Unmesha International Literary Festival, 2023

 On the last day of #Unmesha International Literary Festival 2023 I was asked to speak on 'Why I Write'. #Dr Chitta Ranjan Mishra was in Chair. Writers and scholars present in the session were luminaries in their own field. It was an honour to speak before them.

I mentioned about the the reply given to the same question by Turkish Nobel Laureate Orhan Pamuk and Albert Camu. But, I added that it's the inner urge of an individual which compels him/her to write or for that matter take recourse to express himself through other forms of creativity. It's the destiny, which created circumstances pushing me to write.

Secondly, a writer or any creative person wants to reach out to people and pines for their reaction and appreciation. But, sadly most of them die unheard, in abject poverty.

A writer is most often not worldly wise. I mentioned about Jibanananda Das, the harbinger of modern Bengali poetry and Manik Bandopadhyay, the most prominent fiction writer post independence. But, a true writer cannot survive without writing.

Another compelling reason for any writer is the hope to transcend the limitation of time. Even Rabindranath Thakur wished that his poems are read with interest after hundred years.

Finally, it's the people around a writer, the land in which he/she lived and the timespan of his life in this world crowd around him/her and urge the writer to bring them to life. A writer cannot escape from these visions till these are put in black and white.

It was an wonderful experience to hear appreciation from the chairman of the session, fellow participants and audience. Thanks #Sahitya Akademi.

Lalan Gititka : The Celestial Songs

How can one touch the nectar unless steeped in love?

Mere touch of it cures all ills of this world.

The nectar is the symbol of the omnipotent

This universe does not have its equivalent.

It originates from the lotus with thousand petals

And flows incessantly down the stem.

How can one narrate the prowess

 Of the shadow less great sage?

Meditating upon the holy water,

He became one with nature; and

Gora* transcended life and death!

When it rains from the sky

The earth holds the water on its surface;

Lalan Fakir ruminates over the phenomenon, and says

The devotees alone own the earth.

*Gouranga, another name of Shri Chaitanya

[The song is of the genre of Deha Tattwa ie ‘Secret of the Body’. Baul songs largely draw from ‘Tantrik’ philosophy’ according to which ‘Lotus with thousand petals’ mentioned in this song denotes ‘Sahasra’ located in the head. From there flows the nectar through three stems ‘Ira’, ‘Pingala’ and ‘Susumna’.]  

Lalan Fakir : Celestial Songs

I wasted my life in the pursuit of unreal

And, now i have lost out in life's mission.

Everything is futile once the life breath ceases,

Knowing the truth, though, I succumbed to desire.

                                    

In this world, the one, blessed by Guru(master),                                                                                                      

Can cure himself from the ills of lust.

Alas! I lost my life at an unknown bank of river

Ignorant of the path the Guru charted for us.

                                                        

Sages said, "It is the good deeds of the Past,

Which bestow devotion to Guru."

Had I been wise enough to follow that path

Why would I have turned into a miscreant?

Now I realize, when it is time to wrap up,

Life is useless without Guru's blessings.

A chastened Fakir Lalan begs to ask,

Will he be able to behold the Unseen ever?

[The song belongs to the genre of ‘Murshid Tatwa’ ie. the role of spiritual preceptor in the life of a seeker. Lalan

Fakir firmly believed that only an enlightened Master can guide his disciple in the path of God realization.]

Nazrul Islam: The Poet

Nazrul Islam: The Rebel Poet of Bengal

Quazi Nazrul Islam emerged as a major writer in Bengal as soon as he stepped into Bengali literary field in 1919. He was fondly called as “Bidrohi Kabi” or the rebel poet in both parts of Bengal ie West Bengal in India and East Bengal, which is now a sovereign country known as Bangladesh.   His poems, songs, plays, novels, stories and essays written within a short span of twenty odd years ushered in a unprecedented enthusiasm among people, hitherto indifferent to literature.  The passion with which he wrote brought a tidal wave of patriotism across the country. Through his writings he voiced the unimaginable sufferings of common people perpetrated by the British rulers and their cohorts, the local  Zamindars, money lenders etc. on the one hand and the fanatics from Hindu, Muslim and Christian community on the other.

Nazrul, in his masterpiece, “The Rebel” wrote:

“The eternal rebel, that I am,                             

Weary of many a battle,

Shall rest in peace

Only when the anguished cry of the oppressed

No longer reverberate in the sky and air:

Tyrants’ blood smeared sword

No longer rattles in the battlefield.”

Nazrul’s writing distinguishes him from other contemporary writers due to its directness of communication with his readers. He was strong and steadfast in his approach towards religion, be it Hinduism or Islam. He upheld the message of equality inherent in Muslim tradition and opposed the dogmatic preachers, who interpreted the cannons of Islam to their own advantage. He was vociferous against the message of hatred spread by the priests against people of other religions and those, who divided the society by terming a section as lower caste. He wrote:

“......Someone is asking you, Boatman,

Who are the people you are fighting for?

Are they Hindu or Muslim?

My skipper! Tell them:

Human life is in peril;

We are children of same mother.”

The poems and songs of Nazrul have a distinct appeal to strive for perfection in the society and creating a better world for human being trough organic integrity and universality disregarding gender, caste and creed. He himself acknowledged the influence of Whitman in the context of one of his poems ‘Agrapathik’. Similarly, he reminds his readers about the writings of Nazim Hikmet and Nikos Kazantzakis in their quest for unravelling the mysteries of life and at the same time raising their voice against oppression and exploitation. In one of his poem written ninety years ago he raised his voice against discrimination against women:

“Men imprisoned women within four walls of Purdah

Though he was cared and breastfed by them.

Listen, oh denizens of earth!

The more you oppress them

You prove your impotency as much.”

During this crucial period in the history of human civilization, when fundamentalists in almost every religion are raising their ugly heads and eating up the essence of humanity the relevance of poets like Nazrul is required to be emphasised more and more to remind the mankind about compassion, kindness and tolerance. In his poem “Forgive us, Oh Prophet!” he cried out in anguish:

In your sermons, Oh Prophet!

You never uttered ‘hate’ towards non-believers.

You served all who came your way

And opened the door to those who sought.

.....Brave one! You never asked anyone

To demolish abodes of God, be it in any form.

But, we are unforgiving to even slightest diversion. 

The Lost Earth : An excerpt from my forthcoming novel

I could not open my eyes though I heard someone groaned in intense pain. My eyelids seemed so heavy that I thought of pulling them up with my fingers. But I couldn’t lift my hands. My hands were perhaps tied to the cot to prevent me from opening my wounds. I would have to wait till someone helps me open my eyes, lift my hands. I later realized that it was me, who was groaning, when I heard Amal and Sarsati talking in hushed tones somewhere nearby. I wanted to know, what happened to Chilka, Comrade Raju, Badal…I could not even remember all the names now. We had been surrounded near Phulbani. We fought tooth and nail to create an opening towards the jungle. That was our only chance. For last so many years we operated from the jungle. No forest official, not even a single contractor dared to enter the jungle dared to touch even a blade of grass; the trees sprawled, bees and birds returned, returned the clouds and rains. But, it’s all over now.       

 

This was our fate. Our ancestors cleared thorny bushes, stones, termites, snakes from the soil, irrigated it with their sweat and blood and then hands and feet in chains we were asked to leave the kingdom of the civilized people. Their civilization has no place for the savages, who worship mountains, trees, rain and thunder instead of beautiful and powerful men and women, killers of  thousands of men,women,children, animal, birds, whatever came their way. They wiped out races to reign on this earth.  

 

Thousands of years we thrived in the jungles, walked barefoot wearing a loin cloth, eating fruits and leaves. Civilization brought roads and railways, buildings and bridges. Shal, segun and Mahua trees turned into logs, mountains blasted into stone chips, lime stones Kendu leaves rolled into ‘Biri’ (hand made cigarettes).We were told that we plundered the forest, destroyed the ecology. The jungle needed protection of law and they needed license to cut the trees. The jungle vanished into thin air alongwith the monkeys, squirrels and birds leaving the sky open to young saplings and thorny bushes.      

 

I heard a familiar tune. It is coming from a faraway place; a lonely man playing ‘Kendra’ and singing a song in his drooling voice:

 

‘Daare vindaad ena,

 Daak Atu ena,

 Dhaarti ladab ena..’

 (Tree fell down

 Branches broken,

 The earth shook to its core…)

 

I recognized the voice. It was Hadam; he used to tell us the story of a world, where the tree, river, mountain, animal were in communion with man.  ‘Deota’ made the massive ‘Hensak’ tree his abode, where spirits and animals also paid their obeisance at night; whoever goes there with pure mind and heart is blessed with a dried leave; cured of all his woes.  Goddess ‘Boram’ manifested herself under a ‘Jojo’ tree and protected the village from epidemics, famine and from the rats inundating the paddy field.

 

I often hear that just before my birth my grandfather, Hadam, had a vision of his father Matu, the great leader, who led the exodus from the hills and jungles to curve out a place in the civilized world. He died a cruel death; his dream remained unfulfilled. His son, Hadam, became a victim of the same dream and lost his way in the labyrinth of life. His grandson, Hari, took up the baton but he also lost the race because the hurdles were enormous. Now, it is me, the great grandson of Matu, who took the vow to shake the world out from the slumber, force it to recognize our existence and leave the space for us to spread our roots deep inside the earth, branch out to fetch the sunshine and touch the sky.      

 

I often wonder, what would have happened if Matu had not left the forest and fought the battle there and won. He would have become a Majhi; Hadam, a singer; Joba, my mother, could have been living happily with her first love, Rajo; and me, son of a rickshaw puller, might have been wooing a girl in a village fair and asked her hand in marriage.

 

I carry my rifle in my hand and ancestors in my rucksack alongwith the bread and bullets. They sustain me during the arduous journey; motivate me during the dark hours of life to fight for my right. I am Matu, Hadam and Hari besides being myself. This is the time to recapitulate the sequence of events and find out what has gone wrong. In this semi-conscious state I have the time and opportunity to recreate the history from the glimpses  I had………   

Verrier Elwin and his Tribals

It was a chance encounter with Verrier Elwin at the most unlikely place, the Sahitya Akademi book store. The book is a collection of his articles and excerpts. No less than Mahasweta Devi associated herself with this book as ranslation editor.

What a man! Left oxford; left the missionery service; deserted the possibility of becoming another Hume or Besant in the company of likes of Gandhi, Patel etc. Reached Bastar and made for himself a hut, married a maria gond woman and transformed himself into a tribal carrying out all rituals including marriage and sex. What was his motivation to embrace a life sans all modern comforts? It was amusing to learn from his contemporaries that he started enjoying life only at that stage of life with all the ingredients-wine, woman, nature.

Ram Guha heard about him in a tribal district of Orrissa. North East people still remember him for the NEFA policy he could push through, which is largely responsible for relative survival of the tribal culture in north-east. Till his death in sixties he managed to keep away the predators from Bastar to a large extent. What more can a British turned Adivasi do for India?

Germination
It's a rally out there, Shouting:
Silence the lone shrill voice of protest!
Long live the noble thoughts!
Wipe out the blot,
Slowly build up the slogans-
Sharper, finer and focussed.
One stroke should be enough
To open up the skull of dissidence.
Let it live till it is on the screen
Let it be in headline for sometime.
Once it goes to the archivesWho bothers?

It's a crowd out there;
The lonely corpse in a bolted room,
The bullet hole on the saffron robe, or
On the widow white cloth,
Or blood stained sharee of a virgin
Spread over the bush on a barren land.

It's a procession of ghosts out there.
Come together from each corner of the earth;
Holding each others' hands in a chain.
The awakening of the dead soldiers of freedom.
It's a chorus out there:
All singing in unison in a moonlit night.
It's the warm lap of rain drenched earth,
Dark shadows of leafy trees guarding the fence.

It's the kingdom of ghosts.
It's the only hope of the chained souls,
The misfits and the weaklings,
Who also inherited the earth.