Part 2
When the world-illuming sun rushed upon Night like a brigand, My weeping bedewed the face of the rose, My tears washed away sleep from the eye of the narcissus, My passion wakened the grass and made it grow. The Gardener taught me to sing with power, He sowed a verse and reaped a sword. In the soil he planted only the seed of my tears, And wove my lament with the garden, as warp and woof. Tho’ I am but a mote, the radiant sun is mine: Within my bosom are a hundred dawns. My dust is brighter than Jamshid’s cup, It knows things that are yet unborn in the world. My thought hunted down and slung from the saddle a deer That has not yet leaped forth from the covert of non-existence. Fair is my garden ere yet the leaves are green: Full-blown roses are hidden in the skirt of my garment. I struck dumb the musicians where they were gathered together, I smote the heartstrings of all that heard me, Because the lute of my genius hath a rare melody: Even to comrades my song is strange. I am born in the world as a new sun, I have not learned the ways and fashions of the sky: Not yet have the stars fled before my splendour, Not yet is my quicksilver astir; Untouched is the sea by my dancing rays, Untouched are the mountains by my crimson hue. The eye of existence is not familiar with me; I rise trembling, afraid to show myself. From the East my dawn arrived and routed Night, A fresh dew settled on the rose of the world. I am waiting for the votaries that rise at dawn: Oh, happy they who shall worship my fire! I have no need of the ear of To-day, I am the voice of the poet of To-morrow. My own age does not understand my deep meanings; My Joseph is not for this market. I despair of my old companions, My Sinai burns for sake of the Moses who is coming. Their sea is silent, like dew, But my dew is storm-ridden, like the ocean. My song is of another world than theirs: This bell calls other travellers to take the road. How many a poet after his death Opened our eyes when his own were closed, And journeyed forth again from nothingness When roses blossomed o’er the earth of his grave! Albeit caravans have passed through this desert, They passed, as a camel steps, with little sound. But I am a lover: loud crying is my faith: The clamour of Judgment Day is one of my minions. My song exceeds the range of the chord, Yet I do not fear that my lute will break. ’Twere better for the waterdrop not to know my torrent, Whose fury should rather madden the sea. No river will contain my Oman: My flood requires whole seas to hold it. Unless the bud expand into a bed of roses, It is unworthy of my spring-cloud’s bounty. Lightnings slumber within my soul, I sweep over mountain and plain. Wrestle with my sea, if thou art a plain; Receive my lightning, if thou art a Sinai. The Fountain of Life hath been given me to drink, I have been made an adept of the mystery of Life. The speck of dust was vitalised by my burning song: It unfolded wings and became a firefly. No one hath told the secret which I will tell Or threaded a pearl of thought like mine. Come, if thou wouldst know the secret of everlasting life! Come, if thou wouldst win both earth and heaven! The old _Guru_ of the Sky taught me this lore, I cannot hide it from my comrades. O Saki! arise and pour wine into the cup, Clear the vexation of Time from my heart! The sparkling liquor that flows from Zemzem-- Were it a beggar, a king would pay homage to it. It makes thought more sober and wise, It makes the keen eye keener, It gives to a straw the weight of a mountain, And to foxes the strength of lions. It causes dust to soar to the Pleiades And a drop of water swell to the breadth of the sea. It turns silence into the din of Judgment Day, It makes the foot of the partridge red with blood of the hawk. Arise and pour pure wine into my cup, Pour moonbeams into the dark night of my thought, That I may lead home the wanderer And imbue the idle looker-on with restless impatience; And advance hotly on a new quest And become known as the champion of a new spirit; And be to people of insight as the pupil to the eye, And sink into the ear of the world, like a voice; And exalt the worth of Poesy And sprinkle the dry herbs with my tears. Inspired by the genius of the Master of Rum, I rehearse the sealed book of secret lore. His soul is the source of the flames, I am but as the spark that gleams for a moment. His burning candle consumed me, the moth; His wine overwhelmed my goblet. The Master of Rum transmuted my earth to gold And clothed my barren dust with beauty. The grain of sand set forth from the desert, That it might win the radiance of the sun. I am a wave, and I will come to rest in his sea, That I may make the glistening pearl mine own. I who am drunken with the wine of his song Will draw life from the breath of his words. ’Twas night: my heart would fain lament, The silence was filled with my cries to God. I was complaining of the sorrows of the world And bewailing the emptiness of my cup. At last mine eye could endure no more, Broken with fatigue it went to sleep. There appeared the Master, formed in the mould of Truth, Who wrote the Koran of Persia. He said, “O frenzied lover, Take a draught of love’s pure wine. Strike the chords of thine heart and rouse a tumultuous strain, Dash thine head against the cupping-glass and thine eye against the lancet! Make thy laughter the source of a hundred sighs, Make the hearts of men bleed with thy tears! How long wilt thou be silent, like a bud? Sell thy fragrance cheap, like the rose! Tongue-tied, thou art in pain: Cast thyself upon the fire, like rue! Like the bell, break silence at last, and from every limb Utter forth a lamentation! Thou art fire: fill the world with thy glow! Make others burn with thy burning! Proclaim the secrets of the old wine-seller; Be thou a surge of wine, and the crystal cup thy robe! Shatter the mirror of fear, Break the bottles in the bazaar! Like the reed-flute, bring a message from the reeds; Give to Majnún a message from Lailá! Create a new style for thy song, Enrich the feast with thy piercing strains! Up, and re-inspire every living soul! Say ‘Arise!’ and by that word quicken the living! Up, and set thy feet on another path; Put aside the passionate melancholy of old! Become familiar with the delight of singing; O bell of the caravan, awake!” At these words my bosom was enkindled And swelled with emotion like the flute; I rose like music from the string To prepare a Paradise for the ear. I unveiled the mystery of the Self And disclosed its wondrous secret. My being was as an unfinished statue, Uncomely, worthless, good for nothing. Love chiselled me: I became a man And gained knowledge of the nature of the universe. I have seen the movement of the sinews of the sky, And the blood coursing in the veins of the moon. Many a night I wept for Man’s sake That I might tear the veil from Life’s mysteries, And extract the secret of Life’s constitution From the laboratory of phenomena. I who give beauty to this night, like the moon, Am as dust in devotion to the pure Faith [Islam]-- A Faith renowned in hill and dale, Which kindles in men’s hearts a flame of undying song: It sowed an atom and reaped a sun, It harvested a hundred poets like Rumi and Attar. I am a sigh: I will mount to the heavens; I am a breath, yet am I sprung of fire. Driven onward by high thoughts, my pen Cast abroad the secret of this veil, That the drop may become co-equal with the sea And the grain of sand grow into a Sahara. Poetising is not the aim of this _masnavi_, Beauty-worshipping and love-making is not its aim. I am of India: Persian is not my native tongue; I am like the crescent moon: my cup is not full. Do not seek from me charm of style in exposition, Do not seek from me Khansar and Isfahan. Although the language of Hind is sweet as sugar, Yet sweeter is the fashion of Persian speech. My mind was enchanted by its loveliness, My pen became as a twig of the Burning Bush. Because of the loftiness of my thoughts, Persian alone is suitable to them. O Reader, do not find fault with the wine-cup, But consider attentively the taste of the wine.
_Muhammad Iqbal._
WORSHIP
You flood my music with your autumn silence And burn me in the flame-burst of your spring. Lo! through my beggar-being’s tattered garments Resplendent shines your crystal heart, my King!
Like a rich song you chant your red-fire sunrise, Deep in my dreams, and forge your white-flame moon ... You hide the crimson secret of your sunset, And the pure golden message of your moon.
You fashion cool-grey clouds within my body, And weave your rain into a diamond mesh. The Universal Beauty dances, dances A glimmering peacock in my flowering flesh!
_Harindranath Chattopadhyaya._
BEYOND THE VERGE OF TIME
Our dreams and longings cover deeper dreams And longings in the silence far away. All things on earth, sweet winds and shining clouds, Waters and stars and the lone moods of men, Are cool green echoes of the voice that sings Beyond the verge of Time. Between two cries of aught, Of aught on earth, wakes the eternal fire Wherein the destiny of heaven is wrought, For what is heaven but the earth grown full, And God but man unshadowed and afar?
_Harindranath Chattopadhyaya._
STEPS
Each moment when we feel alone In this great world of rush and riot Is as a jewelled stepping-stone Which leads into the House of Quiet.
Within it dwell the ancient seers Beyond unreal griefs and cares, Beyond unreal smiles and tears, Beyond the need of chant and prayers.
_Harindranath Chattopadhyaya._
EGO
A Beauty that ever eludes these fleshly eyes And fingers and lips ... Ere I can catch one gleam of the starry skies The mystery slips,
Leaving an empty, desolate, mocking moan In the little heart that greedily sought to hold Vast beauty within its shadowy grasp and own Elusive, starry gold!
Who are you, feeble, shadow-robed elf, Striving again and again in vain to capture Wealth of the deep, the shining, ineffable rapture Which is the Self beyond self?
_Harindranath Chattopadhyaya._
FIRE
Kindle your glimmering lamp in the infinite space, O Love! Let the dark shadows dance in the burning depths of mine eyes. I am athirst for one glimpse of your beautiful face, O Love! Veiled in the mystical silence of stars and the purple of skies.
Thrill me with radiant rapture, O Love! of your ravishing flute, Folding my silence in song, and my sorrow in silver eclipse, Shaping my heart into flower, and the flower of my heart into fruit Meet for your orchards of light, and touch of your luminous lips.
Cast in the shadowy deeps of my being, your love, like a spark, Fan it to magical flame, till my dead heart burst into fire, Swing like a censer, my dream of devotion, O Love! through the dark, Turn into tumults of incense my richly-pulsating desire!
_Harindranath Chattopadhyaya._
THE ARTIST
The selfsame radiant ecstasy Which wrought the tempest’s giant wrath Has painted gorgeous dream-designs So delicately on the moth. The selfsame luminous agony Which shaped the lightning’s fiery claw Has carved in utmost tenderness A summer flower without a flaw.
The selfsame motherhood which made The awful mystery of death Has built the body of a child And lit its limbs with golden breath. The selfsame miracle which moves In silent mystery apart Has struck the secret melody Which dances shyly in my heart.
_Harindranath Chattopadhyaya._
IMAGERY
He has fashioned the stars and the moons to the music Of innermost-flowering joy and desire, He has tried his own love for himself through the ages By flooding his limbs with unquenchable fire Of creation that dances and bubbles and flutters In peacocks, in seas, and the hearts of the birds. Behind the rich silence of red-running sunsets And cool-coloured sundawns he utters his words.
He is finding for ever his infinite fullness In blossoming buds and the withering flowers. He shapes through the heart of the world his Ideal So white in the midst of the many-hued hours. He weaves a fine trammel of marvellous colours Around and about him in utter delight, Till straight through the darkness his laughter comes lambent, Birdlike from a cage in a freedom of flight.
_Harindranath Chattopadhyaya._
I
TRANSIENCE
Forgive this wrong: That of your beauty I have made Only a passing song, Only a white-flower song that will fade Ere I have time to lay it beneath The shapèd beauty of your feet.
_Jehangir Jivaji Vakil._
II
O LONG BLACK HAIR
O long black hair of love, In your dark shades a dove, My heart, circles in rings, Beating white wings.
_Jehangir Jivaji Vakil._
REVELATION
O, I have dreamt on many rain-dim eves Of Beauty folded in the flowers and leaves, Spraying the grass with laughter as with light Of shaken pearls that lit her hair’s dark night; But never dreamed her eyes so deep might be As those with which last eve you gazed at me.
_Jehangir Jivaji Vakil._
SPRING THAT IN MY COURTYARD
Spring that in my courtyard used to make Such riot once, and buzzing laughter lift, With heaped drift-- Pomegranate-flowers, _Kanchan_, _parul_, rain of _palas_-showers; Spring whose new twigs stirred the woods awake, With rosy kisses maddening all the sky,[1] Seeks me out to-day with soundless feet, Where I sit alone. Her steadfast gaze Goes out to where the fields and heavens meet; Beside my silent cottage, silently She looks and sees the greenness swoon and die Into the azure haze.
_Rabindranath Tagore._
THIS DAY WILL PASS
I know this day will pass, This day will pass--[2] That one day, some day, The dim sun with tender smiling Will look in my face, Looking his last farewell. Beside the way the flute will sound, The kine will graze on the river-bank, The children will play in the courtyards, The birds will sing on. Yet this day will pass, This day will pass. This is my prayer, My prayer to Thee: That ere I go I may learn Why the green Earth, Lifting her eyes to the sky, Called me to her; Why the silence of the Night Told me of the stars, Why the Day’s glory Raised waves in my soul. This is my prayer to Thee. When Earth’s revolutions For me are ended, In the finishing of my song Let me pause a moment, That I may fill my basket With the flowers and fruits of the Six Seasons;[3] That in the light of this life I may see Thee in going, That I may garland Thee in going With the garland from my own throat-- When Earth’s revolutions for me are ended.
_Rabindranath Tagore._
_URVASI_[4]
Thou art not Mother, art not Daughter, art not Bride! Thou beautiful, comely One, O Dweller in Paradise, Urvasi! When Evening descends on the pastures, drawing about her tired body her golden cloth, Thou lightest the evening lamp within no home. With hesitant, wavering steps, with throbbing breast and downcast look, Thou dost not go, smiling, fearful, to any belovèd’s bed, In the hushed midnight. Like the rising Dawn, thou art unveiled, Unshrinking One! Like some stemless flower, blooming in thyself, When didst thou blossom, Urvasi? That primal Spring, thou didst arise from the churning of Ocean,[5] In thy right hand nectar, venom in thy left. The swelling, mighty Sea, like a serpent tamed with spells, Drooping his thousand, towering hoods, Fell at thy feet! White as the _kunda_[6] blossom, a naked beauty, adored by the King of Gods, Thou flawless One!
Wast thou never bud, never maiden of tender years, O eternally youthful Urvasi? Sitting alone, under whose dark roof Didst thou know childhood’s play, toying with gems and pearls? At whose side, in some chamber lit with the flashing of gems, Lulled by the chant of the sea-waves, didst thou sleep, in coral bed, A smile on thy pure face?
That moment when thou awakedst into the universe, thou wast framed of youth, In full-blown beauty!
From age to age thou hast been the world’s beloved, O unsurpassed in loveliness, Urvasi! Breaking their meditation, sages lay at thy feet the fruits of their penance; Smitten with thy glance, the three worlds[7] grow restless with youth; The blinded winds blow thine intoxicating fragrance around; Like the black bee, honey-drunken, the infatuated poet wonders, with greedy heart, Lifting chants of wild jubilation! While thou ... thou goest with jingling anklets and waving skirts, Restless as lightning!
In the assembly of Gods, when thou dancest in ecstasy of joy, O swaying Wave, Urvasi! The companies of billows in mid-ocean swell and dance, beat on beat; In the crests of the corn the skirts of Earth tremble; From thy necklace stars fall off, in the sky; Suddenly in the breast of man the heart forgets itself, The blood dances! Suddenly in the horizon thy zone bursts, Ah, wild in abandon!
On the Sunrise Mount of Heaven thou art the embodied Dawn, O world-enchanting Urvasi! The slimness of thy form is washed with the tears of the Universe; The ruddy hue of thy feet is painted with the heart’s blood of the three worlds; Thy tresses disrobed from their braid, thou hast placed thy light feet, Thy lotus-feet, on the lotus of the blossomed Desires of the universe! Endless are thy masques in the mind’s heaven, O Comrade of dreams!
Ah, hear what crying and weeping everywhere rises for thee, O cruel, deaf Urvasi! Ah, will that Ancient Prime ever revisit this earth? From the shoreless, unfathomed deep wilt thou ever rise again, with wet locks? First in the First Dawn that Form will show! In the startled gaze of the universe all thy limbs will weep, The waters flowing from them! Suddenly the vast Sea, in songs never heard before, Will thunder with its waves!
She will not return, she will not return! That Moon of Glory has set, She has made her home on the Mount of Setting,[8] has Urvasi! Therefore to-day, on earth, with the joyous breath of Spring Mingles the long-drawn sigh of some eternal separation! On the night of full moon, when the world brims with laughter, Memory, from somewhere far away, pipes a flute that brings unrest, The tears gush out! Yet in that weeping of the spirit Hope wakes and lives; Ah, Unfettered One!
_Rabindranath Tagore._
OPEN THOU THY DOOR OF MERCY
All my guilt of old, sin upon sin, put far, far away. Give, O Lord, give in my heart the melody of a new song.
To stir to life my withered, unfeeling heart, near to death and poor, play thy melody on the _bīnā_, taking ever a new tune.
As in Nature thy sweetness overflows, so let thy compassion wake in my heart.
In the midst of all things may thy loving face float before my eyes. May no rebel thought against thy wish ever wake in my heart.
Day by day, before I set foot in life’s forest, may I crave thy blessing and so advance, my Lord.
Setting thy commands upon my head, may I with unfaltering care accomplish my every task in the remembrance of thy feet.
Giving to thee the fruit of my task fulfilled, at the end of day may my wearied spirit and body find rest.
Hurrying have I come from far away, knowing thee compassionate. A hundred hindrances there were to my coming. How many thorns fill the path to my goal. So, to-day, behold! my heart is wounded, my life is dark. Hurrying have I come from far away, knowing thee compassionate.
Open thou thy door of mercy. My raft of life drifts on the boundless ocean. Fearlessness art thou, and ever powerful. Nought have I, I am weak and poor. My heart is thirsting for thy lotus feet. The day is now far spent. Open thou thy door of mercy. My raft of life drifts on the boundless ocean.[9]
_Hemantabālā Dutt._
Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
THE DANCER
Lo! the heavy rain has come! With loosened tresses densely dark, lo! the sky is covered. Lightnings rend the thick darkness over the mountains. All around, to my heart’s content, I see that beauty has burst forth.
See, frolicsome, she pours forth her loveliness in a thousand streams! Her raiment, hastily flung around her in disarray, mad passion in her eyes, with the voice of the _pāpiyā_, full of sweetness and pity, she sings.
Slowly move her feet. Slipping, slipping, falls her loosely hanging scarf. Her heart throbs with tumultuous feeling. As if a flood of beauty overflows, her green jacket of emerald grass displays the hue of her radiant beauty all around.
The anklets on her feet, keeping time, ring out in swift succession, as if they were sweet cymbals. Round her lovely throat hangs her chain of emerald parrots. The rain has ceased and she garbs herself in silken robes broidered with diamond raindrops.
She gladdens the eye. On the treetops birds play on golden tambourines. Is the dancer dancing in Indra’s hall, casting restless glances here and there? Urbasī[10] puts off the chain of jewels from her breast.
How gay her laughter! How fair a dance her tinkling footsteps weave! Her bracelets and bangles circle glittering. She is girdled with melody of murmuring swans. For her earth and sky swoon away, overflowing with love.
Her hands touched the _bīnā_[11] and by her spell enthralled my infatuated heart. Tears stream from my eyes; infatuation floods my heart. The witch to-day has melted my timid heart. Lo! the heavy rain has come.
_Nirupamā Debī._
Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
Thee among all men do I honour; Thee among all men do I know. Lo! in the beauty of all thee do I see.
In the mouth of all I have heard, I have heard The sweet voice of thy lips.
Thee this time I have sought and found; Thee amongst all do I worship; Lo! I for all have given my life.
To the work of all amongst all I have devoted my heart.[12]
_Nirupamā Debī._
Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
REMEMBRANCE
To-day I shall not indulge in lovers’ quarrels. I shall not open the ledger and calculate debit and credit. Only, once again, I shall fill my heart with remembrance of thee.[13]
_Priyambadā Debī._
Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
THE VISIBLE