My Dark Accounts

When I came here

there was only one sound

my cry and mother’s loving words

ununderstood yet comforting.

 

When I grew up and spoke to the

flowers in our garden

they never replied, merely

showed off their beauty

 swaying in the air.

When I sang the prayers

 in the temple

the deaf God became dumb.

 

I dwelled with students

spoke on everything

but on returning home

I was dumb my ears

burst out at the gibberish

of everyone around.

 

When I joined the clubs

everyone spoke at the sea shore

cried hoarse appealing-

you speak so loud

don’t you have loving words.

 

Now I know what to speak

and what not to

I speak what I do not mean

because if I mean

people turn deaf.

Sabita ahu

 

 

DRAUPADI - 86

  

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty's 

DRAUPADI - 86

Yudhostir’s Coronation and Lamentations

 

Before the wailing of the earth ceased

before the stars reappeared in the sky

before the hazy sun attained full glory

before the migratory birds returned home

before the breeze regained its aroma

before  Bhisma the greatest and best Kuru,

the renouncer of mundane life

the celibate sage was laid to rest

before I Draupadi, the empress the Pandava wife

wiped my eyes of lost motherhood

my husband Dharmaraj Yudhistira lost no time

to be coronated, the Vyasa logic worked magically -

The Royal Throne should not be left vacant -

my Yudhistira promptly ascended

the throne to Vyasa's Vedic chants -

I too sat by his side in full regalia.

 

But my soul ached, my eyes were indrawn

the dazzling Hall made me feel small,

Krishna's reassuring smiles did not lift

my drooping spirits, I felt guilty for the death

of millions, suffering of the maimed and

impoverishment of my golden Bharatbarsha.

Later in my bed chamber I sat

on the thorns of a dilemma whether

my victory, the Pandava victory is not

tainted by lies deceit and hypocrisy:

or we have been rewarded for merit

uncontaminated by wilful sinning?

Should I be happy my truth has won

my humiliation, indignity duly avenged

by my righteous womanhood, my faith

in Justice above law and morality

which kept my resolve in the forest

unwavering despite Yudhistira's

stubborn refusal to see the woman

free honest truthful and brave

in his wife Draupadi, his queen

who was called a slut, who was

almost denuded before the world?

But is my womanhood restored

its honour at the death of all offenders

and their ilk who came to Kurukshetra

only to destroy us by superior strength?

 

Why not, Draupadi shouted

her voice trembling, body shivering,

why not be pleased that my tormentors

are now dead, killed by my own,

husbands brothers and above all my

soul's greatest joy, my saviour

my Being's navigator, my Sakha Krishna?

What else is restoration if not

punishing the guilty with death?

My shame now is my pride,

my lost queenship has now been

restored, the world sings of my praise,

those who sent me to forest

those who kicked my pride are now

covered under earth by shame

dishonour, defeat and reversal.

I am no slut, I am Queen,

Empress of the universe, the pride

of womanhood, exceptional

whose rightful energies have fructified

in compensating the grievous loss -

 

Draupadi started pacing the room

her breath steadied she again sat down.

 If I am myself let there be no conceit

no insolence should stain

my free womanly self.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Amrit Mahotsav

India is not a country, they said

who could not see the world in India.

India is not a mere map

it is a nation of man

vast varied and beautiful.

 

Very old are its rivers and mountains,

the people embrace all humans

birds, beasts, trees and even stones

which speak of love and togetherness.

 

Saints, poets, singers thinkers and

million worshippers of human integrity

have come and gone enriching this land

with priceless peace, endless music

poetry of Brahmanic energy

India is Bharat, Bharat is world

a family of humanity

embracing Truth, Love and Joy.

India’s soul is immortal,

aggressors from abroad have

tortured us decimated and looted

our temples but our faith stands apart

our love peace and joy eternally

unites us in history and myth.

Our epics are unique

our music is eternal

and the dances of Lasya and Tandav

set the rhythms of cosmic life.

 

Now we celebrate the

perennial essence in our

Amrit Mahotsav:

we will  make all men and women

ambassadors of Peace and Love.

Sabita Sahu

Sabita Sahu

DRAUPADI - 85

  

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty's 

DRAUPADI - 85

The Last Day of The War

 

Kurukshetra is slushy with the rain of death

chariots sink, Karna is killed

again by deceit;  Arjuna's unheroic shaft

beheads Karna, the Sun God's proud son,

Kunti's first born rolls on the earth without

rights, recognition, the majesty of the warrior

is trounced without a chance to pick up

arms, fate's poor curse ends a rich life.

Duryodhana loses his limb, human dignity suffers

an irreparable loss by the dark desire of man.

 

Draupadi forgot Karna had called her a slut

she regretted her own words at her Swayambara.

 

At the dusk of the eighteenth day

Duryodhana lay dying at the lake

the sun shied away fast when he

crowned Aswasthama as Commander

the war was not over, the death of

Duryodhana did not ring the curtain

on the benighted soil of Kurukshetra.

Aswasthama killed the sons of Draupadi

and her brother Dhristadyumna

in the war's most hateful crime

 while the unsuspecting boys

slept breathing innocent peace.

 

Draupadi fainted bemoaning

the mother in Draupadi is dead

she is halved, the better part

for posterity is gone, future now

is barren, the Pandava wife will

leave nothing for her memory,

and the last thunder struck on

Uttara's belly sealing their seed

to history's callous recordings   - Yet

Krishna revived the dead child

 a consolatory toy for gamester time.

The war is over

The war is won

The Pandavas are victorious:

Draupadi in her closed room

bewailed her victory

in historical laughter.

 

The widowed Bharat wailed

the orphaned earth howled

the sunken sky moaned

all the heroes are gone

those who were worthy of life

lay betrayed in our victory.

 

Family, clan, lineage

dumped in time's garbage

rot in hateful verbiage

stinking the barren future

nameless in airless sepulchre.

Friends relations smile awakening faces

in earth's all assimilating spaces

lay memoryless in selfabused heroism

asking for inches of power plume.

 

Yudhistira cried, the forests mourned

the far oceans roared

birds in mournful whimper

sat on songless branches in dolour,

widows of golden Bharatbarsha

observed obsequies in tearful silence.

Tonsured in futureless gloom

in Ganga, Yamuna and ghats of doom

orphans moved in streets and homes

vultures screeched from roofs and domes

hungry beasts lowed everywhere

the jungle kings had feasts of fare,

Palaces stood  like colour scrapped stones

none to feed and guard the lonely bones

Hastina was empty, an abandoned shell

the meat was gone the winds of hell

ruined the minds corrupted the souls

they ranted and roared in arrogant holes:

Now the victors, the glorious Pandavas

the survivors of Kurukshetra tandavs

entered to reign over a land burnt out

without ceremony in submissive humility.

 

 

Reclaiming The Past

When I look backwards

I do not see how I was born

how the midwives techniques

trying to relief  mother’s pain.

 

How can I stretch my eyes back

to the prehistoric times

how man: the homosapiens

struggling to survive

the holistic environs!

 

Today I watch on  TV

the reclaiming of India’s culture

history, architecture

faith and artistic excellence:

Can I call those my own?

Is history personal

of a nation’s culture?

 

Can we decloud our inheritance

from the setteled layers of history,

but if the past is not mine

how can the future be.

 

May be I am not impersonal

an abstract entity

I have my history

I have my inheritance

which makes me not an individual

but a part of the human race.

everything revealed by time is mine.

 

I am man, woman, mankind

all temples, churches, mosques

war ravaged citadels

all graves, statues and

war torn memories are in me.

I am Human and proud to be so.

Sabita Sahu.

 

 

DRAUPADI - 84

  

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty's 

DRAUPADI - 84

Draupadi Laments Abhimanyu’s Death

 

Did she know when she put

the tika on Abhimanyu's forehead

it was a farewell to the boy!

Draupadi lay sobbing on the floor

Arjuna was far away fighting Trigarta

none except him knew how to breach

Drona's Wheel array, Abhimanyu

knew how to enter not how to return

he had heard Arjuna's  narration

in his sleepy mother Subhadra's womb.

Draupadi beat her chest, o blighted fate

why did I agree for his jump to the spate?

 

Rage shaking her body

she rose eyes bleeding her angst   -

How could seven warriors together

surround my brave angel like vultures?

How could Drona break the rules?

Duryodhana, Karna, I can understand

but the great Guru Drona himself!

How could Kurukshetra watch this

unequal, illegal, immoral scene

seven to one in a Dharmayudha!

The earth ought to have gaped in

to swallow the criminals, the murderers

who flouted the basic norms of humanity.

What  dharma is there in blase indifference ?

O! O! Now I know Kurukshetra is just

a name like Hastina, dharma a word

like love often confused with desire.

Dharma is not law or morality

not a code of life for purity: It is

a person's need driven life

defying all values only to succeed.

 

What shall I speak to Subhadra

her inconsolable heart will repel

all explanations, all sympathy will

reopen the flood gates of world weary

sorrow to drown all citadels of patience.

Arjuna will blast the earth in fury

Jayadrath and other villains would be killed

but the blank in Uttara's heart

Subhadra's lap and my own breast

and in the Pandava dynastic pride

will remain an open wound.

Krishna whose love had raised the boy

would be buried in shame;

but nature will leave a blank in her

desired balance of good and evil.

 

Anxiety, mourning, trepidations of heart

the congested mind's nightmarish aches

are now life's existential symptoms.

Draupadi was slowly getting self immersed

waiting for no moonlit celebration

to come with any joyous bonanza.

 

Jayadrath was killed in a double sunset

one lighting Arjuna's pyre,  the other

blasting Jayadrath's head in his

Father's lap calming Arjuna's revenge

Subhadra's blisters of pain, Uttara's heartbreak

were avenged but Abhimanyu

will not return, he is purged of life's

irrational and apathetic horrors.

 

What is this revenge, Draupadi asked

musing the question in a half murmur,

if you kill the killer it's another death

Abhimanyu is not restored to life

rather another life is reduced on earth,

why then revenge is a heroic urge.

A peripatetic perpetuation of passion

to kill destroy and debase generations

as we do now killing family friends

men of worth who are not our enemies

or even guilty of anything except

the ruinous urge for heroic showmanship:

A sardonic smile mocked her thoughts

a cynical loathing for the ways of men

made her feel guilty - she too is guilty -

In a world where living is so painful

why the waste of life at Kurukshetra?

 

Guru Drona died today, nay killed

by my own brother Dhristadyumna

when the great teacher sat in deep

sorrow hearing Yudhistira's ambiguous

truth about the death of his son Asawsthama,

Krishna prompted the lies, Yudhistira

repeated tainting his Truth forever,

My Sakha so wise, so erudite, so good,

so divine yet he stooped to lies and deceit

to win to kill to destroy all greatness.

War makes all energies value free

all values dissipate in chaos

the desire to win kills the soul

the will to survive negates wisdom.

 

Bhima came running one sunset

I have kept my word Panchali

here is the depraved blood of Dussasana

whose arms soiled your sacred womanhood,

I uprooted those arms

and brought the blood for you

to wash your hair - Draupadi stood

still and silent, she thanked Bhima.

O my valiant husband, you have

always saved my honour and respected

my feminine dignity, I will remember

your love till my last breath, but

should I infect my body and soul

with this unholy blood of a villain?

Pour it into a snake hole, let the

stain make the poison look ugly

for the snakes to vomit it out:

My hero I bow to you as Woman

and hope no woman ever suffers

the craven depths of imbecile horror.

 

 

What Chaos - What Order

If order be the cause of unhappiness

of nothing happening except routine

hunger for the body, inanity:

give me chaos sublime

to breathe poison, sleep on worries

eat leftovers of your creative tools.

 

What life is this? This base

childish chase of beggary

of health wealth sex.

Give me speeches of peace for war

more roads of light to walk,

and run to spread  the fragrance

from earth to heaven to

charm god from his hectic boredom.

 

Order I hate for its dead calm

disorder I hate for its noise

of individual  aspirations to

outbid all needs and deeds.

 

Let me sit on lonely shores,

counting shells recounting

petty foams taking away sand

from my feet and melting into

the dark sea in silent pride.