o’er the chamber rushing in her haste,
Where’er she stepped, a crimson footprint traced.
Another at the window takes her stand;
One eye is dyed,—the pencil in her hand.
Here runs an eager maid, and running, holds
Loose and ungirt her flowing mantle’s folds,
Whilst, as she strives to close the parting vest,
Its brightness gives new beauty to her breast.
Oh! what a sight! the crowded windows there
With eager faces excellently fair,
Like sweetest lilies, for their dark eyes fling
Quick glances quivering like the wild bee’s wing.
Onward in peerless glory Śiva passed;
Gay banners o’er his way their shadows cast,
Each palace dome, each pinnacle and height
Catching new lustre from his crest of light.
On swept the pageant: on the God alone
The eager glances of the dames were thrown;
On his bright form they fed the rapturous gaze,
And only turned to marvel and to praise:
‘Oh, well and wisely, such a lord to gain
The Mountain-Maid endured the toil and pain.
To be his slave were joy; but Oh, how blest
The wife—the loved one—lying on his breast!
Surely in vain, had not the Lord of Life
Matched this fond bridegroom and this loving wife,
Had been his wish to give the worlds a mould
Of perfect beauty! Falsely have they told
How the young flower-armed God was burnt by fire
At the red flash of Śiva’s vengeful ire.
No: jealous Love a fairer form confessed,
And cast away his own, no more the loveliest.
How glorious is the Mountain King, how proud
Earth’s stately pillar, girt about with cloud!
Now will he lift his lofty head more high,
Knit close to Śiva by this holy tie.’
Such words of praise from many a bright-eyed dame
On Śiva’s ear with soothing witchery came.
Through the broad streets ‘mid loud acclaim he rode,
And reached the palace where the King abode.
There he descended from his monster’s side,
As the sun leaves a cloud at eventide.
Leaning on Vishṇu’s arm he passed the door
Where mighty Brahmá entered in before.
Next Indra came, and all the host of heaven,
The noble Saints and those great Sages seven.
Then led they Śiva to a royal seat;
Fair gifts they brought, for such a bridegroom meet:
With all due rites, the honey and the milk,
Rich gems were offered and two robes of silk.
At length by skilful chamberlains arrayed
They led the lover to the royal maid.
Thus the fond Moon disturbs the tranquil rest
Of Ocean glittering with his foamy crest,
And leads him on, his proud waves swelling o’er,
To leap with kisses on the clasping shore.
He gazed on Umá. From his lotus eyes
Flashed out the rapture of his proud surprise.
Then calm the current of his spirit lay
Like the world basking in an autumn day.
They met; and true love’s momentary shame
O’er the blest bridegroom and his darling came.
Eye looked to eye, but, quivering as they met,
Scarce dared to trust the rapturous gazing yet.
In the God’s hand the priest has duly laid
The radiant fingers of the Mountain-Maid,
Bright, as if Love with his dear sprays of red
Had sought that refuge in his hour of dread.
From hand to hand the soft infection stole,
Till each confessed it in the inmost soul.
Fire filled his veins, with joy she trembled; such
The magic influence of that thrilling touch.
How grows their beauty, when two lovers stand
Eye fixt on eye, hand fondly linkt in hand!
Then how, unblamed, may mortal minstrel dare
To paint in words the beauty of that pair!
Around the fire in solemn rite they trod,
The lovely lady and the glorious God;
Like day and starry midnight when they meet
In the broad plains at lofty Meru’s feet.
Thrice at the bidding of the priest they came
With swimming eyes around the holy flame.
Then at his word the bride in order due
Into the blazing fire the parched grain threw,
And toward her face the scented smoke she drew,
Which softly wreathing o’er her fair cheek hung,
And round her ears in flower-like beauty clung.
As o’er the incense the sweet lady stooped,
The ear of barley from her tresses drooped,
And rested on her cheek, beneath the eye
Still brightly beaming with the jetty dye.
‘This flame be witness of your wedded life:
Be just, thou husband, and be true, thou wife!’
Such was the priestly blessing on the bride.
Eager she listened, as the earth when dried
By parching summer suns drinks deeply in
The first soft droppings when the rains begin.
‘Look, gentle Umá,’ cried her Lord, ‘afar
Seest thou the brightness of yon polar star?
Like that unchanging ray thy faith must shine.’
Sobbing, she whispered, ‘Yes, for ever thine.’
The rite is o’er. Her joyful parents now
At Brahmá’s feet in duteous reverence bow.
Then to fair Umá spake the gracious Power
Who sits enthroned upon the lotus flower:
‘O beautiful lady, happy shalt thou be,
And hero children shall be born of thee;’
Then looked in silence: vain the hope to bless
The bridegroom, Śiva, with more happiness.
Then from the altar, as prescribed of old,
They turned, and rested upon seats of gold;
And, as the holy books for men ordain,
Were sprinkled duly with the moistened grain.
High o’er their heads sweet Beauty’s Queen displayed
Upon a stem of reed a cool green shade,
While the young lotus-leaves of which ’twas made
Seemed, as they glistened to the wondering view,
All richly pearled with drops of beady dew.
In twofold language on each glorious head
The Queen of Speech her richest blessings shed;
In strong, pure, godlike utterance for his ear,
To her in liquid tones, soft, beautifully clear.
Now for awhile they gaze where maids divine
In graceful play the expressive dance entwine;
Whose eloquent motions, with an actor’s art,
Show to the life the passions of the heart.
The rite was ended; then the heavenly band
Prayed Śiva, raising high the suppliant hand:
‘Now, for the dear sake of thy lovely bride,
Have pity on the gentle God,’ they cried,
‘Whose tender body thy fierce wrath has slain:
Give all his honour, all his might again.’
Well pleased, he smiled, and gracious answer gave:
Śiva himself now yields him Káma’s slave.
When duly given, the great will ne’er despise
The gentle pleading of the good and wise.
Now have they left the wedded pair alone;
And Śiva takes her hand within his own
To lead his darling to the bridal bower,
Decked with bright gold and all her sumptuous dower.
She blushes sweetly as her maidens there
Look with arch smiles and glances on the pair;
And for one moment, while the damsels stay,
From him she loves turns her dear face away.
हिमालय किधर है?
मैंने उस बच्चे से पूछा जो स्कूल के बाहर
पतंग उड़ा रहा था
उधर-उधर-उसने कहाँ
जिधर उसकी पतंग भागी जा रही थी
मैं स्वीकार करूँ
मैंने पहली बार जाना
हिमालय किधर है?
मैं उसे बरसों से जानता था-
एक अधेड़ किसान
थोड़ा थका
थोड़ा झुका हुआ
किसी बोझ से नहीं
सिर्फ़ धरती के उस सहज गुरुत्वाकर्षं से
जिसे वह इतना प्यार करता था
वह मानता था-
दुनिया में कुत्ते बिल्लियाँ सूअर
सबकी जगह है
इसलिए नफ़रत नहीं करता था वह
कीचड़ काई या मल से
भेड़ें उसे अच्छी लगती थीं
ऊन ज़रूरी है-वह मानता था
पर कहता था-उससे भी ज़्यादा ज़रूरी है
उनके थनों की गरमाहट
जिससे खेतों में ढेले
ज़िन्दा हो जाते हैं
उसकी एक छोटी-सी दुनिया थी
छोटे-छोटे सपनों
और ठीकरों से भरी हुई
उस दुनिया में पुरखे भी रहते थे
और वे भी जो अभी पैदा नहीं हुए
महुआ उसका मित्र था
आम उसका देवता
बाँस-बबूल थे स्वजन-परिजन
और हाँ, एक छोटी-सी सूखी
नदी भी थी उस दुनिया में-
जिसे देखकर- कभी-कभी उसका मन होता था
उसे उठाकर रख ले कंधे पर
और ले जाए गंगा तक-
ताकि दोनों को फिर से जोड़ दे
पर गंगा के बारे में सोचकर
हो जाता था निहत्था!
इधर पिछले कुछ सालों से
जब गोल-गोल आलू
मिट्टी फ़ोड़कर झाँकने लगते थे जड़ों से
या फसल पककर
हो जाती थी तैयार
तो न जाने क्यों वह- हो जाता था चुप
कई-कई दिनों तक
बस यहीं पहुँचकर अटक जाती थी उसकी गाड़ी
सूर्योदय और सूर्यास्त के
विशाल पहियोंवाली
पर कहते हैं-
उस दिन इतवार था
और उस दिन वह ख़ुश था
एक पड़ोसी के पास गया
और पूछ आया आलू का भाव-ताव
पत्नी से हँसते हुए पूछा-
पूजा में कैसा रहेगा सेंहुड़ का फूल?
गली में भूँकते हुए कुत्ते से कहा-
‘ख़ुश रह चितकबरा,
ख़ुश रह!’
और निकल गया बाहर
किधर?
क्यों?
कहाँ जा रहा था वह-
अब मीडिया में इसी पर बहस है
उधर हुआ क्या
कि ज्यों ही वह पहुँचा मरखहिया मोड़
कहीं पीछे से एक भोंपू की आवाज़ आई
और कहते हैं- क्योंकि देखा किसी ने नहीं-
उसे कुचलती चली गई
अब यह हत्या थी
या आत्महत्या-इसे आप पर छोड़ता हूँ
वह तो अब सड़क के किनारे
चकवड़ घास की पत्तियों के बीच पड़ा था
और उसके होंठों में दबी थी
एक हल्की-सी मुस्कान!
उस दिन वह ख़ुश था।
Although in her every indication, the aim is something else
If she shows her affection(with me) , then different suspicion arises
Oh Lord, ‘they’ have not understood, nor will [they] understand, my speech
Give ‘them’ another heart, if you don’t give me a different tongue
Does that glance of coquetry have a connection with the eyebrow?
It is certainly an arrow- perhaps it has a different bow
If you’re in the city, then what grief do I have? when we get up
I will go and bring back from the bazaar a different heart and life
Although [I /we] became quick-handed / deft in idol-breaking
If I am alive, then in my path there will be many heavy-stones
The blood of the liver is in turmoil—or I would have wept to my heart’s content
If I had had a number of different pure-blood-scattering eyes
I will die [of love] for that voice, although my head may fly off!
But let her keep saying to the executioner,’Yes, more/another! ‘
People are deceived about the world-{heating/burning} sun
Every day I show one different hidden scar/wound
There are many good poets in this world.
But it is said that Ghalib is in a league of his own.
I am left with no hope at all,
No possibility to reach my goal,
The Day of my death is fixed,
I am so very anxious that I can not sleep all night.
Though I know the reward of obedience and worship,
But I have no tendency for it.
I am silent for a certain reason,
Otherwise I can convince you with my words,
Why I shouldn’t cry,
For when I don’t, she asks about me,
My heart is burning, though you cannot see the spot,
But O my doctor, can’t you smell my heart burn?
I have reached to a certain state,
From where even I cannot find myself.
I am dying (Waiting anxiously) for my death,
I don’t know where the hell my death has gone.
With what face you will go to Ka’ba, O! Ghalib,
You should be ashamed of yourself while thinking to go there.
Don’t stay afar pouting your lips at me like a rosebud;
I asked you for a kiss–let your lips answer my plea.
I will not cry for satisfaction if I could get my choice,
Among the divine beautiful virgins of heaven, I want only you.
After killing me, do not bury me in your street,
Why should people know your home address with my reference.
Be chivalrous for you are the wine bearer (beloved) , or else I
use to drink as much wine as I get every night.
I have no business with you but O! dear friend,
Convey my regards to the postman if you see him,(to remind him that he has to deliver my message to my beloved) .
I will show you what Majnoo (Hero of the famous Arabic love tale, Layla Majnoo) did,
If I could spare some time of my inner grief.
I am not bound to follow the directions given by Khizar (A prophet who is believed to be still alive and guide the people, who have lost their way, to the right path) ,
I accept that he remained my companion during my journey.
O! The inhabitants of the street of my beloved see
if you could find the insane poet Ghalib there some where.
Good Yudhishthir heard the tidings and he gave his free assent,
Unto distant chiefs and monarchs kindly invitations sent,
In the town of Upa-plavya, of fair Matsya’s towns the best,
Made their home the pious brothers to receive each royal guest.
Came unto them Kasi’s monarch and his arméd troopers came,
And the king of fair Panchala with his sons of warlike fame,
Came the sons of fair Draupadi early trained in art of war,
Other chiefs and sacrifices came from regions near and far.
Krishna decked in floral garlands with his elder brother came,
And his sister fair Subhadra, Arjun’s loved and longing dame,
Arjun’s son brave Abhimanyu came upon his flowery car,
With his elephants and chargers, troopers trained in art of war.
Vrishnis from the sea-girt Dwarka, bravo Andhakas known to fame,
Bhojas from the mighty Chumbal with the righteous Krishna came,
He to gallant sons of Pandu made his presents rich and rare,
Gems and gold and costly garments, slaves and damsels passing fair.
With its quaint and festive greetings came at last the bridal day,
Matsya maids were merry-hearted, Pandu’s sons were bright and gay,
Conch and cymbal, horn and trumpet spake forth music soft and sweet
In Virata’s royal palace, in the peopled mart and street!
And they slay the jungle red-deer, and they spread the ample board,
And prepare the cooling palm-drink with the richest viands stored,
Mimes and actors please the people, bards recite the ancient song,
Glories of heroic houses minstrels by their lays prolong!
And deep-bosomed dames of Matsya, jasmine-form and lotus-face,
With their pearls and golden garlands joyously the bridal grace,
Circled by those royal ladies, though they all are bright and fair,
Brightest shines the fair Draupadi with a beauty rich and rare,
Stately dames and merry maidens lead the young and soft-eyed bride,
As the queens of gods encircle INDRA’S daughter in her pride!
Arjun from the Matsya monarch takes the princess passing fair,
For his son by fair Subhadra, nursed by Krishna’s loving care,
With a godlike grace Yudhishthir stands by faithful Arjun’s side,
As a father takes a daughter, takes the young and beauteous bride,
Joins her hands to Abhimanyu’s, and with cake and parchéd rice,
On the altar brightly blazing doth the holy sacrifice.
Matsya’s monarch on the bridegroom rich and costly presents pressed,
Elephants he gave two hundred, steeds seven thousand of the best,
Poured libations on the altar, on the priests bestowed his gold,
Offered to the sons of Pandu rich domain and wealth untold.
With a pious hand Yudhishthir, true in heart and pure in mind,
Made his gifts, in gold and garments, kine and wealth of every kind,
Costly chariots, beds of splendour, robes with thread of gold belaced.
Viands rich and sweet confection, drinks the richest and the best,
Lands he gave unto the Brahman, bullocks to the labouring swain,
Steeds he gave unto the warrior, to the people gifts and grain.
And the city of the Matsyas, teeming with a wealth untold.
Shone with festive joy and gladness and with flags and cloth of gold.w
Unto Brahmans gave Yudhishthir countless nishkas of bright gold,
Unto sage and saintly Vyasa all his realm and wealth untold,
But the bard and ancient rishi who the holy Vedas spake,
Rendered back the monarch’s present, earthly gift he might not take!
‘Thine is Kuru’s ancient empire, rule the nations of the earth,
Gods have destined thee as monarch from the moment of thy birth,
Gold and wealth and costly present let the priests and Brahmans hoard,
Be it thine to rule thy subjects as their father and their lord!
Krishna too in gentle accents to the doubting monarch said:
‘Vyasa. speaketh word of wisdom and his mandate be obeyed! ‘
From the rishi good Yudhishthir then received the Kuru-land,
With a threefold gift of riches gladdened all the priestly band,
Pious priests and grateful nations to their distant regions went,
And his share of presents Vyasa to the ancient Pritha sent.
Fame and virtue Kuru’s monarch by the aswa-medha wins,
And the rite of pure ablution cleanses all Yudhishthir’s sins,
And be stands amid his brothers, brightly beaming, pure and high,
Even as INDRA stands encircled by the dwellers of the sky,
And the concourse of the monarchs grace Yudhishthir’s regal might,
As the stars and radiant planets grace the stillness of the night!
Gems and jewels in his bounty, gold and garnients rich and rare,
Gave Yudhishthir to each monarch, slaves and damsels passing fair,
Loving gifts to dear relations gave the king of righteous fame,
And the grateful parting monarchs blessed Yudhishthir’s hallowed name.
Last of all with many tear-drops Krishna mounts his lofty car,
Faithful still in joy or sorrow, faithful still in peace or war,
Arjun’s comrade. Bhima’s helper, good Yudhishthir’s friend of yore,
Krishna leaves Hastina’s mansions for the sea-girt Dwarka’s shore!
Victor of a hundred battles, Arjun came with conquering steed,
Vyasa herald of the Vedas bade the holy rite proceed:
‘For the day is come, Yudhishthir, let the sacrifice be done,
Let the priests repeat the mantra golden as the morning sun!
Threefold bounteous be thy presents and a threefold merit gain,
For thy wealth of gold is ample, be thy gifts like summer’s rain,
May the threefold rich performance purify the darkening stain,
Blood of warriors and of kinsmen slaughtered on the gory plain,
May the yajna’s pure ablution wash thee of the cruel sin,
And the meed of sacrificers may the good Yudhishthir win!
Vyasa spake; and good Yudhishthir took the diksha of the rite,
And commenced the aswa-medha gladdening every living wight,
Round the altar’s holy lustre moved the priests with sacred awe,
Swerved not from the rule of duty, failed not in the sacred law.
Done the rite of pure pravargya with the pious hymn and lay,
To the task of abhishava priests and Brahmans led the way,
And the holy Soma-drinkers pressed the sacred Soma plant,
And performed the pure savana with the solemn saman chant.
Bounty waits on squalid hunger, gifts dispel the suppliant’s fear,
Gold revives the poor and lowly, mercy wipes the mourner’s tear,
Tender care relieves the stricken by the gracious king’s command,
Charity with loving sweetness spreads her smile o’er all the land!
Day by day the aswa-medha doth with sacred rites proceed,
Day by day on royal bounty poor and grateful myriads feed,
And adept in six Vedangas, strict in vow and rich in lore,
Sage preceptors, holy teachers, grew in virtue ever more!
Six good stakes of vilwa timber, six of hard khadira wood,
Six of seasoned sarvavarnin, on the place of yajna stood,
Two were made of devadaru, pine that on Himalay grows,
One was made of wood of slesha, which the sacrificer knows,
Other stakes of golden lustre quaint with curious carving done,
Draped in silk and gold-brocaded like the constellations shone!
And the consecrated altar built and raised of bricks of gold,
Shone in splendour like the altar Daksha built in days of old,
Eighteen cubits square the structure, four deep layers of brick in height,
With a spacious winged triangle like an eagle in its flight!
Beasts whose flesh is pure and wholesome, dwellers of the lake or sky,
Priests assigned each varied offering to each heavenly power on high,
Bulls of various breed and colour, steeds of mettle true and tried,
Other creatures, full three hundred, to the many stakes were tied.
Deva-rishis viewed the feasting, sweet Gandharvas woke the song,
Apsaras like gleams of sunlight on the greensward tripped along,
Kinnaras and Kim-purushas mingled in the holy rite,
Siddhas of austerest penance stood around the sacred site,
Vyasa’s great and gifted pupils who the holy hymns compiled,
Helped the royal aswa-medha, on the royal yajna smiled!
From the bright ethereal mansions heavenly minstrel Narad came,
Chitra-sena woke the music, singer of celestial fame,
Cheered by more than mortal music priests their holy task begun,
And Yudhishthir’s fame and virtue with a brighter lustre shone!
Uprose one by one the suitors, marking still the distant aim,
Alighty monarchs, gallant princes, chiefs of proud and warlike fame,
Decked in golden crown and necklace, and inflamed by pride and love,
Stoutly strove the eager suitors viewing well the target above,
Strove to string the weapon vainly, tough unbending was the bow,
Slightly bent, rebounding quickly, laid the gallant princes low!
Strove the handsome suitors vainly, decked in gem and burnished gold,
Reft of diadem and necklace, fell each chief and warrior bold,
Reft of golden crown and garland, shamed and humbled in their pride,
Groaned the suitors in their anguish, sought no more Panchala’s bride!
Uprose Karna, peerless archer, proudest of the archers he,
And he went and strung the weapon, fixed the arrows gallantly,
Stood like SURYA in his splendour and like AGNI in his flame,-
Pandu’s sons in terror whispered, Karna sure must hit the aim!
But in proud and queenly accents Drupad’s queenly daughter said:
‘Monarch’s daughter, born a Kshatra, Suta’s son I will not wed,’
Karna heard with crimsoned forehead, left the emprise almost done,
Left the bow already circled, silent gazed upon the Sun!
Uprose Chedi’s haughty monarch, mightiest of the monarchs he,
Other kings had failed inglorious, Sisupala stood forth free,
Firm in heart and fixed in purpose, bent the tough unbending bow,
Vainly! for the bow rebounding laid the haughty monarch low!
Uprose sturdy Jarasandha, far Magadha’s mighty chief,
Held the bow and stood undaunted, tall and stately as a cliff,
But once more the bow rebounded, fell the monarch in his shame,
Left in haste Panchala’s mansions for the region whence he came!
Uprose Salya, king of Madra, with his wondrous skill and might,
Faltering, on his knees descending, fell in sad inglorious plight,
Thus each monarch fell and faltered, merry whispers went around,
And the sound of stifled laughter circled round the festive ground!
Blaring voice and strong signal came
Message from boy aging 9 for playing game
What game early in the morning dear son?
My uncle/auntie has wished you chase and run
You are so small and playing on somebody’s behalf, I said
“Not thinking of even your better half
You are supporting your poems on other’s name
For getting good name and earn the fame” he said
Is it not good to have many members in family?
Who has suggested you to ask the questions silly? I questioned
He was tutored to speak the language of mature
We can think at the age of nine what he has the future
This is how people are let loose and make messages
Is it the only way to find the top passage?
Why not they choose creative path and best usage?
Whole life will be wasted with the advancement of age
I have faced the bitter test of language
Unusual methods worth throwing in garbage
Still they claim the custodian of heritage?
Have they not gone berserk and mentally enraged?
Let this poem hunter be only hunting ground
New talents with innovative ideas should be found
Scrap or throw them who have nothing to offer
Let there be thousands of ideas and thoughts to differ
They have easy access to bio dates and inlet
It will be their Endeavour not anybody to let
What is here to gain and loose?
Path is open for them to go or choose?
Nothing will emerge except dirt and mud
It is utter nonsense and not at all good
Let there be discontinuance of grading system
Only entry with poems and wait for response esteem
It is time to say good bye,
amidst small gathering and cry,
Soul to depart from body and fly,
No one knows where and why?
Always stayed among kith and kin
Struggled hard though not very keen
So much load on solder as it had always been
So many odds against but clear path seen
Kept all flocks under shed and together
Waging a struggle and not thought to bother
Continued to strive very hard and survived
Explored all possible means and revived
Lived life to the extent possible,
Made it easy though looked impossible,
Discharged obligations to the last end,
Sensed eternal signals which were send,
Many things were done and remained undone,
Received acclaim from friends as well done,
Considered life as meaningful and good mission,
No doubts ever occurred as matter of question
Will my work remain not to be in time finished?
Chances are not bright and seems to be diminished
though life remained fulfilled and has no regret,
it’s time to sleep peacefully and rest to forget,
Will my living not be exemplary and remembered?
Ideas may soon be forgotten and pushed in corner
This may take place or happen later or sooner,
It is a lesson for the learner or beginner
I may have not lived up to the expectations,
May have many emissions and omissions,
Might have not yielded to the submissions,
But always have resisted the temptations
Ambition and desire may remain always a concern
Attempt to disassociate will be a lesson to learn
Sun always shined and brought ray of hope,
Descending was easy even in high slopes
it gives enough joy And contentment
Life seems to be a mission for fulfillment
Might have faced rough weather sometimes
Everybody in life faces good or bad times
Eyes are filled with joy and unhappiness
When you became familiar with closeness
It was happy union but soon to come to an end
You had to leave everybody including friends
It is not easy to forget log association
Either in service, circle or with family
Sometimes we might have acted silly
But it would have been atmosphere homely
It is tearful and sad departure
You may feel end in near future
It is simple law of nature
Just get top of it and be sure
Final journey to bid farewell and bye,
Not enough time to say even lie,
Permanent position to find and go,
Leaving behind memories and forgo
I I have proved and stayed as dark horse
Nobody would come to know without code Morse
People disregard me and pass the curse
Always non starter and unavailable force
I have earned disrepute and considered as unreliable
Still try to garner support and prove capable
Never waste a time for second or minute
Keep watch on all and observe it minutely
Play game safe and advance self interest
Try to extract more and achieve the best
Everything at command without passing test
Achievement of the goal without any rest
All for self betterment and not for social cause
No let up in work and continue without pause
This all becomes necessary in changing world
I know naked truth then why people turn cold?
This is selfish world and you should stay supreme
Play safe and never go to the end extreme
I may prove incompetence if not seize the opportunity
Life comes to a halt if not keep continuity,
People have a soft corner and very short memory
Go for bright glitter and never feel sorry
Worship rising sun and look not at sunset
Life should be at height and ambition preset
All eyes are on achievement and conceding defeat
Success story should emerge even making repeat
People fall in line and not mind treachery
Offer all the help even they feel jittery
Neither I am claiming nor proving hollow
System so prevalent I piously follow
Not offer chance or slight mistake to allow
People know better what is lying below
I want to achieve and rise above average
Glory and name should have wide coverage
All might say what is there in name
It doesn’t follow without playing game
I continuously strive after hard bargain
Doesn’t matter more whether loss or gain
Nothing comes in life without taking pain
Simple truth should be followed as it is plain
मानव पर जगती का शासन,
जगती पर संसृति का बंधन,
संसृति को भी और किसी के प्रतिबंधों में रहना होगा!
साथी, सब कुछ सहना होगा!
हम क्या हैं जगती के सर में!
जगती क्या, संसृति सागर में!
एक प्रबल धारा में हमको लघु तिनके-सा बहना होगा!
साथी, सब कुछ सहना होगा!
आओ, अपनी लघुता जानें,
अपनी निर्बलता पहचानें,
जैसे जग रहता आया है उसी तरह से रहना होगा!
साथी, सब कुछ सहना होगा!
हा, तुम्हारी मृदुल इच्छा!
हाय, मेरी कटु अनिच्छा!
था बहुत माँगा ना तुमने किन्तु वह भी दे ना पाया!
था तुम्हें मैंने रुलाया!
स्नेह का वह कण तरल था,
मधु न था, न सुधा-गरल था,
एक क्षण को भी, सरलते, क्यों समझ तुमको न पाया!
था तुम्हें मैंने रुलाया!
बूँद कल की आज सागर,
सोचता हूँ बैठ तट पर –
क्यों अभी तक डूब इसमें कर न अपना अंत पाया!
था तुम्हें मैंने रुलाया!
Sage Vasishtha skilled in duty placed Videha’s honoured king,
Viswa-mitra, Sata-nanda, all within the sacred ring,
And he raised the holy altar as the ancient writs ordain,
Decked and graced with scented garlands grateful unto gods and men,
And he set the golden ladles, vases pierced by artists skilled,
Holy censers fresh and fragrant, cups with sacred honey filled,
Sanka bowls and shining salvers, arghya plates for honoured guest,
Parchéd rice arranged in dishes, corn unhusked that filled the rest,
And with careful hand Vasishtha grass around the altar flung,
Offered gift to lighted AGNI and the sacred mantra sung!
Softly came the sweet-eyed Sita,-bridal blush upon her brow,
Rama in his manly beauty came to take the sacred vow,
Janak placed his beauteous daughter facing Dasa-ratha’s soil,
Spake with father’s fond emotion and the holy rite was done:
‘This is Sita child of Janak, dearer unto him than life,
Henceforth sharer of thy virtue, be. she, prince, thy faithful wife,
Of thy weal and woe partaker, be she thine in every land,
Cherish her in joy and sorrow, clasp her hand within thy hand,
As the shadow to the substance, to her lord is faithful wife,
And my Sita best of women follows thee in death or life! ‘
Tears bedew his ancient bosom, gods and men his wishes share,
And he sprinkles holy water on the blest and wedded pair.
Next he turned to Sita’s sister, Urmila of beauty rare,
And to Lakshman young and valiant spake in accents soft and fair:
Lakshman, dauntless in thy duty, loved of men and Gods above,
Take my dear devoted daughter, Urmila of stainless love,
Lakshman, fearless in thy virtue, take thy true and faithful wife,
Clasp her hand within thy fingers, be she thine in death or life! ‘
To his brother’s child Mandavi, Janak turned with father’s love,
Yielded her to righteous Bharat, prayed for blessings from above:
‘Bharat, take the fair Mandavi, be she thine in death or life,
Clasp her hand within thy fingers as thy true and faithful wife! ‘
Last of all was Sruta-kriti, fair in form and fair in face,
And her gentle name was honoured for her acts of righteous grace,
‘Take her by the hand, Satrughna, be she thine in death or life,
As the shadow to the suistance, to her lord is faithful wife! ‘
Then the princes held the maidens, hand embraced in loving hand,
And Vasishtha spake the mantra, holiest priest in all the land,
And as ancient rite ordaineth, and as sacred laws require,
Stepped each bride and princely bridegroom round the altar’s lighted fire,
Round Videha’s ancient monarch, round the holy rishis all,
Ughtly stepped the gentle maidens, proudly stepped the princes tall!
And a rain of flowers descended from the sky serene and fair,
And a soft celestial music filled the fresh and fragrant air,
Bright Gandkarvas skilled in music waked the sweet celestial song
Fair Apsaras in their beauty on the greensward tripped along!
As the flowery rain descended and the music rose in pride,
Thrice around the lighted altar every bridegroom led his bride,
And the nuptial rites were ended, princes took their brides away,
Janak followed with his courtiers, and the town was proud and gay!
The colors of the Dark One have penetrated Mira’s body; all the other colors washed out.
Making love with the Dark One and eating little, those are my pearls and my carnelians.
Meditation beads and the forehead streak, those are my scarves and my rings.
That’s enough feminine wiles for me. My teacher taught me this.
Approve me or disapprove me: I praise the Mountain Energy night and day.
I take the path that ecstatic human beings have taken for centuries.
I don’t steal money, I don’t hit anyone. What will you charge me with?
I have felt the swaying of the elephant’s shoulders;
and now you want me to climb on a jackass?
Try to be serious
O YOUTH, sweet comrade Youth, wouldst thou be gone?
Long have we dwelt together, thou and I;
Together drunk of many an alien dawn,
And plucked the fruit of many an alien sky.
Ah, fickle friend, must I, who yesterday
Dreamed forwards to long, undimmed ecstasy,
Henceforward dream, because thou wilt not stay,
Backward to transient pleasure and to thee?
I give thee back thy false, ephemeral vow;
But, O beloved comrade, ere we part,
Upon my mournful eyelids and my brow
Kiss me who hold thine image in my heart.
I perceive the world as a playground
Where dawn and dusk appear in eternal rounds
In His Universal form is a plaything the throne of Solomon
The miracles of the Messiah seem so ordinary in my eyes
Without name I cannot comprehend any form
Illusionary but is the identity of all objects
My anguish envelopes the entire desert
Silently flows the river in front of my floods
Ask not what separation has done to me
Just see your poise when I come in front of you
Truly you say that I am egotistical and proud
It is the reflection, O friend, in your limited mirror
To appreciate the style and charm of conversation
Just bring in the goblet and wine
Hatred manifests due to my envious mind
Thus I say, don’t take his name in front of me
Faith stops me while temptations attract
Inspite of Kaaba behind and church ahead
I am the Lover, yet notorious is my charm
Thus Laila calls names to Majnu in front of me
‘Dies’ not one though the union is a delight
In premonition of the separation night
Alas, this be it, the bloody separation wave
I know not what else is in store ahead of me
Though the hands don’t move, the eyes are alive
Wine and goblet, let them stay in front of me
Says ‘Ghalib’
Conscience is companion and trusted friend
Don’t pass any judgments in front of me.
Mirza Ghalib
Thousands of desires, each worth dying for…
Many of them I have realized…yet I yearn for more…
Why should my killer (lover) be afraid? No one will hold her responsible
For the blood which will continuously flow through my eyes all my life
We have heard about the dismissal of Adam from Heaven,
With a more humiliation, I am leaving the street on which you live…
Oh tyrant, your true personality will be known to all
If the curls of my hair slip through my turban!
But if someone wants to write her a letter, they can ask me,
Every morning I leave my house with my pen on my ear.
In that age, I turned to drinking (alcohol)
And then the time came when my entire world was occupied by alcohol
From whom I expected justice/praise for my weakness
Turned out to be more injured with the same cruel sword
When in love, there is little difference between life and death
We live by looking at the infidel who we are willing to die for
Put some pressure on your heart to remove that cruel arrow,
For if the arrow comes out, so will your heart…and your life.
For god’s sake, don’t lift the cover off any secrets you tyrant
The infidel might turn out to be my lover!
The preacher and the bar’s entrance are way apart
Yet I saw him entering the bar as I was leaving!
Thousands of desires, each worth dying for…
Many of them I have realized…yet I yearn for more
Mirza Ghalib
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महोत्तरी एक्ष्प्रेस्स , देशको नेपाली भाषा दैनिक, नेपालको पहिलो निजी सञ्चालित नेपाल ब्रोडसिटको रूपमा २०७९ सालमा सुरु भएको थियो। द पोष्ट नेपालमा दोस्रो सबैभन्दा व्यापक समाचार हो। यसको स्थापना पछि, पोस्टले विश्वसनीयता, सत्यता, र ताजा समाचारहरूको लागि प्रतिष्ठा खेती गरेको छ। द Mahottari Express पोस्टको राजनीतिक, व्यापार, खेलकुद, र कला र संस्कृति रिपोर्टिङ केही नेपालका, र व्यापक विश्वका प्रमुख बुद्धिजीवीहरू र विश्लेषकहरूको रायको साथ पूरक छ। 2079 देखि, Mahottari Express ले नवीनतम समाचार दृश्यहरू उत्पादन गर्दै आएको छ पछिल्लो समय पोष्टले भ्रष्टाचार, दुर्व्यवहार र यौन दुव्र्यवहारका विषयमा अनुसन्धान थालेको छ । 66113 भन्दा बढी पाठकहरूको अनुमानित दैनिक पाठकहरूको साथ, o पोष्टले नेपालमा नेपाली कथाहरू स्थानीय र अन्तर्राष्ट्रिय दर्शकहरूलाई सुनाउन नयाँ भाषाको विकास गरेको छ। पोष्ट नैतिक पत्रकारिताप्रति प्रतिबद्ध छ जसले तथ्य र सत्यलाई विशेषाधिकार दिन्छ। यो पोस्ट काठमाडौं र जनकपुरबाट एकैसाथ प्रकाशित हुन्छ ।
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