As such
I am nothing and yet I am everything,
I am the last man.
Devoid of torso, head, or hand
I am a piece of sky,
brick piece, rag, glass bead
I am left out on a dung heap.
I am agony, longing,
I am sunflower,
I am the roaring sea of
sprouting moments of existence.
I am the silent echo
of a boat moored alone,
I am the passenger of
the boat on which you sail.
I am the sail, I am the sailor
I am the torpedo.
Breathing reference,
People live here.
I am alone with the epoch
and that's why
I am silent.
As such
I am nothing and yet I am everything.
I am the last man.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Sometimes
Sometimes
while slurping coffee
in the cup
the Alps of ideals
dissolves.
Sometimes
in the untimely rain waters
flowing down
the boat of ethics are driven away.
Sometimes in small matters
when one speaks
' Naro va kunjaro va'
even before the Dundubhi is beaten
in the Kurukhshetra
the royal throne of the Truth
trembles.
Then methinks
It’s good that
Socrates took poison,
Christ was crucified
and Gandhi was shot dead!
‘Man or elephant’, ambiguous answer given by Yudhisthir to save , when asked son and elephant had common name, traditionally used to refer to an ambiguous answer rather than cleat truth for selfish purposes. When Yudhisthir gave such ambiguous answer it is said that his chariot which used to from earth came down on earth.
Dundubhi, an ancient hide instrument , a martial drum. It is used during auspicious ceremonies, victory celebrations and at temples
while slurping coffee
in the cup
the Alps of ideals
dissolves.
Sometimes
in the untimely rain waters
flowing down
the boat of ethics are driven away.
Sometimes in small matters
when one speaks
' Naro va kunjaro va'
even before the Dundubhi is beaten
in the Kurukhshetra
the royal throne of the Truth
trembles.
Then methinks
It’s good that
Socrates took poison,
Christ was crucified
and Gandhi was shot dead!
‘Man or elephant’, ambiguous answer given by Yudhisthir to save , when asked son and elephant had common name, traditionally used to refer to an ambiguous answer rather than cleat truth for selfish purposes. When Yudhisthir gave such ambiguous answer it is said that his chariot which used to from earth came down on earth.
Dundubhi, an ancient hide instrument , a martial drum. It is used during auspicious ceremonies, victory celebrations and at temples
I
I
every moment
Burn and burn trembling
And you live in
Ice houses.
I reveal myself as
A sun ray
And you live in the city
surrounded by mist.
Isn't it enough?
every moment
Burn and burn trembling
And you live in
Ice houses.
I reveal myself as
A sun ray
And you live in the city
surrounded by mist.
Isn't it enough?
The Joy of Identity
O enlightened one,
showing the direction with your finger
the challenge that you gave
echoes everywhere today.
For freedom, equality and
fraternity
you became the voice of unity
and dedicated your life
in making of a new era.
O great Bharat Ratna,
your ideals
are taking shape
and will become blasts, tomorrow.
The bells of democracy will echo
in the temples of justice,
the nation is indebted to you, Baba!
O Father Great,
Grant us your ideals
that your finger points to.
Let your joy of identity
shower on us!
showing the direction with your finger
the challenge that you gave
echoes everywhere today.
For freedom, equality and
fraternity
you became the voice of unity
and dedicated your life
in making of a new era.
O great Bharat Ratna,
your ideals
are taking shape
and will become blasts, tomorrow.
The bells of democracy will echo
in the temples of justice,
the nation is indebted to you, Baba!
O Father Great,
Grant us your ideals
that your finger points to.
Let your joy of identity
shower on us!
The Joy of Identity
O enlightened one,
showing the direction with your finger
the challenge that you gave
echoes everywhere today.
For freedom, equality and
fraternity
you became the voice of unity
and dedicated your life
in making of a new era.
O great Bharat Ratna,
your ideals
are taking shape
and will become blasts, tomorrow.
The bells of democracy will echo
in the temples of justice,
the nation is indebted to you, Baba!
O Father Great,
Grant us your ideals
that your finger points to.
Let your joy of identity
shower on us!
showing the direction with your finger
the challenge that you gave
echoes everywhere today.
For freedom, equality and
fraternity
you became the voice of unity
and dedicated your life
in making of a new era.
O great Bharat Ratna,
your ideals
are taking shape
and will become blasts, tomorrow.
The bells of democracy will echo
in the temples of justice,
the nation is indebted to you, Baba!
O Father Great,
Grant us your ideals
that your finger points to.
Let your joy of identity
shower on us!
The Lullaby
we are like the camel,
Movement in the feet,
water in the belly
and the rides on the back!
In the neck
songs of lullaby
14,15,16,17,46, 330, 335…
So so many!
Anklets in the feet
Tinkle so sweet!
Then we shouted
'What you see there, is happiness,
what you hear ,are chants of equality.
stretch your hands and all riches are yours,
how roars the sea,
the lush green that waves is revolution!
the slow breeze
and Cool water!
thus far
till today
there, there... Now, now!’
The lips of camel
move and move
in glow of the mirage
to gather nothing but
the froth!
14,15,16,17,46, 330, 335 codes of Indian Penal Code related to provisions for scheduled castes
Natraj, The lord of dance
I am the destroyer, terrifying time
I am the mridanga taal of
drum of Dhurjati
I am the kalki,
fire of sun in my eyes,
strength of breaking
the high domes
in my hands.
I am the quake,
the rebellion of a burning pain.
I can make volcanoes erupt
in the oppressed.
Restless I am.
the sky equals to existence
and I was born as
the Alps of identity.
I am the curse of the earth,
I am the lord of Tandava.
Dhurjati is name of shiva
Tandava , The dance of destruction
The Earthquake
we are living in the mouth of a volcano
Let it be that
in the depth there is
hot smoldering lava.
Now
today
there is sky
in our eyes ,
tomorrow
the sea will be in our fist.
And then
we too
shall turn into
an earthquake!
Perhaps Tomorrow
We still hear
terrifying screams of my tortured forefathers
that's why
in my frozen words
there roar the rivers of lead
and in terrified palms
the line of fate burns
pain, whirlwind
and in the desert
the roads may mingle and merge, let it be so!
In the eyes that are deprived
the sun will rise,
and the chained feet
turning into a bird shall fly
from here
farther and farther,
higher and higher,
perhaps tomorrow...
terrifying screams of my tortured forefathers
that's why
in my frozen words
there roar the rivers of lead
and in terrified palms
the line of fate burns
pain, whirlwind
and in the desert
the roads may mingle and merge, let it be so!
In the eyes that are deprived
the sun will rise,
and the chained feet
turning into a bird shall fly
from here
farther and farther,
higher and higher,
perhaps tomorrow...
Someday
You have
fixed us as
memorial stones of the dead
in the desert.
And yet we
have flowered
as trees.
Trees too,
have their songs
and
deserts
have their music.
Hence
our agony of desert, too,
shall find its spring,
Isn't it?
Someday
we shall blossom
with dreams!
fixed us as
memorial stones of the dead
in the desert.
And yet we
have flowered
as trees.
Trees too,
have their songs
and
deserts
have their music.
Hence
our agony of desert, too,
shall find its spring,
Isn't it?
Someday
we shall blossom
with dreams!
Now We shall Write
Now we shall write Ramayana.
Song will play on lips of Shambuka
and Sita will not be disowned by Rama.
for that we are in search of Shabari.
Now we will write Mahabharat.
Eklavya shall have bow in his hands
and Karna shall not be disgraced by Draupadi
for that we are in search of Vikarna.
Now we shall create new songs
We shall chant equality and solidarity
and man shall not be indifferent to man
for that we are in search of Buddha.
Song will play on lips of Shambuka
and Sita will not be disowned by Rama.
for that we are in search of Shabari.
Now we will write Mahabharat.
Eklavya shall have bow in his hands
and Karna shall not be disgraced by Draupadi
for that we are in search of Vikarna.
Now we shall create new songs
We shall chant equality and solidarity
and man shall not be indifferent to man
for that we are in search of Buddha.
We Refuse
|
ઇન્કાર |
We Refuse
|
|
હવે
અમે વ્યથાના મહેરામણમાં
વડવાનલ સંતૃપ્ત કરવાનો ઇન્કાર કર્યો છે;
ને ઉદાસીન આંખોમાં
લીલા જ્વાળામુખી ઉછેરી રહ્યા છીએ.
હવે
નૈઘ્રુણ વિષમતાને
થરથરતો આશ્લેષ આપવાનો ઇન્કાર કર્યો છે;
ને સંત્રસ્ત હથેળીઓમાં
નવેસરથી રેખાઓ દોરી રહ્યા છીએ.
હવે
અમે સંકીર્ણ વિશ્વની
જર્જરિત દિવાલો સાચવવાનો ઇન્કાર કર્યો છે.
ને ક્ષિતિજોની પેલેપાર
નવ્ય આકાશમાં ઊડી રહ્યા છીએ.
|
Now
we refuse
to cool the fire
within us
in the sea of
pain
and we grow
in our sad eyes
the raging
volcanoes.
Now
we refuse
to give
palpitating embrace
to hateful
inequality
and in the
terrified palms
we draw lines of
fate afresh.
Now
we refuse
to preserve the
worn out walls of
a narrow world
and beyond
horizons
we soar
the new sky.
|
The First Word
We plough the earth,
irrigate it
with our sweat,
we grow the crop
going an empty stomach.
You offer
sacred feast to the gods and
throw away the crumbs
to the hungry
humiliating them,
and occupy a high seat.
But
when today
shall become the history of tomorrow,
the new era chapter
shall begin
with
the word,
'We'.
irrigate it
with our sweat,
we grow the crop
going an empty stomach.
You offer
sacred feast to the gods and
throw away the crumbs
to the hungry
humiliating them,
and occupy a high seat.
But
when today
shall become the history of tomorrow,
the new era chapter
shall begin
with
the word,
'We'.
The Tree of Pain
on every leaf and every branch
flames ablaze.
From the snow mountain
standing there
there falls a painful scream
of my loneliness.
From the relationships of Stone Age
the wounds bleed
and yet
I show
dawn
to the owls
and enjoy the riches of pain.
And yet the unresolved pain
of a man burning within
echoes in the wilderness
' the human beings are cursed.'
Dialogue
Who am I?
.,:!?""...
Then
an echo
resounds
in the silence
ceaselessly
and
there spreads and spreads within me
a desert vast…!
.,:!?""...
Then
an echo
resounds
in the silence
ceaselessly
and
there spreads and spreads within me
a desert vast…!
The Flight
the feet only,
and yet I was forbidden
to walk
on my feet
on this earth.
That's why perhaps
today
in the distance
on the other side of the horizon,
Look,
up in the endless sky
shunning all shackles
freely
I fly, Isn't it?
Disharmony
‘Come, we shall live together
Don’t sing the song of the sun!’
But the cock
with pride
sang at dawn,
crow crow crow
The first ray of dawn collided
with the darkness,
The hurt owl screamed:
‘Go away, keep away!
You untouchable, you are out!’
In the scarcity area
your lives
in the miserable skeletons
with a hopeless heart trembles
and what about us?
You like
a bunch of hungry ghosts wander aimlessly
and we
and all of ours,
expand the girth of our bellies
You long for
a drop of water
and we-
draw out water from the depth of the earth
only to empty in the gutters.
We
on the peepal of fate
encircle the sacred thread of faith and
resting on the pillow of predictions of fate
sleep even at high noon.
and what about you?
The Helpless Man
Helpless
terrified
man cleans the toilet
curled on himself.
The flies murmur in his ears
“ Friend, this broom is reserved
For the one who shits!”
For the low, service, for the dwij sweets
in the name of shriti and smriti,
in the name of religion and destiny.
For these blatant lies
No god will ever take birth
To apologize!
But this man
with wants and pain,
this hungry man
puts aside the broom
sighs deeply
yawns
lights a matchstick
and smokes a bidi.
And then shading his eyes with his hand
for a moment,
and in the smoke trails
like Karna
watches Kurukshetra unfolding!
Dwij, twice born,Brahmin
Karna, Mahabharat Hero who suffered insults as he was raised by chariot driver(Shudra) though he was abandoned son of Kunti, born when she was unmarried
terrified
man cleans the toilet
curled on himself.
The flies murmur in his ears
“ Friend, this broom is reserved
For the one who shits!”
For the low, service, for the dwij sweets
in the name of shriti and smriti,
in the name of religion and destiny.
For these blatant lies
No god will ever take birth
To apologize!
But this man
with wants and pain,
this hungry man
puts aside the broom
sighs deeply
yawns
lights a matchstick
and smokes a bidi.
And then shading his eyes with his hand
for a moment,
and in the smoke trails
like Karna
watches Kurukshetra unfolding!
Dwij, twice born,Brahmin
Karna, Mahabharat Hero who suffered insults as he was raised by chariot driver(Shudra) though he was abandoned son of Kunti, born when she was unmarried
Possibility
We, though divided
in bits and bits ,
imprison ourselves in the circles.
We will be subtracted
but have you ever bothered,
what shall you be?
The slogans painted on walls on all four sides:
only additions and additions!
And yet today
when in our relationship the gaps
are turning into
terrifying screams
let us fill the gap with the compassionate
anxious moments of good will.
Our bonds are
our life,
Isn’t it?
And that’s why
crossing all barriers
ceaselessly we struggle
to merge
into one another,
like the sea waves.
because we are
Human beings
still.
in bits and bits ,
imprison ourselves in the circles.
We will be subtracted
but have you ever bothered,
what shall you be?
The slogans painted on walls on all four sides:
only additions and additions!
And yet today
when in our relationship the gaps
are turning into
terrifying screams
let us fill the gap with the compassionate
anxious moments of good will.
Our bonds are
our life,
Isn’t it?
And that’s why
crossing all barriers
ceaselessly we struggle
to merge
into one another,
like the sea waves.
because we are
Human beings
still.
The Declaration
Even today
in our every breath in,
a problem and
in every breath out
the sound of autumn.
Chirp of spring
even in the garden
of dreams,
impossible!
The horizon is deaf
and the sky, blind!
Sandy cyclone all around,
barefooted, alone, separate
how long we have to run in the desert?
The closed circles and the shut fortresses,
the fires ablaze
our sun is not yet
free of the eclipse!
That’s why
in name of the bleeding scars
on our backs
I scream to the city,
“the declaration that
the line
dividing one man from the other
is erased,
is a rumor,
nothing but a rumor!”
in our every breath in,
a problem and
in every breath out
the sound of autumn.
Chirp of spring
even in the garden
of dreams,
impossible!
The horizon is deaf
and the sky, blind!
Sandy cyclone all around,
barefooted, alone, separate
how long we have to run in the desert?
The closed circles and the shut fortresses,
the fires ablaze
our sun is not yet
free of the eclipse!
That’s why
in name of the bleeding scars
on our backs
I scream to the city,
“the declaration that
the line
dividing one man from the other
is erased,
is a rumor,
nothing but a rumor!”
Beware
there is no road ever,
our existence is
a form of our efforts.
The chains are breaking
with the awareness of being feet.
Standing on the earth
with quick imprint of our feet,
we have begun our journey today.
Trampling on the earth
the tract that is enclosed in our steps
will turn into a highway tomorrow.
And then a trampled grain of earth
turning into the chirp of dreams
shall convey a message to the sun:
"Now that we have traced
the road to your home,
Beware."
In a chawl of closed mills
The region of the chawl.
screams for a grain
The dim yellow light too
is also about to put out
in the rooms,
and what happened to
the bodies like steel?
The limbs are paralyzed,
the billows of lungs whistle,
the circulation slows down.
In the volcano of unemployment
burns the hunger
burns lives upto the roots.
On one side, silent screams
on the other side, silence everywhere.
That's why
the Sabarmati of civility and riches
has dried out
and the Manchester
has turned into a mortuary.
Sabarmati river which divides Ahmedabad into rich and poor Ahmedabad
Ahmedabad was known as Manchester of India because of booming textile industries before 1980s
screams for a grain
The dim yellow light too
is also about to put out
in the rooms,
and what happened to
the bodies like steel?
The limbs are paralyzed,
the billows of lungs whistle,
the circulation slows down.
In the volcano of unemployment
burns the hunger
burns lives upto the roots.
On one side, silent screams
on the other side, silence everywhere.
That's why
the Sabarmati of civility and riches
has dried out
and the Manchester
has turned into a mortuary.
Sabarmati river which divides Ahmedabad into rich and poor Ahmedabad
Ahmedabad was known as Manchester of India because of booming textile industries before 1980s
The eleventh direction
In the name of shruti and smriti
the shastras
you pierced our meditating heads
and took away our artist thumbs in gurudakshina.
You insulted and disregarded
our self-pride
you made us deaf, dumb, blind and disabled
and chanted the richas,
‘Humans are the best.’
In the last war of life
there would be sandy cyclones blowing around
all the conspiracies will be out
and so many camels of desires of life
will be buried alive in the dunes.
And then the desert will be blind
in all ten directions
and the kurukshetra will spread and spread
towards the eleventh direction.
shruti, is a term that describes the sacred texts comprising the central canon of Hinduism and is one of the three main sources of dharma and therefore is also influential within Hindu Law
Vedic literature is divided by tradition into two categories: Shruti – that which is heard (traditionally understood as revelation) and Smriti – that which is remembered (stemming from human authors, not revelation). The Vedas constituting the former category are considered sacred texts or scripture by many followers of Hindu religion
Richas, refers to a shloka (couplet) or mantra, usually two to four sentences long, found in the Hindu religious scriptures,
Kurukshetra, War of the Mahabharata was fought on this land and the Bhagavad Gita was preached on this land during the war when Lord Krishna found Arjuna in a terrible dilemma
the shastras
you pierced our meditating heads
and took away our artist thumbs in gurudakshina.
You insulted and disregarded
our self-pride
you made us deaf, dumb, blind and disabled
and chanted the richas,
‘Humans are the best.’
In the last war of life
there would be sandy cyclones blowing around
all the conspiracies will be out
and so many camels of desires of life
will be buried alive in the dunes.
And then the desert will be blind
in all ten directions
and the kurukshetra will spread and spread
towards the eleventh direction.
shruti, is a term that describes the sacred texts comprising the central canon of Hinduism and is one of the three main sources of dharma and therefore is also influential within Hindu Law
Vedic literature is divided by tradition into two categories: Shruti – that which is heard (traditionally understood as revelation) and Smriti – that which is remembered (stemming from human authors, not revelation). The Vedas constituting the former category are considered sacred texts or scripture by many followers of Hindu religion
Richas, refers to a shloka (couplet) or mantra, usually two to four sentences long, found in the Hindu religious scriptures,
Kurukshetra, War of the Mahabharata was fought on this land and the Bhagavad Gita was preached on this land during the war when Lord Krishna found Arjuna in a terrible dilemma
Kadi
Come on let us go to Kadi.
Where is Kadi? Which Kadi?
Is it Malhar Rao's Kadi
and the shrine of Meladi
the one that has high regard in folk belief?
Ranmalpura, Golana and
Sabarda
all linked to each other
are recorded in the history of atrocities.
Is this Kadi, the link?
Today
where is that link
of unity?
If we don't act
the time will pass
Come on, let us go to Kadi..
Which Kadi? Where is Kadi, the link?
Kadi, is a town where following dalit atrocities there were protests
Kadi, link or connection
Malhar Rao, Maratha ruler of Kadi
Meldi ,dirty mother goddess having important shrine at Kadi
Ranmalpura, Golana,Sabarda are the places in Gujarat where atrocities on dalits took place
Where is Kadi? Which Kadi?
Is it Malhar Rao's Kadi
and the shrine of Meladi
the one that has high regard in folk belief?
Ranmalpura, Golana and
Sabarda
all linked to each other
are recorded in the history of atrocities.
Is this Kadi, the link?
Today
where is that link
of unity?
If we don't act
the time will pass
Come on, let us go to Kadi..
Which Kadi? Where is Kadi, the link?
Kadi, is a town where following dalit atrocities there were protests
Kadi, link or connection
Malhar Rao, Maratha ruler of Kadi
Meldi ,dirty mother goddess having important shrine at Kadi
Ranmalpura, Golana,Sabarda are the places in Gujarat where atrocities on dalits took place
Kalki
Kill us the living
Throttling us, what then?
Slaughter us,
you can slaughter thousands
with machine gun, what then?
Burn us alive,
you can torch our colony, what then?
May you feast
on our meat and bone, what then?
Now the three Yugas are gone.
We are Kalki
in this Kaliyuga!
Kalki, in Hinduism, Kalki ( is the tenth and final Maha Avatar (great incarnation) of Vishnu will come to end the present age of darkness and destruction known as Kali Yuga.
The Bat-house
I am the stone of foundation
of the building that stands there.
I have toiled to create it.
To tell you the truth
I had wished for good of all.
But the bats of
caste and class
lived in it.
in the name of dharma,
in the name of artha,
in the name of kama,
in the name of moksha,
gradually became owners
and devoured
my nose, ear, eye and thumb
even my torso.
That's why
spitting at this
foul-smelling ruin
of the bat-house,
I have moved away.
Dharma,
Artha,
Kama,
Moksha
of the building that stands there.
I have toiled to create it.
To tell you the truth
I had wished for good of all.
But the bats of
caste and class
lived in it.
in the name of dharma,
in the name of artha,
in the name of kama,
in the name of moksha,
gradually became owners
and devoured
my nose, ear, eye and thumb
even my torso.
That's why
spitting at this
foul-smelling ruin
of the bat-house,
I have moved away.
Dharma,
Artha,
Kama,
Moksha
Dying Declaration
You made us forge
the arms
made us to write
the shastras
made us construct houses and temples
made us plough the fields and dig the wells
made us weave clothes
made us skin the dead cattle
made us cleanse the streets and toilets.
Then you hated me, humiliated me
enslaved me,
To destroy all the evidences of my existence
you slaughtered me
and burnt me with my shadow!
You killed me
and I continued to die!
Alas!
Rather than suffering silently
your ugly traditions,
only if I had roared
the rebellion
unto the last,
history need not write
my dying declaration
with a bleeding pen!
the arms
made us to write
the shastras
made us construct houses and temples
made us plough the fields and dig the wells
made us weave clothes
made us skin the dead cattle
made us cleanse the streets and toilets.
Then you hated me, humiliated me
enslaved me,
To destroy all the evidences of my existence
you slaughtered me
and burnt me with my shadow!
You killed me
and I continued to die!
Alas!
Rather than suffering silently
your ugly traditions,
only if I had roared
the rebellion
unto the last,
history need not write
my dying declaration
with a bleeding pen!
Overbridge
at our place
never walked ,
never mooed,
neither it gave milk.
then what is the point
of debate and distress?
to cross the vaitarni,
don't worry,
we will ,
construct
an overbridge.
A river one has to cross to reach heaven, a gift of cow to Brahmin ensures a cow while facing the river, clinging to the tail of the cow one can cross vaitarani.
Shame
do you have any connection with our pain?
May be the stones too
shiver sometimes
but you…?
How much we wish
quickly, very quickly
we cross
the jungles of pain
to find freedom.
but what next ?
Rebirth? ….
but no, no,
We don't want to be
souls without salvation.
Lest we all who chant the mantra
"No one is greater than human beings"
shall feel ashamed
remembering
that human beings was not connected
in the least with human beings.
Galiya
What’s wrong with this Galiya?
He collects dung of
Two cows, four buffaloes
And six bullocks
from dawn to dusk
and fills the baskets
and empties
The life in dung heap.
Look, what’s wrong with Galiya?
One day he went for daily wage labor
touched the buttermilk pot,
The sin of touch!
He was fined rupees twenty
wages were not given
and got beatings free of cost.
The abuses
you cannot count,
Thereafter
twenty a year, twenty every year
as a fine.
Busy with
fodder from farm
and dung of the cattle
whole day.
The life is a bonded labor, o brother!
Nothing,
Dharma, karam, karuna,
Oh not even revolution
No law, no administration
could save him from
Manu,
O brother!
Let me ask:
Galiya
We are paying for
whose sins, whose debt,
of which life,
till this day?
Speak, speak brother Galiya,
Look, what is wrong with Galiya?
Religion, deeds, compassion
He collects dung of
Two cows, four buffaloes
And six bullocks
from dawn to dusk
and fills the baskets
and empties
The life in dung heap.
Look, what’s wrong with Galiya?
One day he went for daily wage labor
touched the buttermilk pot,
The sin of touch!
He was fined rupees twenty
wages were not given
and got beatings free of cost.
The abuses
you cannot count,
Thereafter
twenty a year, twenty every year
as a fine.
Busy with
fodder from farm
and dung of the cattle
whole day.
The life is a bonded labor, o brother!
Nothing,
Dharma, karam, karuna,
Oh not even revolution
No law, no administration
could save him from
Manu,
O brother!
Let me ask:
Galiya
We are paying for
whose sins, whose debt,
of which life,
till this day?
Speak, speak brother Galiya,
Look, what is wrong with Galiya?
Religion, deeds, compassion
In Our Country
Tell me
in our mango orchard
who has planted
the cacti, thorn bush?
Tell me
in our road
who has planted
the arrow, thorn and well?
Tell me
in the heart of lush green earth
who has stolen
the farms, the valleys and wilderness?
Tell me
who has dimmed the sun
and filled our eyes with deep dark?
Tell me
who made the deep seas in our courtyard
and the mountains at the entrance of the village
to obstruct our way?
Tell me
in the sky stars and stars,
in the horizon who has drawn
the high separating boundaries?
Tell me
who has set afire
our lush green forest?
Tell me,
who has hatefully
exiled us
in our own country?
in our mango orchard
who has planted
the cacti, thorn bush?
Tell me
in our road
who has planted
the arrow, thorn and well?
Tell me
in the heart of lush green earth
who has stolen
the farms, the valleys and wilderness?
Tell me
who has dimmed the sun
and filled our eyes with deep dark?
Tell me
who made the deep seas in our courtyard
and the mountains at the entrance of the village
to obstruct our way?
Tell me
in the sky stars and stars,
in the horizon who has drawn
the high separating boundaries?
Tell me
who has set afire
our lush green forest?
Tell me,
who has hatefully
exiled us
in our own country?
In Our Country
Tell me
in our mango orchard
who has planted
the cacti, thorn bush?
Tell me
in our road
who has planted
the arrow, thorn and well?
Tell me
in the heart of lush green earth
who has stolen
the farms, the valleys and wilderness?
Tell me
who has dimmed the sun
and filled our eyes with deep dark?
Tell me
who made the deep seas in our courtyard
and the mountains at the entrance of the village
to obstruct our way?
Tell me
in the sky stars and stars,
in the horizon who has drawn
the high separating boundaries?
Tell me
who has set afire
our lush green forest?
Tell me,
who has hatefully
exiled us
in our own country?
in our mango orchard
who has planted
the cacti, thorn bush?
Tell me
in our road
who has planted
the arrow, thorn and well?
Tell me
in the heart of lush green earth
who has stolen
the farms, the valleys and wilderness?
Tell me
who has dimmed the sun
and filled our eyes with deep dark?
Tell me
who made the deep seas in our courtyard
and the mountains at the entrance of the village
to obstruct our way?
Tell me
in the sky stars and stars,
in the horizon who has drawn
the high separating boundaries?
Tell me
who has set afire
our lush green forest?
Tell me,
who has hatefully
exiled us
in our own country?
Anxious Agony
Today
you are sleeping closing the doors.
happily
In a dark, dark frightening
cellar.
We,
like forgotten lantern on a rainy night
light,
the ruins,
But you do not invite
us in
nor we invite you out.
Someday
sun of
anxious agony
will rise within us
and will fill the sky with
wondrous light.
In our existence itself
there are
possibilities beyond limits, friends!
you are sleeping closing the doors.
happily
In a dark, dark frightening
cellar.
We,
like forgotten lantern on a rainy night
light,
the ruins,
But you do not invite
us in
nor we invite you out.
Someday
sun of
anxious agony
will rise within us
and will fill the sky with
wondrous light.
In our existence itself
there are
possibilities beyond limits, friends!
The Expectation
No, we do not expect happiness now.
We wait for
the last man gets
bread to eat
a place to live in
but what would happen in the end?
No, we do not expect fame now.
We wait for
the last man
gets
justice and
dignity
but what would happen in the end?
No, we do not expect freedom now.
We wait for the last man
gets
equality and
freedom
but what would happen in the end?
No, we do not expect heaven now.
We wait for the last man
gets
existence and
opportunity.
And that's all!
We wait for
the last man gets
bread to eat
a place to live in
but what would happen in the end?
No, we do not expect fame now.
We wait for
the last man
gets
justice and
dignity
but what would happen in the end?
No, we do not expect freedom now.
We wait for the last man
gets
equality and
freedom
but what would happen in the end?
No, we do not expect heaven now.
We wait for the last man
gets
existence and
opportunity.
And that's all!
The Name
Bare and useless is my name.
Harassed and
depressed,
untouchable curse I am.
Disarmed and helpless is my name.
volcano and
earthquake,
suppressed one's scorching pain I am.
Sea and forest fire is my name.
Cyclone and
waves
Dalit, high borne I am.
That is why
my name and I are disgraced.
I am the one
who performed
Cesarean operation on the night
and delivered the sun,
I am the cyclone.
Harassed and
depressed,
untouchable curse I am.
Disarmed and helpless is my name.
volcano and
earthquake,
suppressed one's scorching pain I am.
Sea and forest fire is my name.
Cyclone and
waves
Dalit, high borne I am.
That is why
my name and I are disgraced.
I am the one
who performed
Cesarean operation on the night
and delivered the sun,
I am the cyclone.
Let Us Fly
Let us fly!
The stone
can turn into water
and flows,
water
can turn into stone
and burns,
Come, let us fly!
The head wrote mantras, chanted
and multiplied diseases and distress
Come. let us fly!
The hand took arms, fought
and raised the memories of dead soldiers
Come, let us fly.
The belly increased its radius
and wealth, grains and the earth were looted.
Come, let us fly!
The feet crossed the fence, the thorns, the wilderness
and continued to walk
towards the sun,
continued to walk.
Come, let us fly.
That's why, now
these feet turning into wings
will fly higher and higher
on the unblemished constellation of stars
and will mark the skies.
Come, let's fly!
Head, Brahmins, hand, kshatriyas, stomach, vaishyas and feet, sudras
The stone
can turn into water
and flows,
water
can turn into stone
and burns,
Come, let us fly!
The head wrote mantras, chanted
and multiplied diseases and distress
Come. let us fly!
The hand took arms, fought
and raised the memories of dead soldiers
Come, let us fly.
The belly increased its radius
and wealth, grains and the earth were looted.
Come, let us fly!
The feet crossed the fence, the thorns, the wilderness
and continued to walk
towards the sun,
continued to walk.
Come, let us fly.
That's why, now
these feet turning into wings
will fly higher and higher
on the unblemished constellation of stars
and will mark the skies.
Come, let's fly!
Head, Brahmins, hand, kshatriyas, stomach, vaishyas and feet, sudras
We
They drowned us
Mid-sea ,
feet chained and eyes blinded.
But we have preserved
the sky beyond horizons
in our eyes,
and the rising of the sun
in our fist.
That's how
turning into the surging waves
through the fire burning in the sea,
we will swim to the shore
triumphant!
Mid-sea ,
feet chained and eyes blinded.
But we have preserved
the sky beyond horizons
in our eyes,
and the rising of the sun
in our fist.
That's how
turning into the surging waves
through the fire burning in the sea,
we will swim to the shore
triumphant!
After the explosion
And after some days
in some newspaper corner
we read an ambiguous brief note.
One day
commotion of cars
to the village, dalit colony and home,
consolation, report and compensation..
and an empty Ah!
For a few days
visits, meetings and statements,
and paper horses.
then as usual slowly
with barely audible steps
all go, silent.
The gravedigger animals
once dig a grave
no one covers the dead with kafan again
and for the lamp that is blown out
no one sheds a tear.
And then pushed into a dark room
the Sobs, the sickle, the basket,
the courtyard, and hands without bangles
are totally helpless!
Kafan, shroud to cover dead body prior to last rites
in some newspaper corner
we read an ambiguous brief note.
One day
commotion of cars
to the village, dalit colony and home,
consolation, report and compensation..
and an empty Ah!
For a few days
visits, meetings and statements,
and paper horses.
then as usual slowly
with barely audible steps
all go, silent.
The gravedigger animals
once dig a grave
no one covers the dead with kafan again
and for the lamp that is blown out
no one sheds a tear.
And then pushed into a dark room
the Sobs, the sickle, the basket,
the courtyard, and hands without bangles
are totally helpless!
Kafan, shroud to cover dead body prior to last rites
The Cactus Hedge
the waters of Bhagirathi
from heaven
into a sour sea
and grow
foul smelling puddles.
To keep alive
the frog of Sanskara
under the rock of sanskriti
they bury
human beings alive.
Rather than
irrigating the peepal of fate
with
water of labor
they deceive with
faith.
That’s why
so many
Charvakas and Buddhas
are thrown
In the sacrificial fire
even
today.
Sanskara,
Sanskriti, culture
Charvaka, Hedonist,atheist thinker
Honor be to you
If you close your finger into a fist
then honor be to you!
All the three
taking support of
the thumb,
how do they together eat butter and cream?
Mohan, why the small finger is left alone?
How the three formed a triangle
to avoid the little finger ?
the curd is spent, the pot overflows,
and yet here, O Mohan, the little finger touches it barely!
All five are threaded together in the wrist
to give test of strength of wrist.
The circles of the karma and dharma are such
that when you open the fist
all become 'others'.
If you can close your fingers into a fist
then honor be to you.!
Mohan, Krishna, according to legends Krishna in childhood used to steal butter
Small finger represents shudras, the three other fingers represent other three varnas
then honor be to you!
All the three
taking support of
the thumb,
how do they together eat butter and cream?
Mohan, why the small finger is left alone?
How the three formed a triangle
to avoid the little finger ?
the curd is spent, the pot overflows,
and yet here, O Mohan, the little finger touches it barely!
All five are threaded together in the wrist
to give test of strength of wrist.
The circles of the karma and dharma are such
that when you open the fist
all become 'others'.
If you can close your fingers into a fist
then honor be to you.!
Mohan, Krishna, according to legends Krishna in childhood used to steal butter
Small finger represents shudras, the three other fingers represent other three varnas
Unfulfilled dreams
I search for
the sky
where
the birds of freedom
chirp.
I search for
the Sea
where waves of equality roar.
I search for the earth
where gardens
of equality blossom.
But the horizons scream
"so many have passed
on this road
with unfulfilled dreams!"
the sky
where
the birds of freedom
chirp.
I search for
the Sea
where waves of equality roar.
I search for the earth
where gardens
of equality blossom.
But the horizons scream
"so many have passed
on this road
with unfulfilled dreams!"
Search for the dawn
Be cursed this Midnight!
If you climb on the top of a hill
and call,
the horizons would not open the doors.
Of the walls
huge walls, planted
since centuries
how many hands do support these walls?
Like a seawave
sharks rejoice ,
let the fish die, trembling.
Craving for grass
innocent deer get killed in jungle
and the stray beasts trample the lush green fields.
As if they have monopoly
of skinning
man alive
On the earth studded with thorns
the bleeding feet
mark
a trail,
That too stings you?
Equality
is the wealth of the mind.
Though half a century
we wasted in wilderness
but the feet did not sprout wings.
Let's walk to the east, now,
Let us find
the dawn.
Be cursed this Midnight!
Feet , shudras
Be cursed this Midnight!
If you climb on the top of a hill
and call,
the horizons would not open the doors.
Of the walls
huge walls, planted
since centuries
how many hands do support these walls?
Like a seawave
sharks rejoice ,
let the fish die, trembling.
Craving for grass
innocent deer get killed in jungle
and the stray beasts trample the lush green fields.
As if they have monopoly
of skinning
man alive
On the earth studded with thorns
the bleeding feet
mark
a trail,
That too stings you?
Equality
is the wealth of the mind.
Though half a century
we wasted in wilderness
but the feet did not sprout wings.
Let's walk to the east, now,
Let us find
the dawn.
Be cursed this Midnight!
Feet , shudras
Identity
I am
a faceless man
and a life resting
in a volcano.
I am
a terrifying explosion inside
and yet
turning into a nameless nakshatra
in the sky
I shine
ceaselessly
establishing my existence!
I am a man without reference
and inside the mind
roars silence prior to a cyclone!
Agony of desert I suffer
And yet
being pronoun
without a proper noun,
I raise
the Alps of Identity
and invite
the new era!
Nakshatra, constellation
a faceless man
and a life resting
in a volcano.
I am
a terrifying explosion inside
and yet
turning into a nameless nakshatra
in the sky
I shine
ceaselessly
establishing my existence!
I am a man without reference
and inside the mind
roars silence prior to a cyclone!
Agony of desert I suffer
And yet
being pronoun
without a proper noun,
I raise
the Alps of Identity
and invite
the new era!
Nakshatra, constellation
The Revenge
I am given
the world of
mirage,
cyclones
and a few dreams.
I search and search for
A synonym of life,
breath only
the exhaled air devoid of life.
With the burden of the past
and my own, too,
I curl on myself and
pushed to the margins ,
with wants
I groan.
Within myself
I am yet to be born,
perhaps tomorrow .
Shall I be?
the world of
mirage,
cyclones
and a few dreams.
I search and search for
A synonym of life,
breath only
the exhaled air devoid of life.
With the burden of the past
and my own, too,
I curl on myself and
pushed to the margins ,
with wants
I groan.
Within myself
I am yet to be born,
perhaps tomorrow .
Shall I be?
A Curse or a Boon?
With mere touch of
our shadow
you and your religion,
your earth and your sky
each and everything
burns and burns and burns.
Who gave you this curse?
In the heaven of your dreams
we and our lives and
our patal , our sea,
each and everything is
all destroying quake.
Who gave us this boon?
Patal, an universe in the depth of the earth
our shadow
you and your religion,
your earth and your sky
each and everything
burns and burns and burns.
Who gave you this curse?
In the heaven of your dreams
we and our lives and
our patal , our sea,
each and everything is
all destroying quake.
Who gave us this boon?
Patal, an universe in the depth of the earth
The existence
You fix our feet
with iron chains
and ask:
'Fly, fly
the whole sky is yours, isn't it!'
But this unjust atrocity
itself will light
the fire of revolt.
Taking together
earth with our feet,
we will soar the high skies
like a hawk
one day.
Our answer shall be
nothing but
our graceful existence,
riches full of pride and
unmatched ability.
with iron chains
and ask:
'Fly, fly
the whole sky is yours, isn't it!'
But this unjust atrocity
itself will light
the fire of revolt.
Taking together
earth with our feet,
we will soar the high skies
like a hawk
one day.
Our answer shall be
nothing but
our graceful existence,
riches full of pride and
unmatched ability.
Reservation
The parrot
protected in
the cage hanging in the courtyard
flutters its wings and
enjoys as if it soars the sky entire,
The cat
eagerly waiting at the top of the house
mews
“Scrap the reservations,
it’s violation of my rights!”
protected in
the cage hanging in the courtyard
flutters its wings and
enjoys as if it soars the sky entire,
The cat
eagerly waiting at the top of the house
mews
“Scrap the reservations,
it’s violation of my rights!”
The Flight
The earth is meant for
the feet only,
and yet I was forbidden
to walk
on my feet
on this earth.
That's why perhaps
today
in the distance
on the other side of the horizon,
Look,
up in the endless sky
shunning all shackles
freely
I fly, Isn't it?
the feet only,
and yet I was forbidden
to walk
on my feet
on this earth.
That's why perhaps
today
in the distance
on the other side of the horizon,
Look,
up in the endless sky
shunning all shackles
freely
I fly, Isn't it?
The Synonym
Thus Centuries shall pass.
how long will you scratch
your wound?
Your scream is
like a birdsong
and people are used to
the roar.
In the name of fate
memorial stones of the dead are created
and all around
the desert is spreading.
Now put down the cross
from your shoulder,
you will not find
any Simon here.
Come on, why do
your feet stop?
The desert is nothing but
the synonym of your life.
Simon, the disciple of Christ who took cross form his shoulder
how long will you scratch
your wound?
Your scream is
like a birdsong
and people are used to
the roar.
In the name of fate
memorial stones of the dead are created
and all around
the desert is spreading.
Now put down the cross
from your shoulder,
you will not find
any Simon here.
Come on, why do
your feet stop?
The desert is nothing but
the synonym of your life.
Simon, the disciple of Christ who took cross form his shoulder
The Message
Why did you
disgrace me and
made me
untouchable?
Humiliating me
why did you curse me?
Since ages I asked my father
he asked his father…
he asked his father…
the same question
one after the other…
No answer!
But today
all ten directions
roar with
Dundubhi.
Listen
and look here,
The first ray of dawn
of tomorrow is
in my eyes
and an earthquake
in my hands!
Dundubhi, war drum of Mahabharat
disgrace me and
made me
untouchable?
Humiliating me
why did you curse me?
Since ages I asked my father
he asked his father…
he asked his father…
the same question
one after the other…
No answer!
But today
all ten directions
roar with
Dundubhi.
Listen
and look here,
The first ray of dawn
of tomorrow is
in my eyes
and an earthquake
in my hands!
Dundubhi, war drum of Mahabharat
The Lives
The lives
before the directions turn blind
the lives
stumble and strive,
to cross the asphalt road.
Since birth
the lungs are tired
of gulp after gulp of poisonous air,
and coughing incessantly
screaming silently
the lives.
die.
The protruding eyes of
Pyramids of skeletons
watch fire of phoenix
and high sky dreams
the lives
Burn and burn.
The pale yellow light of
the morning spreads
in the dark chawl.
Like bunch of Ghosts
the lives
wander to and fro.
before the directions turn blind
the lives
stumble and strive,
to cross the asphalt road.
Since birth
the lungs are tired
of gulp after gulp of poisonous air,
and coughing incessantly
screaming silently
the lives.
die.
The protruding eyes of
Pyramids of skeletons
watch fire of phoenix
and high sky dreams
the lives
Burn and burn.
The pale yellow light of
the morning spreads
in the dark chawl.
Like bunch of Ghosts
the lives
wander to and fro.
Misfortune
There is no bread
But there is royal food
There is no loincloth
But there is pitambara
There is no home
But there is temple.
What a misfortune!
How miserable are, human beings!
Pitambara, yellow clothe. traditionally worn by Vishnu
But there is royal food
There is no loincloth
But there is pitambara
There is no home
But there is temple.
What a misfortune!
How miserable are, human beings!
Pitambara, yellow clothe. traditionally worn by Vishnu
The Steps on Overbridge
The collection by B.N.Vankar is Dalit literature brilliant spark. Coming out of the circle of everything is fine, dalit literature echoes lives that are lead with struggle and much effort. Dalit literature has become unique identity, it palpitates with life, it is shaped by solid reality.
Mr.Vankar has transformed his painful story in form of poetry. He has classified his poems in categories identity/curse/contemporary life/problems/position /revenge/agony/rebellion/ expectation/ anger/identity/ existence so that the picture of collection becomes very clear.
These poem successfully target at unwanted things associated with our lives since time immemorial To what an extent a human being can oppress another ,do injustice and keep backward is the mindscape of these poems. Sharp metaphors, new symbols and fresh images make these poems enjoyable. Nothing rusted, routine is here.
The poet rebels against the miserable condition of society at the hands of power of state and religion, he wishes to break the traditions.
The poems testify the poet’s understanding of rhythm; images-symbols- beauty and create a new mindscape. Thus this collection is full of poetic creativity worth enjoying.
Dr.Ravindra Thakore
(‘Kalamghar’
Courtesy : Sambhav, 12 January, 2005)
Mr.Vankar has transformed his painful story in form of poetry. He has classified his poems in categories identity/curse/contemporary life/problems/position /revenge/agony/rebellion/ expectation/ anger/identity/ existence so that the picture of collection becomes very clear.
These poem successfully target at unwanted things associated with our lives since time immemorial To what an extent a human being can oppress another ,do injustice and keep backward is the mindscape of these poems. Sharp metaphors, new symbols and fresh images make these poems enjoyable. Nothing rusted, routine is here.
The poet rebels against the miserable condition of society at the hands of power of state and religion, he wishes to break the traditions.
The poems testify the poet’s understanding of rhythm; images-symbols- beauty and create a new mindscape. Thus this collection is full of poetic creativity worth enjoying.
Dr.Ravindra Thakore
(‘Kalamghar’
Courtesy : Sambhav, 12 January, 2005)
To the heaven via overbridge
Associated with dalit poetry right from its inception, Shri B.N.Vankar is a leading poet who continues to write till date. This is his first dalit poetry collection. In these poems . free verse poems with drama and with wit, controlling anger tells what wishes to, dalit realities and oproblems, rebellion and rejection of god with new references opens unknown regions of bhav jagat.This poet takes further the unique pattern and emotions of short poems initiated by Pravin Gadhvi.In his short poems power. Mindscape/ outcry/ ridicule/ rejection of god. / new direction and hope/ the symbols and new meanings differentiates this poet from others.
These poems tread new road and trails. As we venture deeper and deeper, new directions open before us dawning new meanings. Sometimes words, apparently simple, flat and statement like evoke full poetry and complex mindscape.
Let us see the title poem. Very simple, easily understandable stanzas gather entire sea in a tiny pot. To reach the heaven, preached by the religion based on scriptures one has to cross the Vaitarni river. The poet does not wish to cross alone instead he wishes to gather all oppressed at the gates of heaven. Rather than holding tail of the holy cow, they will construct an overbridge. As we go deeper we understand the rejection of god , scriptures, charity and stripping open the character of pretentious society. Indeed, never before any poet has rejected God and heaven so powerfully.
Passing through the collection, we see that these poems stand on the real base of two fractions of society. .The rejection is not so heavy, only the ugly and inhuman is rejected. These poems show new directions not only to dalit poetry but also to contemporary Gujarati poetry at large. They augment the flow of Gujarat dalit poetry.
Dalpat Chauhan
New blooming after scripture based violence
Kaka Kalelkar wrote that in our country many a genius have been slaughtered by the scripture based violence. Immediately after birth the social system brands human beings as low and fixes the occupation to pursue. It has killed so many potential energies. it has either smothered so many longings or have not allowed to be born. This has lead to irreparable damage to our country, so many suffering utter injustices.
With time this stagnant social system weakened. Dalit literature is a symbol of such change .this poetry collection by Mr.B.N.Vankar represents the new blooming after the violence based on scriptures.
It is certain that dalit literature has pledged to present many untouched ideas, sentiments and longings in a language that is based on personal experiences. And with that Indian literature has enriched and will continue to. Dalit literature hammers on several things associated with our culture and traditions that need to be broken. Dalit writer struggles against injustice done by a human being against another human being; he himself has suffered the injustice. Hence in his statement there is unique voice. while reading this collection we clearly hear Mr.Vankar’s voice.
Mr.B.N.Vankar is a poet, however his poems are not merely stories of woes speaking for own experience. He is a critic too, his canvas is huge, in the new society envisioned by Mr.Vankar will have values like tyaga (renouncing) and shaurya (valour), essentially it will have values of equality and freedom, without which all other vales will be devoid of any value at all. The road to equality is still difficult and long.To reach there, society will need laws as well as what Sane Guruji calls ‘ emotion literacy ’ ( bhava saksharta). Poetry is one such instrument to develop this bhava saksharta. The poetry of Mr.Vankar is the best effort in this direction.
The title poem overbridge is a short poem. The poet does not wish to take the beneficent road shown by the traditional religion. He wishes to advance with Pragna (supreme intelligence) and Karuna (compassion). This way is not only beneficent to the dalit community but also the one to uplift the society at large.
Prof.Jayant Joshi
With time this stagnant social system weakened. Dalit literature is a symbol of such change .this poetry collection by Mr.B.N.Vankar represents the new blooming after the violence based on scriptures.
It is certain that dalit literature has pledged to present many untouched ideas, sentiments and longings in a language that is based on personal experiences. And with that Indian literature has enriched and will continue to. Dalit literature hammers on several things associated with our culture and traditions that need to be broken. Dalit writer struggles against injustice done by a human being against another human being; he himself has suffered the injustice. Hence in his statement there is unique voice. while reading this collection we clearly hear Mr.Vankar’s voice.
Mr.B.N.Vankar is a poet, however his poems are not merely stories of woes speaking for own experience. He is a critic too, his canvas is huge, in the new society envisioned by Mr.Vankar will have values like tyaga (renouncing) and shaurya (valour), essentially it will have values of equality and freedom, without which all other vales will be devoid of any value at all. The road to equality is still difficult and long.To reach there, society will need laws as well as what Sane Guruji calls ‘ emotion literacy ’ ( bhava saksharta). Poetry is one such instrument to develop this bhava saksharta. The poetry of Mr.Vankar is the best effort in this direction.
The title poem overbridge is a short poem. The poet does not wish to take the beneficent road shown by the traditional religion. He wishes to advance with Pragna (supreme intelligence) and Karuna (compassion). This way is not only beneficent to the dalit community but also the one to uplift the society at large.
Prof.Jayant Joshi
Expression of Self: Experience, Feelings and Consciousness
My childhood was nurtured in the verdure farms with my parents. Bunyan tree in the uncultivated land, a pond, constructed well, a peepal tree on its edge, farms of green soaf and juvar, water of the well making rippling sounds on the sides of the farms and dancing peacock- I have enjoyed the nature with all my heart in the verdure farms.
At the age of five, I lost my father. Bullocks with bells and bullock-cart vanished from our courtyard. Life was difficult. We suffered from both hunger and sorrow. My widow mother was struggling to bring up her family we were all with her. My mother woke me up quite early in the morning. I would join her to help her in the churning vessel. At dawn I brought grass from the farms for our buffaloes, also served this grass to buffaloes, also served water to these buffaloes which I brought from the well. Then I go the school. During holidays I worked as a daily laborer in the farms for removing weed from the farm, to harvest the crop, to dig up the earth and to collect wood and dung-cakes. In the night I read under the light of flickering lamp. Then also I was not lagging in the studies. In the time of financial crisis whole family toiled very hard without losing courage, I stood first in my studies though I went hungry sometimes. Thus , my school life was full of problems. On holidays , I would go to graze the buffaloes if I had no homework.
In the college days, I dreamt. I was young, was studying in college and studied literature. I was absorbed in poetry of colors, flowers and love. In vacations, I had to take care of our mango farm. My parents had nurtured this mango farm. It was very far away from my home. i had to stay in this farm from spring to summer. I enjoyed the sweet fragrance of mass of flowers of the mango tree with full of my heart.But the heat of the hot winds of chaitra and vaisakha, dust-storm of the summer, sun-shined hillock and the flag of naga bava on the makrod tree on the edge of the narrow passage .. to kill the roz (a kind of wild animal akin to horse )persons who moves on the camel…merchants carrying goods to different places on bullocks (Vanjaras), kutchhi shepherds with their sheep and goats..Tents of all these people were laid down in the outskirts of the village and I was watching their life with their animals.
In the hot afternoon, the snake charmers played flute, to kill the fox pomlas ( a wandering tribe)rush to the jungle, sometimes merchants carrying goods celebrate their marriage ceremony, gum and dung-cake gatherers coming and going- all these matters became part of my life. Sometimes when I was hungry, I ate ear of corn of dodi, pods of khijda, flowers of mahua and of course, mangoes were definitely there. Sometimes if I could not control my desires, I tasted the honey of the flowers of the cactus tree with my tongue. I enjoyed humming of koel and pigeon though there was harassment of monkey and parrot, with these sounds there was also warbling of peacocks- These are the very happy memories of my life. Burning sun of the mid-day qwas giving shine and heat, roaring sound of the hot wind , the sea of the mirage was rippling, frightened by the hunger and thirst then I see my mother carrying rice and small bucket of buttermilk very far in the uncultivated land with a thick and short stick in her hand from the roof of hut. Then in the grove of mangoes and vicinity of my mother I was eating with ease; bajra bread;, onion, dish of foenugreck, jaggery and buttermilk. and whatever was left was for my mother. This was a heaven for me.
I was basically hurt the most by the exploitation, injustice, hatred and outrage of the dalits by the upper caste people. My uncle and brother were the front leaders to oppose the terrible situation of the dalits. They spoke against the injustice in the language of agitation. The orthodox upper caste people could not tolerate this. This gave birth to the agitation. As a child I witnessed and suffered violent casteist mob attack on the dalit locality , my uncle was the main target. We filed a case against the mob but ultimately we compromised. But that did not lessen the animosity. I was studying in college. In the newly opened school in my village there was an untouchability and outrage in the air, created by caste Hindu teachers against the dalit students. I opposed this injustice then I and other dalits of the locality were beaten up by the caste Hindus. Furious village boycotted us for some b months. When we accepted the challenge then we were collectively outrage by the upper caste people. This time I was the target. Luckily nothing adverse happened to me but the pain that I suffered still pierces me. Hence I left the village and started higher studies as well as a job which was a necessity. I lost my ailing mother. Education with marital life, job, social service and financial problems of my family - I was struggling for life dharma, family dharma and social dharma. But I had courage, youth and dreams also having high ideals and longing to serve the society. To convert my dreams into reality was a tough challenge. Because of this, the horizons of life widened. Then also my young heart tender feelings flew like a stream. Whatever I wrote during this time was published as ‘Yaad’( A collection of poetry) in 1993.
On the other side, the agony of life was not lessening. Not only me, whole dalit community suffered in the ninth decade of the twentieth century, that too, in the Gandhi’s Gujarat. Anti-reservation agitation turned into Caste based violence against the dalits. The. caste Hindus attacked the dalit localities and terrorized the dalit community. Huts and houses of dalits were set to fire. Many dalit youth lost their lives.Our parliament too expressed concern and condemned the violent attacks on dalits. I , too, have seen, known and experienced all these things. In my native village also a mob of caste Hindus entered the dalit locality to attack, but they could not succeed. Thus the agonies of the dalit life spread in all directions. The whole dalit community was living in the curse of never ending injustice, outrage and scarcity. The dalits suffered social, educational, economic and religious inequality. I was experiencing the unutterable agony. How long should I scratch the blood oozing wounds of heart? I was born, I have lived, I am living and will continue to live in this invaded painful land of dalit life. Up to when? Why? I have enjoyed, known, experienced the moments of pain and consciousness.
Whatever I witnessed, came to know and endured, found expression in words. Thus my own experience and feelings took form of words: anger against the injustice, rejection of the tradition, rebellion against the establishment, struggle against atrocities and revolutionary ideas against inequality. It embodied new meanings, new meanings and new references, and revolutionary consciousness. I was deeply influenced by the ideology of Dr.Babasaheb Ambedkar that pervaded my environment. My poetry of this period has built an ‘overbridge’(2001). Prof.Jayant R.Joshi welcomed the collection, ‘overbridge’ as ‘ new blooming after the violence based on scriptures.’
The situation slowly changed. My commitment with the Dalits and exploited populace remains but the spirit of revenge is waning. I welcome all those feelings for dalits and others which were naturally born as goodwill for all as a creative writer. Literature is nothing but self-experienced expression of a writer’s inner consciousness. My poetry collection, Anubandh (2004) is a complete and perfect knowledge of society and all the creations are full of feelings of vitality and life. The writer’s real abode lies in such a world where the society becomes beautiful, prosperous and complete. In the end , creation is nothing but an ascent of his inner consciousness. Conflict is born from the social opposition in the same way a poem is born from the inner conflict of the poet. But the humane goodwill, equanimity and equality lead the creator towards silence. Yet the sufferings of heart gives birth to the silence of the creative writer. Silence is nothing but an unhurt pain. Thus I have arrived on the fourth halting place of my journey of poetry namely “Maun na mukam par” in 2009. From 1960 to 2009 it is nothing but a half century long accomplishment of words. Thus sensible expression of silence is a poem and for me a poem is nothing but to oppose the established mythological and sociological continuations as a bridge created out of new meanings, new references and new human values. The poetry of “overbridge” is nothing but a bridge from one human being to another.
Dr.G.K.Vankar has selected and translated these poems from two of my collections, ‘overbridge’ and ‘anubandh’. I am indebted to him for these translations which are the result of our many discussions. No words of gratitude are enough to his enthusiasm, patience and passion for translation, I salute him.
B.N.Vankar
Tr.Mahesh Dafda
At the age of five, I lost my father. Bullocks with bells and bullock-cart vanished from our courtyard. Life was difficult. We suffered from both hunger and sorrow. My widow mother was struggling to bring up her family we were all with her. My mother woke me up quite early in the morning. I would join her to help her in the churning vessel. At dawn I brought grass from the farms for our buffaloes, also served this grass to buffaloes, also served water to these buffaloes which I brought from the well. Then I go the school. During holidays I worked as a daily laborer in the farms for removing weed from the farm, to harvest the crop, to dig up the earth and to collect wood and dung-cakes. In the night I read under the light of flickering lamp. Then also I was not lagging in the studies. In the time of financial crisis whole family toiled very hard without losing courage, I stood first in my studies though I went hungry sometimes. Thus , my school life was full of problems. On holidays , I would go to graze the buffaloes if I had no homework.
In the college days, I dreamt. I was young, was studying in college and studied literature. I was absorbed in poetry of colors, flowers and love. In vacations, I had to take care of our mango farm. My parents had nurtured this mango farm. It was very far away from my home. i had to stay in this farm from spring to summer. I enjoyed the sweet fragrance of mass of flowers of the mango tree with full of my heart.But the heat of the hot winds of chaitra and vaisakha, dust-storm of the summer, sun-shined hillock and the flag of naga bava on the makrod tree on the edge of the narrow passage .. to kill the roz (a kind of wild animal akin to horse )persons who moves on the camel…merchants carrying goods to different places on bullocks (Vanjaras), kutchhi shepherds with their sheep and goats..Tents of all these people were laid down in the outskirts of the village and I was watching their life with their animals.
In the hot afternoon, the snake charmers played flute, to kill the fox pomlas ( a wandering tribe)rush to the jungle, sometimes merchants carrying goods celebrate their marriage ceremony, gum and dung-cake gatherers coming and going- all these matters became part of my life. Sometimes when I was hungry, I ate ear of corn of dodi, pods of khijda, flowers of mahua and of course, mangoes were definitely there. Sometimes if I could not control my desires, I tasted the honey of the flowers of the cactus tree with my tongue. I enjoyed humming of koel and pigeon though there was harassment of monkey and parrot, with these sounds there was also warbling of peacocks- These are the very happy memories of my life. Burning sun of the mid-day qwas giving shine and heat, roaring sound of the hot wind , the sea of the mirage was rippling, frightened by the hunger and thirst then I see my mother carrying rice and small bucket of buttermilk very far in the uncultivated land with a thick and short stick in her hand from the roof of hut. Then in the grove of mangoes and vicinity of my mother I was eating with ease; bajra bread;, onion, dish of foenugreck, jaggery and buttermilk. and whatever was left was for my mother. This was a heaven for me.
I was basically hurt the most by the exploitation, injustice, hatred and outrage of the dalits by the upper caste people. My uncle and brother were the front leaders to oppose the terrible situation of the dalits. They spoke against the injustice in the language of agitation. The orthodox upper caste people could not tolerate this. This gave birth to the agitation. As a child I witnessed and suffered violent casteist mob attack on the dalit locality , my uncle was the main target. We filed a case against the mob but ultimately we compromised. But that did not lessen the animosity. I was studying in college. In the newly opened school in my village there was an untouchability and outrage in the air, created by caste Hindu teachers against the dalit students. I opposed this injustice then I and other dalits of the locality were beaten up by the caste Hindus. Furious village boycotted us for some b months. When we accepted the challenge then we were collectively outrage by the upper caste people. This time I was the target. Luckily nothing adverse happened to me but the pain that I suffered still pierces me. Hence I left the village and started higher studies as well as a job which was a necessity. I lost my ailing mother. Education with marital life, job, social service and financial problems of my family - I was struggling for life dharma, family dharma and social dharma. But I had courage, youth and dreams also having high ideals and longing to serve the society. To convert my dreams into reality was a tough challenge. Because of this, the horizons of life widened. Then also my young heart tender feelings flew like a stream. Whatever I wrote during this time was published as ‘Yaad’( A collection of poetry) in 1993.
On the other side, the agony of life was not lessening. Not only me, whole dalit community suffered in the ninth decade of the twentieth century, that too, in the Gandhi’s Gujarat. Anti-reservation agitation turned into Caste based violence against the dalits. The. caste Hindus attacked the dalit localities and terrorized the dalit community. Huts and houses of dalits were set to fire. Many dalit youth lost their lives.Our parliament too expressed concern and condemned the violent attacks on dalits. I , too, have seen, known and experienced all these things. In my native village also a mob of caste Hindus entered the dalit locality to attack, but they could not succeed. Thus the agonies of the dalit life spread in all directions. The whole dalit community was living in the curse of never ending injustice, outrage and scarcity. The dalits suffered social, educational, economic and religious inequality. I was experiencing the unutterable agony. How long should I scratch the blood oozing wounds of heart? I was born, I have lived, I am living and will continue to live in this invaded painful land of dalit life. Up to when? Why? I have enjoyed, known, experienced the moments of pain and consciousness.
Whatever I witnessed, came to know and endured, found expression in words. Thus my own experience and feelings took form of words: anger against the injustice, rejection of the tradition, rebellion against the establishment, struggle against atrocities and revolutionary ideas against inequality. It embodied new meanings, new meanings and new references, and revolutionary consciousness. I was deeply influenced by the ideology of Dr.Babasaheb Ambedkar that pervaded my environment. My poetry of this period has built an ‘overbridge’(2001). Prof.Jayant R.Joshi welcomed the collection, ‘overbridge’ as ‘ new blooming after the violence based on scriptures.’
The situation slowly changed. My commitment with the Dalits and exploited populace remains but the spirit of revenge is waning. I welcome all those feelings for dalits and others which were naturally born as goodwill for all as a creative writer. Literature is nothing but self-experienced expression of a writer’s inner consciousness. My poetry collection, Anubandh (2004) is a complete and perfect knowledge of society and all the creations are full of feelings of vitality and life. The writer’s real abode lies in such a world where the society becomes beautiful, prosperous and complete. In the end , creation is nothing but an ascent of his inner consciousness. Conflict is born from the social opposition in the same way a poem is born from the inner conflict of the poet. But the humane goodwill, equanimity and equality lead the creator towards silence. Yet the sufferings of heart gives birth to the silence of the creative writer. Silence is nothing but an unhurt pain. Thus I have arrived on the fourth halting place of my journey of poetry namely “Maun na mukam par” in 2009. From 1960 to 2009 it is nothing but a half century long accomplishment of words. Thus sensible expression of silence is a poem and for me a poem is nothing but to oppose the established mythological and sociological continuations as a bridge created out of new meanings, new references and new human values. The poetry of “overbridge” is nothing but a bridge from one human being to another.
Dr.G.K.Vankar has selected and translated these poems from two of my collections, ‘overbridge’ and ‘anubandh’. I am indebted to him for these translations which are the result of our many discussions. No words of gratitude are enough to his enthusiasm, patience and passion for translation, I salute him.
B.N.Vankar
Tr.Mahesh Dafda
About B.N.Vankar
B.N.Vankar: The poet of Overbridge
Name: B.N.Vankar
Date of Birth: 1 May,1942
Native Place: Sundarpur,Ta.Vijapur, Dist.Mahesana, Gujarat
Educational Qualification: M.A.,L.L.B.
Occupation: Retired Govt. officer, Advocate
Published Works:
Poetry: Yaad (1993), ’Overbridge’ (2001),’Anubandh’ (2004), ’Maun na mukam par’ (2009)
Short Stories: ‘Vilopan’ (2001)
Short Short Fiction: ‘Chis ’(2006)
Criticism: ‘Pratyayam’ (1994), ’Anusandhan ’(2001), ‘Navonmesh’ (2003), ‘Paryay’ (2004), ’Dalit Sahitya’ (2005). ’Vivrutti’(2008)
Character sketches: ’Randweep’ (2003),’ Anhad’(2007)
Poetry Appreciation: ’Yathartha’(2003), ’Suryayan’(2006)
Essays: ‘Anuchchhed’(2004)
Awards: Govt. of Gujarat, St.Kabir Award, 2005, Narayan Guru Award, Gujarati Sahitya Sangam( )
Contact: 516, Gayatri Society, Sector 27, Gandhinagar 382028
Phone: (079)23236177, Mobile: 09408288035
Name: B.N.Vankar
Date of Birth: 1 May,1942
Native Place: Sundarpur,Ta.Vijapur, Dist.Mahesana, Gujarat
Educational Qualification: M.A.,L.L.B.
Occupation: Retired Govt. officer, Advocate
Published Works:
Poetry: Yaad (1993), ’Overbridge’ (2001),’Anubandh’ (2004), ’Maun na mukam par’ (2009)
Short Stories: ‘Vilopan’ (2001)
Short Short Fiction: ‘Chis ’(2006)
Criticism: ‘Pratyayam’ (1994), ’Anusandhan ’(2001), ‘Navonmesh’ (2003), ‘Paryay’ (2004), ’Dalit Sahitya’ (2005). ’Vivrutti’(2008)
Character sketches: ’Randweep’ (2003),’ Anhad’(2007)
Poetry Appreciation: ’Yathartha’(2003), ’Suryayan’(2006)
Essays: ‘Anuchchhed’(2004)
Awards: Govt. of Gujarat, St.Kabir Award, 2005, Narayan Guru Award, Gujarati Sahitya Sangam( )
Contact: 516, Gayatri Society, Sector 27, Gandhinagar 382028
Phone: (079)23236177, Mobile: 09408288035
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