Keywords: Malayalam poetry, Malayalam translation, aspects of life, concept of love, death, romantic imagery
Ayyappa Parliker’s Gotrayanam’ translated into English as Southbound) belongs to the period 1985 – 1989. Extolled as an. epic for its theme relating to. the heroism of man who rises above suffering, the poem is undoubtedly one of the best poems written by Ayyappa Paniker It is a narrative recounting a tribal leader’s exhortation to his followers. The group or `gotra’ is about to set out on a journey, metaphorically it is the journey of life itself It is to be understood that the journey refers to the Aryan movement from the north to the south. The group has to find for itself where Aryavarta or the promised Aryan abode is.
`Gotrayanam’ is significant for its sense of movement or dynamism. The people cannot rest until the destination is reached. Symbolically, this suggests that life is in movement, and when this stops, it is death. The leader who addresses the group relates to them about the different cultures, languages, societies and customs they might encounter in the course of the long journey. This long poem comprises 12 sections, the first section titled ‘Desire’ and the last one ‘Journey.’ Where the poem. ends, the journey begins. All aspects of life are touched upon in this poem — there are elaborations on fate, love, duty, devotion, life and death. In his advice, the leader reminds his folk about the importance of mutual bonding, the need to uphold traditional values, spirituality and morality.
In this poem, the major theme that Ayyappa Paniker highlights is the concept of love — he uses the term ‘sneha’ which combines the qualities of love, kindness, empathy and tenderness. `Gotrayanam’ is also a treatise on this kind of love, the only thing that is required for a good life, for peace on earth. This love will take humanity easily along their chosen course and help them overcome all the obstacles and sufferings in their path. The poem talks about the condition of man and emphasises that only he who dares to walk the untrodden path, risking the unknown can be a complete Man — the one born to make history, to put right existing conditions. There will be numerous challenges on the way, the clan might have to meet and mix with other tribal groups; after all, how can men exist without incorporating contraries? The importance of woman as mother is highlighted when the leader advises his followers to give special regard to mothers in the group — a family cannot be formed without a mother for the children, a society cannot be formed without the togetherness of families. The mother is a person, at the same time she is a social reality. The destination they seek is also their mother.
In the penultimate section, the leader has the vision of their destination — it is a village near the seashore in the far south. There in a country house, a baby will be born. And that baby, who is the poet, will sing this journey of theirs as `Gotrayanam’ and immortalise it forever.
I
DESIRE
Tomorrow we will set out
at sunrise: let’s
start with the right foot first
not forgetting the left.
Eyes toward the east, let’s
follow the mind’s compass.
Every blossoming pain we’ll
count our capital.
Not a step’s waver
at this departing hour,
not a moment’s repose till
the distant far is reached,
strong in heart and mind,
not one foot to falter.
Tree-bark, pelt of goat,
deer-hide; these let’s take
for their inscribed wisdom,
hopes for our future.
“Forget not our clan,
gift not the undeserving,
never forsake our caste
to turn into an outcaste,
do not forgo family rites
to be branded a black sheep,
never throw away
the idol, the conch and the lamp:
where dwells the Lord
there alone we thrive”
such counsels of the past
are dinned into our ears,
but the future that beckons,
can we ever resist that?
Unwinding the skein
we find more tangles; while
disentangling them, elsewhere
loom fresh knots; the future,
unknowable, stalks, waits
to kindle fear and love;
the soaring mount of darkness
becomes a stumbling block;
feeble-minded kith and kin
will persuade us to chicken out;
but, believe me, Mind.
I will not let you down;
this foot of mine, be convinced,
will only move forward.
Wayside hurdles, let’s
kick them off our tracks.
Day-time the sun our target,
at night the moon’s lustre;
on moonless nights
the radiance of the mind.
No time now to cool the heels,
no place nor occasion; walk
non-stop on these twin limbs:
first one foot, then the other.
Unknown to geography
is our destination,
unknown to history
the time of arrival,
unknown to philosophy too
whether we arrive at all:
only the movement matters;
thus the endless exodus.
Of impending death or birth
we have little fear;
for us action is the only mode:
the task, the struggle, the triumph.
Fear is the route of action,
fear alone the failure,
fear is soul-denial,
fear is sin and trouble.
Passion sans action leads
the soul to everlasting hell;
passion sans action breeds
lust, hatred, pride, fear.
Our forefathers never divulged
where the promised land was:
they might have thought
we would seek and find.
II
EXODUS
Tomorrow is the right time
to start: remember.
In auspicious houses stand
the nine prophetic planets.
All night let’s observe
the movement of the stars.
And then, comrades, we’ll
chart out the course
Pay respects to the polestar,
walk in the direction opposite;
as we go southward,
it’ll move downward:
the widening angle we measure
to find out the distance,
we measure shadow-lengths
to gauge the time of day,
through meditation deep
we master the time-triad.
How to internalise things
must be mastered first.
Position the thoughts well
before we open the senses,
for, however wide they open,
it’s the mind that monitors matter;
so let’s first cultivate
the powers of the mind,
and remember this learning
goes on till we die.
Reciting this to you,
I see the time-triad:
the unborn past
which we call the future.
And, friends, who have decided
to go south,
look, the dawn is at hand:
step forth, well-poised.
The patriarchs may resent
this southbound mission;
let’s leave them here
and move away.
Every step forward
rights memory a little:
the news of death in the south
should give us courage.
There the goddess of death
waits to receive us,
the goddess that lies
coiled in sea-folds.
The horrors of war, battlements,
awesome fears, pestilence,
bottomless black holes of the night,
mysterious thoughtless terrors.
Start moving, feet
firm on the earth:
not to turn back; for us
there is no return
to recall time past;
time is glued to one track.
No beginning has it, no end,
nothing but movement;
it comes, it is coming,
it has been coming—
this is its routine pace,
the present continuous tense.
Man is creation’s process,
not the product;
not a point, but a line,
the move is perennial.
Foes stand in our way,
those born with us;
by facing them alone
we attain fullness.
When time faces a dead end,
they will open the door;
through it once again
we achieve rebirth.
Deprived of enemies,
we are destitutes:
and our goals of life
are what we are not.
III
MAN’S FATE
To fledge out as a bird
from the mind’s
faulty fluttering wing,
a lingering hope:
such is the fate of man.
In the belief that
happiness is
within the arm’s reach
the mind struggles in vain:
such is the fate of man.
Amidst the exultation over
hitting the goal
today or tomorrow
down there slip the feet:
such is the fate of man.
Always in my mind
on its diverse horizons
there’s a voice rent by pain,
a voice torn and rankling,
neither distant nor near,
but inside me, deep within men,
mine is that voice, its mine:
such is the fate of man.
To turn that inner cry into
a deathless stellar song
desire lies in non-desire:
such is the fate of man.
Along the path we tread are war,
disease, death, murder, deceit;
to-be or not-to-be riddles:
such is the fate of man.
Profit that’s utter loss,
success that’s defeat,
makes me your equal:
such is the fate of man.
Sweet are your tears
but salty are mine;
alien to another’s grief:
such is the fate of man.
Giving away one’s sorrow,
taking in another’s, grief challenges grief:
such is the fate of man.
The sweet music of labour,
bread won by the sweat of the brow,
words sanctified by the heart:
such is the fate of man.
Each day the sun lights up
a new village and fades
in another village:
such is the fate of man.
And in each village like hurdles
await us in advance
disasters and good tidings:
such is the fate of man.
No matter how many suns rise,
the earth has only one day;
turning around, it turns us around:
such is the fate of man.
The distress that attends
the blank return
of outstretched hands,
though turned into a smile,
he who loves life searches for
shadows in the dark
is angry, restless, lonely:
such is the fate of man.
But the one who can change
this sorry plight and
tread a different path,
we know, is the complete man.
Born to create history
or to correct destiny-in him
memory is not the created,
but creator himself.
IV
INSIGHT
Listen to me, friends,
you, who have taken the pledge
to venture out, what is it
that inspires us
to recreate the promised land?
Come, chiefs of the clans,
Gautama, Kashyapa,
Vasishta, Parashara,
Vishvamitra, Bharadwaja,
leaders of the clans to be,
come, line up one by one,
those ready for the plunge.
Pack up in bundles
the load we have to take:
the heritage we pride in,
ditties to be sung en route,
fables and jokes
to be listened to with joy:
things to sustain us
through the long sojourn.
Refugees we are not,
we wish not to plunder,
neither buyers of land
nor sellers are we,
we are not merchants,
we go as seekers, pilgrims.
Spurred on by the star
that shines in fiery eyes,
we know and savour
the depths of compassion,
we cancel and recast
the calendar of wisdom;
together we’ll build
a new edifice of culture
The world we’ll recognise
as an ever-changing image,
and seek a foot-hold
along unfamiliar tracks.
V
THE CHANT
The farther south we move,
Changes come galore:
the complexion varies,
so does the shape of the world;
costumes. languages,
friends and foes,
ends and means do change,
so change the very modes of change,
As we travel forth,
interests go diverse:
each moment in turn
may pose a challenge.
We have to face it
wielding our mighty bow,
and by its strength perhaps
seek an identity of our own.
As we watch the unfolding act
we shall call upon the
intercircling galaxy
to bear witness to it.
If we care for the earth
as we care for the cow,
the earth, like a cow,
will care for us too.
As we wait to see
the coming of dawn,
each day the sun will rise
to get a glimpse of us.
As a potter his clay
we’ll mould our future.
On the banks of rivers
we’ll sow rice and wheat
and grow lentils, gourds,
and various greens.
Amid the five fires
we’ll swelter in summer;
in the rains, meditate
neck-deep in water;
taste the woodland charm
in spring, like flowers;
as song and revelry
sprout in togetherness,
we’ll break into dance,
enact every play.
As each settlement has
its own way of life:
for man the traveller
travel itself is life.
With settled living
come king and kingdom;
with king and kingdom
come right and wrong;
mine as well as alien;
a new jargon is born;
selling, buying, profit:
the entire order changes.
The effort will be on
to cheat or escape cheating;
personal-societal links
will sink in complexity.
The One and the Supreme
will branch into many:
single god, many gods,
no god and so forth;
debates and disputes about
schools of philosophy;
absurd arguments about
truth and illusion;
men who form groups
need leaders and likewise;
leaders in their turn
need offerings and the like.
Today we are one race,
one clan, one tribe:
but as we leave here,
we encounter other clans;
en route other races
may merge with us,
we may take to them
prompted by nature.
Customs, rites and beliefs.
may intermingle: else
how can mankind ‘live?
Like a tree that grows
supported by many a branch,
like a river that swells
fed by many a rivulet,
unless the many clans merge
the race of man cannot grow;
nor can culture flourish
without interbreeding.
In every man do we find
two trends run parallel:
if one becomes the other,
time will stand still;
if the two do not match,
they will never unite;
when opposites meet,
energy flows for ever:
one, the everyday man;
the other unbound by time.
About the mind of man
we know no further;
but as time passes
we may learn even more.
When two people come close,
sorrows are shared; then
their strength is doubled,
and Time is freed from time.
Grief, tense and tough,
nurtures the soul of man.
A little love sure
is man’s best treasure.
Pain is its only source,
though the measure varies.
Shove away small griefs
with your finger-tip,
only the great sorrows
bury deep in the heart;
for them to sleep soft,
make your breast a cradle.
If compassion and song
mix with enough humour,
we can embark upon Life’s terrific trip.
The end of earth’s run
is our destination;
the end of Time’s run
Our ultimate goal;
till the earth under the feet
dissolves into nothing;
till the cradle of Time rocks itself to a halt.
Remember, as we leave
the place of our birth,
that birth itself was
a prelude to this long trip.
As we move in groups,
let the routes we take
suit us as we suit them.
The hope to reach the goal
is itself the goal, although
it is in perpetual shift
And the goal keeps changing
with the change of the mind
that directs the feet
along the chosen path.
Through change alone can
we perceive changelessness.
Halfway through the journey
the mind performs a somersault;
every journey is but
a continuum of the still point.
As we cross long centuries,
we see alterations plentiful:
names, forms and meanings,
concepts and congregations,
master, pupil, kith and kin,
leader and follower:
all these will change
into a chain of changes.
When death overtakes one,
another fills the gap;
forgetting the dead,
we plunge into revelry,
till sunrise wakes us up
to bid yet another farewell;
picking up the baggage
we, men, will move on;
what cannot be altered
we accept as dignified.
Cultures blossom forth
and in their rich ripeness
merge with the alien
to achieve self-renewal.
Once loyalty to caste
may be rigid, inviolable,
another time caste itself
will turn into an outcast.
Nothing is constant
except the inconstancy:
so let’s move forward,
not to be left behind.
Although subject to change
is every little object,
the concept of evolution
Will also keep evolving.
In his chosen profession
every person shall excel;
and each shall rise to heights
in tune with his own skill.
The lotus of the heart
waiting for the sunrise,
on its petals is tenderness
receptive to every wound,
every word an arrow
penetrating the core
to coagulate the pain
into a drop of blood,
the silence saturate
of the stamen within
hurt even by moon’s light,
full of sandal grace:
what life do we have,
bereft of this delicacy?
A life-giving drug it is
for the vitals on the move,
perpetual resuscitation
on reaching the destination.
The honey of cactus too
is sweet, not bitter;
the song born of grief
is panacea for that grief.
Unless the moon is there,
no patch can be in it;
unless the sun’s light shines,
where is shadow or shade?
Recall the age-old tale
told by the forefathers:
the earth has no seed
without an unguent in it;
it was what they got
for the long penance they did.
When time favours,
what they have said
will come to be of use;
let’s wear that innocence!
Not seeing the root
even after the seed split,
not seeing the leaf-burst
even after the root was out,
the forefathers with fervour
found a way through prayer:
if within the seed there is
no unguent, but only grain-
long ago they found it out,—
no root or leaf will sprout!
Bereft of love’s unguent;
the demons came to be born;
a long penance we undertake
for a little tenderness.
Root may turn into leaf,
and flower into fruit; yet,
to fondly recall and
fondle, this tenderness will help.
Like a magic formula for it
let’s chant this all the time:
When the hands are exhausted,
then the feet shall take over;
when the feet begin to falter,
then the hands shall lend support;
when the hands and feet are tired,
the mind shall give the lead;
and when the mind is flustered,
then the soul shall keep guard!
Routes may be marred by disputes,
routes may block themselves,
routes manifold, routes of deceit,
routes that lead to corruption;
caught between the right and the left,
fall we may betwixt the two;
couples may part, and slip to a fall,
or bid farewell with a thunderbolt;
all the same we must leap forward,
unperturbed by things half-seen, half-heard!
When the eyes fail,
the ears shall keep watch;
when the ears fail,
the eyes shall take care!
VI
SACRIFICE
Look there, in the east,
the horizon is a blush;
the stars adjacent
look pale in waxing light.
Listen to the jarring wheel-rumble
of the south-bound sun-chariot.
Light with an open beak
tongues the darkness.
Darker grows the sky
as the distance deepens
What shall we take with us
to sustain the left-over life?
To the coming generations
what shall we bequeathe?
Let Fire be refined
and in the heart enshrined!
Light for the trip it will be,
and warmth when it’s cold,
an aide in the cuisine and
a divine presence in sacrifice.
Let Fire be propitiated
and fully internalised:
it promotes the growth
of fruit-groves within,
spurns evil contact,
through burning purifies;
praised be the mind
and the fire of the mind!
Whatever in this world of the senses
And in the stage beyond the senses,
Whatever is on the horizon
And beyond the horizon,
Whatever is within evolution
and beyond evolution,
in hands and feet and eyes,
in ears and in the heart,
whatever is poetic, coveted,
learn that it is fire,
Fill up the mind
with hymns of fire;
fill up nerve-cells
with infinite pulsation;
bring it up in scattered visions
like a mine of diamond;
fondle it in volcanic mouths
like the desire of love;
hymn it out of love as Lord
in the centre of the lotus;
with songs of praise keep him
a slave at your feet.
Fire is the seed of science,
the vedic essence, the word’s juice,
machine, magic and enchantment:
all are sparks of fire.
Great griefs fire turns
into mystic powers;
unfold every wound
into a full-blown flower;
when the scar disappears,
the wound may throb within,
and in the flowing water
make the red lotus bloom;
like the blood dripping
from the melting petal,
the river’s cool water
sows the line of blood within.
Water for us is purity,
the very life of our life;
fire is father, water mother,
air spouse, earth children,
all the rest is ether;
these are the five elements
Of these five are born
the six old passions;
unless these be buried within,
this journey will be futile.
The mind, the fires of desire
encircling it in a bind,
a thousand fork-tongued
serpent-hoods of venom;
the body, its joints twisted,
made callous by cravings;
face, breast and groins:
the luxuries we cherish,
the smartness that stinks
if left to itself for two days,
the spy -work that corrodes
whether master or pupil:
these are curses for us, also
powers that lend support;
if we ever lose them,
we can’t move back or forth.
When on a long journey,
do not go empty handed:
beauty and virtue
should be safely stored;
each should provide shade
and support for the other.
where beauty is slighted,
virtue gets decayed;
where virtue decays
beauty goes out of shape.
Hands and feet are parallel
in their movement and use.
When the sun confronts in the east
to our right is southbound
Stand firm on the left foot,
stretch forward the right one;
stand firm on the right foot,
and stretch out the left one;
two feet should suffice
if either is not a fake.
And with these two feet
the three worlds we shall measure.
VII
ACTION
In the beginning dreamlike
and still stands the universe:
the dream leads us on
to the climax of action;
action drags us down
to the depths of anguish
To get out of pain
love prepares the way:
so hold on tight
to the string of love;
clinging to that arose
the notion of the tribe;
when the string snaps, creation
is fulfilled in dissolution.
Ages will pass like this;
the wheel of time will throb
again as the lotus folds
a dream sprouts within
whose many-hued splendour
will provide us joy.
Every creature has its own
befitting habitat; so
will find its own happiness
in the freedom from action
The inborn taste
of every household
derives from the structure
of the houses they live in.
The cave-dwellers turn
beasts of prey, while
those living in the open
become gentle by nature.
Those that live in burrows
happen to be full of venom.
Those that dig and hide
are mentally retarded.
Those in nests blindfolded
tend to become owls.
The solitary lonely ones
spit cruelty and anger,
while those living in groups
never gain self-reliance.
Exceptions there may be
to prove this general truth
This way we see the myth
of truth that is history.
Grieving in times of grief
and enjoying good times,
the birth-rebirth cycle
leaps and bounds across.
VIII
MEDITATION
I still remember a bit
although ages have passed:
in the dark cage flickers
the tension of a night.
That day we, the pupils,
went up to the master;
though unplanned, together
this question we posed:
What are we to do now?
If it’s only to pass the days,
tell us, master, tell us,
why this birth at all?
We keep seeing always
bits of some big dream;
can we together give it now
a label of creativity?
Like knowledge without action,
action without knowledge too
is fruitless and futile,
like thought without a focus.
Tell us now whatever
matters you have pondered on.
Time, with every pulse-beat,
takes a forward bounce.
Look here, before you
is the fervour of youth:
betwixt birth and death
dances time, the enchantress.
To embrace, to enfold,
to embody the creative process,
riders through the ages should
arm themselves with faith.
To work in unison
faith in self is the spur.
He who cheats himself
is sure to cheat others.
Avoid deception hence,
deception is destruction.
Betray not
the rhythm of your breath,
betray not
the hand that helped you,
betray not
the trust reposed in you,
betray not
for land or fame or life.
No success is greater,
I know, than defeat;
and no defeat there is
as great as success.
IX
DUTY
Once—I shall tell you,
listen, ear and mind open. —
said the master—the noble tale
of the shepherd in the woods.
The old tale shall be told,
as though it happened long ago.
Seeing and hearing it, you will think it really occurred.
Others are actors, yet
through imagined experience,
through empathy, we enjoy
its aesthetic flavour.
Long ago, a shepherd,
staff in hand, led his cattle
to roam about, himself turned
in search of pastures.
Before him descended
a demon and said:
“I shall give you enough fodder
for all the sheep you have,
if you offer to give me
one sheep everyday.”
Hearing the little lambs
bleating close to him,
to the demon he said,
“No, no, that cannot be.”
The demon disappeared,
but with a perturbed mind,
for a pasture he wandered
and ended up in some desert.
There without any water,
he roamed and panicked;
then came to him a figure,
half bird and half beast:
“I shall give you grass and water
for all the sheep you have,
if you offer to give me
two sheep everyday.”
Hearing this, the mother sheep
came running and said:
“Sell us and give the little ones
the sunstenance they need.”
Looking at the mother sheep,
the little lambs bleated:
“No, no, that cannot be;
you may sell us instead.”
Unable to do either stood
the shepherd, silent and sad.
In a wink of his eyes
the bird-beast vanished.
As the sun grew
hotter and the environs reddened,
the dream-fantasy of heat
assumed a monstrous form;
his head touching the sky,
he began to cry aloud:
“Bound to instant death are you,
your sheep and all you have:
learn this and look for ways
to save either of the two.”
With a view to save both of them,
he offered the answer:
“Spare them both, please;
and take me instead!”
Will the men of the future
try to get at its true meaning?
As the shepherd fell dead,
flower-beds sprang around;
in the cool stream pranced
and gambolled the flock.
Saying this, its meaning untold,
the master sank into meditation.
Remember this, my comrades,
as we get ready for the trip.
X
THE SONG
Once, later on, as I was
walking alone in the woods
I felt someone calling me:
was it the whistle of the wind?
A human voice it wasn’t,
but the language was human;
and as I walked along,
I heard the call again;
it was calling me:
the right name, the right tone.
As I opened my mind,
eyes closed in wonder,
I saw entwined within
a creeper of dreams
a lioness poised well
to leap forward.
Farther away an elephant
lay like a lump of darkness.
A lion-tailed monkey
gazed at both in glee
A bird was there
combing the monkey’s hair.
“Who was it that called me,”
someone asked from within.
As I stood embarrassed,
my throat a little sore,
I just managed to see
the lioness leaping forth,
the limp of darkness bursting,
and the owner of the tail
vanishing with his tail:
only the bird kept singing;
but the mysteries heard in the song
cannot be copied in words.
Someone is beckoning me
as a seed waits for the future;
I can’t help going there,
since repose would be death;
the mind of man cannot stay back.
Alone throbs the polestar
ever in the same direction,
the seven lights of the Great Bear
move in a circle of ritual reverence,
all other stars
floating around it,
the sky without beginning
or end merges into the milky path,
the hunter’s arrow
aims at the deer’s head,
stung by the scorpion
the sky turns poison-blue,
afraid of the shadow planets
the sun and moon go into hidings;
seeing and not seeing these,
we have to take the way unseen;
like the river that goes
in search of the unseen sea.
Avoid the routine route
and carve out a new path.
Darkness in front of us,
the blazing goal within:
uncertain is the goal for us,
and the signs are divergent.
Vast is time, space, place,
and unknown is birth, death:
Hence our mothers too
should go with us on the trip:
only from the womb of the past
can new regulations emerge.
A thousand temples may be deemed
equal to a pilgrim-centre;
a thousand pilgrim-centres
are tantamount to a cow;
a thousand cows may be
thought equal to a mother;
so we must take the mother
well equipped for the trip.
Without a mother children can’t
constitute a family;
unless families mingle
no society can exist.
If tomorrow we fade away,
mothers will the future keep;
so shall we offer them
an auspicious status.
An individual she is,
a collective truth as well:
where we ultimately reach,
remember that is mother.
To add to the rainbow’s lustre,
to render the twilight sky tender,
to melt darkness with light:
our companions the brides must be.
Like androgynous deities
shall we go with them:
although shedding futile tears,
bride and groom are a meaningful bind.
At sunrise we get up and pray:
quarrel no more!
at sunset we smooth the waves
and say: no more quarrel!
Every wound keeps praying:
no quarrel, no more!
In love and in fight,
in sleep and when awake,
let us get along with them,
our beloved deities.
For the one who brightens still
the remembered song within
like the foetus in the womb,
like the seed in the soil,
or the one whom my thirst will thrill
long after I have set,
for the single star that throbs
where the sky descends,
for the golden-bodied moonlight
that wafts the sandal breeze,
for the glory of the gentle glow
in the vast sky of sunrise,
for the singer in the dream
sprinkled with golden perfume,
for her I made long ago
this song of benediction:
With my hand on your head, I bless you.
Stroking your forehead, I bless you.
Touching your long eyebrows, I bless you.
Looking into your blue eyes, I bless you.
Closing your eyelids, I bless you.
My hand patting your eyelashes, I bless you.
Kissing your golden cheeks, I bless you.
With a kiss on your red lips, I bless you.
Hugging your full bosom, I bless you.
Putting a garland on your neck, I bless you.
Stroking your lovely tresses, I bless you.
Embracing your fragrant body, I bless you.
Pressing my face on your soft belly, I bless you.
Holding your whole body close, I bless you.
Seeing your twin thighs, I bless you.
Remembering their joints, I bless you
My hands clasping your hands, I bless you.
Stroking your feet again and again, I bless you
I shall always sing this for her
who gave me a sense of completeness
through this tie from head to foot
shall all grief wither away.
XI
THE VISION
That village on the seashore
so far away in the deep south
will turn out to be a mother
for our sons and grandsons .
There in that village
on the bank of a river
where the water runs clear
in a house under a ceiling
will the child be born.
A girl who magnifies
the glow of sheer will-power,
the fish-eyed one who enjoys
softening Aryan valour,
she will give birth
to a son for our son:
he will describe this journey,
as the southbound trip of our tribe.
The way we now look forward,
he will direct his vision back,
recite and record the tale
of the journey to the south.
Between far-flung tribes
he is the connecting link;
\the vision we now have
he will acquire in good time.
Of the tribe of Gautam
he is the everlasting chain:
Soft-tempered like Vishnu,
Valiant like Shiva,
recording with the same pen
Shaivite and Vaishnavite truths,
he will hold under his feet
all ages, and in meditation
see in his mind this moment,
millennia behind.
With the eye of my mind
time’s seashore I do see,
the radiant waves that await us
in the far distant south,
the bed-chamber of the flower-born,
reclining westward,
the eternal evergreen land
with no change of seasons,
the vale in riotous bloom
where hills away like waves,
there I visualise our future;
there let us hasten.
Come along, O pilgrims,
come, visionaries, friends,
who pledged their word
for the moment of
splendour, it is time for take-off,
touch the earth in salutation,
circle the orbit in imagination,
bow to sun and moon in mediation
with raised eyes take in
the entire heavens and walk:
let life stand glorified
even when death haunts you;
let light be remembered
when night’s beauty you perceive;
keep the urge to be wakeful
even when you celebrate sleep.
The lust for living
is the one supreme passion.
seen through its eyes
everything looks beautiful;
from that view destruction
and loss may look like gains.
We may be by pity moved,
when in pain, hit by arrows;
never forget to bless and pray
for the hunter who shot us down.
As the wound becomes deeper
it begins to emit compassion.
XII
THE JOURNEY
This auspicious moment
the foot-tingling moment
the love-borne moment
the blessed moment
the moment of the movement simple and lucid
the moment of time’s momentous explosion
The anxiety of the waters
on the brink of the rapids
The beginning of creation’s retreat
after the climacteric of the last deluge
The curiosity of the emptiness
left behind by the burnt-out star
The magnificence that clasped hands
confer on the sense of touch
The blindness resulting from the dazzling vision
in the eyes linked by love.
The lord of creation’s alarm
at the end of apocalypse
The heart-throb of the sun
at the sudden outburst of dawn
Come, friends, we are about
to be born together as one
On the paths that we cut
the future will spell out our names
The moment has come
when the song of the grand embarkation
flows through the veins and the lips-
step forth, O comrades!
Whatever keeps rising to dizzy heights
is the Himalayas
Whatever keeps flowing and causes to flow
is all Ganga
Know that for the mighty mountain of snow
the ever-flowing river is holy ablution
The two together for these on the move
form an auspicious dream vision
At the crimson touch of that vision
the horizon is awake
The very first ray of dawn
thrills and enthrills the earth
And in the rhythm of that thrill
take your first step forward
Recite the hymn to the sun
put that first foot on the earth
When such a blazing moment may
descend on us again, we don’t know
It’s the southbound trip—
onward march, O comrades!
Draw strength from grief,
unbind the spell
and sound the drums
to tell the tale of man.
Translated from Malayalam by Chitra Panicker
