Why Nature Why??

The media blared mayhem

villages were wiped off

cities returned to the stone age

my diasporic heart bled

shedding silent tears I sat

glued to the TV I don't know

for how long, waiting for what.

All cities are mine, all villages

my roving fields in my births

paleolithic to the technotronic

I have come and gone countless times

man has survived Adam's curse

suffered on the cross and stakes;

I know all that and have outlived

the tragedies of Troy and Kargil.

But why nature , her air and sea

wreck  havoc by raping the earth

the earth is nature's alter ego

why then this self destruction?

I don't worry about my love

I have missed him in all my births

he will survive, his face roasted

body darkened in the heat of May

he will breathe his love and send

woeful songs through the still air!

But why kill birds and dumb ones

they are  mortals all born to die:

why kill man when he moves

hurtles towards death everywhere!

Nature is beautiful when serene

this ugly face is not for you

Oceans, skies , winds and fire

make the earth man's paradise

not his hellhole, for God's sake!

Sabita Sahu

Freedom From Fear

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty

Fear is supposedly the beginning of wisdom! It leads man to think afresh how to reorient life to a new sense of security. But this process is never ending . In the march of civilization we move from comfort to comfort but the same comfort  brings newer  discomfiture . If food security is somewhat assured epidemics and new bacterial enemies sting us to newer  fear. If cancer is controlled the environment threatens, the mood swings of climate cause panic. It's fear and fear all the way with saucy uncertainties stalking our moves to collective wisdom. But the constant fear of nature's fury makes all our wisdom look pale and effete: We cower under typhoons, cyclones, floods and earthquakes, lava vomiting mountains... We have no divine umbrella to take shelter under, and despair makes our fear outrageously violent often on our own institutions like governments and agencies.

The fear that creates faith in divine agents often creates doubts too when the gods fail to save and protect. In the Kurukhetra battlefield God himself enacts the drama of death in the name of saving the honest and upright- as if all those who were killed were monsters of depravity. In 1999 Odisha experienced one of the world's worst cyclones on the Durgasthami day, leaving about 10 thousand dead and taking Odisha back to some twenty years. Pandals, idols and temple tops were blown into space. And so did faith in the Protector in many cases. This year the Fani Cyclone had its landfall at Puri where the Lord of the Universe, Jagannath is worshipped by almost anyone who has faith in the ultimate divinity. Puri today is ghost town. Houses have been blown away, trees , especially the coconut trees of the Puri district which sustained families are gone. Shelterless darkness an eerie sense of helplessness has shrouded the poor in their thousands. The temple, a twelfth century architectural masterpiece has been damaged. The sanctum sanctorum was filled with knee deep water. The deities on the bejewelled platform remained unfed. The temple rituals were stopped. The beach side hotels are now closed for repairs. Tourism has been hit the hardest. The National Disaster Management teams are working hard to restore life in this holy city. The capital city, Bhubaneswar, once hailed as a Smart city has lost all her smartness. The populace in sweltering heat waits for restoration of water supply in smarting indifference. The Government machinery is alacritous but the task is so challenging that the best efforts are not good enough.

Mercifully the elections are over in Odisha. The leaders waiting for May 23, the result day , are blissfully indifferent to the lot of the Fani victims. But relief to the poor is distributed with unexpected promptitude as Naveen Patnaik, the Chief Minister is seriously at work. Promises are made and fulfilled in no time. The confidence of people to live to fight for survival is boosted by both the state and Central Governments.

Fani will be forgotten as the Supercyclone, Failine and Titli. The lights will come up , roads will be built , new houses will be given to the houseless poor,, hotels and shops will again be full. The Car Festival of Jagannath will be celebrated with the usual fanfare and the rains on time will keep the farmers busy, But the question is ; Who is the saviour of man? Is it by now obvious that God is man's creation to celebrate  his creativity. As art, poetry, architecture, Scientific inventions are all man's contribution to human welfare and  entertainment, God too is one such  creative work of man to mitigate his worries  in the here and hereafter. If you ask today any true believer, ' Who saved the people of Odisha?' the answer would be 'Why? It's God who commanded the government and agencies to work for man. All things are His and He manages things, He caused Fani and He evacuated and sheltered people...'

Faith has its own logic. Fear is the Maker's way of raising people to brave the vicissitudes of life and also the vagaries of nature. Man alone rises up to all challenges. And the inspiration, energy to create , invent, innovate is infused in man by the Maker. Fear alone makes people brave all odds for life's driving force is fear. If there were no fear life would have been  dull dissipation. In Eric Fromm's Fear of Freedom one learns that freedom management is difficult for man does not know how to use his freedom. But  freedom  from fear is more important than  fear  of freedom.  Life in all its forms is fear management to be free from fear. The fear of hunger, destitution , loneliness and even boredom is managed in civilizational creativity. Fear brings to the highest tension all human energy. If this is God's device to keep man on his toes all the time - SO BE IT. But fear should not quake your logic or make you denounce things in angry desperation. Fear is your distant lover: Try to reach her instead of shedding tears. That is what wisdom is.

v

My Mango Tree

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty

I am not a tree-lover; that is except the aesthetic  I am not interested in the botanical part of it. But I love to see clusters of ripening mangoes hanging tantalizingly in others' orchards. Mangoes are forbidden to me but like Adam 's weakness prompted by the temptress Eve I have an uncanny deathwish to taste things forbidden. But the sight of trees lining up country roads in a midnight drive always excite me eeriely. Deep forests are  a supernal elysium for my beauty hungry soul.  But I never plant saplings nor give water nor ever pluck a flower or fruit because I am fated to enjoy things as they are without making them mine own. This trait perhaps is  induced in me by love which is a far off vision, beautiful , lush and exciting but unreachable as I never  believe in snatching things away which do not naturally come to me. I am passionately involved with life's goodies but dispassionately stay apart from adventurous escapades for that would demean my soul.

But  this mango tree was an exception. When my house was ready without my sweat or worry- my son oversaw the design, construction and everything- the space around the house deserved some greenery as was time and again suggested by friends and wellwishers. Prativa Rai ,the iconic novelist named my  house Chitrakavya and donated a few coconut saplings. Thereafter other flower seedlings were planted. My son bought two mango saplings and planted one to the east and the other a few feet from the balcony of my bedroom towards south. After a month or two  one day I saw the mango tree, casually as it drew my attention by her symmetrical growth. She seemed to me like a five year old girl sprightly and vivacious, and admired the growing tree, she had a scent which reminded me  which I could never recognize or identify. But whenever I went to the balcony the scent haunted me with a forlorn charm. Then she grew, I was unmindful, and time flew past like a visiting guest and that was that...

I was busy plodding and groaning, feeling grouchy as my jealous friends were  conspiring to see me  slide down from a position they thought  I didn't deserve. But despite their hungry looks at me I increased my pace with my only inspiration from a distance bestowing energy without knowing about it. I held on and went higher and the mango tree meantime grew taller without my noticing it. One day I went up the roof of the first floor for my morning walk as the roads outside were slushy and a shower was in the offing. Suddenly I saw a big odd circle spread of dark green leaves almost a good four feet over the parapet into the roof blocking my path. The leaves looked so very beautiful and healthy that I could not resist the temptation of taking a whole view of it coming down . Since that moment almost every week I looked at her . Her beauty had an elegant majesty. The trunk was uniform and straight like a fashion parade belle she had tapering torso and heavy bulges at the right place. She had four branches and each branch had long and short sub tranches but she covered a large area, the top part leaning towards our back door neighbour's compound.

She did not bear fruit for a long time. Almost for fifteen years she was barren. I don't know what came to me' one day in 2016 I whispered to her, touching her trunk caressingly: 'Hey beautiful'! Get over your barren state ' people feel you are incomplete if you are not fruitful.' That year nothing happened. In 2017 a few buds appeared and three big reddish yellow fruits she gave. I told her one night , Thank you, you are fulfilled now. Next year she bore about 30  sweet fruits. But this year she was full of buds( Baula) so full and wild that people from the neighbourhood came to see her. My granddaughter made a video of it and sent around. I was happy. Unseasonal rains  destroyed half of her proud buds, but she bravely stood as a young pretty woman  carrying twins much to my joy. It was not for the fruits but for her fulfillment.

And then came Fani on 3rd May . I thought Fani would be fun to watch on TV. But Fani after flattening Puri came over rushing  at 215 kmph and blasted the towers and minarets of the  smart city. She at first swayed side ways, her roots pushed up some soil. But she stood firm. I did not watch. At 12.15 my son said she has fallen. I was sad  went running to see her stately from the ground. She was graceful and majestic in death. She didnot  fall straight to our side; she did not fall straight to our neighbour's side; she sacrificed herself witout causing any damage except the compound wall which she broke along with her fall into the vacant lot. There were no birds to sing her dirge. Only towards evening two squirrels and a few ants paid their respects. I mused: I love you: Take my farewell. Adieu

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