Ball Games

He throws fire balls at me

when the wintry sun winks

in the haze of half seen sky.

He throws Ice balls at me

when the surges of love swell

my decorated body waiting for

his arms in moony delight.

I mix the fire and ice

make it an ocean of love,

he raises a sand storm

to bury my ocean in sulking haste.

I leave my words buried in me

the network of elements goes dead

the sky masters indifferent  to

start a picnic with the fairies.

Sabita Sahu

Farewell

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty

Airports, Railway Stations, Bus stands often are mute witnesses to individuals or groups returning after bidding farewell to friends- of all denominations- bosses, protocol officers and children or parents. Fare Thee Well, may the gods land you safe at your destination- bonvoyage, best of journey or simply All the Best are often said with flowers. Waving hands wish the journeyers or travellers hassel free and safe journey. In some cases kisses are blown by individual men and women, substituting words by gesture. Rarely a person communicates in silent suppression of some feeling- joy or sorrow, goodwill or formal responsibility; unless the person making the journey and the one who sees off are too sophisticated to be formal . Farewell is a goodwill gesture, socially practised as it  softens relationship. When foreign delegations come and go there is welcome and farewell. When students take admissions there is a welcome now-a-days – but when I joined school and college there was no welcome. In the University at Allahabad there was a welcome both in the PG class and in the hostel, and also a farewell. If you ask why there was no welcome in my school or college, I need not hazard a guess. With certainty I can say that poverty has its own culture. When there is no great historical memory, no pride for the Kalinga War foisted by Ashoka on a brave, proud people for princess Karuvaki, resulting in million deaths of Odias, how can there be any values attached to the human life to welcome or bid farewell in routine affairs!

Welcome and farewell represent the softer nuances of the inner being when the outer body feels secure and hopes for  prolongation, inspires involved motivation to indulge in larger social life. One may argue, since there is no welcome to life in this indifferent world including the vast expanse of splendrous nature, how can there be a farewell ! Who welcomed the first life that appeared on earth? What arches were raised, what timbre rose out of the mountains, valleys and fronds for man? But we have survived in this planet and have grown in numbers spreading out all over this earth? We value life. We welcome the new born. In the poorest of the poor families smiles broaden faces when the first cry of a babe reaches the eager ears of parents. The neighbours greet the new born, the mother is taken care of , love is lavished on the tiny new life, wishes sincere or formal are poured on life. This happens in civilization. And in this civilization farewell too is given with love.

Love is the binding element in the society. It connects people, bonds are formed, and relationships are forged. The self emerges out of the soul and relates itself to things and people in social commerce. When a man or a woman goes to a far off land we gather and show our affection wishing the person well. We bless people to prosper and fructify their dreams. We wish people to do their best to achieve and accomplish. When a soldier goes to the battlefield we wish him to comeback in one piece after achieving his task of killing the enemy. This wish is observed in a ritualistic fashion. Mother kisses his son who goes for a job in a distant place. This is the inherent value in all farewells: life should prosper, should not fall prey to deceit. In Hamlet when Polonius in his own characteristic style bids farewell to his son going to study abroad, he among other things tells his son-“never a lender nor a borrower be”; that is to be your own benefactor without depending on transactions which may be troublesome. Similarly a wife bids farewell to her husband wishing him to come back victorious. A lover gives farewell to his/ her ‘life breath’ wishing everything that nature and society can afford to brighten life.

Farewell is a projection of a soul force on another soul with love. The Ka is given like a wish to a person who enters another reality. This is extended to persons retiring from office. A man who dies he too is given a tearful farewell for the nirvana of his soul. Farewell is an acknowledgement of the worth of a life. The soulful farewell that was accorded Atal Bihari Vajpayee by a grateful nation strengthens human faith in the human being. Farewell is a soul transcending ritual which ensures peace in the other world- if there is any. Civilization is richer when a man is given a sincere send off for new pastures or the unseen afterlife abode. Farewell makes us richer, elevating the soul to divine heights.

O’ Soldier

Blasting sun, avalanches or

chilly snowfall and descent heat

never he ceases, may it be the

dunes or the high showers, stands

like a wall, no malice,  no fear

and no regret, even takes bullets on

bravely for his country's pride.

Seasons or reasons, cause or policy

never deter, bother or disturb his

constancy, he fights for others

sacrificing his youth and energy

what love motivates him to death?

Salutations, O’ brave, for the

wounds you embrace, we pray

for your safety, for sure you

will return with honour to your

loved ones, who lit the lamp

of love for your homecoming .

Sabita Sahu

Youth

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty

When the evening lengthens to reach the dark core of night I rejoice waiting for the dawn. Light never fades; what appears like dissipation is illusory, for behind the dark infernal silence the exuberance of luminosity opens up atom by atom, the lotus blooms petal by petal, grass blades dew-decked or pale –dry look up like my beloved raising her eyelids shade by shade while getting ready for the day. The flapping pages of calendars change numbers, letters and figures but time does not fade into history rather assimilates all history, remaining aesthetically and morally neutral. The sun is never tired, never late, never betrays its own youth. The moon waxes and wanes revitalising itself (herself or himself as you please) as a beautiful being like my love changing apparel to satiate her moods morning, Moon  night her imagination flies, floats, ambles but is never still; the soul of the moon, stars and all beings embraces phenomena for moments of fulfilment and move on for new excitement in the flow of time. The universe is young, youth is the vital energy of creation, all humans, animals, insects and vegetation like the astral manifestations up above move with energy of youth.

You may say how is it – man grows old, slows down and dies, flowers swell with pride of beauty but droop and dry, blacken and fall? Well that is the meaning of youth. A man falls but man is always up and doing, a flower dies but flower is not dead, like the clouds marching in royal fury on a clear blue sky, conquering the blue territory with dark energy within a word-drop.  No static form is true, change and dynamic renewal of youthful vitality is what the universe is the stuff of.  The Gita says the form changes, the body is discarded; a new body is taken by the soul like my love changing a saree into a suit or a gown, this lila goes on with vigour, nothing comes to an end.  Life is the only sentence without a fullstop, it changes images, metaphors, tense and speech yet moves on. A man is old in years but his mind, desires, dreams, aspirations in the progression of changing tenors continue till the body is discarded for its uselessness and a new form is taken. The process is automatic, with the youthful universal energy changing scripts as the new imaginaries take on its fancy. There is no pause.  For every death there is new birth, for every tear there is laughter, for every end there is a built – in beginning.

Have you ever seen the waves of the ocean lax in rest slackening their shore breaking roars? Dawn noon night they strike changing rhythms as the wind blows or tempests blow or the red moon maddens. They never stop inbreathing the spring air, never pause to see visiting fairies with floral diadems on their heads like Ceasar’s laurel crown.  If you watch keenly the sea changes colours too as the sun completes his diurnal molion charming from morn to night and as the moon changes her makeup like my love. The dark green at dawn turns blush green when the dawn crimson touches the sea with a wake up kiss. The sea changes colour as the sun changes from crimson to pale yellow to white (hot) to orange in slow succession. The night changes colours, the earth, the sky and all ocular substances change colours, attributes, quality and at times shape. This is the dynamic vitality of youth which is not a ‘state’, temporary and faddy.  It’s not what the poets say spring and summer, gradually slowing down to a mature slackening of pace. Youth is not a rosary of hours, it is eternities of moments with different validity constantly updating its informed reality.

Youth today is not an enchantment of the soul. Modern young persons are impatient to spend time in comforts luxuries with the conviction that ‘youth’s a stuff that will not endure’. The rhythms of fluid, variable eternity outlasting the ‘endurance’ of the material body are not of meaning or validity to them. Pleasures of balloon moments are indulged in with superficial ludicrous attention till they burst leaving tonal lethargy in the body and mind. Youth today are without moral soulforce, they dissipate their  energy in radical protests or uncritical practicality unsure of the veracity of the higher soul. And they are alone, each to his needs of body moments. Love is no more an unending lyric changing pace, rhythm, metrics, passions and images in mutually adjustible progression to a life beyond. Living is confined to a feel good factor. Self belief is rare, limited areas of momentary illumination are explored to the accompaniment of sensual music.

O my youthful souls, remember, if darkness descends on us brightness also falls on us, whether from heaven or pure physicality the investigation is not over. God is not dead, he is in us, driving our energies to the creativity of literature, arts, philosophy and science. A mystic veil still hangs -  go and discover it. Make your soul multi-sensory and search for the Beyond in everything.

Man Is Divine

After a long painful journey,
half filled dreams and shadow fights
man stops exhausted,
no rest house in sight
no welcome arches for the hero
returning from Trozan victories
to rest in his house he started from
recounting his honour and glory
and lamenting his failures and gloom.

But where is  his Penelope
where Telemachus? Who will
soften his aches, balm wounds
and wash his grime with love?

Poor lonely  man slows down
with languid steps for medicine
which none prescribes, none brings .

Ye children , men and women,
man is not exiled from life,
what he calls home, sweet home
his nest made after a tedious strife.
He is the priceless creation of God
take him in your arms, make his
last life a celebration, never
make him ashamed for having
raised a family  for which he
sold his sweat and blood
the prize of a life's fitful pride.

Now is the time to give him love
take him to your soft bed and
listen his bright eyed tale
his heart aches and laughs
become a proud parent of your parents.

Sabita Sahu

Prayer

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty

Do the beasts pray? Birds, insects and the immobile trees, mountains, rivers and all that nature has displayed between earth and sky? And who do they prey for what? Does the mountain pray for more height to reach the stars? Does the river pray for more crystal waters to show off the green-blue –red and dead sea, how beautiful she is and how musical her flow! What will Brahmaputra, the he- river pray for? A mate, a beautiful dancing stream to romance with? But do they-rivers and all know what romance is, what love is and what what the others desires are! The rivers are gods and goddesses accepting prayers, filth and excreta. The Ganga washes sins: Well what’s a sin? A disease of the body or mind? How is it washed away by the rivers? Niyamgiri too is a god, stones, trees, sun, moon stars are all gods. Who prays to them- the vast spread of nature beyond the range of eyes and the most powerful telescopes?

It’s only we humans who pray. We alone have invented languages, scripts and songs, hymns, epics and haiku and what not- gazals and all.  We have built temples, churches mosques and prayer halls- domes, cones, steeples of all sizes and shapes as if the stones and tree holes cannot receive the full import of our prayers. Some people close their eyes and pray without opening their lips. Others sing and dance in groups with instruments; those who do not have cymbals, drums or other song accompaniments just clap and nod their heads keeping time with  the mantras or songs , the rhythm perhaps compels the attention of the listener, the acceptor of prayers or the sanctioner or granter of our wishes. We have also invented a god and his variants, gender neutral abstractions. But to do gender justice we have goddesses-calm, beautiful, wild, violent and bloodthirsty. Why? Why do we pray? May be we are the most dissatisfied creatures in nature’s vast manifestations. We want more of everything. More food, more buildings, more fashionable clothes to cover ourselves, more power to torture and torment the weak, more prosperity and more success to enjoy prayers of the unaccommodated creatures.

Does anyone pray, o’ my Maker, my all seeing god, the prime mover  of everything , remove all disparity, make everyone content if not happy and make Me a good human being so that I’ll protect the weak from the tyrant, give to the needy whatever I earn and gather by my honest hard work? Well here too come other anomalies. In the modern world we have created civilizations of inequity. Those who have become powerful in military hard and software they browbeat and subjugate the less fortunate men and women in other countries. Jobs are not available, the machine – automation- has crippled human hands and brains. Natural resources have been thrown around all over the world unequally to create strife and war. Even if I pray to be a good man, my undefined ‘good’ may boomerang on me. No, I will not pray to be good as that too is an elusive abstraction.

But I must pray, as I do, my way.

O’ My Heart Mind Soul, o’ that which  makes me breathe think and speak, I know there is some power running my body machine, listen; you may be my Love guiding my nerves, sinews and blood flow to make me walk past temples without turning my head, you may be the energy I get from what I eat, you may be just anything which I cannot dissect and see for myself, the doctors too have failed to see: but you are something that makes up my I, my being. I pray to that I to live with the freedom of choice in all mundane things, not too involved to dissipate nor too superficial to be pompous. Just make me love my work, my concentration to see nothing goes wrong. If despite my concentration and sincere effort things go wrong not to blame someone else but to own up my failure and to start afresh with redoubled vigour and concentration. Never to do anything that will hurt another I or despoil another’s interests. Make me a lover of beauty, formal and natural. Art and creativity that enhances the zest for living not with lustful self-realization but with love for all manifestation. Let me not hate things that are meaningless or ugly, let me not covet things which cannot be legitimately mine. I must fulfil  all my needs of the senses and also the needs of my imagination by honest efforts and hard work. If I fail to achieve anything let me not fall into a brown study or invent crooked designs to achieve things. Let me like Byron catch my word at the first leap and if I miss it let me not turn back anymore. Let me not know sin or merit, good and evil; let me do my assigned role to perfection or the role self chosen to flawless completion. Excellence should not inflate my ego, mediocrity should not make me a moral coward. And the woman I love I should give her everything I can without expecting returns; may my love grow to make her my universe complete and beautiful. O’ My Heart Mind Soul make me live without shaming my self –esteem by demeaning my love in word thought or action. Victory be  to my soul !

Nightfall

When a  blind bird pathless

and lost, settles on my roof

I go up the terrace to build

a nest for him with my ribs,

invite the night to live in me,

I can’t give stars and moon

nor the endless freedom of the sky

yet I’ll breathe you into me

to roam free in the empire of my heart.

You are not meant to be caged

but  I am a beautiful cage, barless

save the bones and flesh fragile

if you want to explore

the outer space and more

where love brightens all immortals

come let's  break the cage fly

together, scan the empty space .

Lovers love the night

poets regale in dark delight

my nights are of

beautiful nothingness.

My rib cage swells in sobs

my beauty is lost in itself.

He could not see my light

I could not see his flight

descend  my bird with me

and see how we  spread

out with starry moon.

Sabita Sahu

The Idea Of India

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty

The idea of India is not a defined or definable entity. A five thousand or more years old civilization which has passed through vicissitudes of history, aggressions, repressions, wars and political movements is not amenable to a straightforward categorization or a normative identity. No nation or people can ever have a straightjacketed indelibility of identity. The Idea of a country may not be the same to all people of a country or to all nations. India has always been defined by others. But orientalism(s) notwithstanding the soul of India shines with its own colours and attributes. The recognizable constructs of the Indian mind, in terms of historical change, are three: The Vedic –post- vedic Idea of India; The aggressor dominated (the Muslim-British) discursive mindscape; and the modern Constitution mediated India. But it must be admitted that regression and progression, the dur’ee and multi - directional memory make overlapping distortions over which no regimentation of ideas can ever hold sway. Since Indians do not have a sense of time these three constructs exist simultaneously leading to our discomfiture in the society.

What India was to herself and the world before the transition between BCE and CE is termed Hindu (India)- a term not yet defined or conceived of clearly  in the medley of interpretations by desi and videsi scholars. But  polytheism, pluralism, tolerance for intolerance , belief in diversity, the world as one family, the theory of karma and the trivarga –dharma,artha, kama( a fourth was added later- moksa- which was abstract if not vague). The universal Soul or Brahman absorbing the individual soul after death, was a kind of fulfilment of the individual life. It was also an attractive optimistic belief guiding the human spirit.  The Lokayatikas or Charvakas too existed with their scepticism and materialism. Groups pursuing their own faith systems lived under the overarching faith of pluralism and secularism - with a non political connotation. The aims of life were modulated by the four margas guided by the vedic texts (for dharma),Brihaspati’s Arthasashtra reformulated with need based variations by kautilya (forArtha) and Vatsayan’s Kamasutra ( for pleasure).

But when the country came under Muslim rule another narrative was built around their achievements. The classical civilization of India was redefined as the new age historians thought that any civilization practising values akin to the classical values is a classical civilization. The past heritage was remodelled on the new culture. Dynasty, monuments and texts of the past lost their vertical space. The new lateral, horizontal view searched for the hidden and less conspicuous elements of culture to create a new narrative. The Idea of India appear to be chaotic, a jumbled up concatenation of a new India. The British colonial idea of India was a slicing apart of so called Indian culture. Religion and caste devides dominated the new idea of India. The British with their sense of skewed justice created an idea of India that has caused a series of problems beyond any profitable debate. They tried to make India a composite culture of simultaneous existence of irreconciliable opposites. The old texts were junked, the old monuments and the history of destruction of the past citadels considered virtuous, were scorned until Gandhi came. Gandhi stood as a new Idea with old classical values of Truth, Non-violence and coexistence of all values without caste or religious dichotomy. Neheru mostly thought  of an urban suave India.

But after free India gave herself a Constitution, the Idea of India gained new dimensions of Unity in Diversity, pluralism and freedom with rights protected by justice. India in the first phase was secular but to give it a constitutional authority, the word Secular which was not in the Ambedkar framework was added by Indira Gandhi during the Emergency. Indian democracy survived the Emergency not because of the new word- Secular- in the constitution but because of the tolerance of intolerance which the Indians have in their DNA.

But today if anyone asks about the idea of India, no answer could be accepted as definitive. The Gandhian idea of truth, Non-violence and unity of thought, speech and action are of no more any operational validity. The caste groups, minorities and ideologically self-segregated groups have their own Ideas of India, each claiming superior authenticity over others’. Mandal report implementation was a turning point in independent India and the Babri Maszid demolition was another: both have destroyed all ideas of India. Some Muslim groups think in terms of another partition. RSS and Fringe groups start lynching people for cow slaughter. Beef eating is now the anti –idea of India.  The cities have their own ideas of India. The fashion designers and the Bollywood industry have their Ideas of India. Politicians are mostly responsible for the Idea of India to be corroded by self- contradictory proclamations. Each political party has its own idea. The intellectual elite have their own India. There are millions who do not bother about India: they try to loot and cheat the India we have, by their own logic. Plurality now means a cacophony of Ideas of India. What the country needs today is an intellectual revolution. But who has the incontrovertible idea of India in his mind to lead such a revolution?