Flux and the Still Point

The crowded waiting hall

resonated in my world

the noise of the temple,

the market place and

the loud recitation of the poets

in the sparsely populated

conference hall militating
against my softer, feelings.

The dew washed grass

at the soft rays of the sun

beckoned me away from the
hall to forget my destination

and to wander without

reaching anywhere.

Am I lost

a  stranger to myself

no I am not like the

demented human beings

lost in their mobile phones.

I am firm footed

and know where

I’ll find myself.

Sabita Sahu

Resolve Your Own Contrarian Challenges

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty

Like the Ruling Party and Opposition in a Constitutional democracy faith and scepticism are built into our life systems. No culture is free of this duel in the personal and social battle fields. When someone demands proof of God the other ‘believer’- a non- believer too has his own codes- advances contrarian logic. No one is prepared to accept the other’s point of view .S]uch duels are also fought between vegetarians and meat eaters: Democrats and Republicans; between religions, castes, races and even between regulars and lesbians: Why? The reason I believe is a sense of superiority which is claimed by one’s faith in God, religion, ideal, practice or habit or whimsical insistence on one’s egotistical sublimity. The non-believer, the Free thinkers claims superiority over the other. This merely proves that all the men are not equal; all minds do not have the same wave length, all tongues do not have the same tastes and so on. This corroborates the theory that all human beings are slaves comprising perceptions and sensibilities which make them individually unique. Rarely two such unique individuals agree on anything unless the object or subject of their agreement satisfies both individually.

Marriage is one such agreement between two individuals and it has withstood the test of long centuries. But how many marriages keep the spouses happy? The couples claiming compatibility and mutual happiness seldom admit in public that one of the spouses, by whatever compulsion accepts the views, habits, thoughts, faith and shenanigans of the other. It is at best an accommodation or a compromise where one of them settles for half. And this has been advanced as a practical philosophy for man, right through the centuries. We have to accept the One as the finality: if not half Mind, half Matter: if not mind will not matter and ‘matter’ someone will say ‘never mind’.

But there are many for whom faith leads to only fear of this world and apprehensions of the other world, which faith imposes. And they live a life of abnegation of the self. There are others for whom this life is the one, only and final. Once you die, there is no tomorrow. For both these groups- definitely a large chunk of mankind- there are certainties of food, healthcare for the body, power, direct or vicarious or rudiments of it for the mind.

If they are worried about the soul’s final journey, they live a life of self-denial. Those who live only once, they try to ‘loot’ all pleasures available in the world by their mind, that is using their  intelligence they carve out for themselves a large share of pleasure without bothering about ethical purity. What matters is the satisfaction of one life for which means and ends have no logical connection.

But there are many who cannot make both ends meet by honest labour. They do not have the mind to loot reality as their desires are not propped up by courage. Their faith is: He who has given us life will fend for us. And they die with this faith often on the roadside or on railway tracks. For such people the power to choose is denied as they do not want to exercise their choice either way. They live an other directed life. In modern democracies peoples’ representatives think for them in the Parliament. Thinkers and planners come out with schemes- often doles, reservations etc but when they get the minimum they demand for more. Like the jailed criminals demanding, free air, sunlight, wide space for movement and nourishing and tasteful food, the protected groups demand more of life. They develop the new faith of group strength. They come out to the streets and break and burn without caring much for lathis and bullets. The new faith is, manmade Governments are god substitutes and they must give what the others enjoy by birth, education, intelligence and hard work.

So what is the difference between faith and scepticism? The man of faith surrenders to one set of ideals. The contrarian too surrenders to spiced up nothings. Both remain unfulfilled. If a new ‘man’ decides to find a new middle path should he love another’s ideal or deny himself all ideals and live like a camera lens picturing things without looking at any one frame? The 21^st century has empowered the individual to live alone without ideals except pursuing that one thing which assures him the basic needs. Should man live a self- fulfilled life without knowing what fulfilment is? Or should he choose one set, either way, and join the group for finding some joy of discovery of meaning? Well, you choose if you have a choice to exercise, independent of all contrarian equations.

Old Mirror

 

What do you look for- in me

youth or the soul mind of sweet

school days, mother's love, tutor's cane,

flowing hair, evening prayers

where are they gone to which

cabin of time’s non-stop express?

Dreams of marriage myths and
tales of  soulless murk lost
in the heavy key ring pressing
my belly to languorous despair.

O’ mirror  I’ll clean and polish you

and return you your youth

if you can show my soul’s delight,

wings of my mind's flight

where the fleet of my Prince

has cast anchor at what shore!

Sabita Sahu

O’ Holi Great Holi

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty

I woke up lazy, languorous and tried to stand on legs which almost refused to hold me. After a failed attempt to stretch up and be myself again, I gave up and entered the bathroom unsteadily. I heard joyous clamour outside. Some three four loudspeakers blared Hindi film songs- Holi khilat Nandlal- overlapping a distant ‘ Mohe Rangde...O today is Holi! The festival of colours! A day to hug people, exchange sweets, sing and dance to the riotous music of love! A wry smile distorted my face. The bathroom mirror threw up a stranger who stared at me with a swollen right eye. I turned away to the hot shower. I came out and slipped into whatever I lay my hands on, an unpressed silk dress – pyjama and punjabi which was perhaps kept there on top of the table for the laundryman. I realized it after I wore it. Well, how does it matter! I was all alone in the house. My help was on leave for the day.

No morning cup of hot black tea, no breakfast. But I must have something to eat- to survive you know! I found in the refrigerator some apples and grapes. I bit into an apple and sat on the sofa switching on the TV. Noisy scenes of loud revelry, names of candidates for the General Elections and faces covered with thick coats of colours- Saffron, Green and Red. I turned it off.

I closed my eyes, only one face floated around, a face with a slight bump on the beautiful forehead, a shapely sharp nose, pearly teeth, lips unpainted, freshly washed head, perhaps bathed face, a scarf on the wash head and ‘Happy Holi’ in a lilting tone. Fine! My breakfast was over,my languid state got a facelift. I went to my library cum study. What shall I do here? The same face returned from my closed eyes minutes before, and sat on my books, walls, book shelves, pens and on my total being. Who are you? I almost shrieked tonelessly.

Radha! The face looked different now. Changed colours. The lips were now luscious pink, eyes dark deep like the Yamuna in a full moon night. Her eyebrows arched the sky and her cheek bones like two large rubies in an obelisk glowed at me. Her smile was scarlet, she grew a neck. The face assumed a coquettish look standing on a long neck. Then the broad shoulders shapely ivory arms, hands with dainty fingers and a pot bellied damsal standing on pillar legs appeared in no time. I am Radha! Your Radha, she said and vanished.

I laughed out. This time a pain stoked sound came out. Yes, you are my Radha. I know. But where are you? In Jayadev’s Gita Govinda ! Or on the banks of Yamuna waiting for Krishna! Or a figment of imagination of lovelorn sage poets who created you out of airy nothing to beguile their loneliness born out of segregated, sequestered life of contemplation? If you are of flesh and blood, born of a woman’s womb or discovered on the earth by the tip of a plough, or an imagined Energy to propel the wild potency of Krishna or Purusha to joyous creativity- Appear? Are you my Radha? If you are, what are you doing there, in a temple worshipping photo framed gods and goddesses?Yes, you are my Radha with a different name. I have been taken away from you to do what my destiny ordained. You never recognized me. When 29 years ago I played my Bansi you  were deaf you had plugged your ears with roses. When I sent missives you didn’t read them- you read but never understood my Latin. For you destiny had many things in store. But my destiny was stuck there in a moment of frenzy.

I have left Mathura- Vrindavan – Dwaraka. I came to Hastinapur. I played my Kurukshetra. I charioted, sang ditties for many Arjuns. I taught life to many just for you. Maybe you made me teach, write, speak and cry tearlessly in silence. Radha’s energy moved me to sedentary creativity. But...but...I still wait for you on pavements; hotels, home and my room; I cry for you. I could not carve out a home in the forest of houses...

O’ well. What though I failed in creating a home; I live in a house. Let me do what I do best-that is wait and wait and wait!

O’ let us celebrate holi- colourless, listless and yes, Radhaless.

                                                                       

Never Too Late

When I longed for you with desire

to hold me, cuddle me, and touch me

to wakefulness you turned away.
When I stretched my hand of trust

to  walk along the path of life

you folded your hands insolently.

When in despair I wished to feel you

in my arms you vanished and

left me like lifeless nothing.

Now when my flames are drying

waiting to merge in the unseen

untraced eternities of nature

when my sight has failed,

ears half listen to the shudder at the wind

you appear like Prince charming

to profess your undying love

which sounds like untimely farewell!

Are you the messenger of life

to revive my body and mind

for the last flicker of light

to blow away the embers a whiff

to illuminate the path of my last steps??

Sabita Sahu

Pride

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty

In very early childhood I had heard, ”ati darpe hata lanka, ati manescha kaurabah’ and since then my confusion between darpa  and abhiman continues. If Lanka was destroyed because of darpa which means arrogance how was the destruction of the kaurabs different? If darpa is pride mana or abhiman can perhaps mean arrogance or insolence. But Ravana was more arrogant than Duryodhan in my understanding of human nature and its attributes. If we transpose pride and arrogance the meaning may not be any different. How then should we understand pride? Pride and arrogance are two different words but often are used as synonyms which I feel is wrong. Pride is a consciousness of inner fullness, strength and ability which is often heroic. It is an inner faith in one’s judgement of others, of situations. The man of pride affirms courage and beauty and lives with a commitment to striving forward. He does not rush at things nor does he compromise or surrender. He keeps his words. Above all he recognizes pride in others and respects them.

Arrogance often stems from an inflated estimation of one’s own inner strength. An arrogant man is stubborn, prefers to attack or abuse a person without logic. He has a kingsize ego which fails to estimate his situation in a perspective. He may be heroic but he has no sense of being. Ravana and Duryodhana in my view were both arrogant. Possessiveness, revenge, machinations, conspiracy and a lusty indulgence in the self define their arrogance. If we call this pride, I think, it will be an abuse to the word. Pride is a benign virtue without which a man is an empty shell. In Homer’s great epic The Iliad we have a great hero Achilles who knows his strength, for his life’s purpose was to live with name, fame, courage and glory. He trained for it and achieved all those heroic virtues. But he knew when to withdraw. He had to bow down to the wishes of the master, king Agamemnon although he never acknowledged any authority. He knew when to show mercy. After killing Hector, Achilles ties his body to his chariot and drags it to his camp triumphantly. But when the old father Priam goes to Achilles’s tent to beg for the body of his son so that the Trojans can mourn his sacrificial death and give him a burial, Achilles is moved to tears.  His tears are not a sign of pity or empathy. He sees his father in Priam and says:

                      Poor man , how much you’ve borne

                      Pain to break the spirit!

                      What daring brought you down to the ships all alone

                      To face the glance of the man who killed your sons

                      So many fine brave boys? (xxiv 605-608)

This is pride. Achilles understands the pain in the heart of Priam and understands his situation. His soul awakens. But in Duryodhan the stubbornness never melts. While he lay helpless, leg and waist broken by Bhima’s mace he ties the Senapati’s turban on Aswasthama’s head and sends him to kill the few survivors. He has no feelings for his people, for Hastinapur and in short for humankind. He is beyond pride and arrogance; he is a monster of depravity who enjoys when human beings suffer. Whereas we have some redeeming features in Ravana, who kidnaps Sita to avenge his sister Surpanakha’s mutilation but never forces himself on Sita. He professes his desire and love to Sita sitting helpless under an Asoka tree but behaves like a proud man. He waits for Sita’s willing reciprocation of his love. He too sees the ruin of Lanka sees the death of his brothers, sons and subjects but in his dying moments shows magnanimity and teaches politics to Rama.

Pride is a positive value. A man who has no pride is just an animal. Pride flows from achievements and the dreams and aspirations a person has to build and create something different in life. A proud man creates his own world and beautifies it. He lives behind an aura of memory. He knows his strength and weakness. He does not boast of his achievements. Arjuna too was a proud man and because of his magnanimous pride he refused to kill his brothers, teachers and men in Kurukshetra battlefield. He preferred to be called by posterity a coward than killing his clan. Arjuna was confident that he could kill them all, alone. And only he who can kill can withdraw from the field. This is the quality of pride, not insolence or arrogance. He does not show off, nor does he brag of his strength. But there are others who are proud by virtue of their birth in a royal or noble family. That is no pride. Pride is not an inheritance: it is earned by disciplined perseverance and hard work. Pride is an attitude but one should know how to wear it.

                 

Does Truth Matter

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty

Reality is mediated by language. Words, sentences, phrases, metaphors, symbols, myths crowd language in such a way that we are now beginning to suffer from language pollution. Does language express truth? This question cannot wait for an answer as Bacon’s Jesting Pilate did not wait for an answer to ‘What is Truth?’ Our teachers told us to speak truth. We interrogate people charged with crimes to speak the truth. Witnesses in court rooms take oath on the Gita or some such texts to speak the truth and nothing but truth. But truth is an elusive ‘substance’ which reveals the surface hiding the essence. The Greeks called truth a goddess who is always naked: whoever speaks truth puts on her the garb of his/her own imagination. The Indian sages said, Satyam Ekam, Biprah bahudha Badanti, that is truth is spoken by various voices of individual tone and tenor. Then what is this Truth we talk about? If truth is the being of a substance what is fact? If fact is the state of truth what is fact and why should the word exist if truth is the being? Well, such conflicting confusions abound if we try to know what is truth. History reveals that truth is searched for and worshipped but never practised except for those who prefer death to speaking falsehood.

Truth seldom gives joy. Those who adhere to truth suffer unspeakable agony. Ram, Harischandra and our Gandhi never experienced life as a joyous manifestation of being. They had everything but they had to suffer for the very truth which they wished to establish as the greatest value in creation. They believed that truth leads to God; truth validates life’s divinity; truth wards off all evil; truth ultimately triumphs over the illusion which prompts man to have recourse to falsehood. And this belief gives human beings the courage to accept suffering. But if a person suffers all his life why should he live for truth?

Truth, morality, righteousness, sacrifice, honesty are all interlinked. We see however those who practise the contrarian values- falsehood, immorality, depravity, selfishness ,dishonesty live in better houses, eat better food, enjoy better clout and are feared, if not adored or admired. Kings who are just, truthful and honest they lose their kingdoms in no time. We have seen in our lifetime the life led by Lal Bahadur Shastri, Guljarilal Nanda and their ilk. History hardly remembers them beyond a line or two in a text book. Politicians, who lie their way about, indulge in false propaganda against their adversaries flourish. An honest officer is hated by the common man for he is useless to them. He will not and cannot give them anything unless it is legitimate. He is not useful hence not harmful for only when someone is harmful he is useful. Human society does not thrive on truth values. A cheat has more friends than a man of principle. You may argue, ultimately he is caught by the long arms of law: but ultimately all of us will die. What matters is the quality of life in terms of comfort, power and influence.  What we call happiness, advancement in life and a sense of well being are all mundane values, and for these the so called higher values can be sacrificed. For atonement of ‘sins’ committed willfully we have Ganga, temples, donations and charitable work. You earn happy sobriquets like philanthropists, social workers and million others. But a truthful man earns enemies, poverty, suffering and failure.

Our ideal value is ‘Satyameva Jayate’ . Yes we accept the maxim. But who and how many believe it and how many live by it? People excel in falsehood. Most of our literature comprises imaginative lies. Love too is a great value but most lovers (of either sex) are sweet liars and noble cheats. Lawyers earn their livelihood by twisting and spinning falsehood in plausible rhetoric. Actors on stage live a lie truthfully. The saints sleep with the virgins to test the strength of their celibacy. Teachers speak ‘truth’ as they understand it. They run to the temples privately but publicly teach rationality. And the bureaucrats, politicians often are compulsive liars otherwise they cannot brainwash the gullible public. Parents lie to their children, wives resort to sexy lies to cover their blue stockings and writers, journalists, in fact all agents and instruments of civilization go off tangentially to be politically correct.

Who cares for truth then? But we can not say that truth seekers are liars? No that would be blasphemy. Truth is difficult to accept and practice. But those who live truthfully at least hold their heads high despite their lonely miseries. They prove the presence of divinity by their personal fire tests.