Sunrise

What force moves me

to rise up with the calls?

Mom, Hey: Tea, Lunch,

time for school, office.

I skate from corner to

corner mumbling prayers

asking happiness for all.

Body and mind rebound

In unresponsive pain.The
kitchen smiles: hungry,

unfulfilled, empty, quick.

In lonely hours when

sleep evades me, I rush

to the study table to find-

where is me? I see, responsibility

god , life work and worship.

I turn to the brightening East

and kneel down in prayer.

Away Away…

Do dare to fly away

from those who bring you down

to the slush of nameless nothings

focus your vision beyond inanities

on the riches of luminous soul.

Obstacles will impede you

fake ropes will tie you to slave

in countless chores where the soul

knotty and soiled will wither:

do not brood ,weigh not pros and cons

march to conquer new frontiers.

Cling to the horns of storms

to relish and achieve alterities

Swim the void to discover

the heart of darkness

bright, pure ,shine divine.

Sabita Sahu

Fire

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty

Fire is life , the elanvital, the driving energy of the cosmos. Fire is the only element which goes up. It gives light and heat.  In Hindu mythology fire is born out of water. The fire-breathing Mare moving on seabeds symbolises the potential force of Doomsday. The golden seed of Agni in the cosmic waters ’to hatch into the universe’. The Vedas , Satapatha Brahmana clearly suggest that fire is born of water. The seed is fire and the womb is water. The whole of creation mostly centres round fire and water. Fire is male water is female: the universe is created by their union. Fire symbolizes power, energy, creativity and vitality. Water symbolizes fertility, immortality, peace and creative powers. In Hindu symbolism Shiva is both fire and water. Shiva is born from the golden egg in water. His dances- Lasya and Tandava- therefore are the artistic manifestations of fire and water. Fire burns and is terrible, water harmonizes and sustains. The figure or image of Shiva is the archetypal metaphor. His interior is hot and fiery. Because of this kind of interior he could swallow the poison that came out of the churning of the sea. But on his head he wears ganga and the moon. Shiva is more powerful than other gods as he maintains the spiritual equilibrium between fire and water, death and life, creation and destruction.

Fire is of two forms for most Indians. Fire is love and sex, Kama; it is also lust and destruction. The other form is the energy of meditation –tapas. Meditation controls the energy of sexual drive and becomes in turn another potent energy. Asceticism, chastity, renunciation are as powerful as sexual energy. Mahatma Gandhi is a case in point.  He was not an ascetic in the mystical sense. He was a true ascetic as his self – control, abstinence, love of truth and saint like devotion to ideals of life made him a powerful being of whom the powerful British empire was mortally afraid. The power of chastity has always been glorified in our literature. Those who master the art of saying no to their desires are definitely powerful. Renunciation and service of the poor and helpless are also the power of tapas. The word tapas means heat and this heat is more potent than kama or the sex drive. In the 20^th century if we saw the great Mahatma, we also saw Mother Teresa. In the vedic civilization the saints practising asceticism were as powerful as Indra, the king of heaven. Indra had fire as kama , which includes heroism and the power of  a great  warrior. Fire is like the Sun and Moon in the sky, mutually complementing life and the cosmic energy.

The Greeks thought fire was the exclusive property of heaven. Prometheus  who stole fire and gave it to the heathens, therefore, was cursed and punished and his brother Atlas is still seen even today, holding the Globe (like Vasuki) in their myths. Fire is divine for it gives more light than heat if the people know how to use it. Fire is simultaneously the creator and the destroyer. Balancing fire in life is the most urgent need in the Human world.

Fire is also a purifier like water. It purges the body and mind. Fire as purifier, destroyer, redeemer and energizer sustainer as well as that consumes like time’s agency has entered in a big way all human society. Love and sex are always described through fire imagery. When desire is inflamed men and women, passion –struck, climb mountains and swim oceans. The fire in the belly makes human beings great achievers. Athletes, sportspersons, thinkers and infact even politicians of all hues are motivated by the fire within to win, conquer, rule and reign. Fire power is the measuring rod of military might. Often we say- he made a fiery speech and set all hearts afire. Someone is a firebrand politician or someone has the fire in him to fight till the end.

But fire that burns and consigns things to ashes is to be contained. Fire also emits light and gives life. Shakespeare‘s Othello in his soliloquy before he ‘sacrifices’ Desdemona uses “Promethean heat” which may relume the life of his love: but he by another fire, the fire of jealousy, extinguishes D’s light of life.

Light is life. It stems from fire but it redeems and prolongs life. What we need today is light: the light of love to enkindle all avenues of life, not the fire which singes and kills with pain. Fire should be worshiped as light to brighten things not to darken all luminous values.

Monsoon Melody

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty

After the fiery arrows of May-June fired by a loveless sun burn the forest trees; after the lotus in pale emaciation leans on the sticky mud half opened; after the torn earth engraves the smothered grass and shrubbery without any epitaph; after the rivers lose their youth and beauty and linger on the sandy bed like lepers in sleepless despair; after the newlyweds in post- coital sweat open their balcony doors to savour in the moon-drenched breath of late night; after the saint’s immortality loses count in his mantra recitation; after the denial of farm –loan waiver by governments; after the thatched roof catches fire while the half –clad  wage-earner sits down for his water rice; after frog marriages by foolish superstitionists; after the deities’ chariots are readied for the grandest show on earth; after the Football World Cup is nearing flash point; after parties for votes troll the skyway:  Falls the Rain.

The sky disappears, merges in the dark youth of the clouds like a bride losing herself in her dearest love after a long separation of longer months. Kisses of lightning and thunderous mating make the luminaries of the sky close their eyes imagining forlorn ecstasies. Then falls the juice of life. The earth waiting in all readiness after her purgatorial period absorbs with lapping joy the impregnating fluid emitting a scent of earthly Eden. Dry bones stir; grassroots in enlivening amazement grow inches to savour the joyful drops. Rivers blessed with renewal of their youth override the banks to show off their furious energy to the human dwellers in highland. New buds swell, crane their necks to sway in the splashing wind and rain. Wet birds looking like fur-pulled creatures, stop crooning, sitting on slippery branches in hungry silence. School girls under multi coloured umbrellas wait for the bus at street corners gravely watching the polish of their shoes go soggy. Water logged roads spray coloured water when cars pass by blaring horns. The footpath vendor covers his luke warm bara and chops with a polythene sheet mumbling a curse under his breath at no one in particular. Office goers in bikes wait under tin roofs of beetle shops smoking cigarettes. Housewives shout- I told you, bring more vegetables- now eat only potatoes: men half hear while dressing up for work. Temple priests rue the morning for rain washed bhakti business. Tea sellers in railway platforms run back to refill their kettles. Lonely men in shirt sleeves settle down to old news papers munching cream crackers in unswept rooms: dial numbers to unresponsive friends. Farmers wearing desi sombreroes walk bare foot to see whether time is ripe for ploughing the fields. A young lover rings up his love inviting her to lunch at Starlight in June Street. Old couples reclining on arm chairs relive their days in half smiles.

Life takes a turn. The summer sweat is now forgotten. Rain calls to life, to go through all familiar chores with intolerant delays and rescheduling of programmes. Trains and flights are delayed. But life goes on. The only thing that cannot wait is life. It will tick by come winter come storm. The rain too cannot wait; It will fall without waiting for the ambulance or the wedding procession.

My love too does not wait . She enjoys her rejuvenating bath in the first rain. She turns a child, floats paper boats, sings. If you ask her why on earth at this age? She will show her beautiful teeth, pearly and shapely and giggle. What’s age to do with rains? See, the birds after their initial shock have started flying from tree to the sky and down to other trees- the mango trees do not excite them anymore. See the old man in a plastic rain coat wading through the slush of lanes to go for his mid-day meal. Why shouldn’t I jump and sail boats- after all life is the only thing I have. Come you lazy lover, come with me we too like new lovers shall walk barefoot up to Cuttack eating nothing except our love which is still in it’s scarlet youth. Let’s walk miles and return miles to our poetry and candle light dinner at home if the electricity plays spoil sport. And revive early days in our endless night. Let the rain give a good bang to the earth- come out in the open- enjoy the jaltarang of the drops on our head and body and create anew what we have failed to do. Let’s create monsoon love and fulfil life and pay our tributes to the rain gods.

Gathering Cloud

The parched earth

looks up in despair

intent ears to listen

the splatter of drops

awaiting the dolled up

bride to drench them

wet all over.

Humans, plants, animals

are in welcome mood

sing in chorus greetings

to deities, some

offering Ray Ban to sun

to soften his angry eye.

The song of soul and

song of all , fall on the roofs

from tree tops to the roots.

O’ you sweaty bodies

cynical sleeves, peep out

from your hiding shelves

throw your anguish,

come be ready swell with

pleasure you sullen breed.


Sabita Sahu

Beach Sand

Ages and eons like your countless sands

pass by weightless sightless in silence.

Tempests’, tsunamis churn you changing

your mapless shape border and boundary

hurricanes spend their dying gasps

moaning on your lap. Emperors, kings,

sailors, pirates and the common

stamp on your chest their authority

in vain leaving no footprint.

Do you remember the hurried feet

that touched you like Columbus, Alexander

to embark for new lands in exotic triumph?

Do you remember the passionate lovers

the loafers and the stealthy ones

who have rolled over on your altar soul!!

Do you remember the cracking pain

under the merciless sun blinding you

lay in unprotesting helplessness.

It’s the sky that shed  tears to ease

your pain in stormy showers.

O’ beach you are a constant lover

always wooed by the furious waves

foaming,roaring to embrace you but

never achieve union beyond touch

yet the script of life changes

every moment to new themes

you wait for a new path of new morn.

Sabita Sahu

What Globalization: Whither Literature (2)

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty

But in the contemporary world it is not possible to live in isolation. We have to partake of resources available in the world for survival. And for that we must have alliances, treaties, pacts with countries whether we share common language- literature and culture with them or not. Survival and the desire for growth and development makes enemies join at the dinner table. Cultural identities undergo transformation for capitalistic ventures. Post Second War capitalism jointed most of the world with a corporate culture. The multinational corporation and inter- governmental  financial and other deals made the world ‘borderless’, a term coined by  a Japanese corporate consultant Kenichi Ohmae in the 1990’s. This corporate capitalism led to a profusion of literature in Business and Corporate management, Medicine and Health studies and other allied fields of interest. But imaginative literature or classicization of human affairs was not in their focal area. These corporates emphasised liberalism and secularism without which it was not possible to pursue their corporate interests in a borderless world. This was termed towards the close of the last century, Globalization. Basically it is an economic globalization where attractive products of different countries will find a global market.

By Globalization we normally think of economic globalization.The world as one market where the products of the world in a competitive market will enter into global capitalism. Literature in this so called age of globalization is a product, marketable and consumer friendly.The product attractively packaged and competitively priced must be backed up by bold and aggressive advertisement.The publisher like a corporate participates in the capitalistic venture with the products of his country. If it is a MNC (Multi National Corporation) like Viking, Oxford, Harper Colllins, Penguin and the like it has to invest a pretty penny  to familiarize its brand  in the cities of its presence.

In the Indian context any corporate publisher would wonder: what is Indian literature? India writes in many languages and cultural voices vary in tone and tenor from language to language. The works written in English mostly look at India with borrowed western eyes or through a native Chasma scanning the virtues of an irretrievable past. The bhasa literatures project an Indian-ness through local prisms. How then an MNC select his product for the world market. Globalization presumes a borderless world but borders to exist. Nationalism is a potent energy. Patriotic nationalism expressed in one language  is all the more powerful.  I shall do well to quote the German philosopher Johan Ficte ‘ Those who speak the same language are joined to each other by a multitude of invisible bonds by nature herself, long before any human art begins’. (Address to the German Nation 1806) Geography, Culture and language create their own exclusive appeal  which may not move the buyers of bhasa products to throng the book stores in foreign cities. If a great work from bhasa literatures is chosen as a product, there is another difficulty. The work must be translated into English for English in the present day world is the only comprehensible language of communication. But when a great work is translated into English, the aim of the translator is to cater to the taste of the English reading public. The translator sacrifices the local and the Indian nuances and the voice and rhythm to please the English knowing people. Moreover translators in India and in Odisha too are a rare specimen. However, competent they may be like the Voyager to the moon they please neither the population on the moon, nor the earth dwellers by their accounts.

The other, more intricate problem is globalization often undermines democracy. The local units in a globalised world are not treated equally. The identities of literature-rich but week in money and bargaining power are often hidden on the stalks and booksellers never display them. The advertisement for these products, therefore is never aggressive. The identity of the country’s is never recognised . As the neo-liberal global trade in literature seldom recognizes and often undermines the literature springing from a democracy or nation-state, MNC’s shy away from aggressive marketing . A Salman Rushdie or Vikram Seth may push into the market fortified by  a Booker prize but in  general , bhasa literature of great literary value loses out in the competition.

Is there any hope then? Well, as I am an optimist, great works in Indian literatures may one day find place on the display table in foreign cities; provided translators emerge to communicate the human universality in Indian literature in readable English. I will conclude my brief presentation in the words of Aime Ce’saire : And no race has a monopoly on beauty , on intelligence and on strength : And there is no room for us all at the randezvous of history.