Candle Life

Another candle was lit

to blow away,

a segment of time

with memories overlapping

dreams in wakeful measures

searching for the hours

that could not raise their neck.

 

I stood staring at the

golden flame though flickering

yet shines its brightness

standing firm against the wind.

 

Some candles are lit in the Church

some become the placard

of a peace march, some

kill darkness, some take

the pride of being lit on a

lovers dinner table and especially

dazzles on the birthday cake

of an eternal virgin.

 

 

I  too shed pearly drops,  burn

melt, changing my shape

don't know for whom,

but the flames speak of

my love and sacrifice.

The fire in me purifies

my inner urges, keep me

strong and brave to burn again

to glow consuming darkness.

 

Sabita Sahu

 

 

 

 

DRAUPADI - XXXII

 

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty's 

DRAUPADI - XXXII

 

How could a kingdom be divided?

When the Kuru Court could not resolve

the claims of the Pandav Princes

challenged by stubborn Duryodhan

the learned celibate grandfather

advised division of Hastinapur!

The eyeless king acquiesced in

despite the fierce protests of his son

who for him was more than the kingdom,

his blind love for the supercilious

Duryodhan's ambitions was hurt;

yet he had to accept the verdict

to avoid war with the Pandavs.

Indraprastha was given to the Pandavs,

a barren tract of snake infested

forests and underdeveloped land

superficially showing largeheartedness.

 

Draupadi knew it was humiliating

to be a woman of splintered affections

torn asunder by contrasts, conflicts

every evening to feel guilty

but she controlled herself :

She will not be  a willing victim

of despair, she must expand her

feminine self to accommodate all

what can be expected  in this world

where a kingdom is divided, nay

the earth is divided as though

 man is the master of creation

the elements must obey his frenzied

wishes, he can kill, rape

snatch throw and tear apart

what he has never made:

This must change and I shall be

the change bringer, the change maker

in this world gone wild with too much

wishes, desires and disregard of values

reducing the institution of life

to a drunken orgy of  riotous desires

as if Man is the author to create

chaos at will anarchy by choice

divide destroy kill by impudent logic.

Mumbai Monsoon

When it rains in Mumbai

the clouds pour oceans

the sea rises to meet the clouds

half way in competitive profusion.

The roads disappear, cars buses

line up half topped, all traffic

in paralysed stupor waits and waits:

Mumbaikars know the rains have arrived

umbrellas, duckbacks are seen

in Bollywood cameras romancing

on waterways in waist deep slush

Mumbai moves cursing the BMC

in taxpayers lingua for this

annual fracas in wet misery.

 

But lovers in helpless rage

blurt out expletives failing to reach

the rendezvous at the coconut

vendor on Marine Drive in restless

looks at the wrist and the sky.

Those less unfortunate in undrowned

Gateway of India move slowly

for dinner and dance at Taj Palace.

 

Networks fail, landlines ring

I am stuck - the line goes off

In Jahuri Market the pot bellied

Seths wait smoking bidis for customers

and watch serials on TV,

far away on one way streets

you hear the auspicious conch

muted laughter of wedding guests.

Officers run in usual disinterest

commuters muddy platforms

the stranded await new signals.

 

Film cameras shoot the scenes

for future use, the CST crowd

prays the rain god for a break

the tea sellers put on stuffs

in lonely corners: But

brave pedestrians wade through,

eyes through apartment windows

watch distant lanes of stuck up cars.

 

Newlyweds in five R flats

watch Mira Nair's Monsoon Wedding

in a mused smile of anticipation

Mumbai moves on thunderous

pace changing peaks for fancy.

Sabita Sahu

DRAUPADI - XXXI

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty's 

DRAUPADI - XXXI

 

Hastinapur Court

Dhritarashtra wore a worried look

the silence was grim following

Vidur's exhortations, his advice,

his sane proposal was politically

correct, morally infallible, socially

acceptable: Rejoice O King the Pandavs

your children are alive and now

famous and powerful as sons in law

of the Great Panchal King Drupad,

welcome them with open arms,

they are yours, they belong here,

the Yuvaraj was presumed dead

but Yudhistir is alive, Pandu's wife,

your brother's wife Kunti is alive

all her children are safe, bring them here

make Yudhistir the Yuvaraj

The Crown Prince of Hastinapur

abusing their messenger is not in order.

The message now is loud and clear

they are alive and they should get

their legitimate share of the kingdom.

 

      Duryodhan stood up

shouted down his Uncle the Minister

the sage like Vidur - If the Pandavs

are not dead they will die soon,

they have no place in the Palace

no place anywhere in Hastinapur -

Dhritarashtra looked around, his

blind eyes moved from darkness

to darkness, no light anywhere.

Whatever Drona said or Vidur advised

was snubbed and sneered by 

Karna, Shakuni, and Duryodhan, 

was lost in his inner darkness.

 

Finally Dhritarashtra asked Bhisma

Grandfather! What shall we do now

I am happy that my sons are alive,

I am prepared to bring them home

but how can I make Yudhistir

Yuvaraj again since Duryodhan

is now the Yuvaraj by universal

consent! And Grandfather can we

now ask Duryodhan to relinquish

his position -  No never, shouted

Duryodhan and the hubbub was deafening.

Dhritarashtra asked his son to keep quiet

you listen my son to Pitamah

he will take the final decision,

We cannot afford to ignore Pandavs

they are our own, they too have rights.

 

Bhisma stood up his face gloomy:

I am ashamed that this has become

a subject for debate in the court!

If my children are alive let Vidur

go and bring them here to their home -

Duryodhan and Dussasan flared up -

Bhisma raised his hand in disgust

if the Kuru King Dhritarashtra

cannot stop his interfering son

what justice can he give the Pandavs.

The court suddenly fell silent

Dhritarashtra lowered his head -

Bhisma resumed, the news that

should have cheered Hastinapur

has brought internal conflict

we reject our own blood, we refuse

to give Pandavs what is theirs,

O King if you have any royal sense

still inspiring you to sit

on this great throne of Hastinapur,

own them up and give them justice -

There was uproar as Duryodhan

his supporters raised Hullabaloo,

Bhisma waited, his piercing eyes

looked at the Throne and the Court

as though they would burn everything

he shouted - Now listen, my heart

cracks even to think of it but

it seems there is no choice left:

Divide the Kingdom and give Pandavs

their share let them rule over

Indraprastha with rightful authority -

So saying Bhisma rushed out

leaving a stunned court in stupor.

DRAUPADI - XXX

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty's 

DRAUPADI - XXX

Who are these sages

wise men and royal advisors

deciding my fate as if I am

a room to accommodate visitors

without ever owning the house!

If I was Nalayani in my last Birth

before fire disgorged me on earth

in this life I have no memory, I know

only this life this fire and air

this earth and water

this void of sound

this sky stars sun and moon

men women crowns turbans

bare heads home to lice

why should Vyasa weave a myth

to justify my predicament

and how could my Sakha

believe in some prophecy

ignoring my dreams and desires?

If I am a plaything of destiny

why do I breathe my frustrations

in unmitigated  impositions

overpowering my being's identity

Or I am none just a breathing doll

to be handled by other slaves

of prehistoric mythic powers

which know only how to curse

prolonging the agony of humans

by repeating birth growth and decay?

 

I have to walk on the lines drawn

fall in the ditches gorges and climb

mountains of prickly pear to fall

again on some bloody bones

before foaming my breath on ice:

Then why do I get dreams of love

wishes desires for my tomorrow!

I have heard of kings and their

harems, polygamous men visiting

their wives whenever it rains.

 

Their adventures are lulled by

untimely snow storms in forest,

but I never heard of a woman

in five beds on five chests.

Squeaking love like the eternal

virgins of some Indra palace

somewhere above the burning stars!

O cursed fate wipe off

the written scripts and let me

speak my dialogue without inhibitions

or promptings, let me be myself.

 

Life is like a bud at dawn

the petals open up in  rhythm

the bloom spreads aromatic truth

of her own existence and at sunset

the petals blacken the flower droops

and falls soundless sometime

in the dark hours without disturbing

other flowers to play out their charm,

I always imagine my life

to bloom to my own melody

which naturally comes to me,

I thought the person I would marry

a noble prince or a man of valour

would be mine alone and I his.

 

What is this quirk of fate

amI a toy to be fondled by five

all different in heart and mind

how can I match them playing roles,

How can my  emotions and Imagination

make adjustments with five tempers

all different in tone and intensity?

And this body of mine so delicate

rise to meet passions mild and wild

so soft and sulky raw and rough?

O Fire my Maker am I sireless

left to my own devices to live

a polyandrous life only in body

dividing it nightly between tempers

like the five elements in strife?

 

Face It

Uncertainty is the challenge: face it

if you cringe in fear

shrink in despair

certainty will not greet you

like an old friend with a shining face,

Do not run away with uncertainty

of distance time and situation

which may pose other challenges

diverting the mind impairing

the will to more restlessness.

 

Facing odds with firm will

finds escape roots for survival

life is a messy course, finally

leading to the end of the tunnel -

call it Mokshya, Salvation

or simply the end.

 

If you fight with mind and body

you may win or lose

but why lose before a fight

you are born to fight only

for every step of your being.

Face it fight it

and if die you must

die with honour.

Sabita Sahu

Sleepless For Sleep

Winter nights make my thoughts

longer without solutions to my pain

dreams have opted out abandoning

my world infested body and mind

I lay numb on the bed of my facts

my children tell me grandma tales

try to make me sleep a few hours

but they sleep around me making it

hard for me to take them to bed.

 

He knows where is the shore

or the shoreless seas of his dreams

I wait like Penelope, my spinning

has stopped, my fingers are frozen

I don't know whether the suitors are

still waiting to glimpse my pristine beauty.

 

What will make me sleep, poison

potions or his return with gifts

of exotic pearls for my hair

an advertisement for new elixirs

my youthful head in memory swings

dethrones me momentarily 

If I was she, who am I  now

still waiting for sleep  wearing

his gifts in his arms!

Sabita  Sahu