Heads to be chopped off

A poetic problem given by Sri Dhanikonda Raviprasad on Facebook translates to

Heads should be chopped off
As scribes unite in this noble task

--

Over centuries Faiths sprung on Earth
Fulfilling unspoken needs of the populace
At times of moral vacuum, from the dearth
Arose Seers populating spiritual pathways

Each with their own mantras and liturgies
Diverse means leading to the same blissful end
Varied rites of passage, dispensing peace
Rays of hope for those on the inner mend

Deviant scribes that seek a gainful standoff
Awoke too, piety their garb, solemnity a mask
pens of such boneheads should be chopped off
As writers all around unite in a noble task

Teaching the world to live and to let live
From virtues we learn and the follies, forgive 

Notes from armchair world

Here is a thought having seen many arguments on Facebook or WhatsApp discussing the wrongs perpetrated in this world. May be it applies to folks like me sitting in the sidelines and making these comments too :-)


There is an irony lurking in this my friends
running as an undercurrent ever present
as arguments framed to gain credence
championing injustices of past and present
when done and dusted finds the agents
cooling their heels in nice watering holes
to wash away the heat of the arguments
forwarding sardar jokes or writing FB lols
as it slowly laughs itself to death saying
in matters changing the world, those who do
do not pause for a minute to argue

Saradindu Bandopadhyay's By the Tungabhadra

History in schooling days was "a few pages a king"
Their victories pithy lines, failings a few words
No interest the dead prose held, no joys it'd bring
For the wards looked for grades,  all else blurred

I learnt such lessons, coming on top in memorising
Lacking an interest that glues in the learning
Forgot them easily when the next year's came in
For, the wards looked for grades, History was boring

And by a fortunate chance I outgrew that influence
as my interest spurred me and grew on feeding
on stories historical dependable research their essence,
bringing to life many that led great lives, king after king

coming on the heels of Kalki's magnum opus for me
reading Saradindu's story found me in delight giddy

A comment from a friend Suvojit while discussing historical fiction resulted in my search for Saradindu's By the Tungabhadra. The background information of the novel was interesting to begin with and a Bengali author of renown picking a South Indian Kingdom as backdrop piqued my interest further. To me, like with most Telugu people Vijayanagara saamraajyam began and ended with SrinKrishnadevaraya. His larger than life persona has permeated many movies, books and embedded itself in the collective Telugu people's memory to an extent that it eclipsed the brilliance of other greats who ruled Vijayanagara ably for many years.

Saradindu's novel is a fictional story of love and intrigue set in the times of the second Devaraya also known as Praudha Devaraya. I did not read any Saradindu's works prior to this though I was reasonably acquainted with Satya sodhana of Byomkesh Bakshi.

Reading the comments and praise the novel had gathered from those that have read the original version, especially the usage of classical Bengali with a great deal of precision to create Vijayanagara's atmosphere, makes me long for an ability to read and understand the novel in its true form. Adding to that were a few quibbles I found about the translation. More on that later.

Firstly, the story moves at a good pace right from the beginning and true to one of Saradindu's twelve tenets, it does not get bogged down at any place with elaborate or unnecessary descriptions of places or characters beyond the minimum required to conjure a real image in the mind of the reader. Historical details are cleverly embedded into the storyline and do not appear artificial or forced in any instance. The plot is very interesting with a good number of twists and turns.

The author's choice of names is interesting too. One of the key characters is called maNikankaNa which reminded me of 'maNikankaNanyAyam' (also called parvAtAdhikyatAnyAyam) which refers to stating the obvious by tautaulogy. Then it dawned upon me that this simple garrulous girl's name was probably an eponymous choice by the author. Also his usage of Jayadeva's lines and some linguistic feats like punning on danDapANi add to the beauty of narration.

That said, I found the translation a tad underwhelming at places. There is no sense of grandeur that Saradindu apparently induced into the original. Then the translator mentions danDapANi is a.pun on sticks and water when referring to the name of a person found floating in water with two sticks. Clearly the translator confuses paani (water) with pANi (holding in one's hands). Then in one passage describing sunset he refers to lotuses blooming and lilies folding when it should be the other way. These being some obvious slips on metaphor, I am not sure if he has made any transgressions on translation. With all this, it is a good deal of credit to the original material that the story still shines through.

The atmosphere created by the story is lingering that I wish to explore Kalki's Sivagamiyin Sabadam immediately.

Brown's passing

A childhood ritual followed annually
as we moved up a class, got new books
new to us but hand-me-downs verily
revolved around giving them new looks

Unused pages from used notebooks changed
into homemade ones as the name connotes
to keep the pristine look unchanged
of classwork they were our "rough notes"

new notebooks would be diligently draped
and labels with names stuck on their visages
brown covers cut aptly and shaped
before we wrote on, to the smell of new pages.

Only a few deserving books were colored brown
the rest were blurbed with newspapers of renown

years ago those skills I gained
lay dormant to come alive again
when my little one approached holding
her new book its edges folding
the cute pouty face evidently pained

I realized as I warmed up to the task
Brown's passing has come to a pass
as kids nowadays prefer
a shiny see-through cover
that protects but doesn't mask

Hope

It is not often that I pass through those streets
Neatly paved, lined on either side with verdant trees
The well tended bungalows, an array of visual treats
Cars lined up in front rows of ones, twos or threes

It is not often, but each time I feel a pang, familiar
A suppressed wish that at these sights springs again
Asking me if the desire to home in here will ever inhere
delighting in the bosky environs, my purse unrestrained

In those moments, an inner voice makes itself heard
Caution dripping in each dispiriting word it chooses
They, the fetters that stop me from being a free bird,
my lofty dreams would otherwise dismiss as loser's ruses

On that day, the bus stopped to let a shiny car go
rolling gracefully as it slid past to join a running flow

At that moment, I happened to see a careworn face
defeat writ large all over, not a trace of hope in view,
in the backseat of the shiny car, that was zooming apace,
all his ample riches unable to stop him feeling blue

Thoughts and a world weary sight collided in my mind
exploding in a moment of clarity, the penny dropped
What use would be a fine bed if I couldn't find
myself in the depths of sleep, at night as I flopped

What use would a car and gardens be, if I could not
wallow in their beauty and luxury, lost in childlike innocence
How would I live my dreams that now tie me up in a knot
if all enveloping luxuries give me a life that makes no sense?

I silently prayed, wishing for a life, every day that brings,
A new desire to sail forth,  eternally in my heart as hope springs

TS Eliott's Dry Salvages

Here is a translation of an extract from The Dry Salvages by TS Eliott

Thanks to Nagaraju Pappu for the introduction to this poem, the core idea of which (these lines) is not aligned with my own natural disposition. However the poem is amenable to a nice translation I felt. Thanks also to Suresh Kolichala for making an apt amendment in the last line and thus bringing the translation much closer to the poet's original thought.

స్వానుభవమయిన సంకటోత్పన్నమయిన వేదన పదపడి నలియగును
నాటి జ్ఞాపకములు నేటి కార్యంబులధాటికి సడలుచు తరుగునట్లు
పరులకు జనియించు ప్రాణగొడ్డంబులు మనలోనపుట్టించు మనికితమ్ము
చెరుగక నిలుచును చిరకాలముగ చెంత, తనదికాని వెతకు తరుగులేదు

Now, we come to discover that the moments of agony
are likewise permanent
With such permanence as time has. We appreciate this better
In the agony of others, nearly experienced,
Involving ourselves, than in our own.
For our own past is covered by the currents of action,
But the torment of others remains an experience
Unqualified, unworn by subsequent attrition.
People change, and smile: but the agony abides.

Potana's Balichakravarty poem

Padyam to poem #6

Potana in his Srimadandhra Bhagavatam wrote many great poems of which one that has an Ozymandian ring is the below beautiful gem.

“కారే రాజులు? రాజ్యముల్‌ కలుగవే? గర్వోన్నతిన్‌ బొందరే?
వారేరీ? సిరి మూట కట్టుకొని పోవంజాలిరే? భూమిపై
పేరైనం గలదే? శిబి ప్రముఖులున్‌ ప్రీతిన్‌ యశఃకాములై
ఈరే కోర్కెలు? వారలన్‌ మరచిరే ఇక్కాలమున్‌ భార్గవా!

Here is my translation

The situation is Vaamana coming to Bali chakravarty asking for a boon. Sukracharya, the Guru of Asuras, warns him. Then Bali responds

Weren't there many kings,  O Bhrigu's son?
Glowing with pride and impertinence they thrived on
Lording over vast lands, outshining everyone
Did that save them from sinking, into an oblivion

All that they achieved when they were alive
The riches they accumulated from their victories
Do those, after they passed on, eternally thrive?
Do their names even live in people's minds at least?

And then, think of those like Sibi and others
The Greats of yore, who strived for unending glory
Through good deeds, that doesn't in time disperse
Stayed with us, till now from times bygone hoary

Isn't a life that keeps your name alive in your death
A truer one, than that kills you even before your last breath?