Poems Of India - XV

Outside city limits
a temple.
In the temple, look,
a hermit woman.

In the woman's hand
a needle,
at needle's end
the fourteen worlds.

0 Lord of Caves,
I saw an ant
devour whole
the woman, the needle,
the fourteen worlds.*

*The city-limits symbolize the physical limits of the body. The temple, the inner mental form. The power of knowledge, is the hermit-woman, holding the mind (needle) on which are balanced the fourteen worlds. When the great enlightenment begins (the ant), it devours all these distinctions.

-- ALLAMA PRABHU [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]

Chinua Achebe - Things Fall Apart (Summary)

Just finished reading Chinua Achebe - Things Fall Apart. This probably is the only second novel that I have read that has Africa as its setting (first being Heart of Darkness). This novel is about the rise and the disgraceful fall of Okonkwo, a well respected leader in the clan of Umuofia.

Okonkwo is a self made man, hard working and a wrestling champion. His father was totally unlike him and died leaving a legacy of debt and neglect. Okonkwo is ashamed by his father's life and vows never to be weak. He has build himself a decent estate and has three wives and many children. His father's timidness and debts haunts him and so he strives for wealth, strength and respectable place in a society which he ultimately all achieves. Okonkwo is appointed a guardian of Ikemefuna (who is taken from his clan as a settlement for a murder) and this boy lives with him now and their relationship flourishes. Later the village oracle orders the boy to be killed. Okonkwo, to avoid looking weak killed the boy himself despite having a choice to not be party to the killing. Amid a enveloping gloom for killing the boy who he cherished (and the feeling was mutual), things start going wrong for Okonkwo. In a community funeral, Okonkwo gun accidentally kills someone. He and his family are sent into seven year exile to please the gods that has been aggrieved.
While away in exile, he learns of the advent of christian missionaries who have started their proselytizing among the tribes. Slowly as their numbers grew, they introduced the white man's law and government. The locals adjust to this new environment with a bit of give and take for they do not believe their society could be upended by them. Okonkwo's son joins the missionaries as he resents his father's behavior towards him. Okonkwo is ashamed by this. After finishing his exile, Okonkwo returns to his village and find it a changed place. Tribal customs & practices have been replaced by Church and its followers intent on mischief and disrespect. After a convert vandalizes a cultural ceremony, the clansmen destroy the local church. Okonkwo and other community elders are arrested and badly insulted in the custody by the fledgling administration pending a payment for damages. After their release, the disquiet quickly swells into calls to finally uproot this new system. Okonkwo, ferocious as ever saw this as a chance to wage the decisive war against white people. In a meeting of community elders to decide future course of action, messengers of the government intervenes. Okonkwo in a fit of rage, beheads one of them. The clansman allow the rest of the group to flee. At that moment Okonkwo knew that Umuofia will not go to war. Instead of resolute action, he heard voices of tumult and of questioning his action. When the white government came to arrest him, he had already hanged himself to avoid getting tried in the courts that he did not believe in. In his suicide, Okonkwo was repulsed by his tribe for its a sin to kill oneself. Its an abomination for them to even bury such a man!

*******

Couple of theme are very evident in the book. One about Okonkwo and his fall from grace in the tribal society and the other being the clash of cultures and the uncompromising world view that the new world order brings that wipes clean anything that it does not see fit. Both are conflicts that are eternal. One is the individual conflict, of finding one's place in the society of men, of greatness and respect, of not appearing to look weak, of being ashamed by failures and non-conformity. The cast and situations may change but these struggles are same in human society since time immemorial. Okonkwo was haunted by his father's failure. For him, that shame was life long and everything he did was to undo that legacy. That drive and ambition and his innate sense to appear strong drove his every day behavior. The greatness that he had accomplished was something that constantly need to be groomed and worked upon. It was not given or ordained to him and he did good for himself. But a sudden misfortune (by accidentally killing a clansman), this was all lost. His estate, his wealth, his place in society but he keeps his honor by going into exile. That surety about his place in society, that familiarity of pace of things is lost when on return he sees his world has been trampled by new order that does not care or accommodates. He shakes it off violently and in that end up losing his life in ignominy. He suffers the same fate as his father who died in shame. Even as cultures as old as Okonkwo the trials and tribulations of the life are same.

The other theme is of change and especially in context of proselytizing religions. Okonkwo had lived off that land for thousands of years. His world view, his customs, his religion, his law, his society has been created and refined over countless generations to suit his needs and his people and his lands. To an outsider it may appear brutal or without taste and monotonous but there was life and there was every day drama in it. But the social order could not hold under the aggressive and over zealous nature of the missionaries who come with the self appraised notion of 'bringing the lords name' or 'reforming the savages'. The natives could have measured up to say a devastating famine or incessant internecine wars or hunger. But how to measure up to a system or a social order that is totally new and unforeseen and uncompromising. Of what will become of clan elders when white man's runs it's courts. Of what will become of our gods when we have to pray to his foreign god. Of what will become of our spoken tradition when our children go to their schools and learn their language. Our whole lives become meaningless. That certainty of life, of how things are, of death , even a heroic death in war or sudden death due to preventable fever has been lost. Things fall apart, of center that could not hold.

The Rubaiyat: Quatrain LII

And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die,
Lift not thy hands to It for help--for It
Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.

This is the fifty-two quatrain of the FitzGerald's Rubaiyat. The poet says under this inverted bowl that we call sky,  under which we live and die our small lives. Our lives that calls helplessly to the sky, asking for help.. pleading for succor from the heavens above. but the heavens does not lift its hands to help us in this hour of need for it also rolls meekly like us in its helplessness. Even the Gods above who play us like pieces of chess are unable to help us... They are as helpless and powerless as we are!

Hermann Hesse - Siddhartha [Selected Sections - II]

Quoth Siddhartha: "One thing, oh most venerable one, I have admired in your teachings most of all. Everything in your teachings is perfectly clear, is proven; you are presenting the world as a perfect chain, a chain which is never and nowhere broken, an eternal chain the links of which are causes and effects. Never before, this has been seen so clearly; never before, this has been presented so irrefutably; truly, the heart of every Brahman has to beat stronger with love, once he has seen the world through your teachings perfectly connected, without gaps, clear as a crystal, not depending on chance, not depending on gods. Whether it may be good or bad, whether living according to it would be suffering or joy, I do not wish to discuss, possibly this is not essential--but the uniformity of the world, that everything which happens is connected, that the great and the small things are all encompassed by the same forces of time, by the same law of causes, of coming into being and of dying, this is what shines brightly out of your exalted teachings, oh perfected one. But according to your very own teachings, this unity and necessary sequence of all things is nevertheless broken in one place, through a small gap, this world of unity is invaded by something alien, something new, something which had not been there before, and which cannot be demonstrated and cannot be proven: these are your teachings of overcoming the world, of salvation. But with this small gap, with this small breach, the entire eternal and uniform law of the world is breaking apart again and becomes void. Please forgive me for expressing this objection."

Quietly, Gotama had listened to him, unmoved. Now he spoke, the perfected one, with his kind, with his polite and clear voice: "You've heard the teachings, oh son of a Brahman, and good for you that you've thought about it thus deeply. You've found a gap in it, an error. You should think about this further. But be warned, oh seeker of knowledge, of the thicket of opinions and of arguing about words. There is nothing to opinions, they may be beautiful or ugly, smart or foolish, everyone can support them or discard them. But the teachings, you've heard from me, are no opinion, and their goal is not to explain the world to those who seek knowledge. They have a different goal; their goal is salvation from suffering. This is what Gotama teaches, nothing else."

"I wish that you, oh exalted one, would not be angry with me," said the young man. "I have not spoken to you like this to argue with you, to argue about words. You are truly right, there is little to opinions. But let me say this one more thing: I have not doubted in you for a single moment. I have not doubted for a single moment that you are Buddha, that you have reached the goal, the highest goal towards which so many thousands of Brahmans and sons of Brahmans are on their way. You have found salvation from death. It has come to you in the course of your own search, on your own path, through thoughts, through meditation, through realizations, through enlightenment. It has not come to you by means of teachings! And−−thus is my thought, oh exalted one,−−nobody will obtain salvation by means of teachings! You will not be able to convey and say to anybody, oh venerable one, in words and through teachings what has happened to you in the hour of enlightenment! The teachings of the enlightened Buddha contain much, it teaches many to live righteously, to avoid evil. But there is one thing which these so clear, these so venerable teachings do not contain: they do not contain the mystery of what the exalted one has experienced for himself, he alone among hundreds of thousands. This is what I have thought and realized, when I have heard the teachings. This is why I am continuing my travels−−not to seek other, better teachings, for I know there are none, but to depart from all teachings and all teachers and to reach my goal by myself or to die. But often, I'll think of this day, oh exalted one, and of this hour, when my eyes beheld a holy man."

The Buddha's eyes quietly looked to the ground; quietly, in perfect equanimity his inscrutable face was smiling. "I wish," the venerable one spoke slowly, "that your thoughts shall not be in error, that you shall reach the goal! But tell me: Have you seen the multitude of my Samanas, my many brothers, who have taken refuge in the teachings? And do you believe, oh stranger, oh Samana, do you believe that it would be better for them all the abandon the teachings and to return into the life the world and of desires?"

"Far is such a thought from my mind," exclaimed Siddhartha. "I wish that they shall all stay with the teachings, that they shall reach their goal! It is not my place to judge another person's life. Only for myself, for myself alone, I must decide, I must chose, I must refuse. Salvation from the self is what we Samanas search for, oh exalted one. If I merely were one of your disciples, oh venerable one, I'd fear that it might happen to me that only seemingly, only deceptively my self would be calm and be redeemed, but that in truth it would live on and grow, for then I had replaced my self with the teachings, my duty to follow you, my love for you, and the community of the monks!"

With half of a smile, with an unwavering openness and kindness, Gotama looked into the stranger's eyes and bid him to leave with a hardly noticeable gesture. "You are wise, oh Samana.", the venerable one spoke. "You know how to talk wisely, my friend. Be aware of too much wisdom!"

[....]

When Siddhartha left the grove, where the Buddha, the perfected one, stayed behind, where Govinda stayed behind, then he felt that in this grove his past life also stayed behind and parted from him. He pondered about this sensation, which filled him completely, as he was slowly walking along. He pondered deeply, like diving into a deep water he let himself sink down to the ground of the sensation, down to the place where the causes lie, because to identify the causes, so it seemed to him, is the very essence of thinking, and by this alone sensations turn into realizations and are not lost, but become entities and start to emit like rays of light what is inside of them. Slowly walking along, Siddhartha pondered. He realized that he was no youth any more, but had turned into a man. He realized that one thing had left him, as a snake is left by its old skin, that one thing no longer existed in him, which had accompanied him throughout his youth and used to be a part of him: the wish to have teachers and to listen to teachings. He had also left the last teacher who had appeared on his path, even him, the highest and wisest teacher, the most holy one, Buddha, he had left him, had to part with him, was not able to accept his teachings.

Slower, he walked along in his thoughts and asked himself: "But what is this, what you have sought to learn from teachings and from teachers, and what they, who have taught you much, were still unable to teach you?" And he found: "It was the self, the purpose and essence of which I sought to learn. It was the self, I wanted to free myself from, which I sought to overcome. But I was not able to overcome it, could only deceive it, could only flee from it, only hide from it. Truly, no thing in this world has kept my thoughts thus busy, as this my very own self, this mystery of me being alive, of me being one and being separated and isolated from all others, of me being Siddhartha! And there is no thing in this world I know less about than about me, about Siddhartha!"
Having been pondering while slowly walking along, he now stopped as these thoughts caught hold of him, and right away another thought sprang forth from these, a new thought, which was: "That I know nothing about myself, that Siddhartha has remained thus alien and unknown to me, stems from one cause, a single cause: I was afraid of myself, I was fleeing from myself! I searched Atman, I searched Brahman, I was willing to to dissect my self and peel off all of its layers, to find the core of all peels in its unknown interior, the Atman, life, the divine part, the ultimate part. But I have lost myself in the process."

"Oh," he thought, taking a deep breath, "now I would not let Siddhartha escape from me again! No longer, I want to begin my thoughts and my life with Atman and with the suffering of the world. I do not want to kill and dissect myself any longer, to find a secret behind the ruins. Neither Yoga−Veda shall teach me any more, nor Atharva−Veda, nor the ascetics, nor any kind of teachings. I want to learn from myself, want to be my student, want to get to know myself, the secret of Siddhartha." He looked around, as if he was seeing the world for the first time. Beautiful was the world, colourful was the world, strange and mysterious was the world! Here was blue, here was yellow, here was green, the sky and the river flowed, the forest and the mountains were rigid, all of it was beautiful, all of it was mysterious and magical, and in its midst was he, Siddhartha, the awakening one, on the path to himself. All of this, all this yellow and blue, river and forest, entered Siddhartha for the first time through the eyes, was no longer a spell of Mara, was no longer the veil of Maya, was no longer a pointless and coincidental diversity of mere appearances, despicable to the deeply thinking Brahman, who scorns diversity, who seeks unity. Blue was blue, river was river, and if also in the blue and the river, in Siddhartha, the singular and divine lived hidden, so it was still that very divinity's way and purpose, to be here yellow, here blue, there sky, there forest, and here Siddhartha. The purpose and the essential properties were not somewhere behind the things, they were in them, in everything.

"How deaf and stupid have I been!" he thought, walking swiftly along. "When someone reads a text, wants to discover its meaning, he will not scorn the symbols and letters and call them deceptions, coincidence, and worthless hull, but he will read them, he will study and love them, letter by letter. But I, who wanted to read the book of the world and the book of my own being, I have, for the sake of a meaning I had anticipated before I read, scorned the symbols and letters, I called the visible world a deception, called my eyes and my tongue coincidental and worthless forms without substance. No, this is over, I have awakened, I have indeed awakened and have not been born before this very day." In thinking this thoughts, Siddhartha stopped once again, suddenly, as if there was a snake lying in front of him on the path. Because suddenly, he had also become aware of this: He, who was indeed like someone who had just woken up or like a new−born baby, he had to start his life anew and start again at the very beginning. When he had left in this very morning from the grove Jetavana, the grove of that exalted one, already awakening, already on the path towards himself, he he had every intention, regarded as natural and took for granted, that he, after years as an ascetic, would return to his home and his father. But now, only in this moment, when he stopped as if a snake was lying on his path, he also awoke to this realization: "But I am no longer the one I was, I am no ascetic any more, I am not a priest any more, I am no Brahman any more. Whatever should I do at home and at my father's place? Study? Make offerings? Practise meditation? But all this is over, all of this is no longer alongside my path."

Motionless, Siddhartha remained standing there, and for the time of one moment and breath, his heart felt cold, he felt a cold in his chest, as a small animal, a bird or a rabbit, would when seeing how alone he was. For many years, he had been without home and had felt nothing. Now, he felt it. Still, even in the deepest meditation, he had been his father's son, had been a Brahman, of a high caste, a cleric. Now, he was nothing but Siddhartha, the awoken one, nothing else was left. Deeply, he inhaled, and for a moment, he felt cold and shivered. Nobody was thus alone as he was. There was no nobleman who did not belong to the noblemen, no worker that did not belong to the workers, and found refuge with them, shared their life, spoke their language. No Brahman, who would not be regarded as Brahmans and lived with them, no ascetic who would not find his refuge in the caste of the Samanas, and even the most forlorn hermit in the forest was not just one and alone, he was also surrounded by a place he belonged to, he also belonged to a caste, in which he was at home. Govinda had become a monk, and a thousand monks were his brothers, wore the same robe as he, believed in his faith, spoke his language. But he, Siddhartha, where did he belong to? With whom would he share his life? Whose language would he speak?

Out of this moment, when the world melted away all around him, when he stood alone like a star in the sky, out of this moment of a cold and despair, Siddhartha emerged, more a self than before, more firmly concentrated. He felt: This had been the last tremor of the awakening, the last struggle of this birth. And it was not long until he walked again in long strides, started to proceed swiftly and impatiently, heading no longer for home, no longer to his father, no longer back.

Poems Of India - XIV

Look here,
the legs are two wheels;
the body is a wagon
full of things.

Five men* drive
the wagon
and one man is not
like another.

Unless you ride it
in full knowledge of its ways
the axle
will break,

0 Lord of Caves. 

* five men refers here to the body's five senses.. 

-- ALLAMA PRABHU [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]

 **********

A running river
is all legs.

A burning fire
is mouths all over.

A blowing breeze
is all hands.

So, lord of the caves,
for your men,
every limb is Symbol.

-- ALLAMA PRABHU [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]

Poems Of India - XIII

Would a circling surface vulture
know such depths of sky
as the moon would know?

would a weed on the riverbank
know such depths of water
as the lotus would know?

would a fly darting nearby
know the smell of flowers
as the bee would know?

0 lord white as jasmine
only you would know
the way of your devotees:

how would these,
these
mosquitoes
on the buffalo's hide?

-- Akka Mahādēvi [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]

The Rubaiyat: Quatrain LI

The Moving Finger writes; and having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

This is the fifty-first quatrain of the FitzGerald's Rubaiyat. The themes of this quatrains is same as the one before. We do not have control over our destiny. We may do whatever we may like (pray or argue) but that will not roll back or change what has been determined for us. We are just pawns in this game for the powers that are outside of our control. The Moving finger (as in who is writing the fate) and having written moves on. The mortal lamentations and arguments and religious devoutness will not make it cancel half a line. All our tears will not wash away a word of what has been written.

Translation - Rone Se Aur Ishq Mein Bebaak Ho Gaye (Ghalib)

rone se aur ishq mein be_baak ho gaye
dhoye gaye hum aise ki bas paak ho gaye

Line 1/2 - The poet says from crying becuase of passion, we have become more bold. We have been washed like such that, enough! - we are clean. We used to be modest and taciturn in love, not revealing much. But this pain of passion that is making me weep, is making me bold and outgoing in my pursuit of my lover. I am now willing to risk it all. Our own tears have washed us so much that we have become clean again. Earlier it was cry of pain, now of repentance.. We have repented just enough to be pure. An alternative reading of "bas" (as in "bas! bahut hua") would convey a continuing fearless streak. We have been washed by tears. Enough now! we are pure now. No more crying.. no more repentance!

sarf-e-bahaa-e-mai hue aalaat-e-maikashii
thae yeh hii do hisaab so yunn paak ho gaye

Line 3/4 - Our utensil/cup of drinking wine has become the expenditure for the cost of wine. There were our only two calculations/estimates, so those have also all cleared. The poet says we had only two concerns that needed to be worked out. One where will we get the money to drink wine and other was where will we keep the utensils of wine drinking safe. Now that we have sold the utensils too to pay for wine, we have become free of all those concerns. Now we are clear of everything. This way ("yunn".. as if to show to the world of how he has cleared his finances) I have become clear of the world of sums and calculations and estimates.

rusavaa-e-dahar go hue aavaargii se tum
baare tabiiyaton ke to chaalaak ho gaye

Line 5/6 - Though you have become disgraced from the world from wandering. At last, you have become clever in your disposition. The poet probably reminiscing about the days of his youth says, that those days of wandering and being lost in the world made him disgraced and infamous in the whole world. But all is not lost, at least it has made me smart and clever in my temperament.

kehtaa hai kaun naalaa-e-bulbul ko be_asar
parde mein gul ke laakh jigar chaak ho gaye

Line 7/8- Who calls that the lamentations of the nightingale is ineffective. In the veil'ed rose's, a hundred thousand livers just burst apart (or become torn). Purely fantastical indeed!. The poet says who says that weeping of the nightingale is of no effect. Surely they can go and see the effect it has on the budding rose. The rose does not open up its petals and bloom. Instead, those lamentations made it torn its countless livers and that show up as bright red petals.

pochhe hai kyaa wajuud-o-adam ahl-e-shauq kaa
aap apanii aag ke khas-o-khaashaak ho gaye

Line 9/10 - Ask of what of existence and non-existence of people of passion. You yourselves have become the straw and woodchips of your own fire. The poet says what does people of passion and ardour care about of existence and non-existence. It's same for them for their are oblivious to everything. What to ask of them! They are the fuel of their own fire. They burn like dry straw and wood litter.

karane gaye the us se tagaaful kaa ham gilaa
kii ek hii nigaah ki bas khaak ho gaye

Line 11/12 - We had gone to her to complain about her indifference. That one only glance from her, that enough! - we have become dust. This is fairly straightforward. The poet says we were not okay when she did not shower me with her glances and airs (showing indifference) and we are still not okay when she did afforded me a look for we were turned to dust now! Either way, there is no respite for me!

is rang se uthaaii kal us ne ‘asad’ kii laash
dushman bhii jis ko dekh ke gam_naak ho gaye

Line 13/14 - In such a manner, she lifted yesterday the corpse of Asad. Seeing that, even the enemy was filled with grief. The poet says that in such style she lifted the body of Asad. The exact style or manner is not hinted. It could be with utter contempt or with utmost respect. And seeing this the hearts of the enemy were filled with grief (this also can be either ways, one the stone-hearted enemy seeing the beloved's respect are melted or seeing the contempt of beloved, their hearts are filled with grief as to Asad treatment.) Both are equally enjoyable!

Meaning of difficult words
be_baak = outspoken, bold
paak = pure, clean
sarf = expenditure
baha = value, price
mai = bar
aalaat = instruments, apparatus
maikashee = boozing
rusavaa = disgraced
dahar = world
baare = at last
chaak = slit, torn
naalaa = lamentation, weeping
adam = non-existence, nothing
ahl = people
khas-o-khaashaak = straw and wood chips, wooden litter
tagaaful = indifference
gam_naak = filled with grief

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Poems Of India - XII

He'll grind till you're fine and small.
He'll file till your colour shows.

If your grain grows fine
in the grinding,
if you show colour.
in the filing,

then our lord of the meeting rivers
will love you
and look after you.

-- BASAVAŅŅA [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]

***********************
 

The eating bowl is not one bronze
and the looking glass another.

Bowl and mirror are one metal.
Giving back light
one becomes a mirror.

Aware, one is the Lord's;
unaware, a mere human.

Worship the lord without forgetting,
the lord of the meeting rivers.

-- BASAVAŅŅA [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]

Poems Of India - XI

A snake-charmer and his nose-less wife,
snake in hand, walk carefully
trying to read omens
for a son's wedding,

but they meet head-on
a nose-less woman
and her snake-charming husband,
and cry 'The omens are bad!

His own wife has no nose;
there's a snake in his hand.
What shall I call such fools
who do not know themselves

and see only the others,

0 lord of the meeting rivers!

-- BASAVAŅŅA [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]

The Rubaiyat: Quatrain L

The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes,
But Right or Left as strikes the Player goes;
And He that toss'd Thee down into the Field,
He knows about it all--He knows--HE knows!

This is the fiftieth quatrain of the FitzGerald's Rubaiyat. As with the similar themes that was presented in the previous quatrains, one about the Player controlling what the pieces do and the lowly and unaware pieces have no choice. All has already been decided, all is predisposed. What we think is free choice and free will is in fact, actions of someone higher. The Ball has no choice of left or right or of Yes or No other than do what (or does) what the Player decides. And this Player know it all. Like pieces of chess, whose victories and tragedies, and their valor and intrigue are nothing but the makings of the Player. Maybe what we have is same. All this for a game, all this is just a game!

Translation - Rahiye Ab Aisi Jagah Chal Kar Jahaan (Ghalib)

rahiye ab aisi jagah chal kar jahaan koi na ho
hamsukhaan koi na ho aur hamzabaan koi na ho

Line 1/2 - It is time now to go and live in such a place where there is no one else around. Where there is no one that would speak with us or no one who knows our language. The poet says it time now to leave this place and go somewhere where no one is around. Where no one shares a conversation with him or shares the common language. All the ones I have ever been with.. my friends, my lovers, my neighbors, any ones who talks to us, anyone who even shares the same speech.. I want to leave all of them behind for all I have got from them is grief and uncomfortable questions. I want to go to a place where I have no one to talk to.

be dar-o-dewaar sa ek ghar banaayaa chahiye
koi hamsaayah na ho aur paasbaan koi na ho

Line 3/4 - Without doors and walls, such one house should be constructed. There be no neighbors and no gatekeeper as well. Lets go to a place where there is no one around, and in this place lets have a house without walls and doors and where there is no need for a gatekeeper and no neighbors around. Another interpretation of it being in such a house, there would be no need for a gatekeeper for there is no door and no neighbors for there are no walls.

pariye gar bemaar toh koi na ho timardaar
aur agar mar jaaiye to nauhakhawan koi na ho

Line 5/6 - If I were to fall sick, there should be no one to look after me (to nurse me back to health). And If I were to die, there would be no  lament-reciter there. Continuing with the same theme of isolation and alienation from friends, colleagues and neighbors around him. The poet says if he were to fall ill, he would not like to have someone to look after him and no lament-singers in his funeral if I were to die. All my life I had wanted to stay away from them. I have made my home far from away them. In sickness and death, I will be in peace in my isolation.

Meaning of difficult words
hamsukhaan - sharing a speech
hamzaban - sharing the same language
hamsaayah - neighbours
paasbaan - gatekeeper
timardar - caretaker
nauhakhawan - lament-reciter

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Translation - Ghalib Bura Na Maan Jo Waaiz Bura Kahe (Ghalib)

aaina kyun na doon ke tamasha kahen jise
aisa kahan se laaun ke tujhsa kahein jise

Line 1/2 - Why would not I offer a mirror, that it becomes a spectacle. From where do I bring, that they say it just like you. The poet says why would I not offer a mirror to the beloved. I putting it in front of her and she looking into it with those haughty glances would cause an uproar all around. The gallery would run amok at the sight of this. From where would I bring another such elegant face, that they say she looks 'like her'. Consider an alternate setting. The beloved is in veil and the only way to see her face is indirectly in a  mirror. The lover says why would I not offer her a mirror. That is the only way to appreciate the beauty of the beloved. But once everyone see her in the mirror, there is tumult in the gathering on account of her glances. The audience now wants to see the beloved, except they can't. Where would I get another such beautiful face that looks like her so that the gathering calms down.

hasrat ne la rakha teri bazm-e-khayal mein
guldasta-e-nigaah suvedaa kahein jise

Line 3/4 - Longing has taken and placed in your gathering of thoughts, That bouquet of glances that they call as a black scar. The poet says that in the gathering of your thoughts (that is my heart), longing has placed a bouquet of glances and made a black scar on it. Those bouquet of longing filled glances have made a black scar on the my heart. I am so wounded in my heart by those sighing glances!

phoonka hai kisne gosh-e-muhabbat mein aye khuda
afsoon-e-intezaar tamanna kahein jise

Line 5/6 - Who has blown into the ear of love, Oh Lord!. The spell of waiting, that they say as longing. The poet says, O Lord - who is that someone who has breathed into the ear of love, such a charm of waiting which they now call as longing. That is some magic that someone has discreetly recited into the ear of love and tricked it, that spell of waiting. For as soon as love appears, longing also appears instantly at the same moment as if by magic!

sar par hujoom-e-dard-e-gareebi se daliye
woh ek musht-e-khaak ke sahra kahein jise

Line 7/8 - On the head due to mob of sorrow of poverty, throw. That one handful of dust, which they call a desert. There is not one or two but a whole multitude of sorrows of my miserable existence has made me throw handful of dust on my head, which people on looking would call it a desert. Pritchett refers to gareebi as countrylessness. This sorrowful state of homelessness and wandering around and my act of flinging dust on myself, which to onlookers would look so bleak and wasted that they would say its a desert.

hai chashm-e-tar mein hasrat-e-deeaar se nihaan
shauq-e-inaan gusekhtaa dariya kahein jise

Line 9/10 - In the teary eyes, from the longing of the sight, its hidden. That reined fondness and passion, that broke through, they would call it a mighty river. The poet says, the wetness of my eyes, the longing for the glance of the beloved hid such tumult, that bridled fervour and passion that if it broke through, it would be called a big river. Behind my tears, there is so much turmoil of the longing of the her sight that it will swell up in what we can say a turbulent river.

darkaar hai shaguftan-e-gul-haa-e-aish ko
subh-e-bahar pumba-e-meena kahen jise

Line 11/12 - It is necessary that for the blooming of the flowers of pleasure, the dawn of the spring which they would call the cotton of the goblet. Not a very straightforward sher I think. The poet says it is required for the blooming of the senses of pleasure and enjoyment, a dawn of spring which unfurls the fragrance of a million flowers that fills the gardens and hearts alike and similar to the cotton stopper on the wine goblet that when taken out unfurls its scent and allows the wine to be enjoyed around. Alternatively, it could also mean that a spring morning is what we call a heavenly whiteness (like of cotton, soft and pure) due to the white flowers blooming all around.

“ghalib” bura na maan jo waaiz bura kahe
aisa bhi koi hai ke sab achchha kahen jise 

Line 13/14 - Ghalib, do not mind it if the preacher speaks ill of you. Is there anyone there? that everyone say good about. The second line can have an alternate interpretation. It can also mean, there is someone out there, about whom everyone speaks good of. Again with lot of Ghalib's work, the second line can be a fact or question. The poet says do not take it too hard on yourself if the preacher says bad about you. In a questioning tone he says, is there anyone in the world about whom every speaks highly of. There would always be people who would go against what others says. In the factual style, the poet says - yes there someone like that about whom everyone speaks highly of.

Meaning of difficult words -
gose - ear
afsoon - charm, spell
suvedaa - black scar, brackish
hujoom - mob
musht-e-khaak - handful of dust
sahra - desert
chasm-e-tar - teary eyes
nihaan - hidden
inaan - bridle, rein
gusekhtaa - broken off
darkaar - necessary
shaguftan-e-gul-haa-e-aish - blooming of flowers of pleasure
pumba - cotton
meena - goblet, heaven
waaiz - preacher

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Poems Of India - X

To the utterly at-one with Shiva
there's no dawn,
no new moon,
no noonday,
nor equinoxes,
nor sunsets,
nor full moons;

his front yard
is the true Benares,

O Ramanatha.

-- DĒVARA DĀSIMAYYA [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]

A rejection of ritualism, of sacred days and of sacred months and of scared places.

The Rubaiyat: Quatrain XLIX

'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days
Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:
Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.

This is the forty-ninth quatrain of the FitzGerald's Rubaiyat and among one of the few quatrains that are fairly clear what they want convey. The poet says in this chessboard of night and day, where humans are mere pawns in the hands of destiny. Destiny decides and the pawns move hither and thither. Not by their own gumption, but on the vagaries of what fate and destiny makes of them. In this game, they slay and checkmate but ultimately all the pieces one by one go back to the box where they lay. Destiny controls all of them, makes them do things and ultimately gets the better of them.