God’s Day Off

O’ Lord, I declare today

an off day for you,

I make you free to do nothing.

We never ask you -

what you want or what you need,

rather  offer you the things,

that please us,

what we think is right.

 

Day and night you are on duty

but on special days double it is,

O' Lord when do you find time for self,

who stands by you in your need,

Who is your help?

Never heard your laughter

Is it sweet or piercing?

People say you are omnipresent

How do you make it possible?

 

Don’t you feel lovelorn?

Don't say -like we people -

'I have no time',

Today I make you free God

go with your love for a holiday

to another galaxy and come back

refreshed to shower your sweetness

on all lovelorn people like me.

 

Sabita Sahu

A Sonnet

Years and years I have roamed around

From memory lane to the dream valley ground

In search of my lost  love soul divine

More precious than all gems that shine.

Playing hide and seek in mazy corridor

Will not exhaust me  till the game is over

All  I know to love is my devotion

I’ll get him  before the earth stops rotation

Before horizon fades couples in flair

Spread aroma of love in the air

Giving my rambling thoughts a soothing blow

Like his kiss making me bloom and glow

No matter whether we unite or depart

Always it will be a tale of heart and heart.

Sabita Sahu.

The Art of Lying

 Prafulla Kumar Mohanty

If I say I Interviewed God last evening, You will laugh at my 'lie'. Why can't I laugh then, when you say God exists? If God exists is a truth, anyone can see him and ask a few questions. But you will not accept the logic. You will say , God  is a hypothesis hence beyond truth or lie. an extension of the same logic would entail, faith or agnosticism or total rejection of both are all logic-begging hypotheses. We coin words with assumed meanings for our convenience like God after creating the available reality  and naming its components before resting for Sabbath- a word which He coined. But those who wrote all these, created a 'character' called God, described him as a saviour, a hero who fights hunger, sickness, pain, shows compassion, knows about your problems and in his magical way solves some of them, gives you hope, whispers words of love to give you solace in your despairing moments, promises plenty of joy luxury and immortality in the other world on condition that you must live a life of moral purity and sacrifice... and he is time, space, life, salvation and all the other words which we have minted in the long course of history,

From the beginning  of culture and civilization we have been writing in prose and rhyme about this unseen yet the most powerful, just, compassionate Being who decides everything we call life or its activities. what shall we call this: Creativity or the fine Art of Lying? If this lie keeps our faith alive, makes our life less uncertain, less painful, less helpless and empowers us to face challenges, obstacles and gives us a purpose, a strong will power to bring out the inner self  to achieve, attain, reach whatever eases his turbulence of creative energy to give shape and form to his dreams, however nightmarish, for his own self fulfilment why should we call this epical sweep of his creativity a lie? contrariwise, what can truth offer? If you know there is no God, there is nothing called romantic love- it's only craze for sex-, there is no peace, joy; life is only a mad babble before an empty Bench, no justiciary in sight; power is a myth, and life is a bundle of  misery falling apart at every step: How will man live and why? What will he  do with the truth which makes him irrelevant; cripples him with the foreknowledge of his total futility?

Man needs beauty, love power, wealth and longs for immortality, if not in terms of time, at least of fame, reputation, name. If the  truth seekers deny  all these what will man do? He is no Hercules Samson,Alexander but he aspires to launch dreamships in the  air to conquer the stars. Many scholars say Homer's Illiad is a sad poem. Yes sad/ for Troy was destroyed most great heroes died- Hector, Achilles and a host of others. But how brave they were! How beautiful was Helen! How inventive  is the human mind. When bravery fails, trickery triumphs. The Trozan Horse comes as a fatal gift. Similarly look at our own Ravan ! What a mind , what determination, what powers and what a lover! He wouldn't touch an unwilling Sita! If you say the truth is : Ravana was evil. If this be the truth, valour and creativity are all lies.

Lies create a beautiful world where the skylark is  pouring down his heart in profuse strains of  unpremeditated art. The sky is a changeful canopy holding the luminosities in playful symmetry. The earth is motherlike; feeding us in seasonal variety; changing apparel in every moment reveals beauty, harmony and poise. The air is fragrant with my loves breath flowing  beyond the Cauvery. And fire too illuminates my inner murk. We need these beautiful lies most to excite our senses. Man needs more food for his mind's senses. The five sensory body is not enough because it bogs us down with the truth of mortality. Man needs for his multisensory being a Maya Palace of illusions without discovering the intrigues, derisive jealousy laughter of great minds,- stooping low, the breakdrop of  brewing violence. Poetry is perhaps the best lie we have  created to transcend mortality.

Lie often saves life in the courtroom or a king's durbar and the lier makes a sacrifice. lie kills too as was the case when Yudhistira told Drona about ' Man or elephant  Aswathama is dead.' But as long as the illusion  lasts life is livable. When the truth behind the illusion is discovered, you give up like Arjuna, Drona and many others in history and myth,  But lie must create  beauty, rhythm, life sustaining illusion and especially love to go beyond the ephemeral and factual. Truth is also a lie which you perceive like Buddha. The lie of reality is the truth. Therefore never ask who or why. Be happy with what and its narratives.

Love Games

Not seven or eleven play

to please and entertain others

nor for public viewing

it’s the forest bowers

on river banks or bedrooms

far from peeping eyes.

The bed is the field

narrow but wide
small yet large like a
little universe created

by a man and woman,
he and she, only two
holding each other in passion
stung arms, locking fingers
and lips, bone and flesh

biting each other in
fighting stance in
the name of love.

They follow no rules  

no medal no trophy no judge

it’s all nameless and fameless

evening night morning noon

date calendar season clime

even bed or sand kitchen corner

they play the eternal game of love.

Sabita Sahu

An Evening Of Politics...

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty

One evening I was browsing a novel in my room when I heard a familiar voice asking my wife, 'Is the Saheb at home?' I came down recognizing the voice and the demeanour and paused to slow down as I saw four others with Gopal, my best friend and worst critic who was also an open minded extrovert serving as resident editor of a prominent national daily . After the general bonhomie, tea and  wife made pakodas, Gopal suddenly asked me: Why don't you join politics? I could sense alertness in the ears and eagerness in the eyes of the by now no more strangers four and tried to gauge the seriousness of the question. I smiled and said,' I don't mind joining politics but who will take me? 'The by now familiar strangers identified themselves and one of them, one  Radhakanta Mohapatra said, in a sober voice: 'There are people to take you into their party with open arms. You are a man with an immaculate reputation as knowledgeable, articulate and your ability to charm an audience with your oratorical powers are well known. If you simply say 'Yes', Mr -( he gave the name of a national leader) will speak to you over phone. I sensed the seriousness and even the purposefulness in the intonation and body language of Mr Mohapatra and  said, ' I am 45 now. I admit yes I have some sound reputation and above average qualities. But I have a family and except the job I hold I do not have any other resources... Another slightly elder to all of us in the strangers group spoke a dialogue chopper - you will get five times your salary plus car and house.

I felt like giving a loud guffaw but restrained myself. I said, gentlemen, politics is an art of nation building. Throughout civilization we have put codes against insecurity, indiscipline and distrust. He who lived in an area of his birth called it his own for fear of losing it to others who have strayed into his area. Suspicion and fear of other men was more than this distrust of animals. He had to fight for survival against hunger, sickness, and yes, death. Some godmen came up to comfort man and secure his life in this lifespan of his, in whichever part of the world he lived in. They comforted him saying, life is temporary there is permanent joy and peace after death in that 'Unreturned World.' they advised and propagated  love, devotion and surrender to the unseen forces. Then came the physically powerful and intellectually very clever people . They became chieftains, captains and formed teams of men to expand their territory and framed rules for men under their control to keep them restrained and loyal... Gopal this time gave  a real guffaw saying, O' the professor has started his lecture... The others too laughed. I felt embarrassed. Gopal said, ' why don't you say what these people have asked ? You should join politics.'

The senior man said, ' yes Sir, intellectuals like you must come to politics. You now see Sir, most politicians are using muscle and money power and exploit people. I stopped him and said, 'Intellectuals demand mostly two things: Freedom and space. They don't covet positions or money but they must have operational freedom of the mind.' He said, 'Yes Sir, you will definitely get that freedom but you have to work within the framework of our Ideology.'

That's very tempting but what is ideology of your party? He paused for three breaths and said: 'You know it Sir . We believe in justice for everyone, equality of opportunity and universal coexistence.' 'Why  do you have reservations then? I asked, ' By giving reservations and doles you are in a way killing the spirit of a man. He becomes a psychic cripple. That's why he forms a group and claims identity and as the economy grows he demands a larger share of that  economy without contributing anything. His  initiatives and innovative thinking get stilted. He prefers to remain as a pressure group. Is that not  injustice to the other low income groups who strive and struggle for their own place in the history?'

'You are right Sir but politics has its own limitations.

What limitations? Your limitation is the vision you  have  been perpetuating for your hold on the people. If Kashmir is on the boil for 70 years it is because we don't want to solve the problems. if you want me in politics first of all grow out of  your radical innocence. I am not a superman, no god, but I think man must be free to create his own opportunities. The political masters ought to create that atmosphere and run the state as referee,. Sorry I can't join because I am a misfit...

Colourful Holi

Green, Saffron, Red and Blue!

These colours cannot hide

the bone dry utensils

in a poor man’s house,

cannot smear the joy

on the faces of orphans

cannot brighten the fate of

ditched widows nor can they

bring smile on my face.

See the children playing

in mud and slush

with dirt on their bodies,

let’s go to the streets

with colours of love and care

let’s lift up the urchins

take them to pools of light,

oceans of Holi love

the eighth colour,
of which the rainbow
would shame into the clouds.

We have our colours
bright and lovely to make
the sun and moon colourful,

This Holi gives us the purpose

let’s not mar it with powders.

Sabita Sahu

Witness !

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty
The word witness brings to the  mind one visual image: a man or a women in a witness box answering questions of lawyers after swearing on a sacred text to speak the truth and nothing but the truth. He also attests to the truth of a person's statement on a legal document or attests someone's  signature. He may speak or write or point out if his senses are shut by divine or mundane denial . In short a witness is one who is a testifier of truth of a person, an event or statement. In this sense witness is a man whose eyes. ears are functioning normally, What he can see or hear he can certify as truth if questioned in a dispute. This assumes that the witness has a good memory and his recall is good. He cannot use his imagination and paint it on 'truth'. But when we say and write this mountain is a mute witness to my youthful  love. I have moved on its rough tough and uneven body holding the butter soft hand of my lifelong love who now is beyond my reach somewhere to play golf with her new paramour: what do we mean?witness to what? Our passionate motions or the pure physicality of our relationship? If there was an element of exploiting the available opportunity which could be betrayed when chance throws up in its fickle fancies a more attractive alternative: was that too witnessed by the craggy immortal? well, such  a question, you would say, is not contextually valid.

When we say eye witness we mean a brief description of an event or happening or incident in which the witness was not a participant or protagonist but in whose presence something happened. In other words he was an 'observer'. Unless his observation is sharp, eyes and ears see and hear beyond images and sounds rhythms and environmental statistics he cannot be an observer. Reality of any situation is of fleeting, moments loaded with emotions, ideas and perceptions melt into an event so fast that the best of senses often are disaffected by the mind, that is the whole scene or moment becomes impalpable. The view, the viewer, the object and the observer often are merged into one whole; the interpretation is not always symbolic but any gap would suggest incomplete or parrtial observation. In such cases what will the witness speak? Things as he saw and understood or things as they happened? In any case a good cross examiner will punch holes and widen the gap by asking loaded questions?

The poets, painters and performing artists often claim fidelity to reality? Does Wordsworth's cuckoo or Keats' Nightingale sing in your garden?Reality is always painted with imagination: Shall I call thee a bird? asks Wordsworth and gives the alternative of a wondering voice. Has he discovered a new species? No, he rather makes  the bird a nonbiological specimen. That's the wonder of poetry we say but the poet is not a witness testifying the birdness of the cuckoo. Similarly the Nightingale of Keats is a dryad or an immortal which no court will record as evidence.

Once I was in a courtroom giving evidence in a case where a colleague of mine was abused by a few students. the lawyer asked me 'were you present in the scene?' I said 'yes'; What is the power of your glasses?' he asked. I said, 'the glasses are powerless for they could not slap the abusing students.' the courtroom burst out laughing. The learned magistrate got the hint and punished the accused. Later when I thought about my own evidence I too smiled. I did not speak as a witness I merely snubbed the defendant's lawyer. But the  truth was driven home.

A witness is not a caged parrot repeating without understanding what he speaks. A witness is not a camera with the shutter open, recording transactions of reality. The witness has his own preoccupations,bias and preconceived notions of the sound, intonation and rhythm of words. And when he testifies he draws on his memory which in the meantime is loaded with other impressionistic details. What he speaks is the present version of a moment in the past. It is like God creating the world and naming the objects with imaginative absurdities of the fleeting moments. may be for this reason he does not remember whom he created in what frame of mind.